#i like my workplace before people say I gotta find somewhere i like

[enviousennui]

How tf do people work every week. Like. I'm so overstimulated and unnecessarily stressed out. How are some of you doing this???

[chemicalpink]

Only Good Vibes ♡ Min Yoongi

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Genre: smut, a futile attempt at comedy, strangers to friends to lovers au.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: If Yoongi was being honest, the last thing he had expected to inherit from his father was a sex toy manufactures, even more so, the last thing he expected from being there was to fall in love. Or let someone peg him, but you know, potato potatoe

Warnings/Tags: mentions of minor character death, Yoongi is bisexual, Yoongi’s father is homophobic, kinda sub!Yoongi, pegging, chaebol!Yoongi, family exclusion, YN is somewhere on the queer spectrum, YN has no filter whatsoever, they drink but they aren’t drunk does that make sense?, Yoongi and YN are soooo awkward istg it pains me, masturbation (female and male), mutual masturbation, use of sex toys, slight edging, fingering (male and female receiving), overstimulation (female and male), squirting, slight dirty talk, kinda voyeurism (do i even write something that’s not voyeurism by now?), Yoongi’s suit gets ruined, anal plugs (male), cock ring, electrode vibrator, use of lube.

A/N: Gotta say, this one took a lot to get done BUT SHE IS HERE. Huge thanks to @birbdae for the banner, I know you did it quite a while ago and since then this fic evolved into this so- yeah I hope that you guys enjoy this one.

Yoongi walks the pristine halls once he enters the building, it smells like a mix of freshly brewed coffee and sanitizer, his shoes somewhat squeaking on the floor with each step he takes, the starched collar of the white shirt he was practically obliged to dress in has started to itch his skin from not being used to the whole put together look. It had been a few weeks since his father died, nobody really seemed phased by it, being that the man had passed away after a long battle on a hospital bed. No one had cried during the funeral, not even his mother. Truth be told, they were all instructed not to do so, something along the lines of being the most deserving family in the country or some bullshit like that. Of course the man would be missed, not for his grandeur as a human being, but more for the millions he made day by day. And that’s where Yoongi comes in. Dressed up head to toe in a way that he hadn’t done ever since his father practically threw him into the streets. As much as he disliked it and had grown out of it, he couldn’t help but compromise, eyes on the grand prize: the family fortune.

So what if his siblings and a few cousins would get something out the old man’s will too, the Min’s fortune, both in money and enterprises, was huge; after his grandfather had passed away, and his father, being the youngest child, absorbed every single part of the fortune as his siblings weren’t fitted anymore to run their part, the newest Min generation had turned to resemble a bunch of vultures waiting to feed. So as long as he got his fair share for having to put up with the man for so long, he would be okay with it.

Everybody was already sitting on the large wooden table by the time he arrived, the commissioner signaling for him to take a seat before he began the lecture. An almost three hour long preface that had Yoongi dozing off multiple times, getting a side eye from most of the other people present, before the distribution began. Min Enterprises consultant branch for Daejun, Min Enterprises technology branch for Hada… and last but not least, Min Enterprises recreative branch for Yoongi.

“HA! TAKE THAT YOU HOMOPHOBIC FUCK! I KNEW I’D GET SOMETHING!” all eyes turned to him as he stood up from his seat, some shocked at the word choice, although it was no secret he had a rough relationship with his father, most of them just snickering at him, like they knew something he didn’t.

And man did they know.

“So he just had to keep being a homophobe even as he’s buried six feet under the ground and give me the dildo factory” Yoongi sighed as he frantically paced around the room

“Eh” his friend shrugged as he munched on a small bag of pretzels “The snacks are nice”

“What the fuck am I supposed to know about dildos! I don’t have a vagina!” Yoongi’s face was redder than ever, throwing a fit on his very first day at the office he inherited just a few days ago– not before going through a lot of papers and signatures and approvals– and learning that apparently amongst the whole business emporium his family had built, there was a sex toys manufacturer. And his father had decided to be his funny homophobic self even after death, by letting his bisexual son run it.

Namjoon had laughed for a good five minutes on the phone before he decided to come over and help his best friend out of what was surely about to be an existential crisis. Leaning against the couch that was placed on what would now be his office, he added distractedly “You don’t need to have a vagina to use a dildo tho”

“Well-true” he seemed to ponder it for a while, before shaking himself from the thought “either way I wouldn’t know a thing about it”

“Remember back in college summer 2013?”

Yoongi turned to his friend, stopping dead in his tracks and squinting his infamous cat-like squint at the younger, gritting his teeth “We DON’T talk about summer 2013”

Namjoon lets out a whole body laugh at both his friend and the memory, when you make your way into his office in order to deliver some of the papers you needed him to sign “What happened in summer 2013?”

“We don’t talk about that” you couldn’t help but smile at him, grumpily making his way to his desk, rubbing his temples as he let out an exasperated groan. Not everyone really knew a thing or two about the new boss, never been the one to be acquainted with his late father’s business, or family, for that matter and it really showed, the poor guy didn’t even know where to begin with before he was savagely thrown into an already clock-work organisation. People were starting to talk as soon as he set foot inside the building, gossips going around about how he wasn’t fitted for the position and how he was the outcast of the family, yet you thought he could use a friendly face if he ultimately decided to take the job. His friend was still absentmindedly laughing before his eyes caught something on his phone screen.

“Well this has being fun, I’m gonna head out” he started getting up from the couch before the elder interrupted his wave towards you

“What am I supposed to do Namjoon?!”

“Just- give me a call once you figure out if you get an employee’s discount, okay?”

“Wha-” Yoongi was quick to throw a pen that had been lying on top of his desk at his retrieving friend, the object falling to the ground as it hit the doorframe, completely missing the other man, whose laugh could still be heard as he walked away.

He slumped against his desk chair once again, eyeing the stack of documents you had brought in for a brief moment before groaning and hanging his head low. There were a lot of rumours going around, with the Min family being as successful as they were, and although you had decided not to trust them, you couldn’t help but feel your heart ache if what people said about Min Yoongi were true. A prodigal son fallen from his father’s grace, truly one –if not the most– prepared person out of the whole family, with a lot of curriculum to back him up, everyone rooting for him to be the head of the whole Min emporium, only to be casted away in a rush of headlines, front pages of magazines and online bashing as he was seen leaving a bar that was known to be one of the few LGBTQIA+ friendly ones around and it all went downhill from there, never to be seen around his own family again except for the big events and now, here.”I could help you figure out your way around if you’d like”

He didn’t even bother to turn your way when he answered “I don’t even know where to begin”

“That’s alright, come on” you tapped his arm in an attempt to have him follow you outside. Although the methods seemed quite unorthodox for an enterprise carrying the Min’s family name, Yoongi didn’t seem the type to take offence on a lack of traditional manners, plus, the whole workplace had always been quite different from the rest of the Enterprises. “My name’s Y/N, I’m the head director of a sister brand, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me around”

“So…” he turned to face you as you two made your way out of his office “dildos?”

“Kinda- we run the LGBTQIA+ focused brand” he almost missed a step as soon as the words were processed inside his mind and you couldn’t help but smile at him

“I never knew my father had an inclusive line in his business”

“Oh he didn’t” you couldn’t help but find it cute when he made a confused gesture with his face as you both stopped at one of the doors that led to the designing part of the building “You see, we tend to do things differently around here, and there’s a lot of space to work with”

The room is, admittedly, not at all what Yoongi had expected it to be –not like he had a precise image in mind about a dildo manufacturer. But the room he was brought in was almost surgical, men and women alike are all dressed up with white laboratory coats and all, one of them approaching both of you with a smile on his face.

“Y/N! What brings you here? It’s been a while since we’ve seen you!” Yoongi can’t help but steal a glance at your smile, the heavy air that he was accustomed to feel every time he came close to one of his family’s business nowhere to be found, the whole room was breathable enough.

“Work’s keeping me busy, anyway, this is Min Yoongi, he’s taking over” for a second Yoongi felt like suffocating, you having to introduce him as if he wasn’t quite literally your boss, as if he was a new employee “I’m showing him around, see how he finds the place”

“Oh the infamous Min Yoongi” and he could feel his heart race- even in such a place, only god knows how much of his family disaster the people could hear of, the flashbacks to being outcasted and laughed at for his downfall all coming back to him “It’s nice to have you man, I’m Hoseok”

You turned his way and smiled at him, in an attempt to let him know that it was fine. There really wasn’t much to fear inside the building– except for when they had to deal with executive meetings– things were different around here. Yoongi’s gaze seemed to fixate on one of the computers where another man in a white coat was sitting, albeit still quite awkward, he approached him “Is there a program for that?”

The guy, one of your best designers ever since he joined an internship a few years back, Jungkook, turned to look at Yoongi with wide eyes and sort of shy at the stranger “Oh yeah” when Yoongi didn’t seem to break out of his fascination on watching a 3D modelling program run with a sculptured cock being designed on it he added with a small chuckle “Drawing penises by hand only gets you so far”

He watches you chat away with both men and can’t help but feel at peace, as weird as the thought of it could be. Min Yoongi, with a MBA and a Business Administration Doctorate, feels at peace in a dildo factory. But the teamwork seems like something he had never seen before, the line of production is almost text-book like. He can’t help but wonder, even if headless, things seem to run smoothly, where exactly does he fit in? “So what exactly am I supposed to do in a dildo factory?”

You laugh at his choice of words, before Hoseok steps in somewhat offended by them “We don’t just make dildos” and although it didn’t help his case, he throws one squiggly silicone penis his way, to which he has no other option but catch “We are in charge of designing, planning and manufacturing recreational tools in aid for people’s mental health, self indulgence and lifestyle” he then loses his whole offended facade as he takes a small ring between his fingers and shrugs before smiling brightly “At least that what we tell the big boss”

The younger man in a white coat speaks up from his place in front of the computer “Except he’s now the big boss”

Hoseok’s eyes grow as wide as saucers as he realises “Oh god did I fucked up?” You can’t stop yourself from smiling at his antiques, hand coming up to shut his mouth as he realises his slip in vocabulary “Oh shit” Jungkook rolls his eyes at him before returning to his work and Yoongi can’t help but feel endeared as the whole scene develops “Sorry boss”

Gratefully, you step to his side, waving a goodbye to both of them, Hoseok returning it with a smile and a bow towards him, and he realises his question still hasn’t been answered “So really, where am I supposed to fit in?”

You seem to ponder the question before responding “You could take over the white collar meetings, we all hate them” Yoongi groans at that “or” you take the silicone penis from him with a mischievous smile on your face as you shake it around on his face “you could be Jungkook’s test subject”

“I-no. Despite what you heard from Namjoon I don’t- I” your body almost doubled over in laughter at the face he pulled, an honest horror face and hey, the man is quite attractive, that much could be seen from miles away, and it had been a few too many months since the last time you got laid, technically he wasn’t even your boss, as you held the same position for a different product line.

“Eh- you could always try them on me” Yoongi’s eyes widened in surprise before they took on something darker in them, almost amused at your advances “...if you let me try my products on you”

“Deal”

“Hyung what the fuck”

Yoongi started playing with a stress ball you had given him the day before after all introductions and tours were said and done, and now of course, after texting in the groupchat at night, both Namjoon and Seokjin wanted to hear all about what Jin named– very proudly– the deal-do “What could be worse than dildos?”

“Strap ons?”

Seokjin placed a hand on Yoongi’s back and sighed, already knowing the answer yet forcing himself to ask “Did you even read the papers you signed? The product lines of your company?”

“Oh”

“So you’re not going to keep the whole Min Yoongi doesn’t bottom facade any more?” Namjoon asked, knowing that although it was quite fun to watch the whole scenario unfold, his friend was the one going through it all

“I don’t bottom, that’s a fact”

“Hello boys, having fun on company time?” you crossed the door to his office the way you did the day before, dropping on top of his desk a stack of documents, only now noticing a new face on the couch, turning to greet him as he does the same before standing up, signalling Yoongi’s other friend, Namjoon to do the same.

“Well Yoongi-ah, this has been nice and all but it looks like you’ve got work to do” although he was trying to keep a straight face, the snickering of both men could be heard as they left the room. Yoongi really has to tell them that the walls are paper thin.

“So…”

“So…”

“Was the whole deal thing a thing? or should I just pretend it never happened and get stuck on reviewing whatever papers I’m supposed to review?” A short laugh escaped your lips as you looked at him, still kinda awkward about the whole ordeal.

“Oh it is a thing” you grabbed one of the folders on top of the stack, pressing the paper against him “We like to be very particular on our quality”

His eyes travelled along his feet for a few seconds, no word spoken about it.

“Yoongi, you do know you can say no right?” it was something you should have addressed way earlier, knowing beforehand that the work ethics around branched out into almost non existent territory, and the man was fresh out of a big family outcasting, getting thrown back in it to take over the least coordinated side of the enterprise “Look, I won’t lie, there’s a lot of talk going around, but you seem like a nice man, and I find you very attractive, you came in here as the boss and I was trying to get you entertained with the whole dildo factory idea, I know it must have been tough being designated here, especially since we tend to be...a little too much to handle, so just know that you can opt out of this one, I can just get Jungkook and his girlfriend to try these ones out, as they always have”

“That’s- that’s a lot to process”

“Then take your time and let me know okay? just thought you could have a nice laugh at the whole situation”

It took Yoongi three days and a half to get back to you on the offer, three days and a half in which, although he wouldn’t admit to it, you had wormed your way into his heart, having you deliver documents each morning, bantering along with his friends before you had to go back to whatever it is that you did around the company. You had also started to smile more at Yoongi’s antiques as he slowly but surely made himself more comfortable around the company, handling small white collar tasks and getting less squeamish at every prototype Jungkook or Hoseok handed him without previous notice.

“You really invited me to dinner beforehand” Along with the responsibilities of being a head of management, came work trips, which were initially a you thing until Yoongi came along and now had to take responsibility as well, so naturally you had suggested to him–after a lot of rain checks on your deal– that this work trip would be perfect for you two to give the new toys a try.

“I’m a true gentleman, Y/N I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Min Yoongi you’re about to absolutely ravage me after this”

“Y/N” his cheeks coloured a pretty pink as he tried to stifle a giggle by taking a sip out of his wine.

Even though it was hard to tell from first glance just what type of lifestyle Yoongi was accustomed to, it certainly became very visible as he navigated effortlessly through the menu with all the french names on it, swiftly ordering for both of you and being delighted at your reactions when the hors d'oeuvre came out, a soft smile on his face the whole time. Whether it was the soft buzz of two cups of red wine over dinner or having the chance of relaxing after a particularly busy week, it made you start gravitating towards Yoongi more than usual. It really was no secret that you found him attractive–you had even told the man yourself. And although you two had somewhat friendzoned each other, the awkward glances, blushing smiles and lingering touches certainly held more than what any of you two could express after barely a month of knowing each other.

Getting Yoongi to your hotel room was the easiest part, a faint blush on the apples of his cheeks as he gazed longingly at your held hands while you dragged him along after leaving the elevator. The kiss was unexpected but certainly welcomed, the way that Yoongi– the man that you had come to know for always being adamant on trying new things– looked so out of his element yet was willing to give it a try instead of running away like many times you had seen him do at work. The kiss was brief, a bit shy and probably out of all the built up tension in the room, your heart swelling at the gesture before you leaned in and captured his lips once more.

“Well this is certainly the first time someone has dined me, wined me and courted me before fucking me into next week”

A laugh escapes his lips, nothing like before, his eyes turning something dark within them as he lowers his voice and his fingers play with the strap on your shoulder, letting it fall down before his lips latch on the base of your jaw “Well what type of assholes have you let fuck you into next week”

A breathy moan escapes your lips as his mouth travels down your jaw to your clavicule, pressing you against him where you could feel his cock hardening, your hand coming down to trace the clothed length as he sharply breathes in “You know, maybe if you end up being good with the toys I’ll let you fuck me with this instead”

He groans loudly, head hitting the wall as you grip him inside his pants “Just fucking give me the dildos already so we can get on with it”

You both move to the bed, losing your dress in the way and positioning yourself nicely as you take out the box engraved with the company’s name on it before he trails behind you, feeling his cock twitch at the image he was greeted by, legs spread open, head against the pillows as your right hand leisurely strokes your already wet folds for him to see.

Yoongi tries his best to take deep breaths as he takes a look into the box, not recognising most of its contents “You really gotta walk me through these”

He can hear you laugh the way you always did when you noticed him being awkward in the slightest at work “Look, I’ll get the part going okay?” your hand stopped stroking your folds, fingers coming up to your mouth, licking them clean before going to grab a small bullet vibrator from the box– a classic you had become well acquainted with during your time working at the company.

The small object comes to life with a practiced twist on its body, buzzing against the air a few seconds before tracing the tip all over your folds before settling it on your clit, a gasped moan escaping your lips as you blindly fetch the glass dildo inside the box, cold surface sending a thrill down your spine as you slowly begin to insert it messily from being focused on not loosening your grip on the small vibrator. Warm hands remove your own from the clear object as you feel warm breath against your exposed skin, the tip of Yoongi’s tongue circling around your right nipple, capturing it between his teeth as he brings the tip of the glass penis inside and out of your cunt playfully a few times before deciding to bottom it out, earning a moan from you. Pumping the dildo a few times, his weight is suddenly shifted from the bed, movements halting and you prop yourself onto your elbows just to throw your head back in pleasure as you feel Yoongi’s mouth on your cunt, tongue lapping up your juices before he inserted the dildo once again, lewd sounds taking over the small room as he continues to fuck you and eat you out at the same time, you feel your thighs start shaking when he stops his movements, smirking at your surprised face, gaze fixated on you as he takes out both a set of ben wa balls and a rabbit vibrator, prompting yourself to explain both of the toys when he cuts your off “Oh I do recognise these two from the lab”

He quickly turns the rabbit vibrator on, wasting no time in fucking you with it as deep as its second vibrating tip allowed him to, the design effectively sending a wave of pleasure against your already worked up clit. Yoongi positions himself comfortably on your side, still fully clothed, hand at a slightly awkward angle so that he can reach down all while having open access to nibble at your skin, having you gasping and moaning under him

“Y-Yoongi I-!’m-” he throws a wink your way as you clench around nothing, impending orgasm long gone “You fucker”

He’s about to pick up the ben wa balls placed carelessly on the bed when he discards them in favour of a small silicone gadget that catches his eye “You were very much eager to try all of these tho” turning to you, all red faced and fucked out “What is this?”

You have half a mind to answer him “It’s a finger vibrator you just place it on your fingers like a glove”

There’s a brief glint in his eyes before he lowers himself again on the floor, easily manhandling you so that he had full access to your already dripping cunt, leveled to his face, cleaning you up with his hot tongue before he experimentally inserts his fingers inside you, vibrations making you instinctevely try and close your legs, to which he only chuckles and playfully bites the inside of your thigh. He quickly starts scissoring his fingers, gentle nibbles to your clit scattered between pumps, working you towards your previously cut short orgasm at a fast speed, walls clenching around his fingers as he separates himself from your core in favour of replacing his tongue for a mechanical sucking motion that you don’t even need to look down to know that he had reached for yet another toy inside the box “Yoongi- oh God- Yoongi p-please I’m-”

You moan loudly, pretty sure that if the rooms in your vicinity were occupied, they were most likely already filing a noise complaint, as you feel your whole body spasming by the force of your orgasm, feeling wetness around yourself, out of the corner of your eye you can see Yoongi smirking at you, the upper part of his sleeves wet from working you until you squirted on him. You can’t even begin to process the situation or really come down from your high as you feel Yoongi’s fingers carefully inserting what could only be the last toy. Your cunt seems to gape before clenching yet again as he works each of the rounded toys inside you, a mix of feeling too much yet not enough, dabbing between pleasure and feeling uncomfortable from the overstimulation taking over you for as long as Yoongi took his time inserting them all “God I can’t wait to see if you’d take my cock as well as you take these balls Y/N”

You’re about to respond with something snarky when he starts to slowly pull at the string of the toy, the ben wa balls coming out one by one, stretching you deliciously, a moan escaping your lips before Yoongi proceeds to start the ritual all over again. A sensation in your lower tummy aching for your climax buildup again and you could already tell it was going to be a long night.

Falling back into a comfortable, bantering routine was easy enough, if anything, that fated sleepless night followed by small giggles from Yoongi everytime you shifted uncomfortably on your seat at the meeting the next day, served the purpose of shifting your relationship towards a more relaxed sexual tension between the two, instead of the awkward one from before, lewd jokes thrown around as well as shameless flirting around the office when you thought no one was watching.

“Look what Jungkook just came up with” you said as you barged into his office a Monday morning, Yoongi almost choked on his coffee as you threw the artifact his way

“And I seriously hope this is a you thing”

You rolled your eyes at him, a smile stretching on your face as the sweet idea of revenge took over your thoughts “It’s an us thing”

His eyes seemed to want to escape their sockets at that “You gotta take me for dinner before you even plan on using that on me”

“Tell you what, I’ll feed you afterwards”

“Deal”

The office usually went quiet and lonely at around a quarter to seven, people from all sectors filtering out after a day’s worth of work, with you being the only human left on the building afterwards, that is, until Yoongi started working there, the man tended to stay for even longer than you did, the lights inside his office filtering to the otherwise dark place. You knock three times on the wooden door before entering Yoongi’s office, finding him hunched over his desk, some document open on his desk as he stares intently at it. You make your way towards him, hands kneading his shoulders to relieve tension, a pleasured groan escaping his lips as your lips bite teasingly his earlobe.

“The ever so romantic Y/N about to fuck me in my own office”

Your hands travel down to the expanse of his chest until they reach his belt, where you struggle a bit to get it undone. “I really just couldn’t wait any longer, could you blame me?”

Yoongi is quick to capture your mouth with his in a heated yet chaste kiss. He rolls his chair out of its original position to allow you to place yourself in between his legs, hips coming up just a few inches to allow you to bring his suit pants down to his ankles, half hard cock twitching in the cool air, your hand wrapping around it and pumping it a few times, to which Yoongi groans loudly, head thrown back as you lick a strip all the way from the base to the tip.

“Oh god Y/N” he can almost feel himself twitch in pleasure as he gazes down just in time to watch you slip him insid eyour mouth, lips wrapped prettily around him as you bob your head a few times before taking him out and giving his tip a few kitten licks “Oh-Oh I swear to fucking god you’ll be the death of me”

You take more of his length in your mouth, ravishing in the way that Yoongi responds, hand coming down to rest on your head, guiding you, yet not forcefully enough as you take a small set of rings from your bag laying around as soon as you feel him tense. You expertly maneuver the toy so that it is wrapped around his cock, him looking down and shivering at the cold metal touching him, constricting his cock to stand proudly as you move to straddle him, moving around a little so that his exposed cock grazes your clothed core under your skirt “I think you should stand up for me”

Yoongi does as he is told, not a word coming out of his mouth as he braces himself against his desk, one of your hands works on his cock as the other one comes down to his asshole, surprised enough to come across a bejewelled toy nestled inside it. You experimentally tug at it, Yoongi hanging his head low with a moan before you tease him a little with it, repeating the motion “So you prepped yourself for me”

He inhales sharply at your ongoing movements, biting down on his lips to keep a much louder noise from coming out “Shut up”

“No I think it's hot" you finally take the plug out, taking a few too many seconds to place the strap on you had thrown his way earlier on before moving to squirt some lube on it as well as on Yoongi’s hole before you tease it with the tip of the dildo, a broken moan coming from Yoongi’s mouth at the feeling, although it had been years– and he really wasn’t about to admit he was looking forward to having you fuck him ever since that sleepless night at your hotel room.

Your hips meet his in a faint and comfortable rhythm, Yoongi clutches his fists tighter every time you graze his prostate, cock leaking in front of him as he feels his orgasm building at a rapid pace before you completely remove yourself from him, bending down to put his pants in place, hand fumbling with the zipper so as to have his still ringed up cock standing still through the pants, forcing him onto his chair as you smile wickedly at him, a small set of electrodes being placed along his length, thin cables leading up to a small device you held in between your fingers.

He gasps as soon as he feels the electrodes vibrating against his cock, his faded climax coming back tenfold, something between a groan and a moan coming out from the back of his throat as you refrain yourself to just continue to watch him curiously “Look at you, such a pretty baby”

Yoongi’s moans keep getting louder by the second as you increase the level on the toy, and you certainly have to thank the universe for the whole office building being completely empty as you clearly see his cock twitch a few times before he cums all over his pants, Yoongi’s breath is ragged as his cock is unable to go soft, discomfort blending into pleasure once again as you keep the toy on for good measure, until you see his eyes watering, to which you hastily make your way to him, as he almost dissolves against the chair.

“It’s- it��s fine, I’ll clean myself” his voice is raspy and kind of quiet as you make sure to clean him the best that you could after removing the toys and running to his private bathroom for some towels.

“Yoongi, I’m not about to leave you after splitting your ass open and overstimulating you into oblivion, you’re not even sitting properly”

He makes a go at inhaling sharply before coming to fix himself on the chair “No it’s okay, I’ve had worse”

“Yoongi” you chastise, fixing him a glare

“Summer 2013”

You chuckle at that–the very much recurring inside joke of his. “What even happened in summer 2013?” He barely opens his eyes just to send an irritated glare your way “Yeah Yeah, we don’t talk about summer 2013”

Carefully selected dates under the pretense of trying out whatever new gadget Jungkook and Hoseok came up with during the month soon turned into weekly meetups, meetups turned into staying the night that soon enough turned things as official as they could be– if Human Resources were the ones asking, Yoongi and you were just really great friends, end of the story. Out of all the ways that Yoongi had initially thought this scenario could play out, it certainly wasn’t this one.

