#i might still fail and like come back in 10 hours

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[kawaiijohn]

Help a queer family of disabled nerds

Hey my name is Dante, I live in the Midwest with three of my best friends. We have four cats, one of which is my babyman whom I love very dearly.

His name is Latke Library Card Mango (LLCM). He's very orange and he's the light of my boyfriend, Kris, and I's life.

Cat pics are great right? Have a few.

A few months ago, latkes chronic bladder stones condition acted up which resulted in two emergency vet visits and a week long stay with his actual vet to get the stone removed.

It was the size of a chickpea.

Here's a photo of his post surgery when he had a nakie tummy. He was very very happy to see us.

He's since recovered, but the cost of this put us back around 1300 dollars in total. He's now on a special diet with rather pricey food to prevent this from happening but it might still act up eventually.

We've paid down some of his debt, but the interest is making it become more and more as we try to pay it down.

On top of this, our pipes backed up into our basement and refused to work suddenly a few weeks ago. We live in a house that is over a century old, and the clay pipes keep getting roots growing into them that causes them to not drain.

The roto had to come out and high pressure the roots out to clear them (which required expensive equipment), This put us back another grand.

To add to everything, our 700+ auto insurance bill is due in November, which is the worst time for this bill to need due, but both myself and Kris drive over ten miles to work during different shifts on opposite ends of town- neither of our jobs have public transit anywhere near them.

We are currently barely making ends meet-

I am a lunch lady at a public high school. I love my job. I feed kids who possibly don't even eat at home some days. I do work I am proud of.

However, I can only work around 25 hours a week without risking losing my insurance as a disabled person. My job does not have longer hour positions available, and I am too disabled to work more than this without ruining my body like I have done in the past.

I have been going without buying groceries out of fear that what little money I have in my account will be needed in an emergency. I will be out of work for a week this month, around Thanksgiving, and during Xmas break- unpaid due to me working in a school. Me being out also means no guaranteed meal every day.

Kris works in a factory. He is currently working 55+ hours a week to make what we can to pay off the bills and keep our house. He only has one and a half knees that hurt all the damn time and is barely eating either just to afford everything. His factory keeps calling for sudden shutdown weeks with little notice at the worst times, and he's the main breadwinner in the house for us.

The other two in our household, one is severely disabled and can barely work 10 hr/week (he is waiting on hearing back to receive SSI) on top of having multiple medical appointments a week to figure out what is wrong with his body and why it keeps failing. The other is a freelance artist who is working her butt off to make money while carting the previous to appointments nearly every day. She is full up on commissions at the moment, but when she opens them I'll reblog her posts.

I really didn't want to make this post. I hate asking for help. But we are drowning and there's no sign of land. None of us can afford to live on our own, nor can we move back in with our parents for various reasons.

All I'm asking for is some help. I don't care how much. Five dollars is five dollars. Five dollars is half an hour less we have to kill ourselves to make ends meet.

Even if we don't make the full amount, every dollar will help us get a bit closer to paying this stuff down so we can afford gas and regular grocery trips again instead of having to save up to go once a month like we are currently doing.

Our goal is 2000 dollars.

Yes, this is the high amount. I do not believe we will ever reach it. I can hope we can raise this much at some point.

But for now that's the dream number.

It's the number that is looming over our heads, telling us to pay up or lose our home.

It's not something we need this very moment, but just what we need in the next few months to be able to afford living without destroying our body or working three jobs/ridiculous hours.

We thank anyone who can spare a few bucks to help us, and if you can't afford it just pass this post along to someone who might be able to.

Please send as friend/family if you can, PayPal is threatening to withhold money sent as transactions now if you receive over a certain amount.

This includes sending things through my ko-fi account- so here's the preferred methods:

Progress:

388.74/2,000

Thank you for reading. I love you.

[himbo-kuto]

ceo!sylus x secretary!reader  summary: what happens you you become sylus' trusted secretary?

a/n: tried to make this one longer to make up for the shortness of the first part 😅 if y'all want to be tagged when these come out, let me know! i also slightly fudged the schedule than the one laid out in the first part-- apologies for the confusion!

part one | two

with freshly washed hair and a well moisturized face, you sat in bed and looked at your phone, 10:00pm. 

you had been thinking all day about whether or not you were going to take this position, and you still came up at a crossroads. 

you looked around at the tablet the twins gave you along with the briefing papers, that were all spread out around your bed. ever since you got home you’ve been flipping through these papers in order to see what it is like working for world renowned ceo, sylus qin. 

he had affairs in all different countries, making a multitude of deals with hundreds of other rich ceos– you wondered how he even had time for himself.

you unlocked the tablet to look at his schedule for tomorrow and he barely had time to breathe. starting his day at 5:00am boxing for an hour, breakfast, the day's briefing, and then meetings back to back all until 7:00pm. even then he still had work to do on his computer. 

you didn’t know who to feel bad for– sylus because he’s the one who’s participating in all of this, or you who had to stick by his side till the very end. 

a groan left your lips as you fell back on your bed, looking up at your white ceiling. 

“why not just try it? it’s not like if you fail that you’ll be fired from the company… but then you’ll look like the idiot who couldn’t do it… but then maybe people would understand since he was known to be a hard ass..” the angel and the devil were definitely arguing on your shoulders. you tried to wave them off, hoping that would subdue your thoughts but sometime in the middle of your deliberations, your mind drifted off to sleep.

you jolted awake to an alarm you didn’t even remember setting and looked at the time, 3:30am. 

you groggily looked around your room to still see that you truly passed out in the middle of thinking. papers still amiss, the tablet’s black screen reflecting your tired eyes. 

“well.. might as well go for it.” and go you did. 

you gathered up all your things before plunging into your morning routine

you gave yourself a once over in the mirror by your door, making sure your outfit was both comfortable yet professional. you didn’t know what he had in store for you, so best to be prepared for anything and everything. 

“if you decide you want the job, luke and i will be waiting downstairs by your place at 4:30am. we’ll take you to boss’s house. just know we won't wait long."

and lo and behold, there was a sleek black car waiting for you promptly at 4:30am by your apartment. 

at first you awkwardly waved at the car, not being able to see inside due to its tinted windows. 

the window soon rolled down and there were luke and kieran giving you some big smiles. 

“happy first day!” “we hope you make it!” 

well that’s promising. you got into the car and they zoomed off onto the city streets. 

you watched the lights go swiftly past your window as you went over a bridge. this was nice. luke and kieran were respectful, quiet and for the most part, they minded their business. 

“do you have any questions for us before we get to the house?” 

you found that whoever took these notes was very thorough yet concise at the same time. everything was laid out exactly how you should do it and how sylus wanted it. 

you shook your head, nothing coming to mind… well.. maybe one. 

“...what’s he like?” you paused before looking into the rearview mirror. 

“i’ve only ever seen our ceo for what? maybe max, 10 seconds?” 

they both laughed at that. 

“well as you can tell, boss man doesn’t exactly enjoy appearing to the public. only when business demands it does he show his face. otherwise he just likes to keep to himself.” 

“he’s also pretty simple. he’s the type of person that once he likes something, he sticks to it. rarely does he change his ways. if anything that makes him very consistent.” 

you nodded along, genuinely interested in what they had to say. you knew nothing of the man on top, but because of one single event, here were you in one of his cars being escorted to his house.

“how long have you guys been working with mr.qin?” 

luke wrapped his fingers around his chin, stroking it gently as if in thought. 

“honestly for as long as we can remember, we’ve been working for boss. he got us out of a pretty nasty situation way back when and ever since then we’ve been by his side.”

“like he said, he’s kicked us to the curb many times, but that didn’t stop us.” 

you softly smiled at the sentiment. you could only imagine what his face would’ve looked like seeing the two of them showing up to his doorstep after many attempts to shake them. in the midst of their attempts, he grew fond of them. 

“i’ll keep all those things in mind. thank you.” 

you looked out the window to see just how big sylus’ estate was. a gated off property that went deep into the woods, but once you reached the main property, the landscaped opened up to a beautiful dark mid century modern home. 

“everything you need will be in the kitchen. boss has already started his day, but he’ll promptly be up at 6:00am to eat so try and be on time. he doesn’t like when his schedule is disrupted.” 

you nodded, now finding a new wave of confidence. you wanted to put your best foot forward and if in the end it doesn’t work, at least you can say you gave it your all. 

the twins led you through the house to get started before disappearing to only god knows where. you looked at the notes again, following them as closely as you could while still keeping time. 

you fixed the last bowl on the table, as you glanced at your watch. 5:59am. perfect timing. you put your hands to your hips, feeling proud of the spread. with seconds to spare, you pulled out your phone and took a quick picture to remember your first day by. 

and like the twins said, as the clock striked 6:00am, sylus had emerged to the kitchen in his boxing gear (which wasn’t much) a tight fitting tank top and some five inch inseam shorts. 

you felt your face get hot seeing so much of his skin for the first time. 

“ahem, good morning mr. qin. i hope breakfast is to your liking.” 

he took a second, wrapping his towel and his neck before looking at you and then to the food on the table. 

“please join me.” he gestured to the seat beside him as he began to eat his meal. 

you sat down, grabbing the tablet under your arm before briefing him on his day. 

famous last words, but the beginning of your day was actually going very smoothly. sylus promptly finished breakfast by 6:30, leaving him enough time to get ready. 

you finished the last of your duties up in the kitchen before heading over to the garage. luke and kieran would be the ones to take you to work. 

“impressive. i’ve seen a lot of other secretaries much worse than you at this part of the day.”

“oh? well i guess i’m flattered. make sure to tell me that at the end of the day too even if it may not be true.” you all shared a laugh as sylus came from the hallway.

“didn’t expect everyone to be getting along so well. shall we?”

the car ride was much like the one in the morning, quiet but not entirely awkward. you flipped through his schedule for the next couple of hours, trying to commit it to memory. 

“who’s going to be in this meeting at 9:00am?” without delay, you read off the attendees. 

“then after?” again, quick answer. 

sylus let out a pleased hum, which the twins picked up on. they gave each other a knowing glance before going back to their business. 

“and what would you like for lunch mr.qin?” 

“mm.. you decide.” 

you pressed your lips together in a thin line now having to wrack your brain on what to get your ceo for lunch. you knew much of his dislikes, but not many of his likes. this would be your undoing, you just knew it. 

kieran pulled into an entrance that you weren’t familiar with to get into the building. you didn’t notice but your eyebrows furrowed together which made sylus chuckle ever so slightly. 

“it’s a private entrance. only me, the boys and now you have access to. here,” he held out a shiny black titanium card out to you. 

“your new keycard. you’ll find that you have access to more doors with this. don’t lose it. i won’t be giving you another one.” 

“understood.” you graciously took the card, replacing your old white keycard with this one (you already knew all the stickers you were going to put on this).

and from there, your official work day started. 

many, if not all the people in these meetings disregarded you as ‘just another one of sylus qin’s secretaries who will most likely be gone within the week’ as he introduced you and that pissed you off. you could just feel the 💢 emanating off your forehead. 

but you made sure to give them all a firm handshake while looking them in the eye. this would not be the last time they’d be seeing you. 

there was finally a short 20 minute break in between his meeting in which you used to order lunch. you sat at your new desk, looking through all the restaurants and cafes you and your co-workers had eaten for lunch– and suddenly it felt like you've never eaten at any of these places. 

you let out a big sigh just as luke walked by. 

“tired already?” 

you stuck your tongue out at him before gesturing to your tablet. 

“i’m just trying to figure out what to get everyone for lunch and i just want to get it right.” 

“wow, you’re really torn up about this huh?” 

if only you knew luke just a little bit longer, you definitely would’ve strangled him by now. 

“just use your best judgement. that’s why the boss chose you after all.” 

“didn’t you guys choose me based on my qualifications?”

he laughed at that. 

“everybody here is qualified to do the job, otherwise they wouldn’t be working at this company. but he picked you and that should be the equivalent of a lifetime achievement award.” 

now it was your turn to laugh. that did make you feel a lot better. 

“thanks, luke. i’ll be sure to get you something extra yummy.” 

turns out lunch was a hit– there was a cafe you always frequented during your lunch break and you knew the food was delicious so you hoped they would too. 

as you took sylus’ plate from his desk, you reminded him of the phone call he has in 20 minutes. 

“thank you, that was delicious. good choice.” 

you felt yourself bloom with pride at his compliment, but you quickly stopped yourself. (i can’t laugh yet, i have to hold it in)

“also cancel the rest of my meetings after 5:00pm” 

“oh sure– should I give them a reason why?”

“tell them i’m taking my secretary out for dinner after work.”

[homestylehughes]

boyfriend luke headcanons

pairing(s): luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: headcanons of bf!luke!

wc: 568

warnings: fluff!! cute luke, smut 18+. sfw and nsfw!

authors note: hiii guys!! guess whos back...me! i just finished my last final WOOOOHOOO! but i still have to write a 10 page paper final... gulp anyways!! i love writing headcanons recently... they're so fun so write. i wrote for luke, luke might be my fav hughes brother... he's been looking a little too good recently NO SURPRISE! anyways im working on more fics tonight so more things will be coming!! im currently working on a long quinn fic, super excited for that to come out. omg this is so long im so sorry, okay im done yapping now!! like and reblog if you enjoyed it<3 much love as always <3

OH!! my requests are open, send something in or just talk to me:)

happy reading<3

Sfw: 

Bf!luke: luke loves having his hands on you at all times. Cuddling you when you guys are home alone and having an arm and hand on you when you guys are out in public. Always making sure you know that he's always there.

Bf!luke: luke loves to plan cute little dates for you guys, always changing it up. If it's a picnic in the park or dinner at a fancy restaurant. Your favorite dates are the random ones, just getting in the car and doing something, those always make the best memories. 

Bf!luke: Luke is a quiet but attentive boyfriend. He's always there when you need a shoulder to cry on, he always listens to you about everything you want to talk about. Luke is quiet in some momentents but you don't mind it, you love how soft and quiet he is, showing how he cares for you in intimate ways.

Bf!luke: He's such a competitive game player. He hates losing, especially to you. Your favorite moment with him is when guys were playing scrabble and he lost in the last round, flipping the scrabble board with a dramatic sign. Lets just say he was picking up scrabble pieces for 2 hours straight. 

Bf!luke: It's no secret that Luke can't cook, but he tries for you. Waking up before you, his mind set on making you breakfast. Trying to be as quiet as he can in the kitchen, trying to pull something together to impress you with. He always ends up going with things that don't involve him using the stove, as a safe bet. The cereal and yogurt bowls never fail to make your heart burst whenever you see them. Knowing it's not much, but it means so much to you because luke made it for you. 

Nsfw: 

Bf!luke: people wouldn't expect it but luke is one kinky guy. He loves trying new things in the bedroom. Tying you up, trailing ice cubes down your body, you name it he’ll do it.

Bf!luke: shower sex. Luke loves shower sex. Watching the water run down your body, has to be one of his favorite sights. Kissing your neck from behind you, guiding his hands along your waist pulling your body back towards him. He’ll slowly push your body against the shower wall, trapping you body with his arms caging you in as he works his way down you body, as your moans fill up the shower walls. 

Bf!luke: luke loves it when you praise him, he definitely has a praise kink. Pulling on his hair while he eats you out. Looking down at him as he's between your legs, moaning at how good he looks from down there. Urging him on saying “fuck right there” “yes luke oh my god” “you look so pretty between my legs”, and his personal favorite is when you call him “good boy”. 

Bf!luke: luke loves ur thighs, kissing them, laying on them, anything that has to do with your thighs he loves. He loves gripping them while your on top riding him, his large hands gripping your thighs with such force that will definitely leave a bruise the next day. 

[icallhimjoey]

idea: joe breaks up with you just for a reaction (so many of your characters are avoidant-ish and detached so that’s obviously the vibes lol), he doesn’t get one, and it drives him insane — like still thinking about you — obsessed — while on the other side of the world energy (very ‘one that got away’ coded except joe realizes his mistake and grovels in a very confusing way (because he broke up with you???))

omg jfc stop calling me out like this !!!!!! (you're so right, here you go) Wordcount: 2.5K

---

Let Go, Be Caught

Joe says it like he’s asking if you want the last biscuit.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded like he’s trying to casually hug himself, and you’re rinsing a mug, half-listening, until the words slot together into something sharp.

“I think we should break up.”

There’s a pause as you let it register.

You look up.

He looks down.

“Oh.”

That’s all you say. Just that. Oh.

Joe frowns and shifts like he thought the floor would drop out from under you both, but then… it didn’t. Nothing really happened, and now he’s just sort of left standing there with his dramatic little script in hand, confused as to why no one’s clapping.

You set the mug on the rack and wipe your hands dry on a tea towel. The rest of the dishes will have to wait a sec.

“Yea… yea, okay.”

“Wh–… okay?” Joe repeats, tone clipped, eyes huge. He pushes off the counter like he might pace, then doesn’t. “You don’t have anything else to say about that, do you?”

You shrug, a little slow, blink a couple of times and find that… no, you actually don’t.

“I don’t know… what would you like me to say?”