“I’ll see you at home once the meeting is over then?” you say after placing a kiss on Yoongi’s adorable pouty lips, gathering your documents and thoughts for the meeting you were supposed to already be at. He nods right as your knees buckle, feeling the small device inside you pick up in speed, turning to the culprit only to find him smirking at you “Yoongi”

“Love you!” the little shit is quick to pretend like he hadn’t done a thing, eyes quickly fixated on whatever that was showing up on his screen as he watched you leave his office. Guess you’ll just have to get revenge on that one.

[obstinaterixatrix]

if this is boring as hell you dont have to answer it but if you want to. I'm trying to apply to jobs as someone who has never done that before and all the advice i see online contradicts the things i read 15 minutes before. tl;dr are cover letters still a thing and also can i actually put an interests section on my resume and have 'breakfast' be one of the things it says and not get blacklisted by the recruiter reading it

I’m in a pretty specific field so I don’t think my experience would be much help unless we talked more in-depth (idr if I turned off messages but if you’re willing to come off anon I think I can shoot you one).

1) cover letters are a thing in my field, and so is following up to check if it was received

2) interests are super dicey imo, if you’re applying to somewhere that has that kind of atmosphere it can be appropriate but I’d imagine it *really* depends. e.g. a more artistic place would probably find value in your various experiences beyond Standard Resume, somewhere super corporate will probably want ‘higher-value’ interests that could be related to the workforce. Don’t put ‘breakfast’ unless you’re aiming for a Fun And Quirky™️ workplace and even then you gotta make the rest of the resume strong enough to make up for if the joke doesn’t land, I’d assume

3) when applying for larger places the reason people say to use wording from the job recruitment information is because there’s an initial more automated process and *then* the more human process (unless it changed recently or unless my info’s always been wrong)—so something automated might discard resumes based on information or like… the use of keywords might give priority to the resumes that match what the algorithm is trained to look for (BUT again, I might be completely wrong about that). It’s important to remember that a human is reading your resume, and that human is probably reading a bunch of other resumes as well, which is one of the reasons it’s suggested to use clear and concise language.

4) I have a job reference tag with info that might be useful, but you might have to dig a little to find specific info about resumes/cover letters/job searching

[honeydew-mel0n]

Comfort.

The reader gets attacked outside of their workplace. Fearing that the person who did will follow her home, she goes to the only place where she knows she'll be safe. Dantes trailer.

Reboot! Dante x reader

Capitalism sucks.

Especially when you have to work a 10 hour shift at a very popular store, full of cheaply made over priced lingerie and ugly fast fashion. Because of the continence of the store you work in, the customers arent that hard to deal with. Teen girls and middle aged moms, and of course the occasional Karen. All shit you can deal with.

However, on days like this, you get the creeps. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to buy something or leave." You say, trying to stay calm. He'd been at the register talking to you for the past 20 minutes, and had taken to ogling your tits. "Actually I don't, if I'm such a problem. Give me your number, and I'll leave." He flashes you a- I'd say toothy smile , but there were so many rotten and missing that it would probably be cruel.

"I uh, I can't." You look around for any of your coworkers, now all somewhere out of sight. "I'm not allowed to when I'm clocked in." That was a total lie, but he wouldnt take a normal. 'Fuck off old man.' Just as irritation begins to show on his face you spot a head of blond hair headed to the register. Relief sweaps through your body.

He walks behind the other cash register, then spots the man. Standing at checkout, with nothing to check out. Your eyes lock and he sees the fear immediately. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?" The man chortles. "Yes, actually, I'd like to speak with a manager about your awful employee."

Instant joy spreads through your body. Your boss lifts the little card around his neck, showing off the big red letters spelling 'Manager.' "You are, so do you want to tell me why you've been standing here for almost 30 minutes and bothering one of my girls?"

___

You slide on your jacket, laughing along with your coworkers. All deciding to poke fun at the bastard who wouldnt leave you alone. "Thanks again Kyle, but I gotta go. See you tomorrow!" You wave at your boss before heading out of the store and into the the main walkways of the mall. You wave at the janitor before pushing out into the parking lot.

The lot was almost barren, only the employee cars. Dispite this, the large lot made it hard to find anything. You'd be struggling to find your own car if it weren't for the 'I ❤ hot moms' bumper sticker. You squat and look under the car, hoping there isnt anyone going to cut your Achilles tendon. Then you look through the back window.

Big mistake.

A hand comes to the back of your head, slamming your head against the glass. He grabs onto your shirt, pulling you down onto the ground. You scream and try to fight him, eyes hazy from the impact. You kick at his legs, but for a geezer he can sure take a hit. You hear people run over and panic more.

'Shit, am I gonna be trafficked!?'

You're lifted off the ground and someone pulls the man away. "Are you okay? Crap, you're bleeding." It wasnt someone you knew, but it was probably someone who worked in another store. You take a deep breath and lean on your car. The man running off. "Mother fucker..." you mumble.

_________

A cigarette sits burning in an ash tray, because currently the only thing on his lips was a bottle of cheap beer. Tuesday nights suck, clubs are dead and the dancers are just trying to get their jobs done. So he was alone. Dante eyes the cigarette, before getting distracted by the knock on the trailer door.

He sets the beer bottle down, rolling his eyes. Wonder which fucker it is this time? "Look man, I havent done anything tonight. Can ya just get of my-" he opens the door and is greeted by a familiar face. You look down, bleary eyed and sigh. "I'm sorry, I just didnt know if he followed me and I didnt want to go home if he was. I didnt want to... die."

"What. Happened."

You told him everything, sitting on that smoke scented couch as he cleans the blood from your face and neck. You told him you could do it but he didnt listen, guess its paying back his dues. Seeing as how you'd spent your teen years doing the same thing for him.

Eventually he'd found himself pacing around the trailer. Irritated and running his hands through his deep brown hair.

"What did he look like?" He says, looking around for Ebony and Ivory. You've had to bail him out of jail before, you dont want to have to do that for murder. "Dante, no. There's a thousand old men who look exactly like him in Limbo alone!" "Then I'll take out all of them!"

You flinch at his raised voice, all of his irritation faids away. He quickly takes his seat on the couch. "Shit, I'm sorry." He goes to pull you into a hug, and you practically throw yourself at him. Burying your face into his chest, you begin to shake as you hold in tears. You don't want to cry. You cant cry.

His hand comes to the back of your head, smoothing down the hair as you shake. It's kinda funny how you're the only one who gets to see this side of him. "I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you, got it?" You nod and bury your face further, taking in the sent of musk and cigarettes.

"Good."

[faunusrights]

yeah, all i got is this belly button lint: a happy huntresses short fic

wrote this real quick because i love thinking about the random crap fiona has in her Inventory(tm). also i just like thinking about these clowns in general, so,

=

"Okay, so, what's actually in your Semblance right now?" Joanna asks one day in third year, when Fiona and May have sneaked away to Robyn's dorm to lose at cards and help edit her new batch of flyers promoting union creation in the workplace. Fiona had given a couple a look and accepted them as good enough, but May is weirdly exacting about her standards and is currently trying to convince Robyn to nudge the text headers over by ten pixels to the right. That's why, as she's sat on the floor and wrapped up in the drama of watching Robyn try and slowly fail to ignore May's insistent pleas for her to boot up her editor, Fiona's caught just a little bit off-guard by the question.

"My Semblance?" she asks, and Joanna nods all serious-like from her place on the bunk above Robyn. Joanna often looks very serious, because she suffers from what Robyn calls resting thoughtful bitch face, so sometimes it's hard to gauge how actually serious about something she really is. "I mean, it's probably a mess in there right now."

"I keep forgetting you actually use it like storage space," Robyn adds cheerfully, having now progressed onto shoving May away from her laptop computer every time she tries to creep closer. "Since most Semblances are, y'know, combat-only things or like... special occasions, I guess. And yet here you are, telling people you really don't need a bag for all your groceries!"

It is fun to flex on all the people struggling to carry like six bags to their car or their home, and Fiona preens. "Yeah, it's nice. I mostly keep things in it that I'd wanna have in an emergency, but it's been a while since I last sorted through it, so, who knows what garbage I've put in there."

"Tell me Robyn's braincell is in there too," May says imploringly, still trying to slide an arm around Robyn to get at the keyboard, but Fiona just shakes her head. She can't and won't be blamed for that particular disappearance any time soon. Instead, she rubs her hands together, scrunching up her face as she tests the edges of the Semblance. It's a funny thing, a Semblance like this--she never really has to think about it, but it's always just in reach, like this extra weight in her chest that she can totally forget about. It's strange to think about, so she often just doesn't.

"Okay," she starts, and she goes for the biggest item she can sense, which is an easy one to explain. In her hands materialises an acoustic guitar, worn and scuffed with age, and this attracts to attention of every girl in the room. "Well, this one's easy. This is my guitar, and honestly? If I ever leave it behind in the meatspace and don't pick it up on my way out the door, know that you've just seen my evil clone and you have to kill her."

Joanna blinks, and Robyn seems caught between asking about the guitar, the evil clone, and also the fact that Fiona insists on referring to the physical world as the meatspace. So, she does as Robyn does best, and settles on an expletive. "Shit! You play?"

"Been playing since I was... like seven? Something like that." Fiona shrugs, because she really can't be sure; her first vague memory of even seeing this guitar was a long time ago, her uncle telling her it used to belong to her grandmother who'd never managed to learn a damn thing on it. So, Fiona had taken up practice, if only because it was something for a little lowlands Mantellian Faunus to do during the long, cold polar nights and the endless sunshine of the midnight sun. "But, yeah, this is always on me in some form or another."

"You should've played it whilst we were on watch our last mission," May says, with a certain scowl that Fiona knows is 100% directed at their team leader, who is currently off doing... some sort of bullshit with their partner, no doubt. Gods, this team is a nightmare. "All those hours trying to stay awake so we could stare into nothing..."

"Sorry," Fiona says, and she means it. She'd intended to, but, well, she'd sort of chickened out. The echo in the mountains is kind of insane. "Next time?"

May nods, but Joanna cuts off whatever she's about to say next by waving her hands through the air like she can physically dissipate the conversation. "Okay, okay, cool, but now I gotta else you got hiding in there."

Re-compressing her guitar--and oh, is Fiona thankful that dematerialising and rematerialising it doesn't leave it out of tune--Fiona has a mental root around. "Uh, okay, so, we've got--"

In no particular order, she starts pulling things out: a pair of thick gloves for the brutal Solitas chill, an extra pair of socks (hugely understated by most, but never by Fiona), a ushanka that Robyn instantly cheers for, and a couple of jackets ranging from light windbreakers to thick furred jackets that feel like she's wearing a mattress around her ribs. Her Scroll and wallet are in there too, naturally, as are her keys and some extra ammunition, and she pulls out a load of old train tickets with a grimace. "Hm. I was meant to throw these away years ago."

"You're basically carrying around a wardrobe in there, then?" May asks in a way that'd maybe be a little teasing if she didn't look about as jealous as she sounds, but it becomes a thoughtful expression when Fiona shakes her head again.

"Bold of you to think I haven't got a whole pantry in here too," she says, and now Joanna looks very interested. "Check this out."

The first thing she pulls out is a gallon jug of clean water--endlessly fucking useful, she's found, especially when you're in some situation where you can't sit on your ass for an hour waiting for the water purification tablets to do their job--before pulling out a whole host of Atlesian MREs that she keeps around just in case shit really does hit the fan. Atlas rations are... not good, in a phrase, but she's owed them her life more than once, so, whatever.

"What dates are on those?" May quickly interrupts with a critical eye, trying to make out the printed numbers on the snow-patterned packets, and Fiona tosses her one if only to distract May's hands from trying to puzzle out Robyn's password when Robyn isn't directly paying attention.

"Things don't really degrade in my Semblance," Fiona admits. "I've tested it before on stuff with a short shelf-life, like cheese and milk, and honestly I can leave it in there for months and have it come out just as fresh as when it went in. Something to do with a sort of... internal stasis, I guess." Then, she adds, "One thing in my Semblance is a goldfish in a bowl, but he's part of a practical theory I'm running, so I can't materialise him for another fifteen years or so."

"That sounds very normal," Joanna says, and Fiona is glad she agrees as she barrels right over the inherent sarcasm.

As May agonises over finding the date, though, Fiona continues to unveil her pantry--there's plenty of snacks, like dried fruit and nuts and energy bars and chocolate, and when she reveals she carries extra for every member of her team and then some (then some in this instance being Robyn and Joanna, not that she'll admit it), Robyn looks delighted. "That's so sweet! Look at you, making sure nobody goes hungry. You're one in a million."

That's cute and very gay, but Fiona has a lot of stuff to be working through and so she keeps on going--there's a flask of coffee that, thanks to the maybe-stasis, is eternally hot, a bottle of dark Mantellian ale she keeps as, uh, moral support, and she blushes when she pulls out half an uneaten tuna sandwich. "I wondered where that went. Whoops."

May looks up from the MRE for a second, and then does a double-take as she takes in the sight of the very limp and sad-looking sandwich, made courtesy of the Atlas Academy cafeteria. "Wait! Isn't that the sandwich you accused me of stealing last month?!"

"Anyway!" Fiona says with a forced grin, quickly making it disappear back into the void where it can safely continue not existing. "I think the final thing in here is... wait."

She blinks, and suddenly in her hands are at least a hundred little booklets entitled The Pocket Guide to Communist Outreach, scattering right over the floor. Robyn yelps, and then reaches down the side of her bunk to pick them up. "Oh shit! I forgot I asked you to hold onto these! I thought we ran out, nice."

Joanna's face is in her hands, and May sighs long and hard before tossing the MRE back to Fiona with a distinctly pained expression.

"It goes out of date in a month," she notes with distaste, and Fiona just sucks it up without a word. She'll be thankful for it when they end up down a dark cave with no backup, but Fiona figures she'll sit on that one for a bit before being able to make the greatest told you so call in history. She can wait.

"So," she says, watching as May takes advantage of Robyn's momentary distraction to try and access her computer again. "I guess... do you wanna hear me play a song?"

Joanna watches as her partner leans too far over the side of the bunk, yelping as she nearly slams her head directly into the hard vinyl of the floor, and she grimaces. "Please do."

Grinning, Fiona finds her guitar again--somewhere buried, she mentally notes, beside the gallon of water but under the coats--and she slings the broad strap about her shoulders before settling it on her lap, crossing her legs tightly beneath herself before finding her place on the fretboard. After having not played since being back home, it relaxes her more than she'd ever realised it did. It helps to be surrounded by friends, though. Helps to be with family.

"I don't take requests," she adds, flatly, and Robyn laughs from her place on the floor before music fills the dorm, soft and deep and achingly familiar of a place far, far below.

But she's okay with calling this place home, too.

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

A goddamn blaze in the dark

The first time Emily sees Sue, the first thing she does is drop a cup of steaming hot coffee onto the floor, slip on it and land flat on her back behind the counter. And then she thinks — Oh. Found you.

To be fair, even without the pesky niggling at the back of her head, very helpfully pointing out that this was the girl, her soulmate, the love of her life, her forever and beyond, the sight of Sue would have knocked her down anyways. What else are you supposed to do when a pretty girl, dressed in tweed, with her hair tied up in a braid, walks into the coffee shop where you work with that smile on her face? That damned smile that doesn’t ask you so as much as inform you that you’re going to be haunted by it in your dreams tonight? With 10 am sunlight filtering in through the sides, casting half of her features in sharp, glorious light, Emily might as well have just signed away her breath for eternity.

Lavinia bends, looks her right in her eye from above her. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

She wants to open her mouth to say something along the lines of – It's her! It’s her! What comes out, however is a garbled groan.

“Emily, buddy,” Austin rollerblades over to her, bends over her from the other side. “You gotta get up before there are complaints of unprofessionalism in the workplace.”

“Oh, because you’re the pinnacle of workplace niceties, I assume,” Lavinia shoots him a contemptuous look. “Only last week, wasn’t it? Those two young ladies in here fighting over who you were going to take to the mixer—”

“Guys,” she manages, before Austin can respond with something equally snarky, or god forbid, lascivious. “Is anyone minding the counter?”

And for exactly thirty seconds, the amount of time it takes Austin to slide over and ask for the orders of the disgruntled customers, and before she stretches out her arm and lets herself get pulled up to her feet, she hears a sweet voice enquire if everything’s quite alright back there. Emily closes her eyes, breathes it in, and wishes, not for the first time that hour, that she had her notepad near her to scribble a snippet of a poem that is now rapidly forming in her head.

*****

It is only sometimes that Sue looks at Emily and thinks that if Emily were to say the word, she would get down on her knees and hand over the entire world to her. Most of the time what she is thinking is goddamn it, Emily.

That’s what is going through her head as they’re kicked out of the lecture of the old man droning on about volcanoes. She can hear Emily giggling from behind her, and though her heart’s beating loud — the result of embarrassment and pure adrenaline — the sound makes her want to turn around and regard the idiot making it. So she does.

They’re alone in the deserted staircase; all the students, she guesses, are probably in that abysmally monotonous lecture. Emily leans against the banister, bent over at the waist from the sheer force of her mirth, and Sue takes it all in — her laugh, her gentle hands clutching at the wooden surface, and those intense, sparkling eyes looking right into hers. The next Goddamn it, Emily isn’t exasperated. It stays right there in her throat, accompanied by other, tender platitudes she’s never been brave enough to let herself say.

You’re beautiful. You make me ache inside.

(At night, Emily would talk to her about pressure, an acute force that demands to be released within her, and unable to help herself, the words — I think I know what a volcano feels like — would bubble up from her lips. And when Emily moves against her, a writhing mass of soft, bundled up wanting, Sue thinks she understands Pompeii a lot better as well; understands being frozen in time, brought to your knees by the sheer majesty of beauty and violence.)

*****

Listen, Emily has never claimed to be an expert on love.

(Austin has, on several occasions. Sauntered into the café, placed his elbow on the counter, and grinned roguishly. “Emily,” he’d started, once. “You know what the”—

“Is it that time of the month again?” Lavinia, who had been mopping up the floor, drawled. “Too much time since your last breakup but not quite enough that you can start going out with another girl and still maintain that image of the soft, sensitive manchild you’ve carefully cultivated. So you’re stuck in that weird limbo of no dates to go on, and subsequently are here to bore us.”

He’d chucked a tissue in her direction, continued smoothly. “As I was saying, do you, my dear Emily know what girls like best?”

“My sunny disposition?” she’d asked.

“No,” he replied flatly. “What girls want is someone who is cool. Indifferent. Somebody who displays absolutely zero interest in them. In fact—”

“That is horseshit,” Lavinia cut in.

Emily faux-gasped, continued leaning the espresso machine.

“Don’t you listen to him, Em. Girls like sweet, sensitive people who express an interest in wanting to get to know them.”

“I am an expert on women.”

“I am a woman!”

Emily half-listened to the sound of their bickering, and wished that she were a cat)

She considers both approaches briefly as she faces the girl, wondering why time hasn’t at least done them the decency of slowing down. It’s only polite, isn’t it, for the universe to cooperate when two eternal lovers meet. Emily has no justification as to why the universe should be so invested in the meeting of her and this woman who she’d decided was her intended, except it just makes sense.

(Intended. The word feels like it bears the weight of a hundred years. Like a woman back in the 19th century was whispering it to another woman she was in love with, as they lay in bed playing with each other’s hands.)

(It fits. She doesn’t care to find out why)

The girl opens her mouth. Emily holds her breath.

“You’ve got foam in your hair.”

The words — “It makes them bounce” — are out of her mouth before she can think. And then she wishes she’d picked up another cup of coffee in her hand so she could drop it on her head again.  

Thankfully, the girl laughs. Rests both her elbows on the counter and assesses the menu above Emily’s head. Emily doesn’t mind the reprieve from eye-contact. There’s something about looking right at this.... angel, for lack of a better word, that makes breathing cumbersome. And yet there’s another part of her that wants to raise her arms above her head and bounce like a little child, all “Hey! Look at me! It’s me!”.

(It’s a very strange day)

“What would you recommend?”

“Me?” Emily startles a little. Turns back to the menu, then back to the girl. Blinks. “That depends on your name.”

“How does my coffee order depend on my name?” the girl sounds amused.

Emily shrugs. “Eh. It’s a process. Can’t give away all my secrets.”

There’s prolonged eye contact, again, before the answer comes. “Sue.”

It rings in her head. Sue. Sue. Sue. There’s no prettier word in the English language. Saying it over and over in her head feels like a prayer. She tells Sue to wait a moment, and then turns to make her a caramel freakshow, all the while acutely aware of eyes on her. Her clothes are drenched in coffee, and she’d picked out the most faded of her t-shirts to wear today. God only knows what she looks like from behind.

The drink is her very best effort, though. Topped with the best slices of fresh fruit, and she’s made the swirls on the cream topping extra carefully. “Coffee for,” she pauses, pushes at the glass gently till it’s on Sue’s side, “Sue.”

“Can I ask what’s in this.... concoction?”

“My hear—” Emily knows she’s turning red, and desperately look away. “Um, coffee?”

Sue fumbles in her bag, and she wrestles with the urge to say — “Nevermind, it’s on me!” — which would not be the wisest. Emily hates the idea of taking money from Sue, that too, for something as measly as a coffee. Probably because she knows that if Sue were only to ask once, she would make her coffee every day, unprompted.

(She cannot reiterate enough – It's a very strange day)

When Sue steps away, Emily feels loss. It’s an unusual nudge to her sternum, a tingle in her hands that wants her to call Sue back. Before she has the time to dwell on it too much, Sue does.

“Do I,” she starts, frowning a little “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Yes.  

Yes.

I can’t explain it but we know each other somehow, the same way artists know their muses, and flowers know their bees, and my hands know how to write poems — and maybe a hundred years ago you and I were neighboring trees in the woods, or two seeds in the same tangerine; I’m pretty sure my knowledge of your existence was probably coded in my blood.

“Do you?”  

Sue seems to consider that for a while before shaking her head, and then walking over to take a seat by the window.

(And if she catches Emily stealing a glance every five minutes, she’s nice enough to not mention it)

*****

The day of her wedding is the happiest day of her life so far, and yet, the wedding has very little to do with it.

It’s a tiny, foolish fact that this is the first smile she sees on Emily after Ben’s tragic death, and yet, it makes her feel unreasonably pleased with herself. If her life were split into days she could see and touch Emily, and dreary days — the former were made significantly better if Emily smiled in them. Not to be dramatic, but the sun shines better, the skies glow prettier, and the ground is a little easier to run on.

Emily points out somewhere in the middle of their frolicking, for back of a better word, in the woods, that her dress is getting ruined. And then flings a flower onto her face. Goddamn it, Emily, she says, and then is struck dumb by the sound of her loud, exuberant laugh.

(And even quieter still when she holds the magnifying glass over the tiny piece of paper Emily had handed her earlier, the words washing over her like some tidal wave, drowning her in emotions too terrifying to admit. I held her hand the tighter, she reads and she smiles; Still in her Eye, the Violets lie, she reads and punctuates with a deep breath and when she reaches the end, the Sue – Forevermore, she’s aware of an awful keening in her throat, of the sob waiting to make its way out. Emily, Emily, her heart sings, and she is sure it will never shut up again)

She thinks of Emily the whole time, through the vows and the subsequent cheers, as they make their way into the house; thinks of her when Austin holds her tight and tells her that he loves her. A quiet voice, the sound of her guilt crawls up from inside her to tell him that she loves him too. She may be his in name, but her heart isn’t hers to give away anymore.

*****

Seven. That’s how many days she steals glances at Sue in the library before they talk again.

Monday, 9 am: The librarian’s just gotten started with her morning coffee, which means that Emily can sneak her own breakfast past her bleary eyes without being detected. She gets the books that she wants off the shelf, makes her way to her usual chair at the very back of the room and settles in. Her bag gets hooked to her chair by the straps, the tiny diary, her faithful companion, finds a place beside the humongous book, and the coffee sits next to her breakfast burrito. After the entire process is done, she stretches her legs, leans back, looks up and freezes.

Sue is seated on a nearby desk, staring at her.

Emily looks away, on reflex. Her heartrate’s up, and her palms suddenly feel clammy. She takes a deep breath, takes in the floor, and tells herself she’s seeing things. Surely, there’s no way the girl of her dreams also goes to her college and it absolutely isn’t possible that she’s sitting in front of her, in the flesh. She readies herself, looks again.

Sue’s still looking at her, now amused as well.

Well. There go her studies.

Tuesday, 8:50 am: Her plan is foolproof. There is no way she will be caught off guard again. She will be first to the library this time, and she will be prepared when Sue walks in, ready to impress her with her overall charm and chill-ness. There will — not — be a repeat of yesterday when she’d spent the better part of two hours hyperventilating, stealing secret looks or straight up going red every time Sue caught her eye and smiled at her.

The librarian hasn’t even started eating yet. Her head’s resting on the desk, and her eyes are tiny slits, when Emily runs in, makes her way to her own seat. Sue’s seat is empty, thankfully.

(Emily totally does not punch the air in celebration, startling a few other sleepy students)

She stretches out her arms, places them behind her head and waits.

And then jumps about a feet in the air when a hand brushes her shoulder.

There are multiple things happening all at once — the gentle hand resting on her shoulder for a moment, a hand whose warmth she instinctively recognizes as being a familiar one, despite never having felt it before (she knows it’s her. There’s no other option. Nothing else could make the skin at the back of her neck prickle in anticipation), a faint, teasing whisper of “I thought we weren’t allowed to eat in here”, and the realization that her plan has woefully failed.

(Why, then, does she feel so happy about it?)

Sue passes by, turning back once to shoot her a quick grin, and then settles into her usual chair, opening the book already present on the desk in front of her.

Emily’s jaw stays on the floor. The state of her heart stays up in the air.

Wednesday, 9:00 am: Sue opens the note Emily’s just chucked her, reads it, and smirks.

Emily waits. It had been an impetuous decision to scribble “Waffle?” onto a scrap of paper she’d torn out of her notebook, when Sue had looked at her earlier, but it’s alright. These are matters of the heart, and matters of the heart require at least 25 percent an attitude of ‘Ah, fuck it’, another 25 percent of run-of-the-mill stupidity, and 45 percent the ability to laugh at your own shenanigans.

Oh, and about 6 percent bad math.

She catches the crumpled-up note that comes sailing through the air in return and opens it up. “I was taught not to accept food from strangers”, is written in beautiful cursive, along with a smiley face.

(A smiley face. A smiley face!)

Thursday, 9:10 am: She writes — “You know, I am named after one of the best American poets, and your name coincides with the name of her ultimate love and muse. Some would say we’ve known each other a long time” — and slides it over to Sue, heart in her throat.

Twenty seconds later, the sound of Sue’s clear laughter rings out in the otherwise quiet place, and Emily is so enchanted she nearly falls off her chair.

(She hands off half of the breakfast burrito to Sue when she passes by to grab another book, and Sue’s grateful smile just about makes her day)

Friday, 9:00 am: The book she usually grabs to pore over is already sitting on the desk in front of her usual chair. After Emily’s done waving hi to Sue, and has settled down, she notices the tiny flap of paper poking out of the first page. Tucked in the corner is a tiny note.

“As an English major, this is your game, isn’t it? Using words to impress people? :P”

It doesn’t take her long to compose a reply.  

“First of all, how dare you? Second, is it working?”

Sue covers her face with her hands when she opens it. Emily counts it as a win.

Saturday, 8:50 am: The poor boy who has been sitting in the next row all week finally loses it after they’ve exchanged their fifteenth et of notes for the day.

“Can you people, like, just text like the rest of us, for fuck’s sake?”

When the rest of the people surrounding them nod in agreement, Emily sinks into her chair, catches Sue’s equally embarrassed gaze from across the room, and resists the urge to laugh like an idiot.

Sunday, 10 am: The morning’s been hell.

Austin had been panicking about some test he had on Monday, and so she’d come in to help out at the café, early morning. Between quizzing him on his flashcards and making sure every customer had a full cup in front of them, Emily completely lost track of time until Lavinia dragged her apron off her.

“What?” she’d asked, bewildered.

The clock was pointed out to her.

(No, she does not leave an outline of her body behind when she dashes out of the café. There is, however, a mad moment when she’s pretty sure her legs are scrambling with her body still at rest. It is pretty comical nonetheless)

From the entrance she sees a couple of things on her desk, and is a little miffed. Clearly, somebody else has claimed this prime spot with a vantage point from where she could stare at the most interesting woman in the world all day. And yet, she approaches it, because the chair is empty.

The book catches her eye first. It’s a copy of Hope is the thing with feathers by her namesake, and it’s got a note with a familiar handwriting peeking out of the top. She reads, delighted, a haiku about fruit and tenderness that’s been scribbled on it. And then she gets to what’s lying next to the book — what seems to be a sandwich, wrapped carefully in foil. She touches it. It’s cold, as though it’s been waiting there a while.

The smile on her face is definitely a permanent fixture now, she decides, as she walks over to where Sue is sitting and pretending to not look over. Her heart’s tripping over with delight, with gratitude with something tender that she’s absolutely sure she hasn’t felt before. Hope is the thing with feathers, indeed and it is perched in her soul. She pulls out the chair next to hers, and sits down.

“Thank you,” she says, quietly, and swears to god she can hear the entire table go Fucking finally — before Sue shoots her a small smile.

*****

“Only you would show up at a party looking like a raccoon,” she tells Emily, exasperated.

(And enamored. And besotted. Emily makes an adorable raccoon)

“I’m not here for the party — I’m here for you,” Emily shoots back, defiant. “As long as I can still see, I wanna look at you.”

And oh, there it is. There’s the Emily she knows, saying words that slide into her chest as easily as their hands go together. Words are Emily’s deadliest weapons, and she wields them to inflict sheer havoc.

Isn’t that just it, though? Emily has no idea. No idea what it does to her to have her this close — with their foreheads pressed to each other’s, their noses a whisper away, with Emily surrounding her, taking every one of her senses and carving her name on them. Sue feels a hand on her hair, then on her cheek, and knows she’s this close to losing any bit of self-control she might have had.

She steps away, composes herself, and thinks, Shakespeare was right. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

*****

“You might as well have ditched us,” Lavinia grumps.

“What?” Emily blinks, momentarily distracted from whatever text she was in the middle of shooting off to Sue. “Oh.”

“Not cool, dude,” Austin chimes in from the other side. They’re smushed into the couch together, planted in front of the screen where some 80s movie is on. It’s a weekend, which means movie nights filled with chicken wings and some dreadful drink that Austin’s invented that he calls the Faustinator, because.... reasons, apparently. And Emily’s just now realizing that she has no idea what the movie even is because she’s spent most of her time texting Sue. “You’re texting your sweetheart lameass cringy shit.”

“How do you know what I’m texti— Austin, stop reading over my shoulder!”

(She conveniently ignores the sweetheart thing. It’s easier than the alternative, which would be to dwell too much on the possibility of Sue being her sweetheart, and Emily being Sue’s and oh — she can feel herself smiling again.)

“Believe me, it isn’t easy on me,” he snarks. “Two months of talking our heads off about Sue, Sue, Sue and free drinks for Sue, Sue, Sue and pining over—”

“It has not been that long!”

“Lavinia?” he asks.

“Two months, two weeks and four days,” Lavinia tells her, flatly. “That’s how long we’ve had to hear about how you know her and that you’re convinced she is the love of your life.”

“I do.... know her,” she trails off, uncertain. It’s one matter to think it and feel it, like she’s felt the absurd familiarity in her bones every time she hears Sue’s voice, or Sue touches her skin, and sets it on fire. Another matter entirely to set about explaining it. Plus, other, unrelated things, like how reading Emily Dickinson’s poems feel like a friendly little nudge someone’s giving her, an inside joke, or why sometimes she feels so, so much that she would burst if she didn’t write that very moment.

“She walks you to class most days from the library.”

“And she’s been coming to the café every other day, and listening to you rant about random things,” Austin chimes in.

“Didn’t she write Emily a couple of poems as well?”

“Hey, that’s,” she starts, pauses, smiles. “Yeah. I, uh, told her nobody had ever written me anything before, and she — she’s really sweet.”

“Honey,” Lavinia says, gently, “the woman’s in love with you.”

“Oh-kay!” Emily jumps up from the couch and announces her intention to get more popcorn. And the pokes her head out from around the corner, and asks, in the tiniest voice.

“Really?”

Two chips come flying in her direction, and then they can’t stop laughing.

*****

There’s a kind of truth in the life she lives when she’s alone; no one to defer to, no one to explain to why she doesn’t want children or why, even after a couple of months of a blissful wedlock with Amherst’s most eligible ex-bachelor, the smile slides off her face as easily as the fruit punch in her parties off the plates. And then there’s the second kind that has to be dragged out of her — with heaving breath and shaking hands and salt dripped out of her eyes. Honesty that scalds and tears up her inside as it makes its way out of her.

(It’s a particular bit of irony in the fact that Emily is both the cause, and the only one who ever gets to witness the fallout, of the second one)

“Emily, I love you.” she says, like Emily’s put her arms down her throat and is ripping the words out of her. “I love you, and, and I felt you in the library — because you’re always with me.”

There’s a moment of complete, utter silence, when she stares at Emily and Emily stares back at her and the space between them is filled with the distance of lies and fury — and then they crash together. It’s an impossible push and pull, and Sue feels, for the first time in weeks, this complete surrender, abandon of all inhibition. Love tastes like Emily, and it feels like drowning and sounds like the tiny noise Emily makes when they part, like she can’t stand to be away even a second longer. All of what she knows about love is Emily.

If Sue could write, this is what she’d put down on paper: the feel of Emily’s neck beneath her hand, the way she melts when Sue wraps an arm around her. This yearning to be closer, the hunger to consume and the reluctance towards stopping. She wants, so badly to do Emily the same honor of immortalizing her in the form of words — she deserves it. The world deserves to know how she felt about this.... miracle, this angel in her arms. More than anything else, Emily deserves to know how Sue feels about her.

She turns to her side, kisses Emily’s hand once, twice. “I will never let go of you again.”

*****

Life is an endless sea of pain.

“Emily, she’s just a girl,” Austin tells her, then immediately flinches as Lavinia whacks him on the head.

Emily wipes away the moisture from her face with the sleeve of her favorite oversized hoodie, sniffles, and sticks her spoon in the tub of ice-cream again.

“Not to pry,” Lavinia starts, hesitantly, “but we still have no idea what happened. You came running into my room a week ago and haven’t stopped crying since. I guess — I guess we just want to know what’s up.”

Emily sighs. “It’s Sue.”

Austin blinks at her. “Yeah I — I mean, we know that.”

She thinks back to Sunday morning when she’d come upon her favorite restaurant while out on a run. The sight of Sue, sitting there with some.... dude. It was a cozy booth, and the way the guy seemed to be smiling in Sue’s direction couldn’t be construed as anything but romantic.  

“A date?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re telling us this is because you thought Sue was on a date?”

What wasn’t clicking? “Sue was on a date. There were flowers on the table and everything.”

“And that’s why you haven’t been returning her calls or texts? And have expressly forbidden us to tell her where you are when she comes into the café, like, everyday?”

Emily shifts. “Yes?”

Lavinia whacks her on the head.  

“Ow,” Emily groans. “What’s with all the violence?”

“Oh, stop it, you big baby. Now,” she took a deep breath, and Emily knew instinctively a huge lecture was incoming, “let’s examine the facts, shall we?”

“Is there any point in refus—”

“No. So, you like this girl, and it seems like she likes you too. But you refuse to do anything about it, like, you know, maybe admitting it to her. Then, you come upon her having lunch with some random dude and you assume it’s a date, and then freak out about it and cut her off.”

“But I’m pretty sure it was a date!”

“Fine! Okay! It was a date! So what? You expect her to hang around waiting for you to get your shit together, what, forever? And what if she doesn’t like you, god, Emily! I—”

“Okay, okay, wait!” she cuts in, holds up a hand to gather her thoughts. “I — I get what you’re saying, okay? I really do.”

“I know I have no right to be angry. She doesn’t owe me anything — I just. I dunno. I thought we had something. But even if that wasn’t the case,” she scrambles to add, “I guess I’m just taking pre-emptive action. To not get hurt. I can’t stick around and watch her fall in love with someone else, okay? I just. I can’t.”

Austin pats her on the back, and she sinks into his arm. This, of all things, is true. There are a multitude of things in life she has had to bear, and that she has borne, but this — watching Sue slowly fall in love with someone else, would be unbearable.  

She has another spoonful of ice cream. “I’m being an asshole, aren’t I?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Lavinia agrees. “But give yourself a break — you’re in love. It turns everyone a little bonkers.”

“It’s fucked.”

“No!” Austin and Lavinia tell her, together, before Lavinia continues, “Listen, I think you should talk to Sue.”

“Pretty sure she hates me now.”

“If she does, then go and face it. Honestly, though, I think you owe it to her, and also to yourself, to explain your side of things.”

“I’d literally rather die.”

“Then go do your dying in the fucking library. It’s almost ten, anyways.”

*****

She can still feel Emily’s teeth on her collarbone, can still wrap an arm around herself and trace the marks Emily’s fingers have left on her, when Sue announces that she’s trying to write a poem.

Emily throws off the sheets from her body, and turns so their heads are close. Sue’s sitting at the end of the bed, wrapped in sheets herself, eyes closed. She opens them when Emily’s nose nudges against her cheek.

“You are?” she asks, hand already playing with Sue’s hair, and Sue nods. “What’s it about?”

Sue cannot stop herself rolling her eyes. “Guess.”

“Is it,” Emily asks, teasingly, “about me?”

“Maybe.”

There’s a delighted gasp from her paramour, and she can feel a small kiss pressed to her temple. “I want to read it.”

“Only when it’s done.”

“And when will it be done?”

She turns to look right at Emily now. “I’m not sure it ever will.”

When Emily kisses her — every time Emily kisses her, Sue adds a line to the poem in her head. She’s running out of words to express joy, passion and beauty, at this point.

“The romance of it all,” Emily remarks, pretending to swoon. “This way I will live on through your words as well, after I die.”

Sue frowns, feels her lips automatically pull down at the corners. “No talking about death.”

“But we will die, darling,” Emily explains, patiently. “I can only hope that I die first.”

“How — how dare you?” she asks, indignant. “I’m going to try my very best to be the one to go.”

(That one spurs an argument that goes on four rounds before either of the participants admit defeat)

“How about,” Emily starts, ponderously. “Whoever dies first comes back around the next time and finds the other?”

Sue can’t stop the smile. The thought is so whimsical, it drives their previous non-argument right out of her head.

“You think we’ll come back someday, years after our deaths?”

“Try and stop me,” Emily declares, fondly. “Susan Gilbert, I will always — always find you.”

Sue closes her eyes, feels Emily’s lips ghost over her cheek and tries to imagine the thought of the two of them, years from now, sitting side by side, hand in hand. Breathes deeply to stop the sudden onslaught of tears the image evokes.

“My foolish sweetheart,” she says, after she’s composed herself. “I love you.”

This is what she’ll put in words — Emily next to her, head tilted downwards, turned towards her. In about a minute, she’ll start complaining of the blood rushing to her brain, and Sue, exasperated, will tell her to sit straight. She’ll write about the light that falls on the edge of Emily’s nose, the one crooked tooth all the way in the corner, the tiny scar on her brow. About the way their hands lock into each other’s, how there’s a space on her neck made perfectly in the mould of Emily’s head — two girls, sitting next to each other, together into an eternity, and beyond.

*****

The first time Emily sees Sue after a week-long absence, she’s just run into the library and crashed into a nearby bench, thus bringing down a student, two books, and herself. She gets up almost immediately, sees Sue staring at the sight of her, wide-eyed, and thinks — Oh. Found you.

There’s an empty seat next to Sue, and on the desk lies an apple. Emily approaches her, and touches the back of her shoulder lightly.

“Can I sit here?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Sue answers, not looking at her. “Can you?”

Emily has to bite at her lip to keep in the wild laughter that threatens to erupt. It’s not just the quip, either. It’s Sue — seeing her after these many days of zero contact feels like a drug, and she breathes it in, greedily. She pulls the chair out, and sits down on it.

“So,” she starts, then trails off.

“So,” Sue mimics, not unkindly.

“It may have been brought to my attention that I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”

“Only a bit?” Sue raises an eyebrow, leans back where she’s sitting.

Well. “More than a bit,” she amends. “I’ve been an idiot. A dumbass. An utter fool. A rake. A rogue of the highest order.”

Sue tells her she agrees. Then — “You wanna tell me why?”

“I saw you and, um, some guy. On your date that day over at the Plantain Leaf?”

Sue stares. For the longest time. “You ghosted me for a week because you saw me out to lunch with a guy? Emily that is so—”

“I know!” she says, then gets shushed by the people sitting around them. She consciously lowers her voice when she speaks next. “I know, Sue. I was being an asshole, I just — felt complicated about.... things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah. Like — feelings. And stuff.”

She sees Sue stifle a smile, and feels a little bit of life come back into her hands.

“What about your feelings?”

“Well,” Emily says, pauses, then comes out with a masterpiece of an explanation, “I have them.”  

Then covers her face with her hands, because why? It hasn’t even been ten minutes, and she’s already started messing things up.

“I mean — I have feelings. For you.”

She chances a look up at Sue, after a minute of that incredibly earth-shattering revelation, and stays held in place by the intensity of her gaze. Sue’s eyes are soft, large, and Emily wants to do something stupid, like bury her face in her hands again.

“You do?” Sue asks her, in the tiniest voice possible. Like she can’t believe it. Like Emily has done an awful job of wearing her whole heart out on her sleeve the past couple of months.

“Yeah,” she replies, and finds her voice is equally tiny. “Good ones.” The kind that have me convinced we knew each other a couple decades ago, that I have heard your voice in my dreams all my life, that I’ve been waiting for you for turn a corner and walk into my life this whole while. And if not this time, I’ll wait a couple decades more for you to love me back. “And it’s okay if you’re dating that guy, I just — I thought you should know. That’s all.”

Sue lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m not dating Sam.”

Oh.

So turns out Emily had been holding her breath.

Ants are crawling all over her body. To combat them, Emily picks up the object nearest to her, which happens to be the apple.

“Is that for me?”

Sue nods. “You owe me the six sandwiches I got you this entire week,” she adds, teasingly.

Elation fills Emily until she imagines she’s probably floating a few inches above the ground, buoyed by this tiny admission of caring on Sue’s part. Whoever had said all those things about love had been right. It really was.... something different altogether.

“You’re telling me you sat here and read Emily Dickinson all week, waiting for a girl to show up?”

A light blush lights up Sue, and she leans forward a little bit. “Not just a girl,” she tells her, seriously. “I waited for Emily, who was named after this poet whose work I’ve really come to like. Emily, who I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with.”

Oh dear God.

They’re closer together now, their heads almost touching; Emily imagines them in a world of their own, separate from the rest of this library. She pretends to scoff.

“What? You don’t think a lot of Emily?”

“I think I can write better,” she declares.

“You think you can—” Sue starts, then lets out a laugh. “Emily, shut up.”

And then they’re suddenly kissing, and each and every cell in Emily gathers somewhere near her chest to rejoice together, every beat of her heart falls and arranges in the shape of a song, and time just kind of. Slows down. Pauses. Stops.

Emily thinks she knows what a volcano feels like, now. When she’ll go home, later, she’ll sit at her writing desk, pen down a poem about lovers and hands and two women sitting with their heads close together; maybe put in a fruit or two. And tiny pieces will come together in her head, just like the ones in her chest that crumble every time Sue looks at her.  

But right now, she closes her eyes, feels poetry on her lips, and it is good enough.

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Business AU - Working Late, Part 9

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

Let’s fuck things up a bit, shall we?

She woke up peacefully, the soft warmth of the early sun washing over her naked body tangled in the bedsheets. As she stretched her limbs, she found herself to be alone in bed, lazily reaching for her glasses on the nightstand nearby only so she could have a clearer view of her surroundings. Donnie was nowhere to be seen, Vee taking this moment to sit in bed, envelopping her form in the sheets and just think about last night's events. What would that make out of them? No real declarations of any sorts had been made, but the feelings were there and real, that she couldn't deny. Sure, it wasn't the first time she had slept with someone without any real attachment, but never had she felt that way with someone before... Donnie was a tender and very attentive man. She had that feeling that whatever he'd say or do, it must be true to him. She wanted to believe he would wish for them to be more... But for now she laid her expectations to rest and simply reveled in whatever was happening between them. She felt good. She felt appreciated. And, to be frank, the sex had been amazing.

She heard footsteps approaching the room, along a rolling sound. The mutant soon came in view, accompanied by a small trolley that held two plates with food, empty mugs and a pot of coffee. He was only wearing black boxer briefs and his glasses, his whole self a delectable sight. As he noticed that the woman was awake, he playfully struck a little pose while saying:

“Breakfast in bed for madame.”

That brought a soft giggle from Vee, though touched by this attention given to her. Instead of handing a plate, Donnie moved to sit by the woman's side in bed, unable to resist cupping one of her cheeks, his thumb tenderly brushing her skin. His eyes kept scanning her, his joy blooming at the mere sight of her smile.

“… Can't believe there's such a beautiful woman in my bed this morning,” he softly said.

“Can't believe such a sexy man is bringing me breakfast in bed,” replied Vee.

“I can bring more than that.”

Remnants of last night's emotions still brought some sparks in the air, Donnie's motion fluid and met halfway by Vee. It was sweet and slow, a kiss that felt like a dream. As it kept going, the terrapin started to shift his position and Vee's; soon the covers out of the way and Donnie's frame over the woman, forever careful not to be too much of a weight. They couldn't let go of one another, this morning's laziness bringing each motions to a tender point. As the terrapin was kissing at the woman's neck, she did add in a soft tone:

“What about breakfast? It's gonna get cold, just like the food last night...”

“I don't mind cooking another one later. … I'd cook one for you everyday even.”

That brought a hushed chuckle out of Vee, but deep down she was touched by that small confession. The simplicity and tenderness of this moment brought such ease in her.

“Donnie, I-...”

She stopped herself, knowing exactly what her heart wanted to say, but knowing now was not the time. Their gaze crossed, Donnie patient and Vee trying to find the right words to say next.

“... I’m so happy right now. Being with you feels so nice,” she ended.

“It does feel nice, indeed,” first replied the terrapin in a sweet tone. “... I could spend the rest of my life like this.”

Vee felt speechless, trying her best to read his emotions. He did sound sincere, but maybe it was this honeymoon type of feeling that was talking as well.... In any case, she prefered to kiss him in answer, knowing she did think the same as well. It was much preferable to live in this present moment, rather than worry in speculations.... At least, only for this morning.

***

That Monday morning was as grey and rainy as it could get, the usual omen for a bad day and week to come, but in Vee’s mind and heart, it was as sunny as it could ever be. Her work started with the usual routine; reviewing the projects for the day and then handing the paperwork. Her step around the office was light, humming some tunes to herself as she distributed the documents among her team.

“You look awfully happy for a Monday morning,” started one of her coworker’s voice, a guy.

That broke her stride, turning around to the source. She noticed a small handful of employees grouped together, probably discussing first amongst themselves until they saw their manager. Vee recognized the man who had spoken, already going through her papers as she walked towards the small group.

“I had a nice weekend, that’s all,” she answered, handing him the work.

“What, you buttered up the boss enough for you to get a raise?” said the other, reluctantly taking his due.

Vee instantly frowned: “... Excuse me?”

“We saw you leave with that Donatello, Friday evening,” added another coworker, a woman. “You’re not fooling anyone. It’s been quite some time that you both have been hanging together.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see how that’s any of your concerns,” said Vee. “We’re friends, I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

“Yah, sure, friends with benefits perhaps,” continued another person. “Soon you’ll benefit from a monetary gain while he benefits from your tits. Workplace logic.”

Vee was disgusted, knowing if she continued to argue, she’d make things worse: “I don’t know what’s wrong with you all, but you better mind your damn business.”

As she was walking away, she heard that last jab: “If I buy you a drink, will you give me a raise?” She did not stop, her step slightly getting faster instead. Her blood was boiling, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. At once, she wished she could simply disappear... Turning a corner, she abruptly bumped into someone, her remaining folders flying out of her hands and spilling to the floor. She felt strong hands hold her forearms, forbidding her to fall backward

“Woah there, easy. Are you alright?”

She met baby blue eyes surrounded by orange, quickly recognizing the presence as another one of her bosses: Michelangelo. She quickly nodded, trying to get a hold of her senses once more. Her eyes next scanned the floor, letting out a big sigh as she noticed the mess.

“Damn... I’m sorry,” she started. “I should’ve looked where I was going...”

“Nah, it’s fine,” smile the orange clad terrapin. “Next time I’ll be careful not to be on your war path!”

Both were already crouching down to pick up the fallen papers, Vee feeling so absent-minded by this meaningless task. All she wanted to do was to run away, to be quite frank. As Michelangelo handed her the last files, he did inquire again: “... You sure you’re alright?”

Vee faked a small smile, quick to dismiss his concern.

“Yes, I’m okay. No worries. Have a nice day, sir.”

As she got back on the move, her distress did not escape the mutant, although he did not try to push his questionning any further.

***

“What’s up, D, my man?”

Donnie paused his writing, glancing up towards his office’s entry. He saw Mikey standing there, the purple clad mutant huffing lightly as he then continued his task.

“I’m busy, Mikey.”

“You’re always busy, so any time to poke you is as good as any.”

The tall one rolled his eyes, although he did smile a little. He quickly gestured for his brother to come in.

“What’s up?” he asked as the other was taking a seat.

“Meh, I dunno man, just wanted to take some news from you,” shrugged Michelangelo. “You’ve been staying late a lot these days... How was your weekend?”

Donnie stopped writing once more, leaning back into his chair with a dreamy smile.

“It was hella nice.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“Spent some time with a beautiful lady.”

“There yooouu gooo!” lightly laughed the youngest. “T’was about time you’d get some fun. Who is she?”

“Slow down, I’ll present her to you soon enough. ... We’re just taking some time to ourselves first, you know...”

Mikey was disappointed by the lack of details, but he did respect his brother’s choice: “Fair enough.” A thought came back to him, suddenly adding: “Oh, speaking of meeting ladies, before I got in here I bumped into one. I dunno what’s going on in the office, but she did look kinda distressed. ... She’s got nice green hair though! We don’t see lots of people with different hairstyles around here.”

Donnie slightly jumped in his chair as he heard the mention of ‘distress’ and then ‘green hair’. It had to be Vee.

“Where is she?” he instantly asked.

Mikey was surprised by his brother’s reaction, vaguely gesturing a direction.

“I, uh, I have no idea. Somewhere around those parts we don’t really have a use for.”

She must’ve went to the drawing room... Donatello did not waste any second, already on his feet and heading out.

“Sorry gotta go,” he quickly excused himself. “Talk to you later.”

Mikey didn’t even have time to place a word, still seated as he watched the other dart straight to a precise direction. “Oooookay...”

***

It didn’t take long for Donnie to reach the room in question, already hearing some quiet sobs when he was close to the entrance. As soon as he stepped in, he found Vee at one corner, by a table, her glasses removed as she tried to forbid tears to ruin her makeup. The woman jumped as she saw the terrapin’s form appear in, trying her best to gain a better posture and make herself more presentable as she put back on her glasses.