That throws him. He scoffs softly, caught somewhere between wounded and annoyed. You think he probably expected tears. Maybe a big “Why?” or even a slap. Something at least a little theatrical. Something that proves he means enough to you, that whatever the two of you have means enough for it to break you now that he’s taking it away.

Instead, you dry the inside of the mug you’ve just washed and don’t say anything.

If Joe wants to break up, then that’s what you’ll do. Who are you to tell him no?

Joe leaves before you finish putting the dishes away.

And, listen… it’s not that you don’t care, per se.

It’s just that–… you know Joe.

You know his shapes.

You know how he’ll try really hard to peel back a layer and then gets embarrassed about having done it when he finds that you were holding onto that layer for a very specific reason. You know how he’ll scramble to cover himself up with misplaced jokes and evasive manoeuvres that only really ever make sense to him until you giggle and can pretend it never happened.

You know him.

And you know, deep down, that whatever he’s trying to do now isn’t really… real.

Not really.

It’s nothing more than a flare shot into the sky to get your attention. A weird fucked up test that you think he secretly wishes you would fail, because your failure would mean a win in his book, and, sorry mate, but… you’re refusing to play.

He said he wanted to break up, so that’s what you do.

It’s radio silence for about a week, when suddenly, a midnight text lights up your phone.

“hope you’re doing ok”

Then another two days after that.

“did you ever finish that spanish film we put on and then only saw the first 10 minutes of?”

You don’t respond to either one, and you think Joe eventually will get the message. The one you’re sending by not sending him one.

There’s a long gap then.

A whole lot of silence.

Just– nothing from either one of you.

Until suddenly, out of nowhere, at 4AM on a Tuesday morning:

“I dreamt you punched me in the throat. Just woke up and wanted to say, fair enough”

You don’t reply, because what the fuck do you even say to that? Two blue ticks is all he’s getting, but – and you hadn’t meant for this to happen – he gets them immediately. You cringe inwardly when you see his online status, and hope he doesn’t ask what you’re doing up at this hour. Why you read that text the very second it came in.

No other message comes though.

Not immediately.

But you think something must have changed on his end, because a couple of hours later, you receive a couple of voice notes. The first one he sends is just 2 minutes of muffled sounds, a very low conversation happening somewhere in the background. It gets quickly followed by another in which he apologises because he hadn’t meant to do that. Now, it’s turned into a fairly constant stream of quick short little clips, all random stuff. He’ll hear one of the songs he likes in a shop and records some of it to send to you. He’ll find a spider by his washing machine and quickly needs to tell you that he thinks it’s the same one you saw run underneath over a month ago.

You listen to all of them. Give them the blue ticks he’s seemingly after, and never send anything back.

Not long after that he leaves the continent, maybe, or at least the time zone. You can tell from the delay between his messages. In the timestamps on his voice notes.

His messages turn into funny complaints about his hotel room that weirdly smells like old bananas and how he can’t sleep because of it. About how he doesn’t have enough pairs of socks and is now washing a couple of them in the sink with shower gel. About how he never managed to rinse all the suds out properly and realised his socks were foaming when it rained the next day.

You don’t answer any of it.

Joe broke up with you.

He really said, hey let’s not be together anymore, and you’re merely obliging his request. You think maybe he forgot. Forgot that he had watched you calmly do your own dishes and then suddenly said he didn’t want to be with you anymore. Part of you thinks you should remind him, maybe… but you find are unwilling to.

It’s obvious that Joe thinks you don’t give a shit about him – not in the way he gives a shit about you, anyway – but… you still listen to every voice note, still read every message like it might unlock a version of him that realises he’s made a mistake.

You’re scared that version of him might not actually exist, when, on a Sunday afternoon, you open your front door, sunlight slanting over your shoulder, and–…

There he is.

Joe.

He looks like he’s been standing there for a while. Jacket zipped up to the top, hair an unwashed and unruly mess, longer than you remember. There’s a bag slung over his shoulder, half-deflated, like even that doesn’t want to be part of this.

He doesn’t smile.

You don’t move.

For a moment, it’s just breath and the distant sound of traffic from the main road ‘round the corner that fills the silence in between you. You think about shutting the door and walking past him like you’ve not seen him. About saying nothing at all, because it feels like that’s been the trend lately, and letting him live with the silence he once handed to you like it was meant to be a gift.

But then his mouth opens.

Closes.

Opens again.

“I–…” He stops. Swallows. “Hi.”

You arch a brow. “Can I help you?”

Joe exhales like you’ve punched him. Not hard. Just sharp enough to bruise.

“You never answer my messages.”

“You broke up with me.”

Joe’s mouth pulls into a grimace-smile hybrid. There’s nothing he can say to that. He did break up with you. “Can I... can I come in?”

You think about it for a moment.

He’s not owed entry just because he showed up. But… he did show up. In person. Looking like he barely survived the trip over. So, you step aside, curious about what he thinks he has come over to fix.

Joe walks into your flat like it physically hurts him. Like every step weighs more than the last. He walks over to your sofa, but doesn’t actually sit down. He just sort of hovers in the middle of the living room like he’s forgotten how furniture works, fingers flexing at his sides like they’re looking for something to hold onto but are coming up empty.

You do sit, cross-legged on the sofa, and you watch him as his eyes glide across the room and stop at the sink.

“I um…” he starts and has to clear his throat before he continues, “I made a mistake, I think…”

You nod.

No shit.

“Yea, I know.”

His head snaps to look at you. “You... you what?”

You tilt your head and can’t help the small smile that forms.

“Joe. You broke up with me like you were telling me I was out of oat milk...”

He stares down at you, blinking too fast. Then he laughs, helpless and hoarse, and sinks down onto the sofa like the tension holding him upright finally gives out.

“I thought you’d stop me,” he admits. “Or at least... argue. Cry. Something.”

You don’t say anything but wonder if he knows why that was something he wanted from you. If he’s aware that he would’ve had a better chance getting the reaction he was after had he just asked.

“I kept waiting,” he says. “Every day after. For a message. For… anything, whatever. I thought maybe if I gave it long enough, you’d crack and call me an idiot and yell at me for being such a coward and then… I don’t know…”

He rakes his hands through his hair, and you realise it’s why his hair looks the way it does. He’s probably been doing that all day.

“I kept playing it over and over in my head. The way you just said ‘oh’ and went back to washing the dishes... sort of made it obvious you didn’t love me. That I hadn’t really ruined anything, because maybe…” Joe swallows like the words are embarrassing to speak into existence. “Maybe it wasn’t really real in the first place.”

He pauses and then slowly meets your eyes.

“Am I crazy for thinking that?”

You inhale deeply and slowly as you look at each other for a moment.

If Joe wanted to know if your feelings for him were real, he could’ve just asked. He didn’t need to see if you’d break down by telling you he didn’t have any of his own.

“Joe,” you say slowly, “You’re an idiot. And a coward. You’re not crazy for thinking that.”

Joe cracks a small smile.

“But you’re insane for breaking up with me just to see if I’d fight for you. And you’re even more insane for convincing yourself that when I didn’t, that it meant I didn’t care.”

Joe lets his eyes fall to where your hands rest in your lap, and then softly asks, “But did you?”

You look at him then.

Really look.

His jacket is creased and worn. His eyes are bloodshot like he’s slept on his sofa for a month. He’s skinnier than before. Paler. Makes his blemishes stand out more. And there’s a fragility to him you don’t think you’ve seen before. Like someone who’s been walking on a tightrope and only just now realises how high up he actually is.

“Of course I did,” you say on an exhale. “But you made it a game. And I don’t play games like that. Neither should you. We’re not in year fucking seven.”

He closes his eyes. Something inside him folds.

“I thought I’d win you back with words,” he says. “You always liked the way I talked. I thought maybe if I said the right thing, at the right time, you’d fall back in.”

You can’t help the laugh that stutters out of you. “You thought soapy socks would win me back?”

“I know.” He drags his hands down his face as he smiles a little defeatedly. “Jesus, I know.”

Silence laps at the room again, but softer this time. Little bit more gentle. Comfortable, almost. You secretly think that maybe the soapy socks actually did sort of win you back…

“You’re right,” he says then. “We’re not in year seven, and I’m an idiot and a coward, and I wish I never said what I said… I might be asking for a lot, but I hope you can forgive so we can both forget.”

He’s trembling. Not visibly. Not dramatically. But you can see it.

You know Joe.

Know his shapes.

You can see it in the way his jaw tightens. In the way he’s still holding his breath, waiting for you to crush him with bad news.

You think about all the ways Joe’s failed you.

Think about the way he stood in this very room, pulled the pin, and then waited for you to explode.

About the way he scoffed at you when you didn’t explode, and then just walked out without saying another thing.

But then you think about this version of him.

Scared.

Human.

Trying.

“Okay,” you say, and it comes out just as dry as that initial ‘oh’ that had fucked up Joe’s entire world for a long while.

He blinks. “Okay?”  

“Yea. Okay. But no more loyalty tests.”

He groans. “No, that’s not– I wasn’t thinking. I just– I felt like you were already halfway gone. Like I was trying so hard, and you were barely hanging on, and I thought… maybe if I let it go, you’d catch it and grab hold of it.”

He’s breathless and reaches for your hand to clasp in between both of his. You let him take it without issue and look at where he presses it against his chest as you refrain from telling him that it was impossible for you to grab onto something he made disappear.

That feels like something he’s going to have to figure out by himself.

He’ll learn eventually.

And he’s lucky you’re willing to give him the time.

You tighten your fist to let him know that you’ll grab if there’s something to grab onto, and he feels it with both of his.

“You um… you used the past tense, just now. When I asked if you cared… does that mean that–… I know you just said we could forgive and forget but–…”

You lean back slightly, stretching the arm of the hand he’s still holding.

“Joe.”

He nods, swallows audibly as his brow furrows deeper. “Right. Sorry. Dumb question.”

“No,” you say, softer now. “Not dumb. Just… just late.”

His face twists like he might cry as he shifts forward slightly, reaching out like he might touch your knee, but then he aborts the mission halfway.

“I don’t… don’t know where to go from here,” he admits, because saying you would move on is different from actually going ahead and putting it into practice.

“Neither do I.” you smile, sad and tired. “But give it a good try, and maybe I’ll start replying to your voice notes with some of my own… okay?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Hope, maybe. Or fear. Likely both.

“Okay?” you repeat, softly shaking your hand making all of him sway as he laughs.

“Yea… yea, okay.”

---

The Taglisted

@almightywdm, @alwayslindie, @beau-hawkins, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson

@dailyobsession, @eddie-munsons-balls, @eddies-puppet, @elvendria, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @gri959, @hazelenys

@joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @kravitzwhore, @lovelyblueness

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@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

add yourself

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 24

Well, this is the end. I'm a little sad to see this one end. It's been a wild journey and one I loved every minute. The highs and the lows.

Special thanks to my discord @dreamercec, @bookworm0690, and @forgottenkanji, who helped me work out the kinks and cheered me on when I got discouraged.

Thanks of course to everyone who stuck with this story to the end and who liked, commented, and reblogged.

Next week, "You're a Dream to Me" will take over this slot as a full time regular.

The boys go a victory tour and put Hawkins in their rearview mirror. A life well lived really is the best revenge.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23

And go here for a little fun ficlet I did about the dangling chains the CC boys wear: Extra Scene

~

Steve woke up the next morning in a warm embrace and he just smiled to himself. If someone had told him six months ago that he would be living a hotel with a rockstar boyfriend, he would have called them crazy.

He thought Tommy and he were for life. That they would runaway together and live somewhere where there were sunny beaches. But he knew that never would have happened even if his dad hadn’t walked in on them making out. Tommy had always been down for a good time, not for a long time.

But Eddie?

Eddie was all in from the moment he sidled up to Steve at the Hideout. Steve might have been looking for a one night stand and warm place to sleep, but Eddie was always going to want more than that with him. His dad kicking him out just made it easier to dote on him.

He rolled over and nuzzled Eddie’s neck.

Eddie hummed happily as he awoke. “Good morning, little Canary.” He brought Steve’s chin up so he could kiss him deeply.

One thing led to another it was at least an hour before either of them got up and by the time they had showered and gotten dressed, (Steve briefly dashed over to his room to drab some clothes and came back) it was well past time for breakfast so they ordered lunch.

And as they waited, Steve curled up on Eddie’s lap, his head tucked under Eddie’s chin.

“You’re so soft, Stevie,” Eddie murmured, rubbing his thumb over the stripe of skin that was exposed in the gap between Steve’s jeans and shirt. “That’s one of the things I love about you.”

Steve snuggled in closer. “My dad called it my biggest failing. That in order to survive in this world you had to be hard. Cruel.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Well, maybe in his world, but not mine. Here, I want to you to stay soft, safe, and secure.”

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

There was a knock on the door and then it opened to reveal the porter with their lunch. He pushed the cart over to them and removed the cloches.

Eddie tipped him and the man went scuttling back the way he had come.

They settled down to eat, just laughing and talking about just the little things that made up their lives. Funny stories about the kids, struggles with the record label.

The soft things.

“So what are your plans for today?” Eddie asked, moving the cart in the hallway for the staff to collect after they had finished their lunch.

Steve straddled his lap when he came back to sit on the sofa and instantly Eddie’s hands came up to his waist to steady him. He looked up into Steve’s eyes and smiled.

“I figured we had two options,” Steve said, low and sensual. “Either go around to all our friends and Wayne, telling them we finally got our heads out of our asses...”

“Or...?” Eddie asked reaching around to cup Steve’s ass and giving it a hard squeeze, causing him shriek.

“Or we can go back to bed and make Rosa hate us for a week,” Steve said, jutting his head toward the direction of the bed.

Eddie pursed his lips and cocked his head thoughtfully. Then in a single swift motion, he stood up, taking Steve with him. Steve scrambled to wrap his arms and legs around Eddie so he didn’t fall.

Eddie cackled. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He walked them over to the bed and quickly stripped Steve of his clothes.

Steve mockingly glared up at him. “You are far too good at that,” he huffed with an eye roll.

“I’m good at a lot things, little Canary,” Eddie teased. “I’m a going to have the best time showing you what I know.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s nose, then his cheek, then his jaw. “I’m not some dorky high school washout who’s only experience is you, I’m a rockstar and I’m going to rock your world.”

Steve let himself go boneless and his fingers tentatively stroked the skin on Eddie’s arms, his hands shaking from the pleasure.

“Let yourself go, Stevie,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’ll catch you, no matter how you fall.”

So Steve fell.

~

That night while Eddie was getting a shower, Steve called Robin.

He sat on the bed and tucked his knees under his chin, listening to the phone ring.

“I’m assuming since you didn’t call last night bawling your eyes out it went well?” Robin answered with a huff of laughter.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “We did talk first. About what we both wanted from the relationship and how to work as a team.”

“That’s good, Steve,” she said fondly. “I’m glad you’re getting everything you wanted.”

“Hey,” he said firmly, “don’t forget, I’m still buying you that car and once you graduate, I’m making you my personal assistant so you have to come with me wherever we go.”

“Deal.”

~

They ended up doing their little victory tour of their friends the next day, with them starting with Eddie’s bandmates.

The second they walked out on the veranda where the three other members of Corroded Coffin were having breakfast, Jeff burst out in a cheer while the other two moaned in despair.

“Ha!” he cried. “I win the bet!”

“I can’t believe it!” Gareth moaned into his hands. “I thought for sure it would take another week before they fucked like rabbits!”

Brian shook his head and said, “I didn’t think they would do anything. I figured they pine forever, if I’m honest.”

“Not with Stevie looking like that,” Jeff said shaking his ruefully. “He knew what he wanted and I had no doubt he was going to get it.”

“I saw them at the bar,” Gareth wailed. “I was so sure that they were going to admit their feelings for each other and then ease back into the sex now that they knew they were on the same page!”

Eddie and Steve looked at each other sheepishly. Because yes, that is exactly what they should have done. But with Steve looking like sin and Eddie like sex on legs, there was no way they were going to keep their hands off each other for any length of time.

They sat down at the table, blush high on Steve’s cheeks while Eddie’s grin was feral.

“What can I say?” Eddie said, picking up a menu. “I like making my little Canary sing.”

The blush on Steve’s cheeks deepened and crept up to his ears and down the column of his throat.

“Well,” Brian said, pulling out his wallet and handing Jeff a one hundred dollar bill, “I, for one am very happy for you both.”

Gareth slapped another hundred into Jeff’s other waiting hand. “Yeah, we really are happy you guys are together. Maybe female fans will stop throwing themselves at Eddie and give the rest of us poor bitches a passing glance.”

Jeff snorted, pocketing the money. “Not fucking likely. If I can’t get dates being the lead singer and Eddie being out as gay, Eddie having a very public boyfriend ain’t gonna change jack shit.”

“We’re doomed!” Gareth wailed dramatically, burying his head in hands.

“At least we won’t have albums worth of sad long songs,” Brian said cocking his head to the side ruefully.

Eddie smacked his shoulder. “Hey! I only wrote one album of sad songs after I broke up with Quinton thank you very much!”

“And three notebooks worth of absolute trash,” Jeff said rolling his eyes. “I was so grateful when Hunter came along because then we got the angry metal and that was some really good stuff.”

Steve shrunk in on himself. Hunter and Quinton? How many more guys were notches on Eddie’s bedpost.