“Shit! D-Donnie, I-”

The turtle was already on the move, soon next to her and certainly preoccupied.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing,” tried to brush away Vee. “I’m not- ... fuck, I don’t want you to see me cry.”

“Don’t worry. Tell me what happened,” he asked again, his touch gentle as his thumb dried some faint trails on the woman’s cheek.

“It’s nothing,” she repeated. “I just heard some stuff I didn’t want to, that’s all. I’ll stop my bullshit soon enough and get back to work.”

Donnie tsked, not wasting any second to get a hold of her hips, barely giving any effort as he slightly lifted her up to sit on the table. At least now he wouldn’t need to lean down too much, his hands resting at her sides, on the table, now their eyes at the same level.

“Talk to me.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze long enough, a sigh escaping her first. ... It would be preferable to touch the subject anyway, before any rumors would start flowing around.

“I had some employees on my team this morning saying some ... stuff about us.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that makes it look as if I’m hanging out with you only so I can get a promotion or something like that to advance my career,” she added, her tone slightly harsh. She paused, trying to calm herself down quickly: “... Look, before you say anything, I want you to know that it’s not true. I’m not some kind of business leech that’ll try to flirt her way up. I work hard and-and- I do an honest job, and-”

“Don’t worry, I believe you,” cut Donnie gently, trying to have her look at him again.

When their gazes met, she did feel some relief.

“I don’t give a damn what they say,” he continued. “They don’t have the full details anyway, so their judgement is invalid.”

“I hope they don’t get all the details, I’d prefer to keep most of them to myself,” added Vee with some amusement.

“Me too,” he smiled.

He tried, and succeeded, to lift her morale by giving a sweet kiss on her lips. Vee couldn’t help bringing him into an embrace afterward, her arms resting around his neck. She wanted to stay like this forever... His strong arms around her were so reassuring.

“Don’t mind them,” softly said Donnie as he was nuzzling her hair. “There’s always gonna be some assholes everywhere we go...  The best thing we can do is stand up to them and stay true to ourselves, okay?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to stand up to them today,” mumbled the woman against his scales.

“Alright, I’ll do it then.”

Vee instantly frowned, backing up a bit to give him a stern look.

“Don’t you dare! I don’t want anymore troubles.”

The terrapin chuckled: “Don’t worry, you don’t have to say names. ... I’m just gonna teach them all a little lesson. ... There’s no place for rivalry and petty discourses regarding matters they have no involvement with.”

“If things turn to hell, I blame you.”

“Deal!” he winked.

***

Time was passing by and Vee was somehow getting more and more anxious about what Donnie would do in regards to her team...  She most certainly hoped he wouldn’t rub in the issue and ask the others to mind their own business. But at the same time she knew he could demonstrate tactfulness and would probably approach the matter at hand appropriately.

She first heard the squeak of small wheels, her attention shifting and soon noticing the terrapin walk in with a portable whiteboard. She groaned internally, tempted to melt on her chair and disappear under her desk...

Donnie attracted people’s attention by clearing his throat first, then adding: “Hi there! If you guys won’t mind, let’s have a talk.”

He removed the cap from an erasable pen he was holding, writing in big letters “TEAMWORK”. Vaguely gesturing the word, he started:

“What defines teamwork?”

Silence at first. At some point a woman shyly rose her hand, Donnie inviting her to speak:

“Please, don't be shy, no need to raise your hand. What do you have in mind?”

“Teamwork could be defined by good communication?”

“That's a good start, what else?” smiled the terrapin as he wrote “COMMUNICATION” on the whiteboard.

“Sharing the workload equally?” started another person.

“Efficiency!”

“Having a common goal.”

“Trust!”

Donnie lighted up at that word, circling it a couple of times for emphasis.

“Yes, trust!” he said. “Seeking a common end, resolving conflicts and frictions, having an open conversation about issues you might be experiencing in the workplace. All that trust you can put in your coworkers mirrors the trust you have in regards to their skills and abilities. A mutual trust is defined by a confidence between team members that each puts the best interest of the team ahead of individual priorities.”

“I guess it depends on the person and their position,” added in a guy.

Vee recognized him as the man who had first sparked the comments this morning. She tried to avoid his gaze, Donnie noticing the sudden tension.

“I suspect you have something on your mind,” started the terrapin calmly to the man. “What’s your name?”

“Ben.”

“What do you mean by ‘it depends on the person and their position’, Ben?”

The guy was obviously feeling some discomfort by being the center of interest.

“Well... when you see someone like, let’s say a manager, taking advantage of their position and time to advance themselves in the work place, it’s hard to put trust on them.”

Donnie clapsed his pen shut.

“Are those allegations founded? Have you spoken to that person and tried to see if that was actually the case? Miscommunication and misunderstanding can lead to a lack of trust, indeed.”

“When you see them hanging with higher ups, that kinda confirms some questioning,” continued Ben. “When she stays late at night and fraternizes with a boss, that does raise some concerns about the practices of this workplace.”

“There we go,” smiled Donnie, accentuating his words with a sharp point of his pen. “Now we’ve come to the source of your concern; first you mentionned a manager and now a ‘she’. Knowing there’s only one project manager for the creative team, I can suspect you have some concerns in regards to Véronique.”

“You’re just gonna defend her, why should we listen to you?” said the other.

“Because I’m not here to defend anyone,” shrugged the mutant. “I’m here to make you understand that you’re a team, and all its members shouldn’t feel afraid to speak to one another, instead of raising suspicions.” He gestured Vee, the woman only wanting to disappear. “Ever since Véronique started working here she has been spending countless hours in office to learn the ropes of this place and give the best of herself only so you can give the best of you all in return. I value her judgement and experience, and she has agreed, on her free will, to participate on a project I was personally struggling with. In return I have been helping her with her work, because that is how trust is built: by sharing the work-” he started to point the words on the board. “-being efficient, communicating, and having a common goal. ... And that’s something I want in this office, for its people to be open and help eachother - not because they feel they need to, but because they want to.”

That gave everyone a pause, somehow giving a feeling of accomplishment to the turtle.

“May that spark a friendship or not - when it does not involve this work environment and it’s out of office, it’s nothing to worry about afterward. ... Let that be food for thought.”

He looked a bit toward Vee’s position, giving her a quick wink. The woman did feel some relief by his speech, knowing he might have struck some chords here and there. She wasn’t fully convinced that everyone would be on that same line of thought, especially that Ben, but there was no denying that it would ease some tension somehow.

***

Vee had waited until work got back to a somewhat normal pace before she wrote that to the terrapin.

Her smile was tender, her fingers easily typing away.

Thinking about it also, today was one hell of a long and stressful Monday...

Probably one of the only good things today...

There it was again, that damn charm of his! She could feel the rush in her veins, remembering those moments with him. Frankly, she wanted more as well...

***

The following morning was as normal as it could get on a weekday, Donnie taking the opportunity to clean around his office. He was going through a filing cabinet, starting from the top drawer. Some papers did slip from his hold, the terrapin next crouching to get them off the floor. But at the same moment the entry door was harshly opened, a voice sternly calling his name. Donnie’s reaction was to jump straight back up, but that resulted in him hitting the top of his head on the previously opened drawer, getting a yelp out of him. He quickly diverted his gaze to the newcomer, rubbing his scales.

“Leo!” scolded the purple clad mutant as he saw his older brother. “The fuck?! Don’t you know how to knock or something?”

“We have to go.”

“Go where?”

“No time to explain, we’ve found them. We need to move right now before we lose their track again.”

Donnie instantly got serious as well, his posture straightening up.

“... Do we still have our backup gear in this building?” he asked.

“Yes,” confirmed the blue banded turtle. “Mikey and Raph are already aware as well. Get your stuff and we leave in fifteen minutes top.”

A simple nod in answer was good for Leonardo to get on the move again, leaving Donnie. There was no time to lose, the tall mutant rapidly tidying up his space before grabbing any personal items and exiting his office. His mind was running, thinking about what was to come. On his way he did notice Vee at her desk, somehow pausing only to bask into that view. At first she was focused on whatever she was working, but she did feel a gaze on her, her eyes lifting to meet Donnie. She first offered him a sweet smile, to which he briefly returned, then she saw him get back on the move - an expression of concern coloring his traits. That did confuse the woman, her eyes following his path and noticing that he was about to leave the building. She tried to shrug the feeling away, only telling herself that she’d poke him later about that...

((Part 10))

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Stranger

Betrayal

Summary - Dean Winchester rescues you from the Djinn. Some hard truths are learnt when you wake up and find him arguing with his brother.

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings - Fluff-ish, Angst, too much angst, Swearing, Verbal Altercation.

Word Count - 2.1k+

Square filled - Domestic!AU ( @spndeanbingo )

A/N - Thanks to @miss-nerd95 for giving this a once over because I was nervous that it got too dramatic (damn you Bollywood)

This is also a submission for @winchesterxfamilybusiness' Make Me Swoon Challenge. Prompt is in bold.

Series Masterlist

“Are you sure this will work?” Dean hesitated.

“Well, we gotta try and we have to hurry. Clock’s ticking,” Sam said, as Dean swallowed the herb.

Five hours. That's how long you were unconscious. Dean had carried you back to your room, placing you gingerly on the bed. His heart clenched at the sight. You were home, but this was not how Dean wanted things to go. He had pushed you away in hopes you will be safe from the supernatural but the universe had other plans.

Dean wouldn't admit, but he was terrified at the thoughts of invading your dreams. ‘What was your happily ever after?’ That question was haunting him. The Djinn always lets you see your heart's desire and Dean was scared to find out the answer to that, but he had to take the step because this was the only way you could be saved.

Sam had agreed to take the African dream root, but the older Winchester had stepped in, saying, “She's in that state because of me. Let me take those.”

The herbs worked their magic and soon he found himself in your dream.

“Happy birthday, baby,” your husband wrapped his arms around you, “I have plans for tonight.”

“What about the kids?”

“I have asked your Mom. She will take them for one night. The kids are excited to spend time with their Mee-maw and Paw-paw,” Dean said.

“Hm, I see you have planned everything,” You smirked.

“Uh-huh. Down to every last detail. Even the things I will do to you in bed tonight,” Dean’s eyes darkened at the thought, “I bet you never got such a gift. You won't be able to walk properly for weeks.”

“I may or may not have a return gift planned for you too,” you winked, “something I bought from the Victoria Secret.”

“Fuck me,” Dean breathed out.

“Gladly,” you said, “but you gotta wait till tonight.” You gently patted his chest and walked over to the kids’ room to get them ready for the evening, unbeknownst to the fact that the real world Dean Winchester was watching the whole interaction with wide eyes, heart breaking into a million pieces.

“Y/N,” you saw your husband jogging up to you, with horror in his eyes.

“What? Baby, you okay?” You asked, your movements coming to a halt. Dean's breath hitched as he heard you call him ‘baby’. “Okay honey, you're scaring me. What's wrong?”

“This-this is not real Y/N,” Dean said.

“What?” You chuckled.

“This is all a dream. You need to snap out of it,” Dean insisted.

“What is this? Some kind of stupid prank?” You crossed your arms, “I gotta go check on the kids honey.”

“Kids?” He frowned.

“Yeah right, Mister. What, next you're gonna ask me if we are married or not?” You said, clearly getting annoyed.

“Marr-wha-no….Y/N, y-you don't understand. This is a dream. Y/N/N, you are dreaming! You don't have any….kids.”

“Dean Winchester, don't you dare say that,” you crossed your arm and gave him a once over.

“Sweetheart, you gotta believe me! I know this all seems a bit strange but your husb-that Dean i-is not real. He is just a figment of your imagination. I-I'm real,” he pleaded.

“Did you hit your head somewhere, honey?” You were now genuinely concerned about him.

He shook his head and grabbed your hands, dragging you back to the kitchen. You cocked your head in confusion as you kept looking at Dean rummaging through the closet.

“Dean! If you dare to mess up my kitchen, I'm gonna kill you,” you warned. He looked at you and grabbed a knife and made his way towards you. “Dean? Babe, what is it?” You asked with the frown on your face deepening at his actions.

“See, I-I can show you this is not real,” he said and stabbed himself in the chest

“Stop it Dean!” You gasped in horror, “Wha-”

“I'm not dead! I am not even bleeding. Look at this,” Dean exclaimed. You looked down to see the knife sticking out of his chest but he was alive and there was no blood.

“What? I-I don't understand. This is not-all this while I-I've been dreamin’. But it all felt so real. How can this be….De, what's happening?” You were on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“Sweetheart, listen to me carefully. You are in a Djinn-poison induced dream state. They mess with your head. I know; I've been there.”

“Djinn?”

“I'll explain everything but first you need to wake up, Y/N/N,” Dean begged.

“How?” You cried out.

“You need to kill yourself,” he said.

“What?”

“Yes. If you kill yourself in your dreams, you will wake up. Now come on,” he said and handed you the knife.

“You sure?”

“Do you trust me?,” he asked you.

You were frightened and confused but you believed Dean. Nodding your head at him, you took the knife and looked at Dean one more time.

“It's gonna be fine. Trust me, sweetheart.”

Your heart was beating loudly against your chest as you tightened the hold on the knife. You sucked in a breath as you stabbed yourself in the stomach.

Gasping loudly, you sat up straight in the bed.

“Y/N,” your eyes met with Dean’s worried green ones.

“Dean?” You asked, your head filled with various questions. Dean pulled you into a tight hug.

“I-I thought I lost you sweetheart,” he croaked, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

“It's okay. I'm here,” you looked around, “where am I?”

“In the bunker,” another tall man came into the room and said.

“Who-who are you?” You asked, as Dean let you go, “I-I'm so confused. What happened? Dean, how did you-I was….was I married?”

“Y/N you….uh-you were attacked by a Djinn. They are supernatural beings and we hunt them,” Dean said, “you were in a dream state and you dreamt of things like….m-marriage and uh-kids. Djinns usually show you your heart's desire.”

“Are you kidding me? You hunt them? You hunt monsters? What next, are you gonna tell me that Drac is real? And he runs a hotel for freaks in Transylvania?”

“I know it's a lot to take in but it's true, not the Dracula part but me and my brother, Sam, we hunt them. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, everything is real,” Dean said.

“Sam?” You looked at the other man in the room who was staring at you silently.

“Hey,” the man who was standing patiently at the foot of the bed, cracked a smile at you.

“What is this place?” You asked.

“This is the bunker. Our home, workplace, everything,” Sam said, “You also-”

“You should take some rest now,” Dean interrupted his brother, getting a side glance from him.

“S-sure but why didn't you tell me about this the night we met?”

“Our job is not a conventional one. We can't go around, telling everyone that monsters exist,” Sam said, “It's better if people don't know about things like this.”

“Okay,” you looked around the room again, fear seeping into you which faded quickly as Dean placed his warm hand on yours, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance.

“You're safe here, sweetheart,” Dean gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

“I never thought I would meet you again.” Your heart fluttering in your chest at his touch.

“Neither did I.”

“Thanks for saving me. Thanks to both of you,” you said, and the brothers smiled at you before stepping out of the room to give you some privacy.

Even though you were living in a dream for the past few hours, you were exhausted so sleep came easy to you.

You didn't know how long you were asleep before you were woken up by some muffled screams coming from outside the room.

Your ears perked up when you heard Dean's voice.

“No I can't!” He yelled.

“You have to tell her, Dean!” The other voice, probably Sam’s yelled back. You winced as you got up from the bed and went out of the room, the voices getting louder and clearer. Your whole body screamed in protest with every step you took.

“I-I can't,” Dean let out a defeated sigh.

‘What are they arguing about?’ You wondered as you finally made your way towards the brothers. The halls of the bunker felt oddly familiar to you.

“Do you think she is safe like this? She is a huntress Dean!” Sam exclaimed, “This-this is her home. She doesn't even remember the bunker! She doesn't remember me!”

“What am I supposed to say?” Dean asked.

“The truth!”

“She won't believe me and telling her the truth means sucking her back to this goddamn stupid life!” Dean shouted at his brother, “And I won't let that happen.”

‘Were they talking about you?’ You wondered and moved closer to the brothers.

“How can you be so selfish, Dean? You are only thinking about yourself! You are not the person I looked up to as my brother!” Sam shoved his brother hard.

“Well people change with time,” Dean said in a bitter tone, “and how is it selfish? I won't let her die because of me.”

“They do, but their feelings remain the same amd you're scared. You still love Y/N and it would be stupid if you let her walk away!” Sam scoffed. Your eyes widened at Sam's words.

“You don't understand,” Dean gritted out.

“At least she will understand!”

“No she won't! She was married in her dream - she had kids; that's her happily ever after! Not with me-”

“She was married to you, Dean!” Sam retorted, “that's her happily ever after - with you. With us, in this bunker. She is family and we don't give up on family then how could you push her away? Don't do anything that you will regret later on. This is probably your last chance to fix the mess.”

“I-I can't. She is gonna hate me. It's better this way. It's not like she remembers being married to me,” Dean mumbled.

You gasped in shock grabbing the attention of the brothers.

“Married?”

“Y/N?” Dean asked.

“I thought I was only married in my dreams but I-we were married?” You asked him.

“I-uh….Y/N you should go re-”

“Don't tell me to go and rest!” You exclaimed. Dean glared at his brother, taking a deep breath.

“Stop running away from the problem for once,” Sam muttered in a low voice but loud enough for his brother to hear him.

“Y/N, you are….we are married,” Dean said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“But I don't remember it. Dean? Sam?” You gulped.

“How can you do this, Dean Winchester?” You asked, your blood boiling in anger.

“I did it to protect you,” Dean calmly stated.

“Great fucking job with that because last time I checked I was almost monster food!” You shouted.

“You don't understand!” Dean retorted.

“Then make me, asshole!”

“You got almost killed, because of me! I almost killed you!” He yelled.

“Shut up! Just fucking shut up!” You said, as you sat down in the chair, trying to wrap your mind around the new facts you just learnt. You were married to Dean Winchester. You were a huntress. Then what about your friends, your job, your life in Idaho? What was true? You didn't know what to believe.

“Y/N, sweetheart, say something. Please.” Dean begged.

“I'm not your sweetheart, Dean. You lost the right to call me yours the moment you took a life-changing decision for me and pushed me away,” you said, tears forming in your eyes.

“I-I….I did it to protect you. You mean everything to me,” Dean said.

“Then why did you push me away? Why did you erase my memories? We could have dealt with this together. Why, Dean, why? I can't even hunt anymore! I don't even remember the basic ways to protect myself. You made me helpless. Tell me Dean, how did you protect me?” You asked. Dean kept quiet.

“Y/N, maybe we can fix it. Maybe Cas can fix it,” Sam said, who all the while stood in the war room as a silent observer.

You scoffed, “I don't-I don't even remember Cas. Great job, Dean! Great fucking job! You think you are so great, trying to protect me, but all you are a selfish asshole. You destroyed my life, Dean. Destroyed it! Congratulations, Winchester!”

“I thought-”

“From next time, don't think because your thoughts always destroy something good just like it destroyed us!” You were angry and sad. You couldn't believe Dean could do such a thing.

“I loved you, Y/N, I still do and I-”

“Well newsflash Dean, I don't love you anymore,” you scoffed, “Because in case you didn't know, I don't even remember us - what we used to be.” Turning on your heels, you went back to your room, leaving behind a heartbroken Dean Winchester.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!

Feedback is highly appreciated!

[maysbanks]

hold out. (jj maybank)

here it is, the second part to hypersonic missiles ! the response to the first part was absolutely amazing, the support & love in this fandom is incredible & i just wanna say a huge thank you to all of you that take the time to like, reblog & comment, every single one means so much !! gotta admit im not loving this as in it's not my best work and kinda all over the place & half way through writing this i almost scrapped the whole thing to rewrite the full series with an oc bc writing as the reader was starting to get to me lol. but alas here it is & as always i hope u enjoy x

warning: swearing, drug use, underage drinking, violence etc 

summary: after accidentally inserting herself into a treasure hunt with four teenagers, one of which could be considered her 'friend with benefits', y/n grubbs is left to deal with the complications and misfortunes that come along with it - including her ever-growing feelings for said 'friend with benefits'. 

( gif isn't mine! please let me know if it's yours so i can credit you. )

If someone had told you a week before that you would lose your father, get your house raided by two men you had never seen before in your life, make friends with a group of teenagers, embark on a two hundred year old treasure hunt with said teenagers, and be hanging out with JJ Maybank every day and willingly, all in the space of one week; you'd have laughed in their face, asked them what drugs they were on and could you have some, and then laugh in their face again.

But alas, there you were. You still couldn't quite believe it, especially the JJ part. You'd had worries at first, like would the gang really want you involved, did they secretly hate having you around, were they just being nice and letting you in on this because your dad had died? All the doubts swirled in your mind, running around like clock-work, just ticking away constantly in the back of your head. Surprisingly, JJ had been the one you'd gone to about them.

"I just feel guilty," you'd said. It was after a day of riding around in John B's boat and using fancy hotels' WiFi, and 'borrowing' a drone from JJ's dads old workplace. His eyebrows furrowed when he looked at you, confused. "I mean, you guys have been friends for like, forever. And then I just show up and you conveniently find out about John B's dad and the treasure hunt on the same day when I'm there, and it's just like - I don't belong with you guys, it's your thing and I'm just kinda, here." 

"You're part of this just as much as we all are," he'd told you, matter of fact. His body was angled to face you as you sat outside John B's self-proclaimed Chateau, a freshly rolled blunt being passed back and forth between the pair of you. "You need to stop doubting yourself, man. You're apart of us now." 

The words had warmed your heart, an instant smile being spread on your lips as you looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. Underneath the setting sun, he looked almost angelic; his golden hair blowing in the slight breeze, tanned skin exposed due to the heat. You had pretended not to notice the tense of the muscles in his arms whenever your fingers brushed when you passed the juul between yourselves. 

"You're too kind to me, Maybank," you'd grinned, boot-clad foot nudging his knee gently. "If I didn't know you so well I'd have thought you'd have ulterior motives."

"Who says I haven't?" He'd smirked back. You'd just smiled, teeth biting down on the plump skin of your bottom lip before you'd looked away from his burning gaze and focused your attention on anything, anywhere but JJ fucking Maybank.

You got along with the gang amazingly, you couldn't doubt that. Pope was the smartest guy you'd met, sweet and funny and passionate and so certain of what he wanted to do in life. Kiara, or Kie, as you'd come to call her, was very environmentally involved, almost too cool for the guys, you thought. She cared so much about so many things, and she had a great taste in music too. John B was a bit like you, you supposed. Fatherless, on the hunt for answers, things like that - but other than that he was a great guy, the makeshift leader of the little group, a little lost in life, but that was to be understood.

And then there was JJ. You felt most comfortable around the blonde, but that was kinda a given too, due to the fact you'd seen each other in your most vulnerable states that came with having sex rather regularly, something the other members of the gang didn't share. He was a spit-fire, always ready to throw a punch and fire threats at those who deserved it, head-strong and stubborn. But he was more so caring, God he cared so much for his friends, you'd discovered. He would do just about anything for them, whatever position that put him in. JJ put the gang before himself, always. You'd noticed all different types of things about JJ especially, little things you had never taken the time to notice before.

These little discoveries probably came from watching him too much, you'd thought one night. It was a bit of a problem, though you never mentioned it. The unspoken rule amongst the group was No Pogue on Pogue Macking, which basically meant everyone was off limits to each other. You understood the rule, Kie having been the only girl before you'd arrived on the scene amongst three guys, and after becoming apart of the gang you had no choice but to respect it - which also meant that JJ was off limits. But was he technically off limits when you'd already been there, so far past the line on macking with each other?

There was some sort of agreement between the two of you, that in order to make this work; your friendship with the Pogues, the hunt for the Merchant's treasure, that nothing could happen. You'd spoken briefly about it that first day, outside the lighthouse beside the Twinkie (John B's van, you'd learned had a nickname), we're cool, right? Pretend we haven't seen each other naked, conversation. It had been cut short, but it still happened. And the pair of you never mentioned it after that, a few off-handed comments here and there from JJ, but nothing specific. So you assumed yours and JJ's hook ups were off the table, and you had no idea why that had come to bother you so damn much.

On the day following your talk with JJ on John B's porch, he'd invited you to come along with him and Pope as they delivered groceries for Pope's dad, Heyward. You had almost said no, because really, you could probably do with a break from the Maybank boy, all the time spent with him was doing no favours for your little situation of Fighting Attraction While Hunting For Gold. That's what you were putting it down to in your mind anyway, too much time spent with the person you're sleeping with can begin to mess with anyone's head, and hey, maybe it was the fact that you were grieving and JJ was familiar - but you couldn't be doing with all these thoughts anymore.

Despite the angel on your shoulder urging you to turn his offer down, you'd said yes. But that was little to do with JJ and more to do with your mom and your current home situation, which was unbearable, to say the least. Your mother was barely speaking to you, as if she was scared of letting something slip if she did. In return, you shut her out, too. Told her lame excuses and empty lies when you were heading out with the gang, lying through your teeth when she'd asked where you were or where you were going.

Lana Grubbs wasn't a stupid woman, though, and you knew she knew you were up to something. But she hadn't mentioned anything outright yet, and so you hadn't said anything either. The hole your father had left was huge and gaping, evident in both your lives. You hadn't spoken about it yet, and you weren't intending to until she could be completely honest with you. You didn't want to hear anymore lies, and you were already on the path to discovering the full truth. On your own.

Her words echoed in your mind every time you left the house, voice small and gentle as she never failed to say the same thing. "Just be careful." You'd always look over your shoulder, and she'd never look back at you. She hadn't looked at you much at all since your dad had died.

It was after a certain drop-off of groceries, you'd joined JJ in his delivery whilst Pope had docked the boat and gone off to deliver his own, yours and JJ's strides matching as you walked the seemingly never-ending drive of the abnormally large house that loomed over you. The Kook part of the island never ceased to intimidate you, no matter how much you didn't want it to. There was something about it, the people that lived amongst it, that unsettled you whenever you entered it. Figure Eight wasn't somewhere you usually visited other than an odd job you'd picked up, and you were reminded why of that fact as you walked alongside JJ.

"Just think," he breathed, all starry eyed and parted lips as he gazed around the pair of you. "This could all be ours soon."

You snorted, bumping his side with your own. "Don't be melodramatic, JJ,"

"I'm serious!" JJ protested. His sea blue eyes caught yours when he turned his head to look at you head-on. The intensity of his stare almost made you stop in your spot, but you managed to carry on, gulping when his eyes continued to hold yours. "I'm sticking to my earlier statement, right, we're going to move here, and out-rich all these fuckin' Kooks."

"Out-rich?" You raised an eyebrow, lips quirking. "Your grammar is so adequate, Maybank."

"It's a word," JJ insisted, nudging your side with the point of his elbow. "Who the fuck uses words like adequate these days, anyway? I don't even think Mrs. Humphrey knows what that word means."

You laughed at the mention of your shared English teacher, the grey-haired, short, spectacle wearing woman immediately entering your mind. JJ grinned when he heard your laugh, dimples winking in his cheeks.

"Mrs. Humphrey can't even spell Wednesday," you giggled, JJ chuckling along with you as he nodded. "It's a wonder how that woman has been working there for like, eighteen years or something."

Your steps faltered as you neared the door to the house, pace slowing as you both basked in the time spent with each other, though neither of you would admit it. "She was probably a good teacher at first," JJ said thoughtfully, shuffling the groceries in his hands. (You tried not to notice the way his arms looked when he did that, muscles clenching and on full show with his cut-off tank.) "I bet each year another brain cell of hers just like, dies."

"Wouldn't surprise me," you nodded. "Mine would attempting to teach classes full of teenagers," rather dramatically, you shuddered. "Especially if one of those teenagers was JJ Maybank."

"Hey!" JJ shouted, though his grin proved that he found your jab amusing. You laughed along with him, bumping his side once more as you finally landed at the door, watching as he turned to you, expression trying to be serious and failing, rather horribly. "You better watch yourself, Grubbs. I'm serious here, I can be a pretty scary guy if need be, y'know."

You didn't doubt that, of course. You'd seen JJ in action with your own two eyes, you knew what he was capable of. But somehow, stood with you there, on the doorstep of some filthy rich Kook's mansion, groceries in hand, blonde hair shining golden in the sun, sun-kissed skin exposed to your wandering eyes, grin on pink lips; you couldn't imagine JJ Maybank hurting a fly.

"Trust me, I know." You'd said just as he knocked on the door, shooting you one last toothy grin before the door was opened and he was pulled into a conversation with the woman who'd answered it, talking about all things from the weather to the next semester at school. You watched him all the while, smile growing on your lips without your knowledge as you took him in, seemingly in his element as he sweet-talked the middle-aged woman inside the house. When he turned to you suddenly, you startled, broken from your thoughts and caught red-handed staring at him like some freak. He grinned, tongue wetting his pink lips at the same time you internally groaned.

"I was just saying, the groceries," he trailed off as he pointed to the bags in your hands in which you'd forgotten were even there. You let out an 'oh' as you quickly passed the groceries over to the waiting woman, shooting her an apologetic smile as she looked at you knowingly. JJ nodded his head in your direction, speaking once more to the woman, "New guys, huh?"

You glared at him as the woman laughed, perfectly manicured hand reaching beside her and grabbing hold of her purse, pulling a note out with her slender fingers. She held the note out to JJ, who immediately tried to turn it down, insisting there was no need, but the woman was unrelenting - sending a pointed look your way as she told him, "For your troubles, sweetie."

JJ picked the note from her hands, a gracious smile being sent to her as he nodded. "It's been a long day," he sighed heavily and your jaw almost dropped as you resisted the urge to reach out and slap his arm. What a fucker. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Ramirez. I really appreciate it."

The woman, Mrs. Ramirez, as you learned, nodded and waved a hand. "No bother, sweetie," she told him before turning her eyes back to you. You forced a smile as she simply eyed you up and down, before sending an obviously forced one of her own. "And thank you." She said curtly, and you were ready to give her a piece of your mind before JJ was grabbing your arm and dragging you in the direction of where you'd come from, shouting one last thank you over his shoulder as he walked you back towards the boat.

It was when you were a safe distance away that you shook your arm from his hold only to slap him gently on his own as you glowered, glare smouldering as he laughed, throwing his head back as he stumbled beside you.

"You're such an ass," you huffed as you tried to ignore his chuckling, speeding your steps. "I mean, she literally just tipped you a hundred dollars for showing up and smiling, I'm sure if I had a third leg down there I would have got the same treatment too."

"Are you jealous?" JJ asked, having to jog slightly to keep up your hurried pace. His smile was huge and infectious, and you made a point not to meet his stare when he landed next to you in fear of breaking your fake annoyed stance. "Maybe if you weren't too busy checking me out then you could have talked to her, and y'know, make a small fortune yourself."

You scoffed, whirling around and halting him in place. He almost stumbled into you, and you stepped back when his hands landed on your arms to steady himself, shaking his grip off almost immediately. "I wasn't checking you out," you told him, matter of fact.

JJ grinned and ran a hand through his hair as he replied, "Sure you were," he shrugged. You crossed your arms over your chest and glared, biting down on your tongue as you resisted your own smile as he motioned to his body from head to toe. "Not that I can blame you, I mean look at me."

"I've looked, JJ," your voice was low when you said it, a knowing tone to your words. "I've looked, and I've seen it all, in case you forgot."

A low chuckle slipped past his lips. "How could I ever forget?" He asked rhetorically, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as you tried not to follow the action with your eyes, and failed, miserably. "Trust me, that image is forever dented in my brain. I think of it, sometimes. Just randomly."

You rolled your eyes. And he's back, _you thought. _He never left, a voice at the back of your head piped up. You ignored them both. "C'mon," you said, already turning on your heel and starting off in the direction of where Pope had docked the boat. "Let's go get these deliveries finished."

The pair of you said nothing more for the rest of the duration of the short walk back, and when the boat was in your sights JJ was off running, more than likely eager to show off his one hundred dollar tip to Pope, as you idled, watching his back as he ran. When you finally landed in the boat, it was silent. You immediately picked up on the tension, heavy in the small space, and shot JJ a confused glance when he looked back at you.

Slowly, you made your way towards where the two boys were up at the front of the boat, Pope situated at the wheel. The dark skinned boy was staring straight ahead, refusing to meet either yours or JJ's eyes. When you looked to the latter, he subtly shrugged a shoulder, letting you know that he had no clue himself what was going on with his best friend.

"Pope?" You questioned softly. "What's wrong?" When there was no answer, you shared another glance with JJ, his concern shining in his blue eyes. You tilted your head as you went to ask him again, but when you did, your eyes caught on to the colour crimson that was slowly streaming down the side of his face. You gasped and JJ startled, chest bumping your shoulder as he tugged the cap from Pope's head, revealing the injury near the top of his head.

"Jesus!" JJ exclaimed when he caught sight of the wound, Pope swatting at his hands that held his hat, pulling it back down once JJ had let go. "What happened?"

"Rafe and Topper jumped me," Pope's voice was slightly wobbly as he informed you both, a tear sliding down his cheek as he recounted, "They said no Pogues on their side of the island."

Your blood began to boil just as JJ demanded, "What are you gonna do?" His own jaw clenched in anger as he looked at his best friend, beaten and bruised in front of him from the hands of some entitled selfish pricks that thought they were better than everyone because they had more money in their pockets. Rafe Cameron was a name that never failed to make you queasy at just the mention of it, and his little gang of followers including Topper Thorton were just as unbearable.

"I have something in mind." Pope spoke, voice and stance determined. And something he did, as he drove to Topper's new boat - and promptly swam over and removed the plug from it, causing the new model to sink into the water as you and JJ watched from Heyward's boat, keeping an eye out for anyone that may have spotted your trio.

And though it was bad, and you knew you probably shouldn't have taken part in such an activity, nor prompted Pope to either; you couldn't deny the rush it gave you as you watched Topper Thorton's boat begin to sink, and maybe it was the fact that you knew that Topper was a Grade A Asshole and deserved it, or maybe it was Pope's own unsure but excitable adrenaline that mixed with your own, or maybe it was just the fact that JJ wrapped his arm around your shoulder without a care in the world as he shouted his support to his friend, squeezing you to his side almost unknowingly, like it was some kind of instinct.

You thought, yeah, it probably was, as you immediately felt the loss of it when he moved to grab Pope in a hug. And then you thought, well shit.

There was a mutual share of disappointment when the gang had found just about absolutely nothing when you'd taken Pope's fathers boat out the next morning, drone ready and in hand to go hunt for the gold, where John B Routledge had marked down on the map it having been.

Granted, the Royal Merchant was there. It was just missing the one thing they were after - the gold was nowhere in sight, and the journey had been a complete waste of time. You thought it to be too good to be true, of course it had to be. Four hundred million in gold and you were expected to find it? There was no way, you thought bitterly as JJ steered the gang back to land, not one of you daring to speak as the disappointment crashed over you all in huge waves.

You'd departed with the guys not long after that, after promising Kie that you would accompany her to the annual summer movie night, making your way towards home. The bitter frustration ate away at your insides, you were mad, angry - fucking infuriated, each step the gang got closer to finding the gold, it was as if someone was stood in your path and shoving you all back another ten.

Had your dad really died for this? This seemingly never-ending hunt for promised gold that, for all you knew, could be complete and utter bullshit. You didn't understand it at first, when the pieces began to slot together, but it was like every time the chase got harder it made you want it even more; and then you understood your fathers fascination and Big John Routledge's obsession. This gold meant everything to you and the gang, and you knew, John B especially, would never give up on this chase.

"Hey, sweetheart," your mother called when you entered the house. The front door was still broken, only the screen in place, and was leaning against the wall as you maneuvered past it. Lana was sat at the couch, and when you walked in she'd shoved a box away from her, the lid laying haphazardly over the top. "I wasn't expecting you home so early."

You shot her a small and forced smile, shuffling your bag from your shoulder and onto the floor, landing with a soft thud. "Hey mom," you greeted back, noting her teary eyes and flushed cheeks. "What're you doing?"

When you arrived at the back of the couch, looking over her shoulder, you immediately recognised the box - Family Photos! _written atop _the cardboard.

"I was just looking through some old pictures," she told you, sniffling as she attempted to smile at you. "Just wanted to see his face again."

You nodded, your throat tightening at the mention of your dad. Reaching a hand up and wiping away her tears, she looked at you questioning, "Where have you been?"

"Just out," you said, bluntly and unconvincing. "Doing a few jobs here and there, y'know. Nothing exciting."

Lana hummed, quirking an eyebrow at you. "Mr. Phelps told me that he seen you with that Maybank kid the other day," she informed, your face falling for a millisecond as her words sunk in. She looked at you, tear-stained face and serious gaze, lips pulled to a thin line. "I told you to stay from those guys, Y/N."

"I was helping him deliver groceries, mom," you deadpanned - which wasn't exactly a lie, if that's when Mr. Phelps had spotted you. Most of your time spent with the gang was mainly off the land and away from prying eyes, whether that be on a boat or the Chateau, so you knew that was the safest bet of when you'd been spotted. "For Heyward's. It's not like I'm hanging out with him on purpose."

Lie, lie, lie. It was becoming alarmingly easy to lie straight through your teeth, and to your mother nonetheless, but you couldn't dare tell her anything, and why should you, when she hadn't told you anything? It took two to Tango, you thought.

"I just don't want you getting hurt," your mother reminded, and you let out a sigh as you nodded, faked closed-mouth smile on your lips. "I'm serious, Y/N, please just be careful out there."

"Always am," you promised (bull-fucking-shit). You turned on your heel, heading towards your room as you called over your shoulder, "I got invited out tonight, by the way. To the movie thing on the North Side. Is it alright if I go, please?"

You waited at your door, hearing your mother sigh from the couch. "Yes, you can go." You smiled, this one more real than all the rest, and thanked her gently. She didn't look back at you though, and the familiar unspoken tension was back with vengeance. You couldn't wait to get out of it.

The movie night was a welcome distraction from your frustrations with the treasure hunt, the haunting memories of your dad, and the tension with your mom. It was only you, Kie, Pope and JJ that attended - John B having seemingly disappeared for the day, none of the gang having heard from him. You'd managed to leave the house with relatively no questioning from your mom, and met JJ a little way down the block.

("Woah, keep two feet away from me please," you'd joked, halting in your tracks as you spotted him standing there. He'd furrowed his brows at you, frown etched on his face. "My cover's been blown, everyone knows about us!

He just looked even more confused, eyes squinting down at you as you raised a hand and layed it across your forehead dramatically. "What'd you mean?" He questioned, eyes darting around, seemingly searching for answers in the air around you both. "What, do people know we sleep together or something?"

You'd rolled your eyes, shoving him gently when you were close enough, beginning to walk away. "No, you doof," you chuckled. "Mr. Phelps ratted me out to my mom, told her that he saw us together the other day. I had to tell her that we were just delivering groceries for Pope's dad."

"Ah," JJ nodded, shooting you a mischievous grin. "We better go into hiding then, I'm thinking... log cabin in the mountains, all fur sheets and deer heads on the walls, ooh a hot tub too."

You laughed, "Trying to whisk me away there, Maybank?"

You were joking, but his eyes were surprisingly serious as he looked at you. "Always, Grubbs.")

The field was already packed full of people by the time the four of you arrived, groups of people scattered around, idle chatter filling the air. It was being held on the Kook side of the island, and your eyes swooped over the people, most of them being Kook's themselves, expensive clothing and an aura that just screamed, I'm better than you. It made you feel uneasy, but you tried not to think about it as Kiara led you through the crowds.

"I'm so glad they're still doing this," she tells you all, sighing happily. The faces of the guys revealed they were not nearly as happy to be there as she was, while you were simply just glad to be out of your house once again. "Keep calm, carry on. Back to normal, OBX life, y'know?" She stopped once she found a decent spot, turning to the three of you. "Aren't you guys glad I made you come?"

"Ecstatic." Pope deadpanned, sarcastic lull to his tone.

"My couch was pretty comfy." JJ piped up.

"I'm just happy to be out the house, I guess." You said.

You were aware why the guys were so uncertain about being there; it wasn't so long ago that Pope was sinking Topper Thorton's boat, you and JJ accompanying, and now you were all on his side of the island. Not only that, but you knew that if Topper was to discover that it was Pope who'd done his boat in, it wouldn't just be Topper that confronted him - it would be the full Happy Days Gang. Nothing was ever a fair game when it came to Kooks.

Kiara excused herself to go buy soda's from the conession stand, and you shifted as you seated yourself on the blanket you'd bought, having opted out of bringing a chair. You sat in front of JJ, his legs touching your back.

"What's wrong with you guys?" You turned your head when Pope and JJ began to whisper, the former's panicked eyes landing on you as you frowned at the pair.

"Topper and Rafe are on my ass," Pope revealed. "They know I sunk Topper's boat."

You sighed heavily, muttering a shit as JJ grabbed his friend by the arm, focusing his attention towards him. "They can't prove it, okay. Just deny, deny, deny."

Pope nodded along, muttering along with him as you watched the pair, before your eyes moved to Kie that arrived back, her eyes narrowing as she seated herself beside Pope. "Just saw Rafe," she informed, your blood running cold. You could practically feel JJ tense from behind you. "He said, and I quote, 'Tell your boy we know what he did'. What is that?"

"Um, where is he?" JJ questioned, his tone of voice revealing his hidden anxiety.

"Right there." Kiara nodded her head, right in the direction of where Rafe Cameron and his goons sat, as you, Pope and JJ whipped around, Pope practically turning his full body in their direction. You groaned as JJ desperately urged him to turn back round, and away from their taunting eyes.

"The whole death squad!" Pope exclaimed, anxiety riding off of him in waves.

"Don't stare, bro," JJ urged, hand wrapping around Pope's shoulders. You tuned out the rest of the blonde's words as he informed you all that he'd be coming out swinging if they were to corner him, and you felt dread build as you heard his last words. "If that doesn't work, I got this right here." He patted his bag.

"JJ, please tell me you did not bring a gun here," Kie practically begged. "JJ, there are kids!"

You focused your attention straight ahead of you as the guys continued to argue; Pope simply telling Kie that it might go down to her line of questioning, her brown eyes darting back and forth between you all. You refused to meet her eyes, however, and were glad when the large screen ahead of you suddenly lit up. "Oh, look," you exclaimed, laughing nervously. "The movie's starting."

And it was left at that - JJ whispering deny, deny, deny to Pope once more before you all turned your attention to the screen, trying to block out the intruding thoughts of having the knowledge that the gang of Kooks were staring you down, awaiting your next move like a predator would its pray.

All was going fine - the movie was good, everyone's attention on the black and white screen. You tried not to think about Rafe and Topper, or the gold or your dad, and definitely not the feel of JJ's legs either side of you, trapping you into his hold. You let yourself believe that everything would be okay, and then Pope had revealed he needed a piss, and everything had gone to shit.

JJ had accompanied him, and the two had set off behind the screen, hidden away from Rafe's watchful eyes. They hadn't done a good enough job to be discreet though, and you immediately took notice of Rafe, Topper and Kelce making their way towards the opposite side of the screen. You swore, catching Kie's attention as she questioned, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Looks like that piss break just got a lot more complicated," you said, and realisation dawned on her face. It didn't take the pair of you long to locate the guys, all in various forms of fighting, as you and Kie screamed at them to stop. You grabbed Rafe's arm mid-swing, his fist raised and ready to send a hit to JJ's face from where Kelce had hold of him. "Stop it, you dick!"

You let out a scream as you were sent flying back from his shove, Rafe's blue eyes wild and crazed as he glared down at you. "Stay out of this, Grubbs!" He barked, and without a moments hesitation sent a fist hurling towards JJ's cheek.

Kiara had jumped on Topper's back from the small distance away from you, and you took a moment to ready yourself before hurtling towards Rafe from your crouched position, tackling him to the ground from his knees, effectively stopping his blows. He seemed stunned for a second, staring dazed up at you before he promptly threw you off of him, shoving you to the ground without a care. "Don't fucking touch me," he growled down at you, and you groaned slightly as the wind was knocked from you.

You heard JJ from somewhere above you, shouting insults at Rafe and repeating your name over and over. You lifted yourself from the ground just as Topper puts Pope in a headlock, his tight grip causing the dark skinned boys breath to leave him in choked gasps. You shoved at Rafe's back once more, sending him stumbling forward before he whipped around, hand reaching out and grabbing you by the face, tugging you so you stood nose-to-nose with him.

"I said," he ground out darkly, eyes boring into yours. "Don't fucking touch me."

You were beginning to fear what would come next before a sudden glow caught your eye from the side, the movie screen lighting up in harsh flames. Rafe dropped you, your hands moving to rub over the imprint he'd left, as you looked towards where Kie stood, JJ lighter in hand. Screams of terror echoed from the other side, as people began to flee, and it didn't take long for the three Kooks on your side to follow, sprinting quickly from the scene. Fucking cowards, you thought.

JJ's hands were on you before you could even blink, eyes earnest and worried as they looked over you, your cheeks red from the earlier grip Rafe had on you. "You good?" He asked you, slightly out of breath. You nodded, repeating the question to him. He smiled lightly. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good."

The night had ended promptly there, Kie dropping you off at your respected houses. You'd bid them all a good night, and as quietly as possible made your way into your home, not wanting your mother to see the marks imprinted on your face from Rafe's fingers. Luckily, she'd already been in bed, and it didn't take long for you to crawl into yours, thoughts of the day and a certain blonde running through your mind.

The next morning you'd met the gang (save for John B, who was still seemingly missing) at the Heyward's store; your morning had been spent desperately trying to hide the red marks that Rafe's fingers had left from your mom before she could notice and ground you in your room for the rest of your life. It had a been a success for the most part, and she asked no questions as you left the house, though you took note of her uncertain expression as you bid your goodbyes.

"Have you heard from John B?" You asked Kiara who was working closest to you. You had realised the brunette boy was missing from the group upon your arrival, and you couldn't help the worries in your mind at where he could be or what could have happened to him.

"No, nothing. Have you?" She returned the question, brown eyes meeting yours as you shook your head no, a short sigh falling from her lips. "Neither have the guys. What're you thinking?" Kiara eyed you, gaze suddenly sullen. "Do you think something's happened?"

"I don't know, Kie," you told her because honestly, you didn't. John B had a target on his back, that much was for sure. Son of Big John, once owner of the proclaimed death compass. Your mind thought back to the two men that had raised your home, and chased the guys on more than one occasion, and you couldn't help but think the worst. "I'm sure he's fine, though."

Kiara nodded, though she looked anything but sure. "Yeah, you're probably right." The pair of you continued on with your respected work, JJ's and Pope's voice trailing from somewhere in the store as they talked. "You're working Midsummers, right?"

You groaned, nodding. Kiara laughed at your sour expression. "Oh yeah, second year running. To be honest, I'm surprised they let me work it after last year, my customer service must be better than my right hand hook," you joked, chuckle escaping your lips as you thought back to the Midsummer's party the year before. Your dad had gotten you the gig, because he was a weasel like that - always talking people into getting what he wanted, and what he wanted was the gas bill to be paid, and his face just didn't fit the portfolio to be serving Kook's their drinks at their fancy party, and so it had left left to you to do just that.

The night had ended with Dean Kipp on his ass after his hand had fallen on your ass, and you'd been let off with a warning as the guy clutched his bloody nose and called you everything ranging from psycho bitch to slutty pogue. Your surprise was immense when you were offered a job again this year, and a large amount of the reason you'd said yes was just so you could see the look on his face when he saw you.

"He totally deserved that," Kiara remarked, grinning. You smiled back, the pair of you sharing a laugh as you returned to your work.

For a second, you let your worries wash away as you were pulled into a conversation with the gang, your spirts high for the first time in a while. You were happy, you realised. What had started off as being the worst period of your life was slowly turning into the best, the gang and treasure hunt a blessing in disguise. The four of you shared laughs and joked back and forth as you worked, and you found yourself to be perfectly content.

All that came crashing down when Pope's father entered the shop, police officer trailing behind him. "Hey, Pope! There's someone here to see you."

You stopped dead-on, the rest of the gang halting in their movements as you all stared towards the officer you recognised as Shoupe. "Evening, officer." Pope greeted, gulping.

"I have an arrear warrant for felony destruction of property," Deputy Shoupe approached your group, handing the said warrant to Pope's dad. From beside you, JJ tensed, and when you turned to look at him, his blue eyes glanced down at you, freshly beaten face pulled into an anxious grimace as his jaw clenched. Shoupe had gotten remarkably closer, hands reaching for the handcuffs placed on his belt. "Hands where I can see 'em."

Pope glanced desperately towards JJ, who shook his head quickly, his words, though unspoken, clear as day. Deny, deny, deny. But denying wasn't going to get Pope out of handcuffs, you decided as you stepped forward, tone pleading as you demanded, "Stop, you can't just do this!"

"Out of my way please, Miss Grubbs," Shoupe dismissed you, sounding almost bored as he shoved past you, beginning to handcuff Pope who can do nothing but allow it to happen, his anxious eyes focusing on one spot as reality began to sink in.

"What did he do, Shoupe?" Mr. Heyward questioned in disbelief, watching as his son was getting arrested in front of his very eyes.

"Take a look at the warrant," the cop said simply as he begun to tug Pope out of the store.

It was chaos. Everyone was shouting, demanding answers and hurling insults. JJ is screaming something about somebody paying him, Kiara is in your ear asking what the hell was going on, Mr. Heyward is hurtling questions towards both his son and Shoupe. Passbyers stared at the scene, whispering to each other as they walked by or stopped to watch. Everything blurred together, and you could do nothing but watch the scene unfold in front of you.

Those fucking assholes, you thought. Topper Thorton came to mind, tan skin and bleached ends, million dollar smile and designer clothes. You remembered his wild gaze as he held Pope in a headlock the night before, close to almost killing him. And yet he was off somewhere doing god knows what, probably shopping for a new boat to replace the one he'd lost, not that he probably cared all that much about it in the first place. Rafe Cameron's eyes entered your mind next, and you felt a shudder run through you as you remembered them boring into yours as he held your face frighteningly tight and close to his own.

JJ's voice was suddenly breaking through your stream of thoughts - "It wasn't him!" He was calling out, eyes directed on Shoupe who paused and turned toward him, Pope's face disbelieving from behind him. "It was me."

It sunk in then what JJ was trying to do, and you whirled around from his left, quickly shaking your head as you muttered, "JJ." He ignored you however, and stepped forward towards where the officer was standing, Pope still in his arms.

"He tried to talk me out of it," JJ continued. "But I was mad because he had just been beaten up, I was sick of those assholes from Figure Eight that I lost my shit." He was stood directly in front of Shoupe, almost boot-to-boot. You couldn't see his face from where you were, and you were almost thankful for the fact as you heard him direct his words to Pope, "I can't let you take the fall for what I did. You've got too much to lose."

"JJ, what are you doing?" Pope demanded. His face was confused, just as much in shock as the rest of you. For a second, his eyes leave JJ's and land on yours, a shaky breath leaving your lips as his eyes were practically pleading.

"I'm telling the truth, for once in my goddamn life, I'm gonna tell the truth," JJ announced loudly. "I took his old man's boat, too."

"What the hell?" Mr. Heyward questioned, though nobody paid him any mind. Your gaze was too focused on the unfolding scene of JJ Maybank taking the fall for something he most definitely do, and you could do nothing but watch it happen.