Gareth’s eyes narrowed on Steve. “Hey, guys knock it off with the exes talk, we’re celebrating Steve and Eddie, not ragging on Eddie’s exes.”

Eddie looked over at Steve and wilted. “Baby, they’re exes for a reason, okay? You are not, and never will be like those assholes. It’s why I love you.” He pulled Steve close and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah,” Brian said contrite, “I shouldn’t have brought it up, that was my dumb mistake.”

Steve just nodded and curled up into Eddie’s side, where he stayed until they finished breakfast.

~

They told the kids all at once, dragging everyone to the arcade with Eddie and Claudia in tow, almost daring the management to repeat the last time Steve brought the kids here. But management wisely said nothing and even put them in the event room for privacy.

Eddie getting positively gleeful about being able to splash his money around.

When it was time for pizza Dustin asked. “All right, this is fantastic and all but really, why are we here?”

There was some hissing from a couple of the other kids while Eddie and Steve laughed.

“We just wanted to tell everyone,” Steve said, gently taking Eddie’s hand, “that Eddie and I are officially going steady.”

“About time,” Mike huffed and then took a huge bite of his pizza. “We were starting to think you were gonna grow a fucking forest with all the pining that was going on.”

Will snorted and he hurried to cover it up, but it was too late. Everyone had heard him.

“Sorry!” he said with a grimace. “But he’s right! You guys have been dancing around each since Eddie got back and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.”

Eddie and Steve looked at each other and then shrugged.

“To be fair,” Steve said dryly, “he was traveling on tour for a good portion of our relationship so that did put the breaks on it a bit.” He held up his finger and his thumb really close together.

“Will’s mom didn’t help either,” Max said with a wince. “Like if she hadn’t been harping about Steve getting a job, they probably would have gotten together soon after Eddie came back, instead of having to deal with the fall out of the attack on Steve.” She looked over at Will and then muttered, “Sorry, but it’s true.”

Will shrugged. “It’s true though. She hounded Steve and if she had backed off even a little things would have gone smoother for Eddie and him.”

“Thanks Will,” Steve said with a smile. “Are Nancy and Jonathan going to join us later?”

Will lit up and started talking about Jonathan and Nancy.

Steve just sat back, leaning into Eddie’s side, watching his kids having fun and just being themselves for awhile.

~

The parents were at once easier and harder then the kids. Claudia and the Sinclairs were happy for them, Sue couldn’t have care one way or another who Steve was fucking as long as he didn’t do it front of the kids, and the Wheelers were clearly pained, but openly supportive.

Hopper clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “You’re the only one I trust to take care of Steve,” he said as they had gone to sit on the porch for a smoke. Steve was inside with Ellie learning different plaiting methods because he wanted to braid Eddie’s hair.

Eddie tilted his head to the side. “I’m not sure I know what that means, but I’ll take it.”

Hopper shook his head. “It means that that boy has a big heart and he wears it on his sleeve. No matter who he dated, they were going to think he was too much. Everyone but you. Because if he love is the ocean, then you are the shore.”

Eddie blinked back tears. “Thanks. I really appreciate that. He means the world to me and I will make sure he’s as happy as I can make him.”

Hopper nodded and they both finished their cigarettes in silence, watching the sun set on the horizon.

Joyce came and sat down next to Steve, where he was practicing a French braid on Ellie’s hair.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Steve?” she asked gently.

Steve looked her dead in the eye. “Is it because he’s a man, because he’s rich, or because he’s Eddie fucking Munson, that you have a problem with him? Because I’ve never been able to pin it down exactly.”

Joyce bowed her head and then ran her hands over her face. She tapped Ellie’s shoulder. “Go see what Will wants for dinner.”

Ellie looked up at Steve and only when he nodded dis she stand up to do as Joyce asked.

“I wish I could say none of the above,” she said softly. “But it’s probably D- all of the above. And I’m really struggling with that because I know–” she stopped, a pained noise escaping her throat. “I suspect that Will is gay, too. And I’m going to have to come to terms with the fact that I will probably have a daughter-in-law and a son-in-law. But I don’t know how to do the right thing for him.”

Steve took her hand. “Just treat him and whoever he brings home the same way you would treat any girl Jonathan brings. And love him.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and nodded, choking back tears.

~

Wayne was thrilled that they had finally gotten together and promised them that his home would always be their safe harbor no matter where the wind took them.

~

Steve was happy to see Hawkins in the rearview mirror after the holidays. Eddie wanted to show him his house in LA to see where Steve really wanted to live, plus it was time for the band to get back into the studio for their next album.

As they boarded the plane that would take Steve far away from Indiana, he sighed. “I wish there was a way that I could give my dad the middle finger, you know?” He shook his head. “They say the best revenge is a life well lived. But it doesn’t do any good if he thinks I’m lying in a ditch somewhere.”

Eddie scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I think I have just the thing, baby.”

~

Steve was handed a stack of postcards and bright pink pen.

“Wherever we go,” Eddie said softly, “whatever we do, send your parents a postcard letting them know you’re out there having fun.”

Steve grinned up at him. “This in addition to that exclusive you gave Nancy?”

Eddie chuckled. The weekend after they landed in LA, Eddie sent out for Nancy and Jonathan to do a full spread article about being gay in the music industry, the AIDS crisis, and the announcement that Eddie and Steve were a couple. It had ran in every major newspaper in the country.

After The Hawkins Post got it for the first twenty-four hours.

There was no way his parents missed the picture of their son, cuddling up with the biggest metal star in the world.

~

Maureen walked to the mailbox in front of her large mansion in Hawkins. Honestly, she was thinking of asking Clint to just sell the place. It wasn’t as though they needed it and they were hardly there in the first place.

Even before this whole mess with the disaster with the Hagan boy.

She opened it up and sighed. She closed it again, stomping her foot. She huffed out another sigh and then opened the mailbox again.

She pulled out the only item in there and closed it again. She walked into the house and called out, “He sent us another one!”

Clint came barreling out of his office, like a bull on a rampage. “Where is that wastrel of a son now?”

Maureen turned over the card and read. “Looks like he’s in the Bahamas with Rob Lowe sipping on mai tais!”

“That the third one this month!” Clint bellowed. “First it was in Paris with Twiggy! Then it was with Cher in LA! He travels more than we do!”

Maureen burst out into tears. “I want to go to the Bahamas! You never take me anywhere nice anymore!”

Clint ripped the card out of her hand and tossed it on the growing pile of postcards. All from Steve. All of them with pictures of him on the lap of that depraved rockstar, Eddie Munson’s lap. All with the same message:

“Out here livin’ my best life thanks to you! XXX- Steve”

-The End

~

Tag List: COMPLETED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

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10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [8].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. swearing, vomit, heeseung is sick, tormenting said sick man, sex jokes, and loser hee backstory reveal. WORD COUNT. 3.8k.

NOTE. merry christmas. my gift for u all is the heeseung chapter. let's pretend that it's still summer for the sake of the fic yes thank u hope u enjoy.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 8 — hot, drenched, and sweaty.

“I THINK HEESEUNG IS IN A FIGHT CLUB.” That unprompted statement catches the interest of all the four boys currently in the living room. Soobin looks up from his half-finished crocheted bonnet, Jake and Jay pause their game of scrabble, and Sunghoon drops a rubik’s cube on your face because you gallantly decided to use his lap as a pillow on the lounge sofa. 

“Oh god, I’m— I’m sorry,” he sputters out an apology. You take this as a sign to stop invading his space. “What do you mean though? Fight club? Heeseung?”

“Listen.”

You spring up from your position, sitting with a very determined look on your face which simply prompts their attention further. “Heeseung leaves the house at exactly 10 p.m. every Saturday night and comes back at like two in the morning. I asked him about is once, and all he said is that he’s doing ‘business,’ whatever the fuck that means. It’s suspicious as hell.” 

The only reason why you were up at 2 a.m. to catch him in the act in the first place is because one time, you challenged Beomgyu and Jake to a no-sleeping contest and those two are the most gullible and have the most money from the lot. Little did those suckers know that you slept for fifteen hours prior to challenging them. They dozed off at the thirty six hour mark while you were still awake enough to catch Heeseung sneaking into the house at the devil’s hour.

After that, you had more money in your bank account, and a new curiosity that’s begging to be satisfied.

“I think he’s in an underground fighting club,” you declare. “There’s no other reason.”

“No, no,” Jay contends. “It might be something else. He could be a stripper.”

A silent moment of consideration.

Then you all release a unified, “Nah.”

“Maybe it’s private,” says Sungoon. “What—whatever it is, it could be none of our business.”

He has a point, but you’re nosy and bored. So are Jake and Jay because turns out, today’s a Saturday, and you have nothing to do, and you’re acquitted from any charges of instigating things because it’s Jay who announces, “Should we follow him?”

You grin. Sunghoon doesn’t approve of your expression. “We should follow him.”

“I’ll keep a lookout.”

“Text us when he’s about to leave.”

“You got it.”

Thus starts your mission of finding out whether Heeseung is secretly an underground fighter or a stripper. Sunghoon refused to be a part of it, but Soobin wasn’t strong enough to deny your puppy dog eyes, so it’s you, him, Jake, and Jay who might be charged for stalking and invasion of privacy because the moment you get a signal from Jake that “the target is out of the house, over,” the four of you, willingly or otherwise, start to tail him.

It’s disconcertingly easy to follow Heeseung without him noticing the four not so discreet people lagging behind him. When he takes off on a bus, you quickly hail a taxi for the four of you to jump inside of and continue the trail. 

“I think—I think we should head back,” says Soobin, squeezing his arms against his torso because there are three of you cramped in the backseat. “The sky is glum. I think it’s gonna rain.”

“The sky is glum because it’s the fucking night. Mr. Sun has died. Wait, he just got off the bus. Let’s go, let’s go before we lose him!”

As you stalk down the sidewalk, you can’t help but feel a sense of deja vu because you swear you’ve crossed this same path before. You’ve been here before. You’re sure of it, and it’s not just because this area is just around your university, of which you haven’t stepped foot on since the beginning of summer and since living with Jake and his friends.

“Hey, he’s over there, he’s going to that cafe.”

Your deja vu is answered when the familiar facade of The Lounge shows up right before you. Heeseung enters the building. Sunghoon knew all along, that fucking rat. That’s why was so against this plot, that’s why he refused to tag along with you. “I’m going in,” says Jay. You postpone your revenge plan against Sunghoon for later and quickly follow behind Jay into the cafe. Once you enter however, it starts pouring.

The clear glass windows of the place get stained by an assault of raindrops. Crap. None of you brought an umbrella. “I knew it was going to rain…” Soobin laments, and you pat circles against his back to apologize for doubting him, further telling him that he has a knack for weather prediction and if he’s considering switching career paths.

“What now?” Jake asks.

“We can wait for the rain to stop or call Sunghoon to pick us up and bring us umbrellas,” you tell them. “For now, let’s find out what the fuck Lee Heeseung is up to here. This wasn’t part of any of our calculations.” The calculations being either violence or promiscuity. You didn’t make a lot of calculations.

The problem is, Heeseung is nowhere to be found. You end up ordering some drinks and food and decide to settle in a booth at the corner of the place so that you guys can have a full and complete view of the cafe’s entire interior, yet you still can’t find him, so you end up reminiscing the time Sunghoon dumped your lemonade on you which catapulted your hobby of messing with these guys because they become so nervous around you it’s funny.

“Did we enter the wrong building? Did he catch us tailing him and left through the back door?!” 

You doubt Jake’s presumptions, and you’re correct to doubt him because right at that moment, Heeseung finally shows his stupid fucking face.

Not only does he show his stupid fucking face— he shows his stupid fucking face on the mini stage in the other corner of the cafe with a freaking guitar. What? So he’s not an underground fighter? Heeseung leans into the mic and a singular “ah,” resounds from the speakers mounted on the walls, muting down the muffled sound of the rain outside in that single instant.

When Heeseung starts to play the instrument followed by the sound of his voice, the rain is forgotten entirely.

This is a surprise. This is unexpected.

“This is disappointing,” says Jay, and you snap your head at him with eyes wide in alarm and disbelief because what does he mean disappointing? Disappointing where? You’ve been living with an angel all this time and you didn’t know? 

“Yeah, it’d be cooler if he was in a fight club,” Jake adds, as if their friend isn’t putting the Billboard’s Hot 100 to shame right now. What kind of bullshit are they saying?

“Did you guys know he could sing like that?”

The three look at you, even Soobin, and respond with a yes, a nod, a hum. Your mouth gapes. But you don’t get why you’re surprised when these guys have known each other for years prior to you barging in unannounced— so, of course they know, of course you don’t, and in the midst of all this, your thoughts are interrupted by the sharp screech from the speakers, because Heeseung has stopped singing, and is instead now looking at your table, looking more alarmed than you.

You’re pretty sure your eyes met before he decided to bolt out of the cafe.

“Oh, he’s getting off stage. Maybe he’s going to greet u— why is he skipping our table? Why is he running outside? Hyung, wait!”

None of you end up chasing after him because it’s still pouring outside, and you can already predict what the aftermath of this is going to be. Thus concludes your mission of finding out whether or not Heeseung is secretly an underground fighter or a stripper, with the answer amounting to neither because Heeseung is a performer during The Lounge’s open mic nights, and you don’t get why he’s been acting so secretive about it all this time.

Heeseung wakes up feeling like shit. And not the regular kind of shit. He feels like Satan just chewed him up, only to spit him back out— slobber and the inferno’s of hell included because he’s sweating through his shirt, his blanket feels like a prison, but if he kicks it of, he gets attacked by cold flashes, so he’s in a sticky and uncomfortable limbo between overheating and freezing to fucking death.

His throat is dry. The only thing that escapes his throat is a guttural and inhuman rasp. He wouldn’t be this sick if he didn’t run out in the rain last night. 

Rather, he wouldn’t have ran out if you weren’t there last night.

Heeseung rolls to his side with a groan of pain and anguish, muffled against the pillow as a different kind of fevered heat washes over his face. Seriously. Why the fuck were you there last night? He could give less than two shits if his roommates find out that he sings Taylor Swift every weekend at The Lounge, but you— you’re a different story. Because he knows you’re gonna use this information against him somehow, just like how you like to fuck around with his friends.

Too much. Heeseung has always thought you were a bit too much for him. The time you chased Beomgyu around the house in the dress(?) Jay made is the only evidence he needs to affirm that.

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have bolted out like that immediately after meeting your eyes. You already suspect that you gross him out (which, by the way, couldn’t be more wrong) for always running away from the threat of skin-to-skin contact with you. Why was it raining when it’s still summer, anyway? It’s like that night was a curse made especially for him.

He curls up further into a ball, hoping you just forget about it all and don’t question him about it.

Yet the very opposite happens because what interrupts his spiraling thoughts is the sound of your voice— already threatening a wave of torment.

“Oh, god. You’re in a worse state than I thought.”

Heeseung regrets springing up from his bed because his head immediately gets slammed by the recoil of a headache. “Why...why are you here?” he barely scratches out. You’re by the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes laced with pity. He didn’t even hear the door opening. 

“Jake told me about your illness,” you say, walking over to the side of his bed and Heeseung flinches back the moment you set yourself down on the mattress. “He said you have a chronic case of bitchless syndrome.

He looks at you. Your face is dead serious. Heeseung feels a drop of sweat trickling down his neck, then you break into that devious smile of yours and laugh out a grin.

“Kidding. Jake would never say that. He told me you were sick and needed someone to nurse you up, so here I am.”

Holy shit. Heeseung lets out a breath, nearly teetering off his bed to maintain a comfortable enough distance from your overwhelming presence. “Why—” some throat phlegm cuts him off. He lets out a violent cough before reclaiming his voice. “Why you? I—I mean, why did Jake ask you?”

“Ouch?” you remark. “No one else is around. Jake’s out hiking, apparently. Sunghoon’s covering someone’s shift. Beomgyu’s obviously still at his parents. Jay says he’s out on a mission, and Soobin left the house with a giant backpack. I was too afraid to ask. Anyway, I know my very physical presence disgusts you, but deal with it for now, you goober. You look like hell.”

“That’s— that’s not—” You take this opportunity to pull his sweaty blanket off in one swift movement. “That’s not it! You don’t— don’t disgust me, I’m just— you know—”

“I know, I just wanted to fuck with you.”

You’re grinning. You haphazardly fold the sheet before throwing it down to the foot of the bed, sitting over it. Heeseung feels the blood drain from his face— “Anyway, sit up and let me feel you up,” —only for the blood to shoot right back up and nearly knocks him out unconscious. “Feel your temperature up, perv. I’m not taking advantage of a sick man. C’mere, let me see how sick you are.”

Heeseung, however, still has enough marbles to quickly evade your incoming hand. He swerves to the right. You blink at him, arm reaching out to thin air, before trying again, only for Heeseung to swat your hand away with gritted teeth and fearing for his life. “S—sorry,” he chokes out. He sees the glint in your eyes. Crap. He shouldn’t have done that.

“For fuck’s sake, just let me check your temperature— Heeseung! What the hell?!”

“Just—just leave me alone!”