Your heart finally shattered when JJ's last words entered your ears, "He's a good kid. You know where I'm from."

He only looked back once as he was put into the handcuffs that previously held Pope, and that wasn't until he was shoved in the back of the police car and the door was slammed behind him. You walked closer towards it, hand on Pope's back as he watched his best friend get arrested for something he'd done, and you both knew it. When JJ glanced up and out of the window, bruised face clear behind the glass, his sea blue eyes caught yours and then he smiled.

The fucker.

You could only watch helplessly as the police car was driven away and out of sight, Pope throwing his cap down in a fit of anger as he stormed off, his dad calling after him, Kie landing to your right. The dark haired girl wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you to her side gently.

"JJ'll be alright," she told you, voice confident though her face read anything but as she glanced in the direction the car had been driven off. "He always is."

But what, a voice in the back in your head nagged at you, if this time he wasn't?

And then it dawned on you: you actually really, generally, sincerely and whole-heartedly cared about JJ Maybank.

(And the thought scared you more than you would ever like to admit.)

& to the lovely people that asked to be tagged in this, love you all x @ponyboys-sunsets @mysticsthinking @danicarosaline

[theconjugationofyeet]

Iron Dad AU Fic Recs

this is gonna be kinda long

Stark Industries: An American Workplace by fourdaysofrain

“No, I don’t--” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitches down and he looks at something behind the camera. “Mr. Stark doesn’t treat me any differently than the other employees. I don’t know why everyone says he does.” He tugs his sleeve down his wrist and looks to the side. “I’m the receptionist, so he has to talk to me more to like, plan his calendar and stuff.” --- The Office!AU (For the "AU: TV/Movie" square in Irondad Bingo

We’re Alright by writing-in-my-spare-time

When billionaire Tony Stark comes into the cafe late one night to get his caffeine hit, he finds barista Peter busy doing homework. The homework is quite advanced and right up Tony's alley, and the two hit it of immediately over their shared love of science. But when a masked gunman interrupts their bonding session, Tony knows he'll do anything to make sure Peter is alright.

Prompt: Modern Day/No Powers AU

Apartment 43B by @ironfamjam (my most favourite author ever)

After Peter gets stabbed clean through, he knows he can't let May see. His genius plan? Sneak into his best friend's apartment and clean himself up.

The problem?

It's the wrong apartment.

Enter Tony Stark, the ex-CEO that disappeared off the face of the earth three years ago, armed with his handy little first aid kit, custom made coffee machine, and witty anecdotes.

Somehow, the breaking in becomes a habit.

Irondad Bingo Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Walking The Grey Line by ALittleBattyLady

When Ben Parker dies in his arms, a little piece of Peter dies too. At age 14 he's spiraling down into a hole of emptiness and just can't seem to move forward. Then he accidentally texts the wrong number. Tony thought he could handle whatever the world threw at him, but Steve's betrayal was something he hadn't expected. Months later he's still struggling to pick up the pieces. Then after a wicked bender, he wakes up with a text from a stranger.

They've built themselves a world that exists within nonsensical messages, where Peter finds a father figure he never expected and Tony finds himself worrying for a kid who shouldn't have to suffer so much. Still, the world still exists outside of their bubble of texts. The Avengers have been broken apart, the Accords are nowhere near perfect. Peter's uncle is dead and he's about to be thrown into a world of heroes.

What started as a chance meeting through a strayed text is about to turn into so much more.

AKA The Wrong Number Irondad Au no one asked for, but received

If You’re Going Through Hell, Keep On Going by @baloobird

In a world with no superheroes or powers, Tony Stark turns over a new leaf after his plight with Afghanistan. He goes to therapy and it changes his life, so much so that he decides to open up his own practice and help people that are like him.

His newest client: Eight-year-old Peter Parker

Little did he know that he would actually become attached to one of his patients

What Occurred In Raychester Castle? by @fictionart

Lord Anthony Stark is the Earl of Raychester castle. He inherited it from his father when he died, and soon he'll be married to the lovely Lady Virginia Potts. His life the perfect example of Victorian values, everything was going the way it should have.

Until one day, one of his lower servants worms his way into Tony's heart, and introduces him to a world Tony knew was there, but had never seen, and challenges the very way he viewed the world.

Yet, it doesn't feel like such a mistake.

---

Or a historical AU of Tony Stark and Peter Parker set in 1890s fictional Britain, where Tony is an Earl and Peter is a lowly servant.

Our Pages Flipped In Reverse by @ciaconnaa

Fifteen year old Peter Parker makes headlines when he's captured in a terrorist attack during a Sokovian science convention. Three months later, he's a household name when there's reports he busted out of a cave in some ridiculous iron suit.

With a miniaturized version of Tony Stark's infamous arc reactor in his chest.

Naturally, this means the two have to meet.

Intern Spider by @justme--emily

Penny Parker applied to the pilot Stark Industries internship program before she got her powers. But when Mr. Stark becomes her personal and superhero mentor, she'll have to get creative to keep the two identities separate...and secret.

ever in your favour by @iron-spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

A Tale As Old As Time by @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars and @femalemarvelfanatic

A selfish man gets cursed into a metal suit, and only a little boy with a dark past and a heart of gold can break the curse. It’s a tale as old as time.

peter’s stars by @parkrstark and IronPengu

Steve and Peter lose their apartment and are kicked out on the streets. Steve has to juggle between jobs to earn whatever money he can, take care of his son while refusing to let him realize how much they're trouble in, and keep them warm and safe on the city streets in winter.

So, he really doesn't have time to date the billionaire that flirts with him everyday as he buys his cup of coffee. Even if he did, he can't let himself fall for the man. Because if he knew that he lived from a backpack and showered in a public bathroom there's no way he'd still want him...right?

Make Way For Tomorrow by @tonystarkstan

Before Ben died, Peter won a booth to present his project at the Stark Expo. But even on the run from the foster care system, he can't pass up the opportunity to attend and show the world his project. It all goes so well, until it doesn't. Trying to avoid being caught, Peter runs out on Tony just as the man is about to make him the offer of a lifetime.

Bold of him to assume Tony won't try to find him.

It All Comes Back To This by @tonystarkstan

After a car accident leaves him hanging somewhere between life and death, Peter must decide whether to stay or die. The answer isn't as easy as he thought it'd be. Luckily, he has his friends and the Avengers there to help him figure it out.

Have Patience, Quick Wit and a Gentle Heart by @ironfamjam

“I’m your fairy-” he scowled, looking pained, “you know what, no. I’m not going to say that. It’s ridiculous and not even accurate. I don’t know who invented those fairy tales you humans love so much, but they’re beyond terrible."

"Wait..." Peter tried to hide his grin, "Are you my fairy godmother?" he laughed, unable to stop no matter how hard he tried.

The man glowered. "Watch it kid. I could turn you into a frog instead."

Or

The Irondad Cinderella AU one person asked for

 More Ancient Than Magic  by ironfamjam

Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

The Case Of The Sinister Spider

In New York City, Peter Parker finds his entire life up-ended when he gets a phone call informing him of May Parker's tragic accident. But when new evidence comes to light proving foul play, no one in the NYPD will give Peter the time of day.

No one that is, except genius consulting detective on probation, Tony Stark. But Tony has his own demons to fight. Struggling to maintain his sobriety after a tragedy in London forced him overseas, Tony learns that what mends hearts might not be at the bottom of a bottle, but something like a string of unsolved murders and perhaps even love.

Or, the Elementary AU no one asked for

Only For A Little While by eccentric_artist_221b

Exploring the relationship between Tony Stark and Peter Parker if they had been passengers aboard the Titanic over 106 years ago…. an Irondad AU 

a galaxy far, far away by @madasthesea

a star wars au if tony and peter were master and padawan

___________________________________________________

add to this list if you know any more awesome fics with an au!

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

only angel - roman godfrey

roman godfrey x reader

title from the harry styles song of the same name

disclaimer: i’m not trying to distract from what’s going on by posting my work. that would never be my intent. times are trying, and i’m simply trying to provide some sort of entertainment or something to do with your time. i’m not fishing for any praise of any kind, i’m just putting my work out like i usually do. i love you all and please stay safe.

notes: in other news, if you haven’t noticed, i have a posting schedule now. it used to be every friday somewhere around midday, but that wasn’t really doing much with the algorithm, so i changed it to midday thursday. and i’ll be taking a week off next week bc i’m getting my wisdom teeth removed then. (which i’m incredibly anxious about) so if i go awol for a little while, that’s why. 

also, i have almost no knowledge of alcohol! and i don’t drink! so if i don’t have some commonly known drink or bartender knowledge, please forgive me.

***********

“i’ll take an old fashioned, please.” a woman asked politely, flashing her pearly whites.

“one apple martini with no olive,” a man requested.

“can i get a scotch on the rocks?” a man with a gruff voice asked. 

you were new to this job, but you had a bit of experience, both on the bartender end and the bar attender end. you quite liked this job; the customers were fairly friendly, and you were in a much less seedy part of town than the last dive bar you worked at. you didn’t mind it, though, it gave you your thick skin, something you need in a profession like this. 

you also liked this job better because you weren’t alone. this joint in particular had more bar space than seating space, so they commissioned two bartenders to work instead of just the one. the first few days you were a little rusty, not having worked in a while, but the two of you quickly got into the swing of things. 

his name was roman godfrey, heir to the godfrey fortune, who had a much different story on how he became a bartender. coming from such a wealthy family, he of course inherited the highest position at godfrey tower, which he quickly realized was way too much work for him to handle. roman had transformed from a spoiled rich brat to someone who had more respect for people who actually had to work to keep themselves afloat, and you’d say it changed him for the better. 

somewhere along the line he’d developed a respect for women, too, probably coming from some prior bartending experience. you admired him for that, mostly because you’d hate to work with the man he used to be. 

another reason you enjoyed working with him so much was the fact that his name was so well known across the entire state of pennsylvania that nobody really liked to fuck with him. they’d much rather stay on his peaceful side, because some, more than others, had seen his aggravated side before and were not too terribly inclined to see it again. this came in handy for you when a situation similar to tonight’s had arose.

it was a stormy night, much like many spring evenings. the bar was packed tighter than usual since it was raining much too hard for anyone to leave. it was nearing last call, and you and roman were trying to close up, much to the dismay of the customers. as you were starting to stack some glasses, a greasy older man sauntered up to the bar, plopping right down on the barstool you’d just cleaned.

“i’ll take a gin and tonic, and make it snappy, i’ve gotta get home,” the man demanded, tone devoid of any politeness. “and it’d do you some good to button that up a few more times.” he gestured to your uniform that had the first couple buttons undone to show some cleavage.

“excuse me?” you stammered, flabbergasted at his frankness. you paused what you were doing, frozen in shock.

“you heard me. now make me that drink, bitch, or i’ll climb over this fucking bar and make it myself.” the man insisted.

“you have no right to say that to me.” you defended. “this is my uniform, and if it makes me more comfortable to unbutton it, then i will. i don’t need input from people like you, and you certainly don’t deserve a drink for acting like that. we’re closing anyway, it’s too late.”

you’d handled customers like this before, but they tended to be much less blatant about their sexism and disrespect than this man was. you had started drying the glasses and putting them away at a much faster pace just to get this insistent man off your ass.

“come on, no ones over here, what’s it gotta take for a guy to get a drink?” the man’s inebriation became much more obvious now as he grabbed your forearm as you reached for another glass.

“let go of me!” you shrieked, much louder than you intended. this caught the attention of quite a few other customers and, of course, roman, who quickly made his way over to you.

“exactly what the fuck do you think you’re doing here, huh?” he growled, setting his piercing gaze on the man, who quickly unhanded you.

“i asked her very kindly if she would please make me a drink, and she said no.” he swallowed nervously, the mere presence and power seeping off of roman intimidating him.

“it didn’t sound very kind to me, man. i didn’t hear any fucking ‘please and thank you’s over here.” roman replied, trying to keep his calm with the man that he wanted to hypnotize into slamming his head on the bar.

the man stayed silent, his cocky asshole persona fading into fear at the hands of mr godfrey. roman nodded at his compliance and subtly placed a hand on top of yours on the glass you were holding.

“alright sir, if you would please kindly,” he put a strong emphasis on the word. “stop bothering my friend, get the fuck out of our bar, and head the fuck home, it would be much appreciated.”

as if entranced, the man pulled his jacket back up on his shoulders, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking straight into the rainstorm.

roman looked down at you and smiled his signature grin. usually that’d have your heart melting like a popsicle on a hot summer day, but you weren’t in the mood for it. the scowl on your face told him everything he needed to know.

“why the face? what did i do?” he asked genuinely. he had learned not to skip straight to defending his actions, finding that asking what his mistake was and how to fix it was a method much more popular with the ladies.

“you should’ve let me handle that myself.” you frowned, unhappy with the situation at hand.

“what? why would i do that?” he asked incredulously. “i’m not just gonna stand by and watch that cretin of a man treat you like that!”

“i know, and i thank you for that. your heart was in the right place, but you shouldn’t have stepped in.” you began. “for the longest time, almost every profession has been male-dominated, so us women get the short end of the stick when it comes to how we’re treated in the workplace.

“men have some sort of hero complex, thinking they can insert themselves into a situation they had nothing to do with and earn praise and thanks for their help that wasn’t asked for. men think that they can start confrontations with us and expect us to be silent and complient, to just sit there and take it because we’re not going to stand up for ourselves.” you watched the expression on his face morph to one of interest. “it was my situation, my job to deal with it, and my job to handle the repercussions, should there be any.

“men are accustomed to getting whatever they want, whenever they want it, and that’s got to change, and it starts with small things. small things like me, reprimanding that man for his actions and the way he spoke to me.” you took a breath. “i’m glad you recognized something was happening, but you should’ve only stepped in had things gotten more violent.”

roman looked stunned, almost like he’d gotten a slap across the face. you shouldn’t be surprised, this was usually the reaction you got from men when you tried to educate them on the trials and tribulations of women, but something was different. rather than shocked and confused as to why you would think that, he seemed more understanding of your struggles. sympathetic, even.

he stood still for a moment, as if he was a sponge absorbing all the information you’d dumped on him. “wow, i had no idea there was so much behind that. thank you for letting me know.”

“can i..?” his question trailed off as he leaned down towards you, lips meeting yours. you melted into his embrace, the weeks of yearning for this exact moment finally catching up to you. he started to pull away, but you stood on your tiptoes and chased his lips. you both pulled away breathlessly, lips wet and pink.

“wow, that was,” the rest of your thoughts fell short, but as you looked at roman it was apparent he had the same idea, whatever that may be.

“can i walk you home?” he asked, gathering his things. you nodded up to him, smiling sheepishly as he gently placed your jacket on your shoulders.

the two of you managed to close the bar for the night and fortunately, the rain had died down enough for you to head home. roman held his umbrella above both of you as you curled into his side to escape the cold chill of the rain.

he dropped you off at your place, turning to leave before you spun him around. you hopped up the first two steps and leaned down to kiss him again, easier this time since you were at his level. he smiled against you and kissed back fervently, placing a hand on the area between your neck and shoulder for some leverage.

you said your goodbyes, heading into your house, still feeling the tingling sensation where his hand was as you smiled giddily.

**********

ignore the ending i cant write endings it’s a problem

the feminist jumped out a bit sorry not sorry

i wrote almost all of this last night bc inspiration suddenly struck and i had to take advantage of it and this turned out waayyy longer than intended oopsie

tags: @emmyrosee @jadelynlace @copper-boom @babyboy-cody @goblincxnt @hecohansen31 @skrsgardspam @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass @little-grunge-flowerz @manicpixiedreamguurl

[gingerwritess]

home boy loki needs his hair brushed asap

part 12 of loki’s happy ending, masterlist in bio!

ok now things can start moving between you two eheheheheheh

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There’s a god in your shower.

No big deal. Just another normal day in the life of me.

What in god’s name possessed you to agree to this, you have no clue, but he’s been in there for almost an hour now and you’re just listening to your water bill shoot through the roof.

No. big. deal.

You’re about to go bang on the door and yell at him to finish up before he drains the ocean when the door swings open and he stomps past you.

Glowing.

You lower your fist and clear your throat, intent on ignoring yet another eyeful of bare godly torso.

“Took you long enough.”

“It’s been nearly a month,” he scowls, shooting you a glare. “I have a lot of hair to wash.”

“Cool.” You nod and awkwardly sit on the side of your bed, trying not to watch him finish drying himself off. “I got you some clean clothes. Just some sweats and a t-shirt, nothing fancy. Sorry.”

He casts you a sideways glance, tightening the towel around his waist. “Thank you.”

After nearly three hours of hiding in your office eating, Loki had gathered the courage—and the blatant shame—to reluctantly request to take a shower. You’d told him you wouldn’t stop him from using the communal showers in the tower, to which he had just raised an eyebrow at you in clear annoyance.

“Oh. Right, only Laing, not you,” you remembered. “You, um, can use mine.”

A slightly awkward car ride and a quick stop in the men’s section of the nearest department store brought you to now, holding out the grey sweats and t-shirt to the freshly washed god—the glowing god, you realise again when you get another good glance at that ridiculously well-defined torso.

He takes them without another word, stepping back with one hand holding the towel around his waist, staring at you in silence.

“Well?”

You blink. “Well what?”

“Shall I dance for you as I drop the towel? Or are you planning on turning around?”

So maybe the staring is obvious. But he’s...glowing.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble, hurriedly swivelling around on the bed to turn your back on him. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

You hear him rustle around for a bit, wishing he could’ve just stayed in the bathroom to change, considering this is now twice that you’ve seen way more of him than a “workplace associate” should ever get to—have to.

I meant have to.

Your heart beats a tiny, tiny bit faster.

You panic.

“So you’re glowing,” you blurt, burying your face in your hands just in case he rounds the bed and gets a look at you.

He doesn’t need to start thinking he holds any power over you.

“No,” Loki quickly replies from behind you. “I’m not.”

“You totally were. I saw you, your whole torso was glowing.”

“Staring, were we?”

You grab a pillow and lob it somewhere over your head, hoping and praying that it hits him—the soft thunk and hissed “I’ll kill you” seem to say that it did.

“People don’t glow,” you huff into your hands, waiting for the go-ahead to look. “Is that just your natural glow? You wear like, permanent all-body highlighter?”

“I’m not glowing,” he says again, voice slightly muffled—must be putting the shirt on.

The dumb side of your brain heaves a sad, disappointed sigh at that fact, and you want to slap yourself.

Slow footsteps drag over to come to a stop in front of you, and you peek through your fingertips to find a thankfully clothed god standing before you—still glowing.

“Just look.”

You push him by the shoulders over to the mirror on your dresser, flinging a hand towards his reflection as he stares.

The gold shimmer to his pale skin is unmistakable.

“Glowing. I told you.”

“I don’t see it,” he smoothly replies.

His hand twitches against his thigh as he turns away from the mirror, and in the blink of an eye, the entire golden hue surrounding his figure is gone.

“You just made it go away.” You blink a couple times, taking a shocked step away from him. “It was there. I saw it, and you did something with your hand.”

“You’re delusional.” Loki gives you a thin smile.

“Do it again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do—do it again,” you repeat, waving your hand at him as you look him up and down. “Show me again.”

There’s a strange lift to your voice, something he’s certain he’s never heard before, not from you, not from anyone on Asgard, not from anyone between the two.

Perhaps from his mother, perhaps centuries ago when he couldn’t quite reach the window sill she’d claimed as her’s and his, back when he’d managed to produce nothing more than a painful spark in the palm of his hand.

“Do that again.”

You’re...interested.

A lump catches in his throat.

“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

To appease you would be too indulgent. It’d be stupid, a mindless thrill for a few seconds that’d only begin another downward spiral of yearning.

Impressing a mortal isn’t exactly a feat to consider an accomplishment.

The spell was a stupid idea, he decides, it was too obvious, too drastic. The intensity of the concealment might be necessary, but he’ll have to make extra efforts if he wants to keep up the façade without those, uh...glittery side effects.

“Okay,” you slowly say with a frown, “never mind. Sorry I asked.”

The eye contact is scalding.

Something’s up. Loki’s silent, you’re uncomfortable, and those pants look pretty damn good on him.

Some butts are made for grey sweatpants.

Loki finally breaks, turning around and walking away from you without another word—yeah. Butts like that.

Did I mention you’re uncomfortable?

You loudly clear your throat as you stand, shoving every last thought about your fake boyfriend doctor god to the absolute furthest corner of your mind. Time for mature, professional interactions.

“Need a hairbrush?”

“What?” Loki whirls around at your voice, eyes wide. “Why would I need—”

“Easy, Loki,” you laugh, raising your hands in defence. “Just thought I’d offer.”

He goes silent for a moment, then slowly nods.

“Please.”

He takes it from you without so much as a glance.

Riiip. Riiip. Riiiiiiip.

You chance a quick look into the bathroom only to find Loki positively ripping through his hair with the frenzy of a madman, his hair a wet, matted, tangled mess of dark locks that you could’ve sworn wasn’t like that when he came out of the shower.

Or any other time you’ve seen him, for that matter.

“Loki,” you quickly call, slipping into the bathroom before he can lash out at you again. “Stop, you’ve gotta be gentle, stop—stop—”

He scowls when you grab the brush out of his hand, your other hand smacking him lightly on the arm. “I can do this myself,” he grits out, fingers finding the back of his head and rubbing there with a wince. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re hurting yourself.” You hold up the brush with a sheepish grin. “Can I, um, can I help?”

There’s a moment of hesititation—then deep contemplation, deciding whether he can live with the shame, you guess—followed by another curt nod.

“Sit on the edge of the bathtub, yeah?”

Surprisingly enough, he does as you say, and when the brush meets his scalp, he flinches.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Staring from the bottom up, you try to work your way around the knots upon knots of matted hair, tugging as gently as possible and trying with every ounce of yourself to not let your fingers brush against his neck.

Loki doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move hardly at all, despite your incessant tugging at his scalp. It’s far from a relaxing moment, and even further from—as some may consider it—a somewhat romantic one.

Even still, you desperately want to dispel any tension that might be starting to break through the surface.

“Your hair wasn’t all tangled when you got in the shower,” you point out, working the brush through a particularly troublesome knot near his neck. “You were using an illusion for that, too, right?”

Half-expecting him to deny it, his curt “I was” comes as a bit of a surprise.

“How come?”

“I’ve been stuck in prison,” he replies, but it’s offhanded, thrown out as an excuse.

You’ve half a mind to call him out on it, but you elect to just change the subject instead. “Have you given anymore thought to actually going to your therapy?”

“You mean go back to prison,” Loki corrects, fingers tightening on the edge of the bath. “Back in the hands of my brother and his little friends, their prodding and poking and watching me through a glass case like an animal—”

CRACK.

You both look down with a start.

“I...sorry. I’ll fix that.”

Somehow in that quick little almost-tangent, he’d gripped the bathtub edge so tightly that the porcelain cracked.

An excellent reminder of whose hair you’re brushing—and who you’ve now brought into your home, fed, and are pretending to date, all to appease a grand plan that has yet to be revealed to you.

You suddenly wish you’d brought your taser.

“We should be getting back to work soon,” you say as brightly as you can, putting extra effort into not tugging too hard on his hair as you hurry to finish. “Three-hour lunch breaks aren’t exactly advised.”

Why’d you do that for him, then?

He just nods, hands moving slightly as the edge of the tub crackles back together.

Only one more little bit of hair left to untangle, and your finger brushes just above the neck of his shirt, a jolt of near electricity zipping up your arm as Loki flinches violently, hissing a curse.

“Don’t touch me.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat—and really wishing for your taser—you hurriedly yank the brush the rest of the way through the tangled lock.

His hair moves with the sideways jerk of his head and you catch a glimpse of the pale skin at the base of his neck, normally covered by his hair and the neckline of his shirt.

...and your heart drops.

Bits of fresh red scar tissue peek out from the neckline, jagged incisions along the back of his neck and only suggesting an array of horror further beneath his shirt than you’d like to imagine.

“Loki,” you breathe, a finger catching in the neckline of his shirt to see the barely-formed scars chasing each other down his back.

He stands abruptly and snatches up your wrist, hair falling to cover the cuts and a demon in his eye screaming murder, then you’re back in your office.

“Glowing,” you blurt out before he’s reached the door, making him freeze with a hand on the knob. “That’s why you were glowing, y-you’re covering your—Loki, that’s not—you have to tell them—”

He’s back to Dr. Laing in the blink of an eye, shutting you up with a deadly glare you can see through the illusion.

“This was a mistake.”

Your hand searches the desk for your taser as you stare at him. “Okay then.”

“I liked you much better when you just played along,” he snaps, and your eyes narrow.

“I think you liked it better when I fed you,” you spit back, fingers wrapping around your taser—just in case. “And when I let you use my shower. And when I brushed your hair.”

“If you’re searching for gratitude, look elsewhere, mortal.”

“Really?” Your laugh turns cold, shaking your head at the fake doctor across from you. “I just saved your ass, and that’s how you’re gonna treat me? Okay.”

You pick up the desk phone.

Loki’s eyes narrow. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Reporting you. Again. For real this time.” You flash him a feigned smile and punch in the numbers. “And I’m telling them that you’re hiding crucial information regarding your employer for the little invasion stunt you pulled. They’re not gonna be too happy about that.”

“They owe me everything,” he hisses, taking a rapid step towards you, hand outstretched. “It was my suffering that brought this team of freaks together, it was my strategy that allowed them to become the heroes your world holds so dear.”

The phone is still ringing, and you put it on speaker. “But someone else was playing puppet master, weren’t they?”

“Hang up the phone,” he orders, snapping his fingers. “Stop this. You don’t know what you’d be starting.”