Earlier, Heeseung thought he was about to die. He didn’t think he had enough strength to fight for his life as he squirms underneath you on the bed, driven solely by the desire to protect his fucking pride because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you touch him when he’s all gross and sweaty and gross from the fever. There’s no way in hell he’s letting that happen.

“What are you—”

He yanks out his blanket from underneath you, causing you to roll of his bed and he throws the sheet over his red, hot, and burning face because holy fuck. Holy shit. That was a close call.

When he peeks out from the blanket, Heeseung instantaneously feels a threat to his life.

You’re glaring at him. You look like you want to skin him alive and he gulps and nudges himself away, ass nearly falling off the bed when you get up from the floor and dust yourself off. “Okay,” you huff. “Fine. Have it your way. Die from a heatstroke, or whatever the fuck. I’ll be downstairs if you need me, and if you do, I’m expecting you to get down on your knees and beg because every time you’ve swatted my hand away was an additional jab at my pride.”

Okay, damn. You leave his room, not without slamming his door close to emphasize your anger, and on top of feeling like absolute crap, Heeseung now also feels guilty as hell. 

“Fuck,” he rasps out. It’s not like he’s doing it out of malice, or hate, or because he thinks you’re a germ that he cannot touch, like you always accuse him with. Heeseung still remembers how his whole no touching quirk started: sixteen years-old, when Heeseung finally mustered the courage to hold his first girlfriend’s hand, only for her to laugh and joke and pull away while saying, “ew, gross. Your hand is all sweaty.”

Twenty-two year old Heeseung has been traumatized to this very day.

Especially now when he’s all disgusting and icky and very much ew and gross because of his fever. Stupid, he knows, but the last thing he’d want to see is a disgusted grimace from your face the moment the back of your hand presses against his damp and sticky, sickness-induced forehead. However, it seems like he’s been inflicting to you the very injury he’s been trying to protect himself by constantly avoiding the threat of contact of your skin against his.

Stupid. It’s really stupid. 

But he can’t avoid dehydration by simply ignoring the dryness of his mouth. With much struggle, Heeseung forces himself out of the bed, despairing the amount of stairs he has to climb down— and the suggestion of calling for you help does tease his brain for a split second, but decides against it with a shake of his head as he continues the awful trip to the living room, body weighing thirty times heavier, and skull feeling like it’s about to crack itself open.

The problem is, his skull does almost end up getting cracked open. Because as he’s finally nearing the bottom floor, he misses a step, causing him to hit the ground with a harsh thud.

“Ugh,” he grunts, pushing himself with his forearms, but he stops, nearly face planting into the floor once more because you’re there, you’re walking up to him, looking down at him, and holding a cold and refreshing glass of water above his head like some sort of fucked up display of powerplay against a sick and thirsty man.

“Need any help?” you hum. 

“I’m fine,” Heeseung tries once more to get up only to feel the nausea rise up to his head, and he stops, pauses, and decides that the floor is more comfortable after all. He looks up at you. “Can I...can I get a sip from your glass?”

There’s a glint in your eyes. You crouch down. “Sorry, what was that?”

Are you enjoying this? Do you like watching him in pain? (Likely answer is yes because you yourself have admitted that you enjoy their suffering and torment). “Water,” he rasps out. “Can I drink some of your water?”

“This?” You swirl the glass in your hand, ice clacking against the crystal, before taking a long, tortuous sip on the straw (why does it have a straw?) Heeseung swallows down his spit. “Say please,” you say with a smile. Heeseung chokes on said fucking spit and hacks out a cough because you’re fucking insane.

He feels his face grow hotter. And it’s definitely not just from the fever.

“P—please, give me some of your water.”

You don’t prolong his agony any further and hand him over the glass.

“Need any help getting up?” you ask as you watch him agonizingly sit up against the bottom steps and toss down the water into his throat in one shot as if it was at a company dinner. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and feels your disappointed stare pricking his conscience. “I can’t help you unless you ask me to, Heeseung.”

He frowns, deflating. “But I’m all gross and sweaty.”

The last thing he expects you to do is to roll your eyes at him and stand up with an arm stretched out. 

And the next thing he knows is that you’re lugging him over to the couch, an arm around his waist, his around your shoulder, and you set him down the cushions with a grunt. “Jeez, I’m not made for manhandling men,” you say, very dubiously. “Lie down.” And when he doesn’t lie down, wide-eyed and unresponsive, you poke his forehead and he tips back, falling into the couch.

What…what is going on...

“You know, I’m very tempted to ask you to take your shirt off just to laugh at your reaction, but you actually look like you’re about to die, so I decided against it. Aren’t I sweet?” 

You’re back with a basin and some towels (when did you disappear?) and Heeseung’s brain starts malfunctioning, growing dizzier and dizzier by the second when you touch his jaw, damp towel wiping off the sweat coating his face and neck and he feels his throat tightening. “Christ. I think your temp is over forty degrees, my guy,” you say, squeezing the towel over the basin. “Hello? Heeseung? What the hell, did you catch Sunghoon’s disease? Are you unable to talk to me now, too?”

“It’s—it’s not that,” he chokes out. He’s about to justify himself, but you press your palm against his forehead, cutting off all the oxygen pipes leading up to his brain, and he feels like passing the fuck out.

Shit. Shit. Holy shit. 

“Ah,” you say. “You’re not running away.”

He’s not. He’s not running away. But he feels a different sort of problem coming up.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

You blink at him. This doesn’t help his case at all.

“Wow, this is an upgrade,” you say from the other side of the bathroom door while Heeseung pukes his guts out into the toilet. Heavy metal playing from his phone is trying to block the noises out. He’s heaving over the bowl and wants to kill himself from embarrassment. “Now my very presence makes you vomit. I’m sorry for everything so far.”

There’s a flush. The music stops. Heeseung cracks the door open and you pass him a glass of water without some bedroom-esque powerplay this time. “Seriously, why did you run off into the rain last night? Look where it got you.” It’s a shocker that you haven’t told him he’s gross yet. You’re standing there in front of the bathroom and in front of the mess of his post-vomit presence, and all you’re doing is looking at him in worry. 

“I wasn’t expecting you guys to be there,” he says, still sounding like death, and you take the now empty glass from him and head over to the kitchen, pointing at his makeshift deathbed on the couch. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to give Mariah Carey a run for her money, either.” After you place the glass into the sink, you’re back to the living room. He’s down on the sofa, eyelids heavy, unable to say or do anything when you push back his hair to place a damp towel on his forehead. “Like damn, I knew you guys have known each other for a while now, but I totally felt like an outsider when I was the only one surprised to hear you sing.”

You’re not making fun of him. You don’t make a comment about how sticky his skin feels or how gross his sweat-drenched shirt is.

“I like your voice. Too bad it sounds like shit right now, but you should let me hear you again once you feel better.” The doorbell rings. “Oh, right, I ordered some porridge. You can feed yourself, right? Hold on, let me get it.”

He hears your footsteps padding across the floor, unable to find the strength to open his eyes as the coolness of the cloth seeps into his forehead. Heeseung has always thought you were a bit too much— case in point, everything that just happened and all the other times you’ve teased, tormented, and actively tortured to the point of tears all the inhabitants of this god forsaken house. 

Yet it is also your excessive nature that has let Sunghoon speak more than five words around you, that has stopped Beomgyu from hermitting in his room twenty-four-seven, that has helped Soobin and Jay in two very important instances this summer, and has allowed Jake to offer you a spot in their lives after leaving that room on the third floor empty for a good two years.

“Fuck, I can’t believe they left me behind with a sick man when I can barely even take care of myself.”

You’re back. He opens his eyes and tries to lift himself up but his body is way too heavy. “Uh,” he says. “Can you…please…open the container for me?” He doesn’t miss your amused fucking grin when he mumbles out the please.

“Ah. Open up.”

Heeseung has always felt you were too much. Maybe it’s his fever talking, maybe it’s not, but maybe too much exactly what he needs right now.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[cherryxbooo]

Lewis fic. Its his birthday y/n and him have an age gap. Not a crazy one but she teases him about his age.

My old man

Summary: It's Lewis's birthday, and you never fail to make him feel old on his special day.

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for showing your love for my first-ever story on here. It means a lot!!! Also, I'm trying my best to write new stories based on your requests, but I'm currently in my exam period, so things might go slower. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this short fic!

Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Mention of age gap (10 years)

Genre: fluff

It's currently 4 o'clock in the morning and Lewis is sound asleep next to me in bed. Why am I up so early already? Well it's my favourite human's birthday today and I want to make this day special for him. Knowing that Lewis always wakes up at around 6 o'clock for his early morning workouts made me get up early to decorate the house and get his favourites for his birthday.

I bought all the decorations last night and did a pretty good job at hiding it from Lewis. Starting by blowing up all the balloons and hanging them around the place followed by the rest of the decoration. If there is one thing that Lewis doesn't like, it's seeing his age on display. So that's exaclty what I did. I bought the numbers 39 in a big form and hung them on the most noticable place in the house to tease him even more.

After I was done with decorating the place I went out and went to the store to buy the last few things that were needed, thank God 24/7 hour stores are a thing otherwise I would've been fucked. While strolling along the aisles I can't help but find the perfect gift for Lewis. It was a dog shirt with the words 'Grandpa's favourite boy' displayed on it, promising myself to get Roscoe to wear it later. After getting the last things I went back home knowing that it was almost time for Lewis to wake up.

Putting everything on the counter i start to prepare his birthday breakfast with all his favourites in it. I still had plenty of time since I already wrapped his gifts yesterday, so in the meantime while I was making his breakfast I quickly took the dog shirt out for Roscoe to wear. He looked so adorable but I couldn't help but laugh at the shirt. I don't think Lewis would even be surprised since I've been teasing him about his age non stop.

While putting the last things on the table I felt two strong hands wrap around my waist. "Babe you went all out this year"

Lewis exclaimed. "Well it's my favourite old man's birthday I had to make it special." I added. Lewis groans "Love are you seriously still making fun of me?" I gasped but it was quickly followed by my laugh. "I would never!"

"I just wanted to celebrate you getting closer to the forties" Lewis groans again. "Babe seriously stop that I'm still in my thirties and that's what matters and also you're just 10 years younger then me your time will come as well"

"Jeez Lewis you're making it sound as if I'm about to die or something but for now I'm happily enjoying my twenties" I say pecking his lips and leading him to the breakfast table.

"Babe there was no need to put those numbers up there" Lewis exclaimes. "Well you're an old man now I had to remind you before you forget" I say with a laugh.

Lewis groans even more. "You're never letting it go are you?" "Ofcourse not old man!". "But babe on a serious note you didn't have to do all this" He said coming over to me and kissing me passionately. "But i wanted to since you deserve the world Lew" I tell him with a peck to his lips.

"Thanks beautifull I love you!" He adds "And I love you too My old man. Soon the kiss turned into a makeout session when Lewis breaks the kiss and adds "Well after all this I would love for this birthday gift to be taken to the bedroom"

Smirking I jump on to him with both my legs secured around his waist. But before we could go any further Roscoe pops up and starts barking for our attention. Lewis puts me down and both of our attention is on Roscoe.

"Hey old guy, did you want to wish your dad a happy birthday as well?" Lewis says while scratching behind Roscoe's ears. But then Lewis freezes noticing the shirt I put on Roscoe earlier. He turns to me, but I was already out of sight, running for my life.

"Y/N ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?"

yourusername posted on Instagram!

Liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and others

yourusername Happy birthday to my old man! You light up my world with your love and laughter, and I'm so lucky to have you by my side. Today, we celebrate not only the day you were born but also all the achievements you created in your life. You bring so much joy and happiness into my life, and I can't wait to create more amazing memories together! Thank you for being the most loving and caring person in my life. Happy birthday my love! 🤍🎈🎉

View all comments

lewishamilton Thank you my love! I love you so much 💕 Also I will ignore any old man related comments.

yourusername ☹️

georgerussell63 Happy birthday old man!

lewishamiltonlover3 Happy birthday bae!

roscoeloveslewlew Y/n will never let him live 😂

landonorris Yeah @yourusername show the old man some respect!

lewishamilton 🙄

lewisamgfan Lando and George being bullies is so them core 🤣

The end

[mapsthewanderer]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb VI

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 2000 words. Non-MC!Reader as the law student. Expect cringe, hot af barista Caleb, mission and romcom plot with the newbie.

Parts: intial, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01 @ariakamil

Ambushed by Academia | pt. 6

Caleb had looked so pleased when you walked in earlier. That smile—slow, crooked, like he’d been waiting for an excuse to light up—and just like that, you’d forgotten every last article of your notes. Forgotten your looming deadlines, your carefully calibrated emotional boundaries, and the way your heart was absolutely not supposed to skip at the sight of an apron and forearms.

And the way his eyes had tracked you through the room like you were the only person that mattered?

Obscene. Practically grounds for academic collapse.

Now, though—

The café lights are dimmed for closing. You’re squatting behind the counter—not because you work there, but because at this point, it feels like you might as well. Your blazer’s folded over a stool, your laptop’s wedged between stacks of drink sleeves, and your dignity is somewhere near the trash can labeled “compostable materials.”

And still—you’ keep coming back.

Because you’ve got to figure out what, exactly, is happening to your brain every time he says “Golden girl”.

… Or tugs your pony tail on his way out—grinning like it’s nothing, like you’re not going to be replaying it for the next six hours.

You help the newbie stack cups. They don’t protest anymore. You think they’ve accepted your presence as a natural part of the ecosystem.

They suggested K-pop to pull you out of the Taylor Swift spiral you were clearly mid-descend into. You vetoed it on principle. They vetoed your playlists out of spite. You both eventually settled on a random café mix—the kind with acoustic guitar so faint, the clink of ceramic and the flick of the newbies tongue piercing against their teeth sounded louder by comparison.

So to spare them the dental work—you brush a crumb off the bar and ask, “You got any plans this weekend?”

They shrug, sorting the last of the tip jar. “Might hit the farmers market before my shift.”

Mid-wipe, you pause. “Really.”

They glance over, catching the tone. “…What?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t exactly scream artisanal tomato energy.”

The newbie sighs. “Okay, fine. I overheard Caleb on the phone.”

That makes you stop.

They keep their eyes on the cash tray. “Something about meeting someone there. It sounded… like a plan. Then he asked me to cover his afternoon shift.”

You blink. Once. Twice.

Chewing their tongue piercing, they confess: “I figured I’d casually suffer and then tell you,” they say, voice dry.

Nodding slowly, you set the rag down like it personally betrayed you. “And you’re going?”

Then, softer—trying to sound offhand but failing they say: “Maybe I’ll stop by before. Just to… you know. See the crowd. But chances of running into him are basically zero…”

The newbie shakes their head, fast. “I took the shift.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You took the shift?!”

“I panicked. He was being nice. I didn’t think it through. I’m a simp.”

You stare.

They flick their piercing against their teeth and mutter, “I am so mad at me.”

You lean your elbows on the counter. “So what now? You just… suffer in silence?”

“No,” they say, looking up at you with quiet desperation. “You go.”

You blink. “Me?”

“You peek,” they say, nodding like it’s a battle plan. “Just a quick loop. You don’t even have to talk to him. Just recon.”

You cross your arms. “And why would I do that?”

The newbie looks you dead in the eye.

“Because I’m working a shift I did not emotionally prepare for, and I need to know if he’s with her so I can spiral in peace.”

You stare. “You’re the worst.”

They smirk. “No, I’m relatable.”

Just then, the newbie’s phone buzzes on the counter.

Caleb: tell golden girl I hope her books aren’t killing her. can’t wait to make her a monday madness latte. we’ll invent something amazing for her, newbs.

You and the newbie both stare at it.

They look back at you.

You shrug, fingers slipping through your ponytail with casual ease. “Cool. He’s multitasking.”

“Emotionally or logistically?” they ask.

“Unclear,” you mutter. “Both feel illegal.”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”

They hold out a hand—tentative, a little amused. “For the case.”

You eye it.

Then give them a small high five.

It’s quiet. Awkward.

But it feels good.

——————————————————————————

Later that night

——————————————————————————

You’re at home.

Wrapped in a hoodie you pretend you don’t sleep in when stressed, laptop propped on your knees.

You open a fresh document titled:

To Market or Not to Market: An Objective Analysis of Strategic Stalking and Emotional Recklessness.

You start typing.

Pros of going to the farmers market:

Possible intel on Apple Girl.

Caleb in natural lighting.

Surprise outfit advantage.

Get closure. Or proof. Or content.

Cons:

Potential heartbreak.

Ethical… murkiness.

May buy shit I don’t want or need (f.i. apples).

Obvious spiral behavior.

I could… should be studying…

You close your eyes.

Then, in your mind, underline Caleb in natural lighting. Three times. In red.

Because unfortunately, that’s starting to feel like reasonable justification.

——————————————————————————

The weekend

——————————————————————————

You are not dressing up.

You’re just… choosing strategically.

You stare at your closet like it’s the witness stand. Everything feels like a statement.

Too casual? You’ll look like you’re trying not to try.

Too nice? Obvious.

Too “I just rolled out of bed”? Untrue, and you’re not a good enough liar.

You pull out your favorite blazer.

Then put it back.