The phone keeps ringing and Loki’s eyes flit up to yours, wide and—huh.

Panicked.

That’s clear panic in his eyes, fear; Loki’s afraid of something.

“Please.”

Reluctantly, doubtfully, you put the phone back on the receiver.

“You better start talking,” you tell him, dropping back into your chair. “Where’d those cuts come from?”

Instead of answering, Laing-Loki just stares at you, those illusive eyes boring into your skull; you’re glad he’s not Loki right now.

Your grip tightens on the taser.

“Stop it.” It’s barely a growl through gritted teeth, barely intelligible.

His fingers touch down on the desk, a little lean to his body that makes you recoil, wishing you could curl into a little ball and escape the burning in his eyes, but you find yourself unable to break the gaze.

“I said stop,” he repeats, and this time it’s a warning.

“Stop what?”

“You’re pitying me.” The corner of his lip quirks upwards.

It’s not exactly a dashing smile.

“No, I’m not,” you counter with a frown. “Don’t flatter yourself, I care about a lot of people.”

“You’re full of it, aren’t you?” Loki laughs, shards of ice against your skin. “You and your caring heart, you want to fix me, rehabilitate me; I’m just another little project for you, hm?”

“Know what? Never mind. I don’t give a shit about you.” You pull yourself to your feet, plastering a smile on your face and pointing a finger at the door. “Now get out of my life. I’m done helping you, I’m done.”

“You and I,” he laughs, a finger gesturing between the two of you, “we’re breaking up. This is over. Robert Laing deserves better.”

Okay, this is all a joke. Sure, Loki, we can laugh about it.

Smacking his hands on the desk once more, he smiles and pushes himself off, spinning on his heel with a swish of his lab coat.

“Oh, and sympathy?” He turns when he reaches the doorway, halfway out and turning to throw one last grin your way. “Not a good colour on you.”

Up goes your middle finger—and he laughs once more.

The last glimpse of Dr. Laing—Loki—you get is him striding away from you, lab coat fluttering around him, little droplets of dark red starting to stain through the white fabric covering his back.

The illusions must be fading.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

feel free to send me ideas!!

if you enjoyed…what if i linked my venmo…haha no i jest…no obligations….just in case….u don’t have to ha ha…….unless… ??

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

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[savrenim]

okay so looking at tma fic in general and tma time-travel fic and the various ways they decide to resolve things has given me an idea for a time travel fix-it fic premise that, like, I almost certainly will never write because way too many writing projects but it is Haunting me so I need to blab about it somewhere 

so clearly the way that the ‘time travel’ / ‘knowledge of the future’ bit works is that Jon stumbles across a book that he assumes is a Leitner but then there’s no name in the front cover so he opens it proper and oooh this is weird but it’s too late the compulsion has set hold and and reads it, oops

the experience of reading it is the experience of fuck-it-feels-like living the entire timeline of the show up through the end of episode 160

(actually all the way through When Jon Finally Dies if he ever does but the important bit is he gets that knowledge of the timeline)

(the book is channeling the power of the Ceaseless Watcher, it’s all about knowledge, although very specifically in my brain this book is something that future!Jon and future!Martin constructed and sent back, which still tracks because hey Archivist is an Avatar of the Watcher. it’s just important to me that this is active action as an attempt to prevent the apocalypse and not dumb luck)

so Jonathan Sims now knows his future and because I have strong opinions about memory/ personality/ what makes a person, has arguably just been replaced with his future self.

‘oh fuck’ Jon says 

‘I ended the world so I gotta fix this’

but how does he fix this, because oops Elias is still stupidly powerful and is going to notice if anything is up so he can’t act weird 

but he can’t bring anyone else in on this because he doesn’t want to Curse Them with such Angsty Knowledge 

he is acting a little bit weird, Martin notices that he’s acting weird because he is now being nice to Martin 

‘this cannot be how the universe exists, Jon is always mean to me,’ Martin goes. ‘like I want the universe to exist this way but Something Is Up With Jon and it would be selfish of me not to investigate just because Jon is actually being nice to me’

Martin stumbles across the book and reads it too

‘oh fuck’ Martin says and immediately goes and talks to Jon and Jon has terrible selfish mixed feelings because he missed his Martin but also didn’t want Martin to have to go through everything he went through but also now Jon is not alone in trying to figure out how to alter this timeline without Elias noticing 

(’wait what gave me away,’ Jon goes)

(’you were being nice to me,’ Martin goes)

(’fuck I really do need to be meaner to everyone don’t I,’ Jon goes. ‘it’s just really hard I’ve had Character Growth and I don’t want to be an asshole again’)

(’well suck it up you’re going to blow our cover,’ Martin goes. ‘maybe you should have thought of that before Being An Asshole.’ he immediately feels bad at Jon’s Very Sad Face. ‘you weren’t actually that much of an asshole you were just under stress and prickly and didn’t realize that the people you weren’t appreciating could be people that you would lose and now you do and that’s fine but you gotta still treat them like you’re an Asshole.’)

(’fine,’ Jon goes.)

so now they’re trying to figure out how to stop Elias 

but also their main priority is to stop Tim and Sasha from dying at this point and they kind of figure that Elias doesn’t know the timeline and as long as he’s getting what he wants which is naive Jon stumbling through interactions with Entities and getting marked but not killed, he won’t suspect anything, and he doesn’t know Tim and Sasha are going to die so that at least is something immediate they can fix 

‘I want to murder Jonah,’ goes Martin 

‘you are super valid but also Gertrude tried that and was 1000% more badass than any of us and she ended up dead so maybe we should concentrate on saving our friends like we’ve got a few years to figure out how to do that,’ goes Jon 

‘fine,’ goes Martin 

Tim and Sasha notice that something is up, OBVIOUSLY, because Jon was weird-nice for like a week and a half then is weird-mean like he’s actually trying to be mean and hates it, and has gone from brushing off Martin all the time to pretending to brush Martin off but obviously secretly pining 

he also gives off feral apocalypse energy

Martin meanwhile is pulling this all off perfectly 

he fooled Elias and Peter and everyone else back when he was faking out the Lonely, he can handle this

Elias does notice Jon acting weird and thinks this is a soap opera workplace romance gone wrong but because he hasn’t seen all of it as Jon and Martin have been very careful to be using Martin’s Lonely powers when they want to Actually Talk and make it look like they’ve just casually wandered off when Elias isn’t paying attention to them so Elias doesn’t actually look like anything is up, he calls Jon in for a ‘performance review’ to make sure 

(Martin has Lonely powers and Jon has Archivist powers from the future and they can both feed off of the long terrible fears that they remember from the horrible horrible lives and deaths they and the entire world had in their own timeline, just give me this I need a plot device that can explain why they can Actually Talk to each other while not being able to use the tunnels) 

anyways Elias starts his performance review and pokes about Martin

‘um yeah,’ Jon confesses. ‘I um had a very awkward conversation with Martin because it seemed like he was being nice to me and I asked him about his feelings and he Confessed to me that he Liked me and I was caught by surprise and was thinking about it for a few days because idk nobody ever Likes me but then came to my senses and um but also it’s totally inappropriate because I’m his boss and I told him and we’re trying to forget that the conversation ever happened and just go back to concentrating on the statements’

‘you seem very nervous right now,’ Elias goes 

‘please do not report me to HR,’ Jon goes looking appropriately mortified and trying to remember everything Martin has been coaching him about lying by telling people what they want to hear. ‘I know I should have rejected him immediately it just caught my by surprise that he would actually Say It To My Face people have been saying a lot of honest things to my face it’s very weird and I know that I shouldn’t have run away from that conversation and acted Weird for a few days but I did come to the Correct Conclusion I am very devoted to this job and don’t want to do anything but this job and didn’t do anything with Martin we just had a conversation and I’m really trying to do a good job here and please don’t fire me’

‘nope you’re good that’s fine concentrate on your job,’ Elias says, quite satisfied that his Archivist is developing truth powers very quickly 

Tim and Sasha are not so easy to fool

Tim and Sasha find the book

Sasha, who worked in Artifact Storage, is Actually Smart and goes ‘dON’T READ THAT’

Tim reads it anyways

‘oh fuck I die stopping the apocalypse’ 

Tim doesn’t seem to die from reading the book and doesn’t seem to change except for being given this foreknowledge but Sasha is Smart so she doesn’t read it. Tim does fill her in on her future.

‘oh fuck I die when a weird worm-lady attacks? and don’t even get to help with the apocalypse? that’s bullshit.’

they start their own little huddle conspiracy 

which Martin immediately finds

‘nO YOU GUYS YOU GOTTA BE MORE CAREFUL TALKING ABOUT THIS STUFF’ Martin explains the future and methods of communicating without Elias watching, which is mostly him subtly hiding them in the Lonely

(’why do you and Jon have secret special powers that’s not fair,’ Tim goes)

(’because we went through literal hell??? and also didn’t die??? idk maybe if we keep you from dying you will also get special powers but seriously Tim they are very evil these are Evil Powers we don’t want them they just kind of happened to us in the process of trying to survive,’ Martin goes.)

‘so what is the plan,’ Sasha goes. ‘like besides us not dying how are you actually going to deal with the real apocalypse’ 

‘well we want to kill Elias but we haven’t figured that out yet because he’s watching our every move perfectly and if we’re not acting like he think we should act he’ll dispose of us and start again with a new Archivist,’ Martin goes. 

‘okay but like in your story there is a part where Peter Lukas personally escorts you to the panopticon and tells you to kill Elias/Jonas and you go no and Elias wins the bet,’ Sasha says. ‘what if you just murder him then, he says he wasn’t going to stop you and if he tries you’ve got another Avatar backing you up’

‘huh we didn’t think of that,’ Martin goes. ‘why didn’t we think of that. I swear there is a Very Good Reason we didn’t think of that. um. uh. there’s also the problem anyone working in the Archives will die if he dies unless they are powerfully enough connected the Ceaseless Watcher which is like. MAYBE Jon.’

‘W H Y did you not lead with that,’ Tim goes

‘yeah I really agree you should have led with that,’ Sasha goes 

‘this has been a very stressful time and we have been doing our best and right also everyone can quit they just need to blind themselves to do it,’ Martin goes. ‘or I guess pledge allegiance to a different evil god but that is really unpleasant you have to sacrifice fear to it or you starve’

(’okay why did you not lead with--’ Sasha goes. ‘I’m starting to really see some benefits for being an evil fear-monster,’ Tim goes. ‘Like we could be ethical evil fear-monsters. like ethical vampires. only scare really shitty terrible people who deserve it and, like, scare but not kill.’)

(Martin looks like he is about to cry.)

(’okay maybe not p l e a s e stop making that face I cannot stand your puppy-dog-but-also-on-the-verge-of-tears eyes,’ Tim goes)

(Sasha stops death-glaring at him as Martin looks slightly less like he is about to cry.)

‘so everyone loves rituals what if we, like. construct a secret ritual. that you’re saying Jon is dumb powerful chosen one Avatar right so let’s just, like. switch over being the ‘Heart of the Institute’ from Jonah to him. big proper paperwork ritual passing on of ownership claiming his position as Jonah’s heir or something,’ Sasha says 

‘that seems like just the sort of bullshit that might actually work. Sasha you are the smartest person in the world and I’m pretty sure the apocalypse wouldn’t have happened if you had survived the Prentiss attack,’ Martin says 

‘actually honestly Gertrude wanted you as her replacement that sounds very true and is probably why Elias didn’t choose you,’ Jon says. he has entered the room at this point as he was curious where literally all of his assistants had wandered off to. he does actually have work to get done the Archives are A Mess and Martin has been gone at this point for far longer than it takes to Make Tea so he figured something might be up and if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s finding Martin in the Lonely

‘real rude to not let us in on this,’ Tim goes. ‘also are you SURE this is not a weird Leitner fucking with you’

‘we’ve obsessively kept track of the things that are supposed to be happening and they’re all happening on the right days and stuff,’ Jon goes. 

‘okay so let’s stop like two apocalypses and not die,’ Sasha goes. 

the rest of the fic is everyone subtly not-so-subtly trying to recreate the exact timeline while also making events Less Terrible while also trying to seem Not Too Competent 

because this is a fic there’s gotta be adorable ridiculous fluff so everyone decides that the Cover Story in case Elias thinks people are acting weird has got to be Jon and Martin starting to secretly date 

(Jon and Martin are in absolute h e l l over this and it is a hilarious comedy of errors because they didn’t tell everyone else that they got together they both decided that was too private so everyone else is aggressively trying to actually matchmake them through this all and they’re now too embarrassed to drop the act because Sasha has been giving them hell every time they have accidentally withheld information from her so it’s like. three layers of fake dating.) 

(Elias decides all this drama is simultaneously the funniest thing he’s ever seen but also kind of a Bad Distraction and is subtly trying to break them up but doesn’t want to mess with things too much because he is Very Impressed with all the ‘progress’ Jon is making)

(Jon who is a complete badass and is mostly desperately attempting not to reveal all his powers)

(there are also a lot of different things that can go various ways. like do Basira and Melaine still join the Institute? I think they all read the book and make Informed Decisions about their futures but I have not decided yet what those Informed Decisions are. Daisy learns how to control Hunt powers without it overwhelming her, because Tim is totally right about it being possible to be an ethical fear-monster although as Jon and Martin can draw from the fear of the apocalypse-world they don’t really need it so it’s just a question of whether or not I want to give everyone else cool powers. we’re in a fix-it fic everyone gets cool powers without terrible consequences Because I Say So)

(Elias doesn’t give them trouble over this because he is delighted that he’s kind of collecting avatars of other Entities because it makes it really easy to make sure Jon has marks and he thinks this is his genius plan going even better than expected) 

we get to episode 158 

Martin really wants to dramatically kill Elias i m m e d i a t e l y but is waiting for a walkie-talkie signal that the ritual above is going as planned so he stumbles through all of the dialogue the same 

“Then do it. Kill him and help me save the world.” Peter goes 

Martin pauses in silence because oops there’s really not that much more Avoiding he can do

“No” Martin says.

Elias starts to laugh. 

The Signal Comes Through

‘fUCK YEAH,’ Martin says. ‘F I N A L L Y. I am murdering him and I’m saving the world but this isn’t for you, asshole, and Imma deal with you next.’

stabbity stab 

it’s very satisfying 

‘okay but what do you mean it’s not for me, you’re supposed to sit in the chair and help me look for the Extinction?’ Peter goes 

‘nah fuck that I’m from the future and I do what I want that was me stopping the Jonah Magnus’s final ritual,’ Martin goes. ‘you really think I fell for that Extinction bullshit you aren’t nearly as good a liar as you think you are, you stay right there and we’ll decide what to do with you when everyone gets down here it’s Jon’s Institute now and we’re both very pissed at you’

Peter tries to escape into the Lonely 

it Does Not Work as Martin has More Angst than Peter to draw from so is Way More Powerful 

everyone gets down there 

ritual worked nobody died!

‘okay but why DON’T we try to look for the Extinction.’ Sasha says. ‘that seems to be a pretty important thing to stop.’

at this point everyone agrees Sasha has the best ideas 

have I mentioned that every single female character is very gay for Sasha

quite frankly maybe Tim too

Sasha is a Badass and this fic portrays her as Gertrude Robinson’s Rightful Heir 

she Deserves Good Things

and she is Gonna Stop All Future Apocalypses so actually going through with Peter’s plan is maybe not a terrible idea 

they do the thing but in a careful way that traps no one in the chair and get the info

the Extinction is still very stoppable 

there are lots of ways but honestly the best way to do it is to manipulate humanity into actually Being Better and not being on the brink of extinction 

‘this is my Institute now let’s use it to fucking save the world,’ Jon goes 

and they use all their knowledge and power to go from being a massive conspiracy about causing the apocalypse to being a massive conspiracy about bringing kindness and preventing wars and stopping the rise of fascism in politics and poking humanity from behind the scenes into something Better that can Rise Above its fears 

and everyone lives happily ever after 

but yeah this entire fic is around the premise of ‘what if the actual fix-it isn’t Change Everything To Stop Bad Things From Happening it’s Keep Everything The Same Until We’re Handed The Opportunity To Stab Jonah On A Silver Platter And Then Take It’ which I have yet to see a fic do and oops that kind of grew away from me there but anyways that’s it that’s the fic

[thewritewolf]

Eating Habits Chapter 17:  Continuing On

Things aren’t quite as bad as our heroes thought they would be, but something else has picked up the slack when it comes to gnawing at Adrien’s peace of mind.

We’re close to the end of Eating Habits - three more chapters to go over the next ten days! :D

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

The other shoe didn’t drop in exactly the way that Adrien was expecting.

Despite his worst fears, his life didn’t return to that tumultuous few months following the unmasking of Hawkmoth. The news outlet that had reported on Marinette and Adrien had been little more than a tabloid that got picked up for a hot minute. Besides a few inquisitive phone calls from rather polite journalists, nothing much came of it.

Marinette hung up and sighed as she sat down at the kitchen table. “Where were all these well mannered reporters the first time? It would’ve saved us a heck of a lot of heartache if they had been there before.”

“Some of them were,” Tikki said from her spot on the table. “But polite whispers usually get drowned out in horrid shouting.”

“True.” Adrien put an omelette on a plate and set it in front of Marinette. She took a deep breath and sighed happily. “I’m super glad that I don’t have to sit in the apartment all day just to avoid getting ambushed.”

Marinette frowned. “I feel like there is a ‘but’ in there somewhere…”

“I’m sure you can find it if you keep feeling around,” Adrien joked. After a flicker of a smile passed over her face, her frown deepened.

“That settles it, then. You start with the lewd jokes when you’re trying to distract yourself. What’s got you so worked up, if it isn’t the news?”

Before he could stop himself, his eyes glanced treacherously towards the basket on the top of the fridge. Her eyes followed before understanding dawned.

“Ah.” She said into the cavernous silence that followed, a hundred conversations hanging in the emptiness. “Those. Do you think he saw the news? And that’s why he’s gotten so… prolific?”

Adrien laughed, but it was an empty noise. Prolific, as if it were him making designs just like the old days. Designing, rather than sending Adrien multiple letters a day, hammering away at his hard-earned and tenuous peace of mind. Every time he saw that particular type of envelope, that flowing cursive handwriting, his heart pounded in his chest and his breathing became haggard. It had gotten to the point where Marinette had banned him from getting the mail, but even with her filtering out most of them, his curiosity was building.

What did his former father want? Did he have something to say about his and Marinette’s relationship? Was he finally turning over a new leaf? Did seeing how they had moved on without him make him pull his head out of his ass for the first time since mom died? Well, her first death, that is. Adrien knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but… hope was something Adrien had always found hard to give up.

Which is why it was getting ever more tempting to give in and open one of those letters. Just one.

He was startled from his thoughts when a pair of slender arms wrapped around his chest from behind. Somehow, Marinette had snuck up behind him. He gladly took her hands in his as she spoke.

“You won’t find the answers you want to see in those letters, kitty. I promise. It’s just going to lead to more pain.” She sighed sadly. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

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

The sweltering summer days gave way to the cool summer nights - a perfect time to patrol. Maybe not in the full body suits, but Marinette was just glad that they were much more breathable than they looked. Swinging across Paris felt great and she hated going without doing it for too long.

Of course, the exertion brought with it a heat all its own. Which is why Ladybug and Rena Rouge could be found high up near the top of the Eiffel Tower tonight, where the winds whipped and they could escape the warmth of the city for a little while. As a nice bonus, it also kept them far away from listening ears and prying eyes. A perfect place to chat.

“The internship is going great,” Marinette said as a way to break the quiet.

Rena tilted her head to the side curiously, a look of confusion flickering across her face for a heartbeat. After a few moments, she smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, girl. It’s gotta be keeping you busy if you haven’t had time to talk about it. I was getting scared you were having an awful time over there.”

“Oh no no no, it’s been great!” Marinette began to warm up to the conversation .”I mean, yeah, they’ve really been keeping me active, but I actually enjoy that. After all these years, being idle just sorta feels… wrong, you know?”

“I get ya, girl.” Rena smiled as she leaned her head back, staring up at the inky black skies. “After that juggling act you pulled back in high school, it’s no wonder you keep putting more and more stuff on your plate. It must all be super easy compared to that.”

“It’s easier than fighting a super villain a day for years, yeah. But it’s challenging in a different way. I can’t just summon a lucky charm in the workplace to get just what I need to fix things.”

“Now that’s just quitter talk,” Rena replied. They both giggled. “But seriously, if anyone can figure out the solution to something, it’s you. Your mind always worked on a whole different plane than the rest of us.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said with a small smile. “Although the biggest problems they have me solve is the fastest way to get my designer what they need - whether that’s a second look at their latest piece, a roll of fabric, or just a coffee depends on the day.”

Rena scrunched her nose. “Doesn’t seem that glamorous.”

“Maybe,” Marinette conceded. “But being a gopher is exactly how I ended up being such good friends with Uncle Jagged, remember? A little hard work pays off in the end.”

Humming in agreement, Rena let the conversation end there. At least for a few minutes before she disturbed the quiet with a question.

“You know, you avoided the elephant in the room pretty well. But it’s not like I don’t know about it already. Even if I wasn’t a journalist, it was all over the news for a hot second.”

“I just…” Marinette sighed and started again. “You didn’t see how he just folded in on himself when the news first broke. He was just so scared and broken.”

“Damn,” Rena said simply. “Is he feeling any better? I tried to scare off the worst of the lot to keep them off your backs.”

“That was you? Thank you so much!” Marinette hugged her friend and pulled away to groan. “He would be back to his usual self, I think… if it weren’t for his father sending letters daily now.”

Rena sucked in a sharp breath. “That bastard doesn’t know when to give in, does he?” She growled. “What does he want, anyway?”

Marinette shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t opened any of the letters.”

“You can’t hide from it forever. We both know how that man works. All the determination of his son without any of the compassion or self-examination.”

“Adrien did his confrontation already. I don’t think another is going to do anything but hurt him, especially since Gabe has had a lot more time to think about how he’s going to tear into Adrien.”

“I know. But I also know that you are the one who took him down in the first place, so I know you’ll find a way to stop him again.” Rena squeezed her hand and Marinette smiled at her.

“Thanks.” Marinette’s smile faded as she turned to look at the city. “I just hope I can figure something out soon. I’m worried for Adrien. And with his twentieth birthday coming up…”

“You think Gabe might have something up his sleeve?”

“I don’t know how he could, but he always was full of horrible surprises.” Marinette sighed and stood, stretching her legs. “Come on, let’s finish patrol.”

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

A couple weeks after the news had first broken and Adrien found himself back in the spotlight - however briefly - he now found himself with his head in Marinette’s lap. Her fingers worked their way through his hair as he poured his heart out to her. It wasn’t an unusual scene, but it had certainly been happening more frequently.

During a lull in his venting, she said, “You’ve got a lot going on in here, kitty.” Her fingers traced a circle around one of his temples.

“I guess you could say that,” Adrien said as he rolled onto his back to look up at her.

“And you know I’m more than happy to help you however I can.”

“But…?”

“This might be more than I can help you with. You might need to consider some professional help.”

Adrien grumbled. “Everybody seems to think so too. You. Nino. Alya.”

“Then it must be a good idea, huh? If the people who love you most are all saying the same thing?”

Adrien thought about the pain in his chest and for the first time since Nino had first brought it up, he really gave it some thought. It might take him a while to build up the courage, but… he wanted to start healing. And maybe he had gotten as far as he could get on his own. Maybe it was time to find professional help.

[aka-indulgence]

Why Oh Why

Woops, got sick from lack of sleep and made the wonderful decision to go to work on a cold, autumn, rainy morning… and now that I get the chance to sleep my body’s just… up kfjdks

sorry bout any typos if they are any -u-

Summary: You can’t sleep… And Sans’ not leaving you alone like that.

You groaned.

You’ve slept a grand total of 1 and a half hours today- sleeping at sunrise and waking up soon after. You had work that day, after all.

And while you were there… Good lord you were tired. So ungodly tired- you fell asleep while you had one of those sessions where a boss would come in front of everyone to teach a business strategy- which, honestly was quite helpful but… Not with your state of mind like that today. You fell asleep for god’s sake- that barely happens with you. It was only 15 minutes or so but still. Rare.

You were lucky you went to a forgiving workplace because oh man- you had started to dream while Mr. Camber was explaining about persuasion and succession and pizza and beds… Wait.

There you went again, your mind felt like it was more of a… Weird malleable goop instead of the solid mass of brain it was.

Coming home you feel that sleep deprived mind struggling to keep up with the wind brushing your face as you cycled home- wishing you were driving instead. The autumn winds had seeped through the fabric of your clothes and with your heating up body, that was anything but pleasant.

When you got home you found that Sans hadn’t turned home yet, so you took a quick hot shower and quickly changed into your nughtwear, eating carbonara pasta at the table when Sans came home from his work at… The hotdog stand?

“end of the day… i gotta get my rewards.” he’d explain.

“baby, you practically didn’t sleep yesterday. let’s go to bed soon, ok?”

You’d agreed, you had been wanting to sleep since the moment you cracked your eyes open from the blarring alarm that summoned you to work… How you wish you’d have called sick today. Sans had told you you should just call… And you did promise him you would… But your weak mentality had stopped you from pressing that call button after you pressed the contact on your phone… And you’d hastily rushed to work.

Without eating or even cleaning up your face…

Needless to say, you were happy to be back on your bed with your skeleton snug beside you, giving you a goodnight kiss and settling beside you. You had smiled, snuggled next to him and…

… here you were, about an hour since you’d gotten to bed, watching the clock of your phone and groaning as the seconds ticked by and your sleep deprived mind making your mood go all the more worse.

You’re goddamned tired, exhausted, and aching al pver from the weird position you’d slep the morning earlier- but your body was just. Not. Going to sleep.