You eye a button-down. Too stiff. You grab a cropped athletic zip-up instead. It’s fitted. Sleek. Slightly smug. The kind of outfit that says: yes, I studied commercial law for four hours this morning but I still have enough emotional bandwidth to look hot in daylight.

You pair it with high-waisted black pants and crisp white sneakers. Hair: tight braid. Lip gloss: faint shimmer. Jewelry: minimal, but coordinated.

You nod at your reflection.

Classy. Clean. Slightly intimidating. Entirely unnecessary.

You are a rational adult who just happens to be dressed like a walking case study in tactical thirst.

This is fine.

You toss a canvas tote over your shoulder, because you might buy produce, okay?

Totally casual.

Totally not a stakeout.

——————————————————————————

You walk through the rows like you belong here.

Like you’re not casing the scene for one (1) specific barista.

Like you came for kombucha samples and not evidence.

It’s bright out. Stupidly pleasant. People are smiling and holding hands and buying overpriced jam like they’ve never had a breakdown over a man with purple eyes, rolled sleeves and a dog tag.

Your sneakers crunch on gravel. Your tote bag is empty.

You’ve passed the honey booth twice now.

Still no Caleb.

You keep your pace casual. Normal. Totally not scouting like an undercover agent.

Your eyes sweep the crowd in slow, professional intervals. Like you’re assessing jurors. Or suspects.

Your phone buzzes.

newbie: did you go?

You glance around like someone’s watching you. Then type:

you: i plead the fifth.

newbie: i KNEW IT. i’m manifesting espionage results.

you: there’s a woman here with a floral dress and a baguette. she’s winning.

newbie: does she look like she ruins lives?

you: yeah

newbie: …apple girl vibes?

you: TBD

You pass a booth selling hand-stitched tea towels with puns on them. One says “You’re the apple of my pie.”

Bleh.

You keep walking.

But he’s definitely not here.

Yet.

You try not to care.

So you tell yourself that you’re just curious.

Collecting information. Restoring balance to the universe by confirming his romantic status through low-key surveillance. Completely normal.

You pretend to admire a display of lemons. They are aggressively yellow.

You check your phone. Nothing from him.

Your reflection in a mason jar tells you you still look composed.

You squint.

You do not feel composed.

You move on.

Past herbs. Past candles. Past a woman in a long dress buying tomatoes with main character energy.

Your tote bag remains empty.

So does your sense of purpose.

Your phone lights up again.

newbie: i’m emotionally holding your hand from behind the espresso machine.

You smile. Just barely.

Because no, Caleb’s not here yet.

But you’re not alone in this.

And you’re not leaving.

Not until you know something. Because until you see him, or her, or anything, you’re just a girl in a zip-up jacket, pretending to shop, and waiting for the truth to walk out of the crowd.

You’re halfway through pretending to examine a stack of organic zucchinis when you hear a voice behind you.

Familiar. Too familiar.

“Ah, my favorite overachiever outside the classroom context!”

You flinch.

You turn slowly—like a horror movie extra who knows what’s coming—and there he is.

Professor Litt. Infamous for bad jokes and a relentless obsession with “real-world application.”

And just your luck?

You’ve run into him in public.

The real world. Exactly where you didn’t want to see anyone who assigns 40-page readings for fun.

You blink. “Hi. Hello. Wow. Hi.”

Litt is wearing a straw hat and holding a bundle of radishes. You are not emotionally prepared for any of this.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says cheerfully. “Shouldn’t you be in a library intimidating someone with civil code citations?”

You force a laugh. “Haha, yeah. Just taking a mental break. Nature. Veggies. Fresh air.”

You are absolutely sweating.

“Good,” he nods. “It’s important to have balance. Mind, body, stress-induced academic panic.”

Litt’s eyes flick toward your bag. “We all saw the forehead-to-laptop-case moment…” He lets out a quiet tsk of exaggerated sympathy. “Right in the middle of the WTO compliance slide, no less. Tragic timing.”

You open your mouth to agree completely and apologize for that episode—and then you see him.

Caleb.

Walking out from between two booths, just a T-shirt clinging to him in… Ways…

You can see the definition of his arms from here. The line of his abs pressed subtly beneath soft cotton. That stupid apple charm bouncing once, catching the light against his chest like it knows what it’s doing.

You freeze.

But he’s alone.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Because now your spiral has no villain.

Only opportunity.

Professor Litt is mid-sentence about the contractual implications of carrots when you drop behind a crate of leafy greens like your life depends on it.

“Whoa,” he says, stopping. “Is this a—? Are you okay?”

You pop up just enough to peer over the kale. “Yup! Sorry! Low blood sugar.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never dropped out of a cold call from me. Why are you ducking for cabbage?”

You wave him off. “Unrelated. Entirely unrelated.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“No, but if I die, please delete my search history and submit my latest outline. It’s color-coded.”

You duck again.

He blinks. “…Is this about romance?”

You peek back up. “I’m legally not allowed to confirm or deny.”

He leans in, whispering. “Is it that barista you wrote about in your contracts hypothetical?”

You stare at him, betrayed. “You read that?”

“It was very vivid.”

You hear Caleb’s voice somewhere nearby—low, casual, too close. You sink lower behind the kale, heart pounding like you’re in mock trial but worse.

Litt studies you for a second, then says, “Well. I suppose if you’re going to lose composure, it might as well be in a public venue full of root vegetables.”

You sigh into your hands. “This is the worst day of my life.”

He pats your shoulder, kindly. “At least you look fantastic.”

You peek over the kale one last time.

Caleb’s browsing apples now. Of course. Abs of temptation, and he’s staying on brand.

Professor Litt adjusts his straw hat like this is perfectly normal. “Well. I’ll leave you to your… fieldwork. Try not to faint in public. It messes with your grades.”

And then, mercifully, he walks off.

You crouch lower, heart pounding, surrounded by leafy greens and academic humiliation.

You fumble for your phone and text the only person who’ll understand.

you: he’s here. alone!! his abs are illegal. help!!!

The dots blink.

newbie: omg great intel! proud of you. is the necklace still on???

You stare.

Then sigh and type:

you: still on. ofc it is. this man is clinging to symbolism like it’s a tax exemption

You don’t even hit send before ducking back behind a crate of cucumbers.

Operation Spiral: still in progress.

——————————————————————————

Part 7

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Aaaaaaa I loved writing Litt’s scene—pure joy. People, I’m proofreading and editing like a champ over here! Another chapter’s coming this weekend, so stay tuned for more romcom chaos and feelings. I’m officially done being an adult—I just want to write, hike, doodle, and listen to music for the rest of my life, lol. Seriously though, thank you so much for all the lovely comments and feedback on the last chapters. It means the world! Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[ghosthoard]

PART 10

parts 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10

Link stood in front of an amorphous dark pool of energy and out comes a boy in green, and another in blue. His heart and soul.

Captain Link stood in front of what they now knew as portals and he was hugging Tune goodbye, never wanting to let go. 

Captain Link was ripping Sprite’s arms off of him, the boy’s cries tearing at his heart as he begged to stay.

Hero Link is faced with another portal years after those partings and he can’t stop himself from hoping for the first time in years.

Warriors walked through portal after portal alongside his brothers, falling into them laughing or fighting for their lives, but together either way.

Warriors stood in front of a portal the size of a dish. 

Only Sky, Legend, and Hyrule seemed to have seen it all happen and Legend was the only one talking, fast and mostly babbling and not as coherent as they needed him to be. Sky was holding Wild’s cloak and looking stricken. Hyrule was thrumming like a heat wave, glaring down his nose at the portal wordlessly. Twilight looked like he was going to dive into that portal regardless of if it would cut him in half or not. 

“Legend, slow down,” Time’s firm grip on Twilight’s arm the only thing holding the man back. “We don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“The Yiga took Wild,” Hyrule spoke for the first time, “through that.”

“And we should go through after ‘em,” Twilight snarled.

“Rancher, we aren’t going to fit through there as is,” Four said a bit obviously. “Maybe if I turn small and Hyrule turns into a fairy we can go first—”

“Out of the question,” Time shot down. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Legend interjected. “Hyrule and I can do it!”

“Do what!” Wind snapped. “You haven’t been making any sense!”

“Our magic stopped it from closing all the way! We can get it open wide enough again.”

“Why haven’t you already?” Warriors knew to ask. 

Legend hesitated. “...Like I’ve been saying, it’s going to take a bit of time to figure out.”

“You don’t know yet if it’ll work,” Time stated, asking for confirmation.

“I do know,” the Vet squared his shoulders, trying to exude confidence. “Give us an hour.”

“Do we trust the portal in the first place though,” Four stepped up to get their attention again, “We have to consider the other options, we don’t need to go through it.”

“Four is right. We can also travel on foot, we know where their main base is,” Time said.

Legend’s patience, already on thin ice, visibly cracked with a twitch of his nose. “How do we know for sure that’s where they went?! It’ll take days to figure out where they are! Then it might take days to get there! At least with the portal we know we’ll end up where we need to be.”

“Do we know that?” Four challenged. “Magic is fiddly and unpredictable. It might take us anywhere.”

“Don’t you feel it, Smithy??” Legend uncharacteristically implored. “Wild is in there. It’s exactly where we need to be.”

Four faltered before looking at the portal to study it. “...I can feel it.”

“If you guys feel him through the portal then it shouldn’t even be a question,” Wind said, the grip on the Phantom Sword shaking. 

“Traveler,” Time called. “We would appreciate your input.”

Hyrule didn’t look away from the portal. “Taking too long.”

“Chosen?”

Sky shook his head.

“Pup?”

Twilight took in a breath, his face still twisted in a snarl, but he calmly pulled his arm from Time’s grounding grip. “An hour ain’t asking for much. Let ‘em try.”

“Captain?”

Warriors met Time’s gaze. 

How could he have failed to recognize his little brother the moment he saw him? There was the same trust, the same faith, the same understanding. Warriors moved his gaze to Wind, who startled, not expecting the sudden scrutiny. Tune he had recognized immediately, younger and still growing into the reliable young man who had seen through him more than Warriors had been comfortable with. 

“Cap?” Wind asked when the staring had continued for too long, a furrow in his brow and a squiggle of his mouth. “What is it?”

Warriors looked back at the waiting portal. 

The portals had given him his treasures, had stolen them all the same, and had returned them changed but no less precious. He still remembered meeting Wild, withdrawn, suspicious, and quiet. What a joy it’s been to know him truly. Warriors knew there’d be a day that the portals would take from him one last time. But today isn’t that day.

Warriors let his voice ring out over the area, taking control, making the damning decision. “Vet, Traveler, get us through.”

Relief softened Legend’s face before he turned to Hyrule, getting right to business, in his element and amazing in it, “I need you to follow my lead, just like before…”

A decision made on sentiment, something inside him hissed.

Warriors was never an especially devout man. 

The goddesses hadn’t been a prominent figure in his upbringing and his era wasn’t a particularly religious one either. Praying wasn’t common among the common folk or the soldiers, and if there was anybody to worship it was the royal family, Princess Zelda specifically. (And if Sky’s reverence for Sun was any indication, it wasn’t all that different from worshiping Hylia after all.) The only ones who were wise and divine enough to reach out to the heavens were the royal family, so most people left them to it. It was the same mentality he had after becoming a soldier, when he’d see firsthand the royal family perform ceremonies, rituals, and send up prayers to the goddesses and hardly thought anything of it. 

Once he was named a hero, however, he found himself much closer to the divine. The Triforce of Courage had burned bright like a sun in the very heart of him before it was ripped away from him like losing a part of his soul. Zelda herself seemed to him a goddess who had ascended from the light of the sky. He was given the title of Hylia’s Hero, though most called him Zelda’s Hero. When the war ended, he was suddenly needed in those same ceremonies and rituals he’d stood guard for in the very back as the “Hero of the Goddess Hylia”, dressed in proper, heavy, itchy garb, after Zelda drilled into him the proper way to move, the proper way to hold himself, when to prostate, when to raise his head, what words needed to be said and in what way, in front of sneering nobles and disdainful soldiers.

The war itself started because he was in possession of the Hero’s Spirit, because he was Hylia’s Hero. 

But Warriors had never considered blaming Hylia for the war or for what he’s been through like Legend does or revere and worship her as Sky does.

What he’s learned, through a heavy heavy cost and a formative lesson, is that just because he was blessed by Hylia didn’t mean everything went his way. It was on him that he was arrogant enough to be captured by Cia, it was on him when he sent everybody, every single portal visitor, back through the portals, and it was on him that Wild doesn’t stand with them now. 

The goddess’s powerlessness or perhaps her callousness meant that his choices mattered. 

It wasn’t Hylia’s fault the war started nor was it due to her that the war ended. It wasn’t them that needed the goddess, the very reason they existed as hero and princess was because the goddess wasn’t all-powerful. The goddess needed them. 

…Warriors couldn’t believe the goddesses were all powerful if they couldn’t save him from himself. 

Zelda once told him, having found him in the dead of night, wasted on who knew how many bottles, “The war might be over, but you still stubbornly linger there alone begging for it to kill you.” Her harsh tone and her gentle hands that cradled his face, uncaring of the vomit, snot, and tears, were both thunderous and loving.

He didn’t remember much of the rest.

(“It was the worst time of my life,” he’d cried, pathetic and small, “but Zel… it was the best too.”

“Oh, Link,” Zelda had said, pulling him into a fierce embrace and ruthlessly promising, “It won’t be the best.”) 

She was right —(a new best)— a part of him was left behind in the war. And maybe a part of him now resides in that dungeon with Wild’s corpse.

Warriors pulled out the little wooden figures of Mask and Tune he kept tucked carefully in his pack with a soft handkerchief, and they laid tucked small in his palm. The carver had done an amazing job capturing their likeness, Tune’s confident smirk as he held his sword with hard-won experience, Mask’s scowl stuck in the momentum of swinging his own sword. 

During the war, he had a map laid out on his desk with a collection of wooden figures that symbolized troops he’d be able to adjust positions to his needs. Battalions, regiments, and squads with their respective colored wooden blocks stacked and moved to determine the best way to win— or in most cases, the only way to win. As the years passed, special persons were given a carved likeness rather than a block. Zelda, Impa, himself, Mask, Tune, any that can sway the tides of battle with their presence alone. 

It was easiest to keep Tune and Mask, who were visibly children, away from battles, until they made such an impact on the battlefield that he had no more reason to keep them back. It was harder to juggle the other portal folk who didn’t have their own figurines, who were faceless and invisible in the blocks that stood for their units. 

He had to keep them alive to send them back home. This wasn’t their home or their fight and yet they still offer help, the least he could do was to send them back safe. 

He’d obsessed over that map. Before every battle, after every battle, he’d be in front of it, wracking his head, pulling his hair, the cries of the soldiers who had lost someone a piercing constant beyond his tent, the candlelight flickering and making his head spin. Next time. There has to be a different way. There has to be. This time none of the figures were pushed over to fall on its side, but there’s no guarantee it will end up the same way forever. It’s on him. 

Warriors could imagine it now. Should all of his brothers have come through the portals during the War of Eras they would have gotten their own personalized figurines as well. And they would be too old for Warriors to play the child card and get them out of the more dangerous battles and they’d never forgive him if he tried. 

The thought of moving more of his brothers’ pieces on the map, placing them in strategic spots, weighing their lives, trying to force a puzzle into an outcome that would keep everyone alive, picking up Four, Twilight, Legend’s pieces, determining their fates was making him nauseated. 

But isn’t that exactly what this was? An enemy. A battle. A battlefield. The pieces. A fight for their lives. And thinking it was anything else was the mistake.

He could imagine Wild’s piece, fallen over, laying still on top of the map as their other pieces stood tall around him.  

“You’re everything I’m not,” Wild’s voice confessed. “Or actually, maybe everything I used to be, everything I should be. You’re a great leader, you inspire others, you’re respected, you’re kind and put together, and you win your battles. I didn’t come back right, everything important was left to die and I was allowed to walk out of the shrine without them. ” 

How comical. 

Warriors remembered being astonished, an incredulous smile twitching on his face. He knew he was good at acting his role, but not that good. He’d been sure almost all of their brothers had taken his persona apart the moment they laid eyes on him. Where does he even start trying to show Wild how wrong he was about him, about himself? 

Wild had that scary, far-away look to his eyes as he told Warriors, “You didn’t die a failure.”

Warriors has seen many different people die, has seen their corpses. 

There were peaceful deaths where people died surrounded by loved ones, with a smile on their face, like falling asleep. There were the remorseful deaths where regret weighed on their brow and dulled their skin, their hands reaching as if their body was still trying to cling to life. There were the sudden deaths, where a sword impaled through a chest or a projectile carved a hole through them, shock and surprise the only thing able to register before they were gone. 

Wild had died afraid. Beyond the obvious, the torture, Warriors had seen it in the way Wild’s eyes were wide and strained, in his slack jawed mouth, in how his body screamed.

Wild’s screaming. He’s screaming. He’s crying. He’s never vocal when he cries, he never expressed his fear with his voice, but now he’s screaming. Forever screaming in death. 

“Ghosts have unfinished business,” a dramatic lilt, a hushed tone, almost conspiratorial, unconsciously made Mask lean closer to Tune to hear, literally on the edge of his seat. It was night, the only light that pierced the darkness of the new moon was their merrily warm fire that cast just the right amount of shadows on Tune’s gleeful face at his captive audience. “All souls that wander do. There are friendly ones, they died with goodness in their hearts and that same goodness can’t let their souls rest until something is made right. And of course there are the ones who die with malice burning through their souls until they become curses, poes, and wizzrobes!”

A gasp! “Oh my!” Midna had said with teasing and fake aghast, rolling her eyes with a smile.

“Sh!” Mask had set a frankly adorable frown upon Midna before turning back to Tune eagerly. 

“But of course, there are the ones who are dead but aren’t corporeal. It’s not just their souls stuck behind, but their bodies that reflect the turmoil of its soul.”

“Redeads,” Mask had breathed out, eyes wide.

Tune had given him a grave nod. “They say redeads are those who died powerless and regretful, victims of tragedy. They now have the power to freeze people in their tracks with their gaze, their wails, unheard and unanswered when alive, finally heard by the living, all who cross their path have no choice but to have their ear drums shattered by the piercing wails of someone long gone until they too are dead.”

“What about stalfos?” 

“Stalfos are those who died fighting and died defeated. The only thing they knew in life was to fight and now their bodies are forever damned to never rest.”

“That’s it?” Mask had frowned, “That’s not that scary.”

“You try coming up with a story for them then,” Tune said, yawning. 

“Fine, since yours was lame.”

“Save it for tomorrow night,” Warriors had stepped in, “the two of you need to sleep.”

As he and his boys left towards their tent, he heard someone near the campfire say, “It’s a dangerous thing. To die with regrets.”

“I didn’t come back right.”

They didn’t have the time and resources to take care of the corpses of fallen soldiers. To settle their souls with love, to comfort them one last time. Instead, they were dragged into a pile, a ditch, a hole, and set aflame until they were gone. If they were left to rot, disease would take root, if they were not burned, they would come back as the very same monsters they’d died fighting— or at least that had been the superstition. 

It was the first time Warriors was able to tend to a body the proper way. To feel for himself how cold Wild’s body that had run hot and fast was, how he didn’t wake no matter how he was moved even when the slightest movement or sound would have his eyes shooting open, how the flush of life was gone from gray and abused skin. To pour all of his love into brushing his hair, smoothing down his tunic, bandaging his wounds just as he had done for his brother in life. To do his best to keep Wild’s soul from festering and coming back wrong because that’s a thought that had haunted him in life and Warriors was damned if he let it become true. 

“I abandoned them,” Time was saying, looking so much like the child he was during the war. It was the dead of night, their watch, their brothers sleeping around them, a few nights before Twilight fought for his life. “That timeline… They all suffered because I left. Idiotically living my life under the false pretense that everything was fixed.”

Warriors remembered the song. It was somewhere buried in his memories. Once or twice, Sprite was interrupted before he could finish playing it. It was a haunting tune. It became associated with bad straits and desperate measures.

He had forced Mask back home through the portal knowing it was the best for him, even when it was like tearing his heart out of his chest and living with the hollow until he died. He couldn’t send him off again. Especially knowing there was a chance that Time will have to live with the possibility that he’d abandoned them in their original timeline.

But he couldn’t make decisions for Time anymore, not like when he was a kid that barely reached his waist. 

Warriors could no longer do anything to protect Mask by saying he was a child. 

The figurines stared up at him, accusatory.

“Did you talk with the old man? What are we doing about Twilight?”

Pull yourself together. Warriors carefully put the figurines back into his pouch before turning to see Legend stomping over to him. “You saw us.”

“Couldn’t hear much.” Legend crossed his arms. “Is he going to try to talk Twilight into scouting?”

“He’s going to talk to Twilight… not sure if it’ll be to make him scout.”

“Well, someone’s gotta do something and Time’s the best person for it. At the very least he should eat,” his brother said in that forceful way of his. “Get up, move, wash, do something.”

“You should just tell him you’re sorry,” Warriors said, “instead of beating around the dekubush with me.” 

He hadn’t stepped in when Legend said those awful things. 

He knew his brothers, and he knew that Legend had a way of getting under people’s skin, to get them riled up, to get them to snap. So he watched as it happened. Betting that Twilight would finally get up, especially when accused of only caring about Wild. Their resident herder? Their mother hen? Accusing him of such a thing so against his character would have to do something.

Imagine his surprise when it didn’t. 

“Sorry for what?” Legend predictably snapped. “Everything I said was true.”

Wild was Twilight’s person. Just as Hyrule was Legend’s. Just like Time and Wind were his. 

“He’d sacrifice hundreds of us,” a soldier said loudly and viciously in the middle of camp, “if it meant one of those brats lived. Can’t even give himself up and now he’s decided his own people aren’t as important as those portal jumpers.”

“I would give anything to have Wild back, but not you.” He was baring his heart out to Time, and it was ugly and rotted.

Wild deserved better than him.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he retorted.

Purple eyes narrowed into slits. “What’s that shit on your face by the way?” 

“What?” The hair flip came naturally to him, muscle memory. “Do I look even prettier than usual?”

Legend rolled his eyes. “Horrifying, actually. You’re scaring the kids.”

“I didn’t know a little bit of makeup would be enough to scare you, Vet.”

“At least I’m not too much of a coward to show it.”

The smile froze on Warriors face as he frantically tried to think of what to say to that. 

“What?” Legend sneered, sensing weakness. “You thought we wouldn’t notice how disgustingly perfect you look all of a sudden? Four clocked your bullshit as soon as you came back with that mask. It’s just like you to try to hide things from us, to try to pretend everything is fine, and then fail miserably at it.” 

“You think this mean guy act looks any better on you?” The words came out snarled and like a burst, straightening to his full height, ready to put all of this ugliness and fear out into the world like drawing out poison instead of pulling him apart and destroying him utterly from the inside—  but Warriors caught himself. He saw the anticipatory energy that thrummed in Legend’s tense body, nervous, eager… and scared. 

He forced this wretched body to relax, to come back down from its rage, and took in a deep breath. He was so tired of himself. “I know what you’re trying to do… and I’m not going to fight you, Vet.”

Disappointment but more importantly relief showed plain on Legend’s face beyond the irritation. He visibly struggled to continue his act. “You don’t know shit. Take this and shut up.”

A ring. 

“For stamina.”

“I don’t need more stamina.”

“Wear it anyway,” his brother impatiently growled, grabbing Warriors’ wrist to force the ring on his finger. “Now get away from me.”

“You’re the one who came up to me.”

Legend had already stomped back away to Warriors’s indignancy.

Following Legend’s retreating back, the rest of the camp came into focus again. After being stuck in his mind, in the past, seeing Hyrule, Four, and Wind speaking to each other, Time pulling Sky onto his feet, the huddle that was Twilight and Wild on the ground, snapped him back into the present. 

The present where Wild was dead, Twilight wasn’t moving, and Time was on the verge of leaving them.

Warriors didn’t envy Twilight. 

It was already so unbearable to have lost Wild, he’d go mad if he lost Mask or Tune the same way. He knew in his soul he’d forever be changed beyond recognition if anybody had touched his boys during the war, and it hasn’t changed now even when one was older than him and the other no longer knew him the way he used to. 

If he were faced with the tortured bodies of his heart and soul, and the ocarina was right there—

But even then… Twilight wouldn’t ask Time to do that. He loved Time just as much. Warriors stood by that. 

And he can tell that Time didn’t want to risk it, that the idea of leaving them behind was a nightmare for him. Twilight wouldn’t force him to leave them, to risk it. He knew it. He was sure of it.

…But Time wouldn’t deny Twilight, especially when neither of them were thinking straight. Warriors needed to prevent any decisions made irrationally.

Time and Twilight shouldn’t talk just yet. 

Glancing around the camp, he made sure that Time was too busy to notice him approaching the wolf. Warriors could make this quick. 

The wolf didn’t move as he approached, though Warriors was sure he could hear his footsteps, nor did he move when Warriors knelt down beside him. 

“Twilight, we’re moving out soon. I’m thinking either you or Time will carry Wild.” Warriors felt a chilly calm wash over him as he continued, “If you don’t carry him, you should scout ahead.” 

As expected, Twilight began to growl.

“Alright, if you want to carry him, you have to turn back.”

The growling continued to rumble. 

“Twilight, either turn back or let Time pick him up.”

Twilight didn’t turn back. 

“Alright, then move out of the way so Time can carry him.”

The warning growl crescendoed as Warriors’s hand came closer until with a snap, Twilight’s head turned and his jaw closely missed burying into his skin. Warriors had pulled his hand away quick as a whip, his impatient anger searing hot through him. 

“Rancher, this is ridiculous!”

Twilight snarled, showing his teeth, his face twisted into monstrous rage. He rose onto his paws, matching Warriors glare for glare as he stood over Wild’s body protectively. Warriors’s hand slowly started to inch to his sword hilt. 

“Enough!” Time’s voice boomed out, coming in between him and Twilight. “Both of you, cool your heads.”

Warriors’s chest was heaving and his nostrils flaring, not looking away, refusing to back down. Just once, he wanted things to go his way. Why couldn’t Twilight just cooperate?!

“Control your mutt, Time,” he spat, before rising up and turning on his heel with a flare of his scarf to walk away.

There were shouts of alarm and the sound of powerful strides. 

Warriors turned back around just in time for Twilight to barrel into him. 

They fell to the ground in a heap, growling and biting and punching and kicking. The others were yelling, trying to get them off of each other, but for both Warriors and Twilight in that moment, the only other person that mattered was each other. Warriors kicked and jabbed, he pulled at Twilight’s ears, and ripped out handfuls of fur. Hurting Twilight was just as satisfying as the hits he got in return, and Warriors was just as much an animal in the fight as Twilight was because Wild was dead, Wild was dead, their little brother was dead! What’re they supposed to do now?! How are they supposed to keep moving forward, leaving him behind?! They lost another one. Over and over again. They couldn’t do this again… it was asking too much—

At some point, the only fur Warriors was pulling at was Twilight’s pelt, the teeth he was evading not a maw of sharp fangs, hands grabbed at his clothes, and the barks and snarls and yowls were gone, and when he looked up he saw Twilight’s face, gutted and twisted and so heart wrenchingly human in its grief.

Warriors froze. 

Nothing had changed for Warriors revelation after revelation of bloodlines and successors. Twilight and Wild were still his brothers and Time was still his Mask. But maybe things changed for Time. Twilight and Wild became sons to him, and for him to almost lose one and then really, truly lose the other— Wars couldn’t stand in the way of Time sacrificing for his sons. Ultimately, that wasn’t his right. 

But he’d been weak, and he’d still asked Time for more than he could give. Decided that their pain wasn’t worth it. 

Twilight collapsed on top of Warriors, tears ran down Warriors’s skin, and Warriors instinctively wrapped his arms around his brother and held him as he shook apart. 

“I know,” Warriors comforted, “I know, Twi.”

…Then so be it.

Legend: fight me, Fight me, FIGHT ME! I’m so good at making you angry! You should fight me about it! 

Twi and Wars: we know what you’re doing and we’re not falling for it, we’re not going to punish you, we love you 

Twi and Wars: ripping each other apart like cats and dogs bc they know the other can handle it 

Legend: i hate this family

A/N

warriors was fighting me this chapter and he's a yapper. he thinks too much and makes so many connections not all of them completely true and not completely false.

i don't think we'll be in warriors's pov for a while so everybody say goodbye to him!

legend was a lot nicer to wars in my first draft of their interaction and its so funny to see the difference between them

also my lack of knowledge of the games might show as i keep writing and i hope you guys forgive me for that. another reason i'm not yet putting these chaps up on ao3 is because i think once i see the gameplay of the boys's games i might go back and rewrite these parts if anything big needs to be changed.

hope you guys liked this part! which link do you want a pov of next???

First | Previous | Next

everybody welcome:

@spheresr4cubes who drew an amazing fanart of this fic!!!

and @natsue-yotsuki who left comments on all the parts of this fic!!!

and @koriemma and @luna-loveboop who left amazing comments!

welcome to the super secret cozy club guys glad you found your way here!

@naxamiss @theyellowfriend @st0rmyskies @chaos-advocate @mothielad @jenniferchaulam @originsofevil @links-in-time @homewardwander @gothroughthelookingglass @seaotter-17 @alicewritingstories @silvrash-797 @niffty24

[trekscribbles]

Failsafe: Chapter Two

...I came across the John Rogers line "Eliot's job is to be the failsafe that never fails". And I couldn't help thinking... What happens if the failsafe does fail?

Chapter One

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3.)

The lights in the hospital parking lot buzzed distractingly. Parker stood beneath one, her arms folded, listening to the sound of electricity with a scowl.

“Eliot,” she said again. “Are you coming?”

No answer. She hadn’t really expected one, but the lack of response irritated her anyway.

“He’s still not there?” Hardison asked in her ear. He was still a few blocks away, walking back from the clinic where he’d been questioning a former colleague of Dr. Grossman’s, and his absence wasn’t helping. It had been a long day, and both the boys were late, and Parker just wanted to go home.

“No,” she snapped. “It’s time, right? This is when we said we’d meet?”

“Maybe he found a nurse and an unattended supply room.”

Parker considered that. The only nurses at the little hospital that afternoon were Parker’s alias Penny, 58-year-old Doris, mother-of-twins-and-visibly-pregnant-with-number-3 Tiffany, and the new hire Jeff. 

Eliot didn’t like to talk to her about dating, but she was fairly certain he wasn’t in a supply room with any of them.

“There’s Dr. Francis,” Parker said thoughtfully. “But Eliot said he thought she might be involved somehow, so he’s probably not with her.”

“Well, he can find his own way home then,” Hardison said. “I haven’t eaten in 10 hours. I’m not waiting for him.”

Parker frowned at the hospital doors. Eliot had dropped Hardison off at the clinic that morning before driving himself and Parker to the hospital for their shift, where they planned to gather more information on Dr. Grossman’s malpractice while Nate and Sophie kept Grossman busy at his second practice across town. Afterwards, Eliot would meet her in the lot so they could pick Hardison up and rendezvous with the others. 

But he hadn’t showed. And he wasn’t answering on the comms.

And Parker didn’t like it.

“I’m going back inside,” she said. “Maybe someone else has seen him.”

Hardison grunted an answer. Nate and Sophie kept talking to whoever they were talking to on their end, either oblivious to her problems or ignoring them. Parker tuned them out as she crossed the parking lot, trying to ignore the steel-wool feeling of wrongness that rubbed against the inside of her skull. Eliot could take care of himself. There wasn’t anything to be worried about.

The automatic doors slid open, and Parker pulled her jacket tighter as she stepped into the air conditioned lobby. The receptionist, Carmen, smiled at her. “I thought you’d already left for the day.”

“I did,” Parker said. “But I was supposed to meet Dr. Baker after work. Have you seen him?”

Carmen wiggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, Dr. Baker? You really are a lucky Penny.”

Parker tried a laugh. “Oh, yeah, I know. He’s very, uh… punctual.”

“Punctual,” Carmen repeated, like it was a different word. “I’ll bet he is. You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

“I have to find him first,” Parker said.

“Right.” Carmen shrugged and shook her head. “I haven’t seen him leave. But he might have had a late patient. Why don’t you wait here?”

“That’s okay,” Parker said. “I’ll just run back and check. I, um… I think I forgot my purse, anyway.”

Carmen waved her through the lobby with a wink. “Good luck!”

“Girl,” Hardison said through the earbud. “We need to work on your flirting.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” she argued.

“Right. For future reference, punctual probably isn’t the first word Eliot would use to describe himself.”

Parker ducked around a corner and headed for the patient rooms. “It’s the first word I thought of.”

“Well, next time try something else. Something like… I dunno, punchy.”

“Punchy?”

“Or how ‘bout delicate? Like when he’s making all them little cookie things with the stuff inside—the macaroons? Takes a delicate touch.”

“How is delicate better than punctual?” Parker asked.

“Okay, then maybe cultured. Right? He’s been a lot of places.”

“I don’t see him in any of the rooms,” Parker said. 

“‘Course, a lot of those places were war zones…”

“Hardison,” Parker said. “He isn’t here.”

He paused. “You sure? You checked all the patient rooms?”

“There’s only eight,” Parker said. “And they’re all in the same hallway. Eliot’s not here.”

“Okay, hang on, I’m like a block away. We can check the security cameras.”

Parker turned around. “I’ll clear out the guards.”

Five minutes and one slight exaggeration about a disturbance in the parking lot later, Parker let Hardison into the empty security room and locked it behind him.

“The hospital closes in a little while,” Parker said. “We’ll have to finish here before the guard comes back to close up the building.”

Hardison sat down at the computer. “Okay, let’s see… hallway, lobby, hallway, parking lot… Huh. There’s a couple of minutes when it goes black here.”

“In the parking lot?” Parker asked.

“Mm-hmm.” Parker watched the light from the screen play over his face as he frowned. “Look, the door opens, and the camera cuts out. Can’t even see who’s leaving.”

“That’s around when Eliot stopped answering the comms,” Parker said.