What the hell- I’m in bed with Sans what’s wrong with me?!

… and while you were at work, where you needed to keep your eyes opened, you felt like you coul sleep if you’d just close your eyes for a quarter of a minute. And now- why can’t you switch the two with each other?! You wanted that head drooping-heavy eyelid sleepiness you had this afternoon. You hated thinking of tomorrow and the fact you’re going to sleep less than what you wanted to- namely 12 hours if you could. It wasn’t healthy but it was just one night and you really felt you needed something like that for now…. while you saw the hour ticking past 9 PM… 10 PM… 11…

Argh… it was still a weekday tomorrow… please PLEASE let me sleep.

You sighed for the 10th time after checking your phone for… anything, you weren’t even sure what, peeling the covers off you a little and turning over to-

“Gah-!”

… Sans was awake. His white lights trained on the ceiling, arm folded on top of the covers. He didn’t even make a sign that he’d noticed you like that.

“… Sans?”

“yeah sweetie?” He raised his brows little, still looking at the ceiling.

“… Why are you awake?”

“why are you awake, love?” He finally took his eyelights away from the ceiling to give you a gentle,, loving look. “thought i told you you should sleep earlier… after that stunt you pulled behind me.”

“I… I’m sorry, I got nervous ok??” You argued, even if you inew he’d win mst of the arguments when he thought it came to your health. “You remember when they didn’t let me take a sick day off last spring.”

“that was last spring, (y/n). and you’ve called in sick to work after and before that, without problems, right?”

… well yeah, but-

“I’m scared if… he ’s going to answer the phone though.”

Sans’ soft grin twisted at the notion of him… a crab monster named Red Claw (wow, how creative!) That’d always be hard on you, pushing you around when he had more work and not holding back when he had an ‘opinion’ to tell you- often gicing some racist remarks to you.

Now Sans understands the tiny albeit uncomfortable rift that settles between humans and monsters- most of everyone doesn’t feel it but some people do… and Sans has gotta be honest, humans have done some pretty shit things…

But at least, don’t look for trouble when there isn’t one. You were a sensitive, soft little human that never had anything against his kind- even when Sans had been hesitant to get to know humans- and you, more.

“ah, is he bothering you again, baby?” San asked, though the both of you were pretty sure of what he was planning to do, “because i’m going to have a little… talk with him if he is.”

“W-waight,” you fussed as soon as you heard the words leave his mouth, “You’re not going to do anything to him, right?”

“what do you mean, sweetie?” Sans lidded his sockets as he looked up again, the image of Claws appearing in his mind’s eye and a dangerous look on his face “i said i’m just gonna… talk with him. nothing more, nothing less.”

Hm… you knew Sans was twisting around his intentions but… you couldn’t exactly stop him. He’d always think you as one of his top priorities.

“if you’re nervous of calling work, i’ll do it for you, love, if it makes anything easier for you.”

“What- Sans you don’t have to di that-”

“-oh fuck it, i’m just gonna do it. (y/n), you’re not going to work tomorrow. you got it?”

“Wh-huh-”

You felt a blip in your hand, like a bit of untouchable gel enclosing around it and- your phone was in his hand.

“W- Sans give it back!”

“nope.”

“Saaaaaaans!”

“not happening.” He made it a point to tuck your phone somewhere behind him, out of reach from you.

“Sans, why?”

“because you slept only an hour today, love, and right now i can see you’re having trouble sleeping, and i’m not letting insomnia and work mess your health up.”

'I- uh- grh.“ You slumped your hands in defeat in frontof you. "Fine, Sans.”

“now that’s my good girl, hm?” Sans lifted a brow at you a he fixed the covers arouns, turning his body o he was facing you, leaning his skull on one of his hands, elbow propped on the bed.

“'Good girl’, yeah yeah…” you mumbled, turning to him and crossing your arms in mock anger, looking away from him. He’d open his arms out at you, making grabby motions.

“c'mon.” He said in a whisper, eyesocets lidded at you. God.. he looks so handsome (And sexy???) like that.

You sometimes really want to slap him across the cheekbone when he looked so smug like that, like you would listen to him amd 'give it’ to him…

… but unfortunately (fortunately) for you, tonight you wanted to be held by your skeletal husband and lulled to sleep.

You scooted closer to him until his arms reached you and pulled you closer to his chest, touching with yours, and aking your heart amd his soul hum in unison. You put your hands over to his back and hugged him more as well.

Phalanges had automatically settled in your hair, brushing it soothingly as he gave you a quick kiss in the cheek, then on the mouth.

“now you’re caged, baby, you din’t have a choice but to stay here with your skeleton in the closet all day tomorrow.” He teased playfully, chuckling a little.

“Oh no, ah- Sans! But what if I et better by tomorrow morning?”

“mmm…” Sans feigned thoughtfullness, putting a hand on his chin and tapping on it with a phalange. “no. you’ve worked hard enough, love, it’s time for you to get some good fucking rest.”

“Hngh…” you groaned, then sighed, burying your face in your chest. “I don’t know how this all will help me sleep now, though.”

“Also- how’re you awake, Sans? You always sleep so fast- anytime, anywhere!”

“true,” Sans confirmed. “but i’m not leaving my favorite human alone in the dark of the night like that. i don’t like seeing you stressed like that, you get me? i wanted to wait unil you’d fall asleep.”

“Ah-” you blushed, for a second. Before you started again “Oh Sans- I didn’t mean to keep you up! You don’t have to wait for me, Sans…”

“oh but (y/n)-” he put a hand on your cheek;, stroking it a bit. “you know when i get to spend more time for you is treasure to me, baby.”

…

How did you find a man for you so smooth like thst?!

“Arggsg-” you jerked a bit, Sans chuckling at you. “Ok ok ok, enough, I’m going to sleep now.”

“go ahead, be my guest.” He nudged your hesd with his skull. “you know i’ll be hear if you meed anything.”

“Thanks, Sans,” you said as you felt that oh so familiar drag of your eyelids drawing close. “I’ll just… go now, then…”

…

With Sans just brushing your hair and rubbing your back soothingly like that, your souls so close and combining their hums together in harmony like that, sleep had claimed you quickly.

Sans sighed, giving you a kiss on the crown and letting his eyesockets closed, happy you were sleeping relaxed tonight.

“i love you, (y/n).”

[jimlingss]

Jungle Park [9]

Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

➜ Words: 4.2k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

It’s a crime scene.   There are no traces of blood, no signs of a break in, of thrown furniture or a deadly weapon next to a corpse. It’s much simpler and devastating than that. The lights are still on, shoes neatly put at the front door. There’s a white envelope on the small kitchen counter. It’s been ripped open with evidence of haste and panic. There are copper and silver keys that have fallen onto the tile floor, bag dropped beside it. And in your hand is a single piece of paper, the biggest crime of all.   One would take a look at the rent in your hand and find it ‘fucking astronomical’.   It’s an abomination.   And when you come to your senses, you discover yourself furiously knocking on the door of the perpetrator at ten at night.   The old woman swings the door open and it crashes against her pristine white wall. She’s clad in pajamas and a black robe, tea mug in her hand as she glares at you. “Do you know what time it is?!”   “I’m sorry.” The apology comes out automatically and you damn yourself. No, you’re not sorry. But instead of retracting, you simply lift up the bill and get to the reason why you’re here bare feet, standing in front of her door. “Can you please explain this to me? I’m confused.”   “What’s there to be confused about?”   “It’s almost double from last time.” You’re trying to calm down, but you’re still in hysterics, caught in between and you feel yourself going insane. Part of what you’re saying is shouted in anger and other parts you’re whispering in meekness. Your landlady looks at you like you’re a bizarre, yet sad clown. “It spiked like a lot.”   “I sent a notice to everyone in the complex,” she tells you impassively.   “I didn’t get one,” you attempt to reason with her and let the landlady see your perspective. But it’s futile and you’re only becoming increasingly frustrated.   “Well—” She takes a sip of her tea. “—I did send you one.”   “You can’t just change the lease agreement halfway through.” You’re on the verge of tears and you’re not sure you can make it through without breaking down like a pathetic fool. “That-...that’s illegal!”   “If you don’t like it, then you can find some place else,” she says with composure, fully knowing that it’ll affect you more than her. “I’m more than happy to let you break the lease. I’ll find another tenant.”   She knows and you know — you’re unable to leave this place. Not when it was one of the few locations that was close to work and anywhere near the city at this price range. You can’t afford to pack up your bags and go somewhere else. So you’re left defeated and pleading, as if the last whimper of your voice can convince her otherwise, “you can’t just increase the rent halfway through the lease.”   “I understand that,” she enunciates and punctures every syllable with a sharp tongue, tired of having to constantly repeat herself. “But I don’t think you understand how expensive taxes, insurance, and energy costs are getting. At this rate, I’ll be in debt, Y/N.”   When you drag your feet back home, you sit down and work to figure things out.   It’s entirely possible to get a rebate for your rent. You would have to go to a legal clinic and speak to someone, which works out perfectly since you work for a law firm. You have friends that are lawyers, Sunyi or Taehyung or Yoongi, the list is endless. Maybe they’re not knowledgeable in this specific kind of issue, but nonetheless in the general area and they could always recommend you to someone good. There’s also a chance that you would go to the tenant board and plead your case. But the problem you have are with the possible outcomes:

You will have no choice but to move out, even after getting the rebate.

There are changes in the property ownership. The landlady will lose the apartment complex. But as much as you think this ordeal is unfair, you’re not spiteful enough to make her lose her livelihood.

Best case scenario: the rent is forced to return to normal and the landlady keeps her property and you get to stay. But then she would have it out for you and you’re not sure you can handle such tense living conditions.

It feels like you’re being shoved in a corner. Part of you wishes you didn’t care about the landlady’s well being and you would go through with one of the options and bring justice to your own life. But you can’t do it. Either way, guilt would gnaw at you like mites eating at your skin.   Someone once told you that you care too much for people when you shouldn’t. He’s right.   With a sigh, you think of only two things. It’s the only way you can afford to pay your bills and sustain your life — ask for a raise and take on more shifts.   “Where are we off to this evening?”   You shuffle back into the driver’s seat after guiding the passenger into the back seat and greeting them. The female passenger mumbles a destination and you pull away from the curb, knowing what streets and turns to take.   One after another.   You take young and old to the airport, to their homes, to clubs or late-night events, anyone and everywhere in between. Every night without break, you drive and cut down your sleeping time by doubling your caffeine intake. It’s unhealthy, but you’re still waiting for the right time to ask for a raise from both Jimin and Hoseok. Every time you linger outside their office, they end up exiting themselves and telling you to talk later since they have somewhere to be.   It seems like timing has always been your worst enemy.   “Where are we off to?”   The man in the backseat of the taxi glances behind him and then out the window before meeting your eyes in the rear-view mirror. His pupils flicker back and forth, shaking, and as strange as he is, you most definitely would’ve never guessed what his destination is— “the border.”   “Pardon?” You twist your body fully around, afraid that your ears are finally failing you.   But the man repeats himself. “The border, please.”   “That’s a four-hour ride,” you explain to him, unable to believe what he’s saying. Four hours to and from is eight hours in total. You’d be driving out of the city, far into the deserted countryside and you would have to go straight to work afterwards. It’s not like you can afford to call in for an unpaid sick-day. Though you have one bigger worry. “This...this isn’t illegal, right? Because I’ve had my fair share of driving people to illegal activities and I’m not doing that again.”   “No! No,” he spits out hastily and looks behind him again before whirling around. He’s sweating and you’re beginning to as well. The black backpack beside him is suspicious and you pray he doesn’t have any kind of weapon. “Just please bring me to the border. I promise it’s nothing bad and you won’t be harmed. I...I can give you an additional four hundred dollars.”   Four hundred tip?   The debate fires in your head and sadly, it doesn’t last long for you to make a decision.   “I hope you’re ready to pay up when the time comes.” You signal and pull away from the curb, destination already in the navigation system. From the rear-view mirror, the stranger gives you a big smile with swelling cheeks.   The trip is long and tedious. When it’s empty highways and one straight road, it’s easy to get lost in thoughts or to become sleepy. But you have strategies of keeping yourself awake, like downing the cup of coffee you always have in your thermostat mug or quietly humming a song or trying to keep from blinking for a long time. It helps that the stranger in the backseat of the car starts up a conversation too. He’s just been looking out the window, resting in the seat and you guess he might be too anxious to take a short nap.   “You’re not a fugitive, are you?”   “No.” He laughs and reassures you, “I’m not. The reason I’m going to the border...it’s a secret.”   You hum, knowing better than prying into people’s activities. When people are willing to tell you, then you’re happy to hear. When they’re not, the last thing you want is for them to pull you out the vehicle and point a gun at your head and tell you that it’s a shame you know too much now.   Maybe you just watch too many action movies.   Though for some reason, your intuition tells you the stranger in the backseat is more friendly and doesn’t mind you chatting and asking. “I just would like to know what the crimes of my passenger is if I happened to be arrested on those charges as well.”   He chuckles. “Then you’ll find out when you get arrested.”   “Ooh, keeping it a surprise.” You glance into the rear-view. “I like it.”   “You’re a funny one,” he muses. “Got any boyfriend or husband or wife?”   “If you’re asking for yourself then I gotta say sorry.” You smile. “I’ve taken a celibacy oath for the rest of my life.”   “What a shame.” He laughs again. “Do you always drive? I should make you my permanent taxi driver.”   “If you’re always going to pay me a four hundred tip, you got it. But unfortunately, this is only my night job, so only if you have any rendezvous after five.”   He leans his head on the cool glass, watching the headlights from the opposite highway road and the lights of the truck up ahead. “What’s your day job?”   “It’s a secret.” You don’t want to say in case you get found and killed. Safety was regarded above all. “You’ll find out when I get arrested and we share the same cell.”   “Okay, fair enough.” He grins. “That’s tough though. A day and night job? How do you find the time to sleep?”   “You don’t.” Another symphony of internal sighs ring inside your head and you decide that you might as well ramble your infinite problems to a stranger since it’s not like you had anyone else to talk to. “I wouldn’t have to do this if my landlady didn’t suddenly spike up my rent like crazy.”   “Does your day job not pay enough?” He asks not to invade your privacy, but out of genuine curiosity.   “...It pays well,” you reply. “Just not enough.”   He makes a sound of understanding and the conversations dim down for the next ten minutes. There’s more small talk made, but nothing significant. You learn he’s not a dangerous criminal (for now) so it puts you at ease. And when the border comes into sight, he asks to be let off before you can drive up to the booth. He expresses his gratitude for driving him this far out and follows through with his tip, giving you the right amount of a carefully counted stack of bills from his backpack. You don’t ask him any questions, only bidding him good luck on whatever journey he’s on and he smiles, hoping that you have a safe drive back.   You hope for the same thing.   //   The drive back is exhausting and endless. By the time you’ve arrived back home, your butt is aching, your eyes are burning, and your back is sore. You can’t believe you’ve been driving for a straight eight hours, but your full pocket of cash thanks you for your effort, even if you have to lug your legs inside. The sad part is that you can’t even roll on your comfortable mattress and get some shut-eye. Time is ticking and you rip yourself away from the bedroom into the bathroom to get ready for your day job.   And you try your hardest, even when you’ve been awake for more than twenty-four hours.   You slap water onto your face before dousing your poor skin in thick makeup to hide the purple eye bags. Then you force breakfast down your throat while changing clothes before you’re out the door again.   You try your hardest — not to fall asleep while you’re on the platform, waiting for the subway.   You try your hardest — to keep from stumbling when you’re standing in the crowded cart like you’re in a can of sardines, forced to hold onto one of the hanging straps.   You try your hardest — running through puddles in heels, sweat clinging onto your dirty body, late again.   “Is she not with you?”   Hoseok stops by Jimin’s office, glancing at his watch quickly before looking up towards the main foyer. His frustration and impatience increase, causing a frown to permanently attach on his face, giving the male wrinkles in places that shouldn’t belong there before he’s turned forty.   “Y/N?” Jimin sips on his coffee, surprised at the sudden question. “No. Do you need her?”   “I don’t,” he huffs out. “But haven’t you noticed that she’s been arriving late to work every day this week?”   Jimin hums a light note before he looks off and muses, “No, actually. I didn’t notice.”   “We don’t pay our employees to arrive late and slack off.”   “Y/N doesn’t slack off.”   “But her tardiness shows a bad work ethic.”   Speaking of the devil, Hoseok detects a figure jogging from the corner of his eye. He turns and you’re there, chest rising and falling, hyperventilating, a strand of hair fallen in the front of your face. At the same time as Hoseok outright gawks at you, you’re cringing, having hoped you could’ve slipped past. But now that he’s in front of you, there’s no choice but to dip your head slightly and divert your eyes. “Good...good morning.”   You’re about to be on your way, but his smooth voice stops you. “Can we speak in my office?”   “O-of course.”   The atmosphere is tense. All signs of the happy-go-lucky man that you’re the most familiar with is absent and a stern leader is in his place instead, controlling the air around you and making you shift on your feet.   He sits in his chair and glares. Sometimes it gives you whiplash how different Hoseok can be, how many sides he has, from being a ball of sunshine that wouldn’t hurt a fly to having a serious and rigid demeanour. He wears an impassive expression while looking at you, and remains stern. You guess that this is what it means to be professional and deep down, you know he has a hard time conducting himself like this, but he does such a good job. He’s a natural.   It’s intimidating.   “Sit down,” he says and you follow his orders. You’re tense, hands in your lap, and he clears his throat, making you finally meet his eyes again. “You’ve been late every morning.”   “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”   There’s a beat of silence, like he’s giving you a chance to explain yourself. But when you don’t, he’s forced to continue, “is there a reason...?” His voice trails off, becoming softer and he searches your expression for some sort of answer.   “No,” you lie. “There isn’t. I’m sorry.”   His frown returns and it’s deeper than before. “This is not your usual behaviour. There has to be a reason, Y/N. Tell me.” It’s not a demand, sort of gentle and deprived out of concern.   You wonder what he would say if he knew you were having financial problems, if he would help you sort it out, or maybe give you that raise that you’ve been meaning to ask for a long time now. If you told him that you held two jobs on top of each other, there’s a chance he would be sympathetic. He could help you out, pardon your mistakes and your late mornings. But—   But...there’s no reason for him to know.   He’s your boss. Is there really any sense in telling him what’s going on in your personal life? Hoseok is your boss. Nothing more. Nothing less. Maybe you’ve been forgetting this. Maybe you’ve been too reckless lately. But you need to keep it this way. If not for his sake, then yours.   “There’s no reason,” you repeat yourself, keeping the barrier up, not allowing him in. “I’m sorry.”   There’s a long held silence.   “You won’t tell me?” he asks you, aware of the lies that you feed him and the disappointment is all too evident in his voice and written across his features. You look away with a thick lump forming in your throat.   “There’s isn’t anything to tell. I’m sorry.”   If you want a raise, you’ll receive it by your own merit, not through pity.   Jung Hoseok leans back in his seat, accepting that you won’t give him a truthful answer. He gave you a chance and won’t force it out of you. “I expect everyone to be here at nine.” He shuffles a few papers, having written down details as evidence. “But you’ve been here half an hour to an hour later consistently for the past week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and today. It’s unacceptable.”   “I’m sorry.”   “Just because you’re the only one who works in the HR department does not mean you get to come in late and do whatever you want. You get paid here like everyone else and they work just as hard. They come in and give their best effort and I expect you to do the same. I did not hire you to take it easy or to slack off. This is a job. You are to be here at nine in the morning and leave at five. You are not to be here at nine thirty or ten or ten thirty.”   “I understand.” Your head remains downcasted. “I’m sorry.”   He is loud and firm, making the warning clear. “If there is not an improvement made immediately, I will dock your pay. And if you can’t handle arriving on time, then maybe this job isn’t suitable for you.”   “I’m sorry.”   To say you were humiliated was barely scratching the surface. Not only were your bones and muscles fatigued, but you were barely holding yourself together emotionally. All you could do was feel the burning of your eyes and hold your head down as he continued to reprimand you.   “Don’t apologize. Make the improvement.”   You nod, fully aware that you won’t even be able to mention the idea of a raise.   Hoseok watches as you leave. There’s something uncomfortable that settles down inside of him and he turns to the window when you’ve disappeared. For a few minutes, he rests until his partner comes through the doorway. “Well, that was unusually harsh. “   Hoseok shifts his and exhales. “You heard?”   “Everything. And everyone did.”   “God…” He leans his head back and shuts his eyes tight, the oncoming of a headache beginning to pulsate at his temples.   “Why was it so excessive?” Jimin spills the honest question, brows raised and arms crossed as he leans on his partner’s doorway. “You know we both don’t care if someone’s late as long as they perform well and complete their duties. Why the hell were you being so unreasonable?”   “I don’t know.” And Hoseok genuinely means it. “I got frustrated.”   “Did she say why she was late?”   “She didn’t tell me.”   “I’m not surprised.” Jimin scoffs and gives him an incredulous look, still unable to believe that he gave a scolding to one of the best workers of the firm. “You’re kind of a massive asshole, dude.”   //   During your lunch break, you begin to search up for bank loans, seeing if you’re eligible for any and how big of a hole you’re digging for yourself in if you got a loan with high interest rates. You also slap and pinch yourself several times to stay awake, drinking more and more coffee to stay alert. The last thing you want is to accidentally fall asleep at your desk and have Hoseok walk by and catch you in the act. Little did you know that same man was already standing outside your door, pacing back and forth without letting you see him lingering outside.   “What the hell is he doing?” Seulgi whispers to Namjoon, hunched over by their table and flickering their pupils over.   He mutters back, “You tell me.”   “Is he going to fire Y/N?!” Seokjin is naturally louder and the two have to shush him, cowering together, especially afraid of their boss today because of his flaring temper. Everyone in the office was on edge.   “He better not,” Seulgi spits out harshly, baffled by the mere idea of it.   “No, he wouldn’t do that…..Unless….” Namjoon’s brows knit together.   “What?” The female legal assistant pokes him. “Unless what, Namjoon? Goddammit, don’t leave me hanging! Namjoon! Speak, you idiot!”   “Do you think he feels…..guilty?” The male in the glasses asks and quirks his head to the side, a sharp inhale stolen from the seams of his lips. He spins to look at his colleagues. “I mean he reprimanded her pretty hard. Maybe he feels bad.”   “Hoseok? Feeling bad?” Jin scoffs. “Yeah right.”   At the exact same time as the paralegals having their conversation, there’s a knock at your door. Your head whips up, eyes widening at who it is. The person at your doorway clears his throat and leans back with arms behind him. His black hair seems ruffled like he’s ran his hand through it several times. You haven’t seen Hoseok so disoriented in a long time. “Hey, I’m going downstairs for a coffee. Do you want one?”   “No, thank you. I’m fine.”   Seokjin shakes his head, oblivious to what’s transpiring. “Do you really think Hoseok’s the type to feel guilty over something like that?”   “Do you need me?” Hoseok’s appeared again at your doorway less than five minutes later and you’re bewildered, blinking twice before your mouth draws open to respond.   “What? Oh, no. I’m fine.”   “Okay.” The lawyer nods. “I’m busy anyways.”   “Okay.”   Less than ten minutes later, Hoseok’s swung by your little office once again. “About earlier….”   You frown. “Earlier?”   “Turns out the office machine downstairs is under repair,” he explains himself.   “Oh.” You don’t know what to say to him. “I see.”   “So I couldn’t get coffee for you...or me...anyways.” Hoseok clears his throat, aware of the stiff tension in the room and how bizarre he’s acting. “If you ever need me, just call Lisa or Dahyun.”   “Alright.”   Twenty minutes later, he’s once again stopped by your door. But this time, he has a coat slung over his arm, probably leaving to court or going out to meet a client. Your suspicions are confirmed when he says to you, “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Taehyung’s coming with me.”   “Okay…?” But you’re still confused as to why he’s telling you these things. He leaves all the time without saying a single word to anyone in the office.   As if he can read your thoughts, the lawyer scrambles and elaborates, “I just thought you’d want to know. In case you were looking for me.”   “Yeah...umm....” There’s no way he would come to work intoxicated, so that possibility is ruled out. But you still don’t know what it is that’s making him act so strange. The lawyer keeps stopping by like he’s not drowning in work. And while this is the last time, that doesn’t give you much comfort as to why he’s speaking so gently and he looks so sad. “Thanks.”   He clears his throat awkwardly. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say, by the way.”   “What is it?” You blink. “Do you need to come in?”   “No, it’ll be quick.” Hoseok hesitates and then a slight smile appears on his face, the corner of his mouth tugging. “Thanks. For that time on the mountain. You helped me from slipping.”   “Oh, yeah.” You’re reminded of the little event and you return his smile. “That was a given.”   His grin becomes sheepish. Jung Hoseok slips his hands out of his pockets and nods. “You’re right. I was scared. I’m scared of a lot of things,” he admits quietly. “So thanks for helping me.”   “It’s nothing.” The smile you have is more for yourself than to display to the world. And you finally know what it is. You know why he’s being so bizarre and being such an oddball.   Hoseok is the type to feel guilty after he’s gotten angry. He’s the type to want to shower people in kisses and apologies, squeeze them in a hug and beg for forgiveness in a squeaky voice. But he is sadly unable to do so with his position in this firm. He is unable to do what he wants most when he’s painted a serious and stern picture of himself in this office.   Jung Hoseok is the type who wants nothing more than to spread happiness.   He ends up leaving your office and walking down the hall with his hand out in front of him, palm facing towards the ceiling. After a moment of wistful gazing, he crumples his fingers until it forms into a fist. He can still remember when your fingers were slotted by his, when your palms clasped his, when he held you. Yes — Hoseok is scared and afraid of a lot of things.   One of those things just happened to be you.