Nate spoke for the first time since Eliot had gone quiet. “Sophie and I are leaving Grossman’s office now,” he said, and Parker heard a car door slam in the background. “We’ll be there in 40 minutes. Hardison, look through the rest of the hospital footage. If Eliot’s earbud isn’t working, there might be some equipment that’s interfering with the signal. Is there a basement?”

“Yeah,” Hardison said. “It looks like it’s just the morgue down there. Maybe some storage.”

“Check it out,” Nate said. “On camera only. Don’t go in until Sophie and I get there. It’s probably nothing, but if we’re dealing with someone who got the drop on Eliot...”

He didn’t finish. Parker stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and tried not to shiver.

Hardison bent over the computer, opening up new files and typing with a furrow between his brows that did little to settle her unease. 

“Find anything?” she asked after a few minutes.

“Maybe.” He looked up at her, his eyes wide and worried. “A couple minutes after the cameras cut out, five guys wheeled a stretcher out of the downstairs elevator.” He swallowed. “With a body bag.”

Her heartbeat stuttered. “That doesn’t mean anything,” she said quickly. “If they knocked him out, they would need a way to transport him without anyone getting suspicious.”

Hardison nodded, but his expression didn’t change. “They went to the morgue, but the cameras down there are on a different system. If I can bypass… there we go.”

He tapped at the keyboard, and a new window opened up on the screen. “Why would they keep the morgue cameras on a different system?” Parker asked.

“Maybe because they’re abducting people and wheeling them around in body bags?” Hardison said, clicking to pull up a different angle.

Parker leaned over his shoulder. Five guys weren’t enough to take Eliot. She’d seen him handle twice that number without breaking a sweat, let alone getting knocked out. Something wasn’t right, and it made her stomach clench in a way she wasn’t used to.

“Look at this,” Hardison said, clicking back to the last angle. “Do they look like hospital staff to you?”

Parker glared at the muscle-y men standing in the basement hall. “What are they guarding? Is there a camera in that room?”

“Hang on.” He typed some more, clicked a new window, and there—

Parker inhaled.

Eliot was lying on a table, his arms and legs strapped down, his hair tossing as he struggled. Five men stood over him—two fighting to keep his left arm flat on the table, while two more waited off to the side in case he broke free. The fifth waved his hand to one of the others and snatched a syringe from the tray beside him, waved again, and pressed the needle into Eliot’s right arm.

In horrible, grainy monochrome, Parker watched Eliot’s head fall back against the table and lie still.

“What are they doing?” she demanded. “What are they saying?”

“There’s no audio,” Hardison whispered.

“Parker?” Nate asked in her ear. “Did you find him?”

She was at the door in seconds, but Hardison reached across the small space and grabbed for her hand. “Wait, look. He’s moving.”

Parker stopped. On the screen, Eliot turned his head toward the fifth man, following his movements. 

“Parker,” Nate said.

Parker swallowed. “He’s in the morgue, strapped to a table, and there are five guys in the room with him and two outside. We can’t hear anything, but it looks like—they injected him with something. In his arm. He’s awake, but…”

“Stay where you are,” Nate said. “If they haven’t killed him yet, they must want him for something. We’ll be there in half an hour.”

That was half an hour too long. Parker stared at the screen, her mind whirring. They couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. Whatever they had given Eliot could be hurting him—killing him—they had no way of knowing. Not from the security room, anyway.

She looked at Hardison and found the same realization on his face. She lifted her eyebrows. He nodded.

She took out her earbud.

[ladybyakuya]

꒰ WHY DO I STILL LOVE YOU ꒱ ⋮ SUNA RINTARO → [ CONTENT & TAGS ]: f! reader ( can be read as gn! reader) x suna, angst, suggestive, fluff, hurt and comfort. // syn. | Suna thinks he can't pretend anymore of this arrangement or however you would like to put it so he takes a few steps forward including yours and all towards you. Now, all you have to do is to, just . . . voice your thoughts. wc -1.5kish // back to blog navigation. | @6-022-10-23 @sunarc

It is a privilege to be able to come home late at night, unharmed especially on weekends perfectly safe and sound, to not shake like a leaf on your way home, to not be afraid of your own shadow, mind, and heart in constant turmoil whether anyone is following you or not. And it is all possible because someone is with you, someone like Suna. Once in a while when the Inarazaki boys hang out together even after being busy with their saturated lives Rintaro never forgets to take you with him. It is like a ritual to home that twice a month on the third weekend of the month he will be waiting at the turn of your home exactly at seven o'clock to pick you up. Over the years, you would see new faces once in a while but certain ones are permanent the possibility of never seeing any of them is kind of scary and whatever happened at today's gathering might be considered a stepping stone for such dreadful outcomes.

Unlike other days, your head is not filled with the cool breeze and intoxication and your palms are firmly curled around the metal bar behind your back. If it had been any other day, your head would be filled with the after-effects of the party, casual chatting once in a while and your arms hooked around Suna's waist as he drove at a steady speed, not too fast yet not too slow. It is always the perfect consistency between you and him. Anyone would hate to fuck it up, even someone who has been friends with him for more than ten years. By now, everyone is convinced that you two are in a relationship but no one was much sure about it, not even Suna or you confirmed it. Everyone sort of thinks you two are a couple since neither of you entertained others romantically but when asked both of you would joke about it. You sure talked about how Suna never felt sour when he was being associated with you but what exactly it was? It never occurred to you and neither to him to talk to each other about what exactly it was yet both of you took it as a sport during school days. And now when he was asked certain questions he joked, like always even after ten years he could keep up the pace. How humourous is that!

The ride back from the get-together to your home takes about an hour. Never before he has worn the helmet once but of course insists you wear one and undoubtedly fails miserably. There are still twenty minutes left to reach home and if you do not voice your thoughts now, you are seriously gonna bruise the inner side of your bottom lip. You pull his helmet away his balance is disturbed for a moment but he does not stop. Now, you are sitting at the back with his helmet in between your hands with your helmet on. Even if you did talk, he would not be able to hear it all. Suna can imagine the "I'm so done" face you are making right now but when he feels the hard poke of your helmet on his back his smile sways away from his face. He slows the speed of his bike and halts at a nearby corner. Your head perks up like a meerkat and he slides open the helmet. "I thought you fell asleep." Yeah! it is perfectly normal for someone to pull away the helmet and fall asleep right away. Silence follows accompanied by his scrutinizing eye contact with you. He always looks at you with those eyes, as if he is analyzing you, a look you are all too familiar and comfortable with. You could easily whine and get away with it. He could easily tease you about drinking too much at his home, wait for your high to evaporate, helping you to sober up before getting home. Yeah, he is too sweet to you. No idea how long this intense staring was gonna last but you are the one to look away and say something. Suna could only make the "what" and "that" part of it. His eyebrows grow closer and then ease up the very next moment.

"Y/N, if you don't get down I won't be able to get down." He says as politely as possible. Suna, at times, can be impatient but by now he should be a walking manual book for "how to behave with Y/N when one is getting a silent treatment" You look at him again, and blink. once. twice and then your eyes lower to the helmet at your hand. "Oh! Right." Suna says taking it away from your hand and keeping it on the engine of the bike. The wave of guilt hits him when you do not use his shoulders as support to get down from his bike, perfectly taking off your helmet and keeping behind him. Suna can not even ask what's with all these since he is aware. He is aware of what exactly is this and what kind of wave is coming next.

"What was that?" you curtly ask folding your hands in your chest demanding an elaborate answer with any detours.

"What was what?" Oh wow! now Suna decides to play dumb yet not when he was asked about how he fell for you; what exactly it was that made him swoon for you? And, as for your opinion, his giving into the tease felt a little too real to dismiss it as "typical suna" behaviour. It sounded like a confession.

Without playing around, you just got straight to the point, "What you said at the party. about how we met and how we are . . ." you pause and Suna rolls his tongue inside his mouth looking away. " Well, don't avoid my eyes Rin. You know you owe me an explanation. If not now, you will have to explain it to me." His Adam apple bobs at the tone of your talk. It is perfectly calm yet so desperate. Suna just gives you silent treatment not even looking at you, keeping his head down.

"I'm sorry. I should not have acted the way I did today." He remarks lowly rubbing circles on the back of his helmet.

"That's it?"

"what else there is to say?"

"I'm not asking for your apology. I'm asking for an explanation."

"why?" Suna finally looks up. " did I say anything wrong? did I say anything that made you uncomfortable?" He sees how you back away even though he did not raise his voice at you. "If so, then I'm sorry. I didn't want to." He dips his head again.

"I'm not saying that what you did was wrong." You sigh and then look away. " I'm just asking why did you do it?"

"they were asking too many questions. so, I wanted to shut them up. once and for all."

"they are your friends Rin. your childhood friends. you've spent half of your lifetime with them. they are gonna tease you the rest of your life. you can not give in to that every time. " That's it? You are already satisfied with his crass-ass answer? Suna's brain goes on auto pilate when you put on your helmet, and rest one of your arms on his shoulder to use him a support for getting on the bike.

He swings his hand around your waist saying, "My turn to ask questions." He maintains eye contact. "so, are you satisfied with my explanation?"

"no."

"did Didby by any means make you uncomfortable about what I said?"

"No."

"then, what exactly are you angry for?"

"I'm not angry," you say looking away and biting your lip again.

"disappointed then?" Suna says taking your other hand in his, " I can make it right if you give me a chance."

You scoff loudly tipping your head down. Yes. You are disappointed but not at him, at fate, at circumstances. Your vision becomes blurry. You swallow to keep the water at the brim of your eyes. Suna is interlacing his fingers with yours as you look up at him and say, "It's too late." You swallow again as he stops mid-way from kissing your knuckles. "I'm in a relationship already." Suna jerks himself away from your embrace as you finish your sentence.

He tips his head again. "are you happy? in your relationship?"

"we just started dating,"

Suna gives a wry smile. "well, it's not like we were not in touch with each other. when were you going to tell me?"

"I don't have to tell you everything that happened in my life. I don't owe you anything."

Suna's eyebrows knit together and it stays like that. You are spoken for. That is a fact so insignificant to you that you did not bother to mention it to him or is it too important that you wanted to hide . . . to protect it from him or is it that you wanted to protect him from being his emotions getting run over. He wants to give it straight to you, from the moment he met you to now, about why he acted the way he acted tonight, about how he meant all those jokes and teases yet instead he says, "At least you owe me a little so that I can tease you about it."

His eyes were still on you for a few seconds. "Since you aren't drunk I'll just drop you home. Hop on." he wore his helmet and pressed the handle of his bike. There is no point in talking now once Suna decides to give the same silent treatment that you occasionally do when you are just drunk.

[marveling-cg]

I can't stop thinking about those 10 years or...

Izuku Midoriya recognizes a declaration of romantic intent when it slaps him in the face with a mechanical arm, and he's sick of Kacchan's bullshit:

Fucking Kacchan -- like everything else with Kacchan -- is complicated.

It'd started off simple.

A text late one night to Kacchan: "it's gone ...the ember is gone"

An hour later, and Kacchan had been knocking at Izuku's university dorm door

Izuku had fallen into him, amazed that Kacchan had traveled all the way from his campus to be with him in this moment

A kiss to Izuku's hair made him look up into vermillion eyes

Kacchan had followed it with a kiss to Izuku's forehead, his eyelids, his tear-stained cheeks -- he'd paused and Izuku hadn't dared to move, not even to open his eyes, unwilling to break whatever spell this might be

Kacchan had brushed his thumbs over Izuku's cheeks, cradling Izuku's face, as if Izuku was precious, delicate: "Let me make you feel good." Yes.

"Please."

And then Kacchan had moved with the kind of decisive action that never failed to take Izuku's breath away; only this time he had actually been stealing Izuku's breath, un-selfconsciously pressing the gentlest kiss to Izuku's mouth following it up with a series of licks and bites that had left Izuku unable to think about anything beyond Kacchan

His hands in Izuku's hair, the bite of his teeth against Izuku's neck, the warmth of him under Izuku's hands, the dizzying sight of him sinking to his knees

Izuku had come embarrassingly fast. Kacchan was as good at sucking Izuku off as he was at everything else, all hot mouth and large hands completely focused on holding Izuku captive.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean -- I mean I didn't want -- I still want, I mean if you want --"

"Zuku," Kacchan's voice had been serious, his stare arresting, "You think I'm done with you? You think I'll ever be fucking done with you?"

And then Kacchan had reached behind himself and pulled his shirt over his head; stood in one fluid motion and tossed a small bottle to the bed from one of his pockets. "Come here."

Izuku had crashed into Kacchan with all the urgency of years' worth of desire

It had taken almost the whole night to exhaust themselves, and even then, Kacchan stayed and held Izuku until he'd finally been able to sleep

In the morning, when Izuku had woken to the sun streaming through his window and an empty bed, he'd almost panicked.

"Shhh, go back to sleep. I've gotta get back to my internship." Kacchan was halfway through the door, but he stopped to look back over his shoulder. "But, I'm here, Deku. Always."

Then he was out the door.

Izuku'd crashed back into bed, only to realize there was a note left on his pillow: "You're still my hero, Deku."

And it might have stayed simple if either he or Kacchan had ever figured out how to have a proper conversation, but it was always heartrending confessions or almost nothing at all with them. It was easier when they were in person. Kacchan communicated through action. For instance:

After Kacchan left that morning, Izuku didn't hear directly from him, but suddenly the mostly dormant Class 1A group chat lit up

Ashido mentioned wanting to meet up to celebrate some of the upcoming birthdays; Momo thought maybe they could make a tradition of it, meet up once a month any month where 1A had a birthday; Tenya had a scheduling survey posted in the chat almost before Momo finished her last message

Then Uraraka and Tsu, both attending the same university as Izuku, had shown up at his door with snacks for an impromptu movie night

No one mentioned a word about One For All or Katsuki, but it all still felt like Kacchan taking care of him

"Did he tell you," Izuku asked once the first movie ended, "that we finally slept together?"

Once the shock of the revelation died down, the questions began: How do you feel about that? Have you talked since? Are you dating now?

That last one was where he got stuck. He wasn't sure. He couldn't explain what they were.

Tsu and Uraraka thought he should talk with Kacchan, but Izuku kept thinking about the night they helped Kacchan escape the League -- the way the plan worked because Izuku didn't press. When Kacchan was ready, he'd made contact. And Izuku had gotten his best friend back.

Izuku decided he would wait, let Kacchan lead

A week and a half later, when 1A met up for Koji, Shoji, Tsu, & Jiro's birthdays, Kacchan made a beeline for Izuku as soon as he arrived

Kacchan was clearly freshly off duty, hair a little damp, clothes clinging slightly from his shower

He pressed his way through the crowd, barely waited for their friends to make space next to Izuku before he was dragging a seat into the space

He settled in close, arm around the back of Izuku's chair, before butting his head lightly into the side of Izuku's. His free hand reached to Izuku's closest and pulled it into his grip and then to his mouth for a quick kiss

Izuku nearly died.

It's not that they hadn't spoken since that night, they had, but not about them, not about what that night meant. Kacchan had sent over footage from some villain who'd been good at evading their agency: "how would you stop him? the short version"; and there'd been random hero trivia, stuff that was hard to find online but Kacchan had gleaned from some old timers who consulted at his internship

Nothing that would have prepared Izuku for this; for fucking casual contact in the presence of their friends

All Might help him

When Kacchan found him after dinner, chatting with Jiro and Kaminari, and asked him, audibly, if he wanted to come back to Kacchan's place, Izuku had practically floated out after him

On the way over, he could sense Kacchan tensing up. They needed to talk - should talk. But, even Izuku could admit that sometimes there's was too much to say and too few words that would make any of it make sense.

He thought sometimes that's why they'd had such a hard time of it in grade school. What do you do with the knowledge that you and this other kid are permanent when you're 10 years old.

So when they got up to Kacchan's dorm, Izuku didn't say anything, simply took Kachaan's hand and pulled him close. The way Kacchan fell into the kiss, fell into Izuku's arms, like it was a relief, was all Izuku really needed to know.

It was a pattern they'd keep up over the next few years.

Kacchan stayed busy: school, internship, training, recovery. But he never missed a birthday gathering. And -- as they'd done since their second year at UA, they always met up on the anniversary of Kacchan's escape from the League of Villains at All Might's statue.

On the first anniversary of Izuku losing his power, Kacchan showed up at Izuku's dorm with a bag full of groceries: "Stop looking at me like that, dweeb, it's our fucking anniversary. Put some pants on so we can go down to the kitchen."

It didn't stop Izuku's tears, but it did muddle them into something closer to sweet than bitter

It was also how he learned that they were in fact (probably) in a relationship

But when graduation rolled around, and other 1A couples were preparing to move in with each other, Kacchan asked Izuku and Kaminari and Kirishima to help him move into a spartan little studio apartment a five minute walk away from his agency

"You've got that offer from UA. It wouldn't make sense for you to commute all the way from out here."

Which was its own manageable sort of wound.

What wasn't manageable was watching Kacchan constantly try to get himself killed:

Some time during college, Kacchan had named Izuku as his emergency contact

It wasn't a romantic thing -- more a Mitsuki Bakugo was a lot to handle when healthy & uninjured, and while she absolutely knew how to tune it down when her son needed her, she would absolutely flame the shit out of Bakugo if she felt he was taking unnecessary risks

So Izuku got a first hand look at Kacchan's fucking death wish

It hadn't been obvious at first; when they were in college he'd just seemed driven, eager to finish his degree on time, eager to leverage it plus his experience to secure a position at one of the best agencies

(Which was ridiculous -- he'd saved the fucking world in his first year of high school; he would have personal recommendations from Endeavor and Aizawa-sensei and All Might -- but Izuku could pretend Kacchan's work ethic made sense, could speculate that maybe Kacchan had some plans for their future that required it)

But Kacchan graduated, and moved into his tiny ass apartment -- alone -- , and never let his foot up off the gas

He put in hours at his main agency, signed up for work with the Security Office, took on every overtime opportunity for community outreach events

He was always working, rarely left himself time to get more than a handful of hours of sleep, let alone time to really recharge

He started making mistakes

Oh, nothing that would get him removed from the agency or any of his other gigs, but the kind of things that left him taking more damage than he needed, the kind of mistakes he'd dedicated himself to beating out of Izuku in training over half a decade ago

With every injury the warnings piled up: take more sustained damage here and risk doing permanent harm to his hand, one more fall like that and he might sustain the kind of concussion it took a year or more to recover from, another shoulder dislocation and he was looking at permanent tendon damage

It would have been one thing if the injuries were unavoidable, but Izuku watched the footage, scoured the web for every angle of Kacchan's fights and rescues. It was exhaustion. Kacchan was reacting slower, taking more risks, because he was fucking exhausted

Izuku had tried to be patient, tried to be calm, but Kacchan was a bull-headed asshole who refused to take more than medically prescribed days off, or give up any of his side jobs, or reasonably explain why he was driving himself into the ground with nothing to show for it

"Is this what it was like watching me with One For All? Because I completely understand why you beat the shit out of me to make me stop!"

"I can't stop right now, Deku."

"So I'm just supposed to sit here and watch you get yourself killed?"

"I don't want you to leave."

"But you won't so much as take a day off to show me that I should stay?"

The silence had been deafening.

You could call it a break up, their friends in 1A did, but Izuku didn't think he and Kacchan were capable of closing the door on each other. Not permanently. Every time they'd walked away from each other in the past, they'd come back stronger, closer. But he'd be damned if Kacchan died because Izuku had been permissive.

So, for almost two years, Izuku's world got quieter:

He gave up almost half of the birthday gatherings ("Sorry I'm on dorm watch duty, Aizawa-sensei will kick my ass if I skip!" "Big field trip in the morning guys, I won't be able to make it this time." "Nobody told me essays would take this long to grade! I'll catch you next time, I promise!" Please, please, please take care of Kacchan for me.)

And teaching really did kick his ass: he needed to get familiar with UA curriculum from the teacher side (because of the League of Villains he'd barely seen the traditional coursework his first two years), he needed to tailor it to his own teaching style, had to figure out his teaching style, and grading, and student discipline, and managing practical exercises while quirkless

In between all of that, there were still calls from Kacchan's agency infirmary or the nearby hospital. Fewer than before. But.

Izuku spoke with Kacchan's doctors over the phone, determined whether the situation was a send-over-a-1A-in-the-morning or call-in-Mitsuki-now and reminded himself why he himself needed to stay put

That didn't stop him from showing up at All Might's statue on the anniversary of All For One's reemergence

They'd sat quietly next to each other for a while before:

"Deku..."

"Are you going to slow down?"

"I can't yet."

"Okay. Be careful, Kacchan."

And Kacchan sent Izuku a small Deku statuette on their anniversary, one of the niche merch items sold by artists local to either he and Kacchan's childhood neighborhood or the area Izuku had patrolled after Shigaraki's awakening. It reminded Izuku of that note Kacchan left for him their first morning together.

Needless to say, when All Might asked to meet him after class he couldn't have begun to expect The Suit.

"Explain. What do you mean Kacchan...and 1A? Explain."

All Might wasn't sure how long Kacchan and Hatsume had been working on the idea, but sometime before college graduation their near complete prototype had been completely destroyed during testing

This is when Kacchan had reached out to All Might and the Security Office: If the SO could hire Hatsume and fund the most basic form of the suit, they'd be able to use it to allow disabled heroes with valuable experience (All Might, Hawks, Mirko, etc) back in the field, even if just in the capacity to train young heroes; Kacchan would continue funding the unique features he wanted for specifically for Izuku's

As Kacchan had already funded the basis of the suit's research and the SO had already been looking to recruit Hatsume, they'd been able to solidify the deal

But, the materials needed to make the suit as safe as necessary were expensive, even with folks like Jeanist (who'd created a new fiber for the undersuit that would afford Izuku more protection should a battery explode, etc) volunteering their time for free

Around that time, class 1A had had the.....opportunity to confront Kacchan without Izuku present

Once they understood what Kacchan was up to, they created a fund to support the completion of the suit

Izuku had struggled then. He knew his eyes were leaking, but he didn't have time for the breakdown this deserved, because he needed to be across town. He needed to see Kacchan's stupid, beautiful, infuriating face.

He barely remembered leaving All Might (he would call him later with a proper thank you); he booked a rideshare, plugged in Kacchan's location (they'd started sharing it in 2nd year at UA -- "I'm not gonna be stressed that you've gotten yourself caught up in some mess without backup. What if the ember burns out mid-reckless decision? Share your location, nerd.") and spent the next 30 minutes trying to understand it all

Why Kacchan had been so hellbent on working all the time, why it had all gotten so much worse after graduation, the desperation he'd had to continue. "I can't yet."

After 20+ years of friendship, it finally struck Izuku that Kacchan was always telling him the important things in fucking decade old callbacks

"You were looking down on me, you thought you were better than me." That fight at Ground Beta revealing some long held misperception.

And now, he was thrown back to a hospital bed the day One For All died: "I thought I'd be on your heels for the rest of our lives."

Izuku had tried so hard then not to read into that. Had tried not to read into a simple statement more than Kacchan could possibly have been trying to say.

But, fuck that.

The car stopped before Izuku could work himself from incensed muttering to a full body scream

He was shocked to find himself in front of Kacchan's apartment, but the little blue bubble on the map indicated that Kacchan (or his phone at least) was in fact in the building in front of him

It was rare for Kacchan to actually be home, he usually just caught naps at his agency unless he was taking a rare 24 hours or more off

Izuku couldn't care about any of it. He quickly coded into the building and made his way up to Kacchan's room. He couldn't sort himself out enough to find the key and so instead spent 20 seconds banging loud enough on Kacchan's door to probably alarm the neighbors.

Kacchan answered the door groggy and gorgeous, but the bags under his eyes were a reminder of why Izuku was here

"Why, Kacchan?"

It took him a moment to respond. "All Might told you?" And then, after Izuku nodded, "What the fuck do you mean 'why'?"

"Why do all of this? Why work so hard just for --"

"Just for the person who gave their fucking everything to save the entire world? To give something back to the person entire governments were content to let take the fall for their failures? I don't know Deku. Maybe I wasn't content to watch the one person who did nothing wrong lose the one thing he wanted most. Maybe I wasn't okay with that karmic injustice. So I did something about it. Because you're worth more than being relegated to the sidelines."

Fuck

Whatever anger or confusion had been holding back the swell of Izuku's tears broke then in the face of Kacchan's sincerity

Izuku barely registered the door closing as Kacchan pulled Izuku out of the hallway and into his arms

Izuku cried. For a long time. For the unfairness he rarely let himself acknowledge. For the way Kacchan, as always, had identified the problem and started working on the solution before Izuku had even finished processing. For the way the burden of fixing everything always seemed to fall on them. For the time they'd lost. For the time they would continue to lose if Izuku couldn't find the courage to speak.

He braced himself against Kacchan's shoulder because facing Kacchan had always given him strength: "I love you, Katsuki Bakugo. A decade ago you told me about a future you'd imagined. A future for the both of us. Together. If this -- if all of this -- wasn't about us and forever, can you tell me now so I can try and find away to kill this hope?"

"Deku, shit --" here Kacchan pulled him closer, a hand to the back of Izuku's neck, the other finding Izuku's hand to lace their fingers together. "Yeah, this is about...us. Forever."

Izuku moved then, bodying Kacchan into the couch, pressing himself into Kacchan's chest

"Good. That's good. I'm moving in. But not here. We're finding a place where our bed isn't the living room and the bathroom isn't next to the pantry."

"Tell me how you really feel, asshole." Said so warmly as to be an endearment.

"And you're taking time off. Real time. And dropping at least one job."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes, Kacchan."

"Pushy."

"You spent the better parts of the last decade working to get just this -- so you'll deal with it."

"Yeah I did." Kacchan ran a hand through Izuku's hair. "What else?"

"Whatever else is left to pay for, it's mine. I've been getting paid to live in the teacher's dorm for the last three years. I've got savings --"

"It's done, Deku. It's all -- with everyone chipping in, especially Todoroki with his dad's guilt money -- it's all taken care of."

"Huh. Okay. But repairs are mine. If the Security Office or our agency or whatever can't cover it, it's mine. You've done enough."

"Mm, maybe."

"No, Kacchan. I'm serious. I need you to rest. I need you to take care of yourself. Let me worry about me for a little. What would have been the point if you burn yourself out just as I'm getting started. I want what you said. Us. Together. Flawless victories."

AND THEN THEY HEROED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!

[starwarsmum]

Let SuperMari May begin! First prompt is Meet Fail

@maribat-calendar-events

AO3

PinkFrenchMarigold: I can't believe I get to come to meet you in person at last! Are you sure your dad doesn't mind me staying for a couple of days?

HortonsCoffeeFiend: please Mari, he might not even notice you're there

PFM: pfft, whatever you say, Timbit. Still good to meet me at the airport?

HCF: 👍 absolutely! I'll bring the coffee and doughnuts

PFM: my hero! Going dark, see you in 10 hours or so 🫶

*_____*

Marinette put her phone away, setting it to aeroplane mode before relaxing into her first class seat. She hadn't been sure she wanted to spend that much on the flight but Alya had convinced her that she would want the extra leg room and privacy. And now that she was settling into the chair, she could admit that it was absolutely necessary. 

Pulling out her sketchbook, she let her mind wander as she sketched out a design for a new line of hero inspired clothes. The main duo of the Parisian team, Scarabella and Chat Noir, were joining the Justice League that day and it meant that other people might want merchandise of the team. She'd been designing little bits for a long time, but now she would be able to market it to a wider audience. 

Mullo peeked out of her purse after the first hour of the flight and Marinette pulled out some cheese cubes, scattering them on the tray table. The tiny mouse Kwami grinned and began nibbling immediately. It was crazy to think she had been part of the team that took down Hawkmoth' and she was a little sad that she wasn't going to be introduced to the Justice League. 

She shook her head at herself. She was moving across the world, meeting her online friend in person for the first time, and it wasn't like any of the rest of the team were joining yet either. Maybe once she was settled in Gotham she could talk to Alya about bringing her into it, but for now she was going to focus on being Marinette. 

She smiled as she checked the time and decided to try and get some sleep.

_ _ _

The mood on the WatchTower was fairly relaxed and Kon watched as his best friend updated his notes on the Parisian team. They were due to arrive any minute and, because they were presumed to be the closest in age to them, Kon and Tim were supposed to be part of the welcome party. 

“I thought you were supposed to be busy today,” he said when he thought Tim was less distracted. 

“Yeah, I will be, but right now I'm okay for time. My friend doesn't land for another few hours and we should be done with plenty of time to spare for me to get to the airport,” Tim shrugged, saving his files and standing. 

“I can't believe you have an online civilian friend that you invited to Gotham. Wouldn't it have been smarter to go to them?” 

“Maybe if she hadn't been stuck in Paris for the past few years. Besides, I'm locking her up in the manor for a bit until I can tell if she can handle herself.” 

“That would be really concerning if I didn't know you,” Kon laughed, his grin turning roguish in the next moment. “And when do I get to meet your online friend? Maybe I can come and introduce myself while she's locked up in whatever tower you choose for her.” 

“Ha ha, funny. Marigold doesn't need another target on her back, it's bad enough that I'm probably going to have to keep her safe from Rogues. I don't really want to have to worry about Lex on top of all that.” 

“Fine, I'll have to meet her when you don't have her locked up I guess.” 

“Don't you have an off-world mission to get ready for?” Tim asked, sounding annoyed. Kon grinned widely, pleased that he'd managed to get under his skin so easily. He was fairly sure Tim was in love with his online friend, so he hoped she was everything she seemed. Tim deserved to be happy.

_ _ _

Adrien was excited to meet some of the Justice League, he just wished Marinette could be there with them. He knew why she wasn't, even agreed that it should just be him and Alya to begin with, but he still missed his best friend. 

“What do you think they'll be like?” He asked when they were waiting at the Paris Zeta Tube to be escorted in. “Multi seemed to think this was a good thing, but she didn't want to come up so…” 

“You know she was busy,” Alya said. They were prevented from continuing their conversation by the Zeta Tube lighting up and Wonder Woman stepping out to greet them. They exchanged hellos and then they followed the older heroine into the tube and up to the WatchTower. 

“Oh my god, that's Batman,” Adrien said in a hushed voice as they entered the meeting room. Alya looked like she was barely containing a fangirl squeal as Wonder Woman joined Batman and Superman. “Uh, hi, nice to meet you. I'm Chat Noir, this is Scarabella.” 

“Well met,” Wonder Woman said, smiling at them both. “Congratulations on defeating your villain, I'm sure it's a relief that Gabriel Agreste will no longer be terrorising your city.” 

“It is,” Alya said, actively working not to look at Chat. He knew this because she was tense as a taut wire and he forced down the nausea that came with the knowledge that everyone knew it was Gabriel that had done it. That the man he had called a father was the reason most of his friends had been akumatised and the reason he had died more than once. 

Shaking away the bad thoughts, they were formally inducted into the Justice League and introduced to a few heroes that were similar ages to them. Once that was all complete, Superman informed them cheerfully that they were expected at a few upcoming meetings and that support was available through the trials and any further investigations for Hawkmoth.

Adrien found himself relaxing completely once the big three were gone, leaving him and Alya in the care of Red Robin and the elder Superboy. It all seemed to be going well until Superboy started to quiz them on the rest of their team. Red Robin seemed to get frustrated and embarrassed on behalf of his friend.

“Do you think you'll bring the rest of your team up some time?” Superboy asked, and Red Robin looked like he wanted to hit him. “I thought you were going to bring everyone up here at once. Weren't there, like, fifteen of you?” 

“Something like that,” Alya said breezily. “But most of them are retired now and the others…they have their own lives to get on with. If any of them want to come up, we'll let them know that they're welcome but I don't want to pressure them at all. Hawkmoth wasn't really a barrel of laughs.” 

“So long as they know they're welcome, that's cool,” Red Robin said, shooting Superboy a look that said ‘shut up’ that even Adrien could read through the mask. 

“Maybe one day we'll get our strategist up here, she's a goddamn powerhouse,” Adrien said, grinning as he thought about Marinette. 

“Yeah, but is she hot?” Superboy asked cheekily, and Adrien thought he understood why Red had been getting annoyed. He wondered if Superboy flirted with many heroes. 

“Oh, like a supernova,” Alya nodded sagely. “But also not interested in dating a hero so you're out of luck I'm afraid.”

“Guess I'll just have to try my luck with Red's friend then,” he smirked, leaning back in a chair so far it rested on two legs. 

Adrien gave a bark of laughter when Red Robin kicked his chair out from under him.

_ _ _

Tim was not running late. He knew that it was more than likely that Mari’s flight would land on time but then customs would be a nightmare, so he was comfortably on time, he was sure. Besides, the coffee would get cold if he arrived too early, so getting there slightly after wasn't a bad thing.

But luck was not on his side because as he pulled up, he got a notification that a B-list rogue was trying to hold up the airport. Damian had already confirmed that he was nearby and would be expecting Tim to be suited up by the time he got there. 

“Good, it appears that Condiment King is attempting to rob the passengers of the flight from Paris for some reason. We should do some reconnaissance and then plan accordingly,” Damian said when Tim arrived in costume. 

“Fine, you head left, I'll head right and we'll meet at the back of the room to discuss strategies,” Tim said curtly, focusing on getting this done as soon as possible. 

As they circled to the back of the room, Tim spotted one of the passengers slipping away and heading into a corridor marked ‘Employees Only’. It was a young woman in a pink hoodie and grey jeans, worn sneakers on her feet. Very notably not an airport employee. She must have abandoned her luggage except for a small bag on her shoulder. He lost sight of her momentarily when she turned a corner but he could hear her murmuring urgently. Perhaps she had been on the phone?

“Mullo, get squeaky!” Said the voice, and Tim froze. What on earth did that mean? And then a light flashed and when he turned the corner the young woman he had spotted was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a superheroine in grey and pink stood there, two buns atop her head and a skipping rope tied around her waist. She gave a squeak when she turned and saw Tim, hand flying to her rope. “Uh, oh, you must be one of the local heroes, right? Red Robin, unless I'm mistaken. Hi, I'm Multimouse! Want a hand?” 

“...sure, why not.” 

Rounding up the goons took minimal effort between Tim, Damian and the new hero. She wasn't seen by anyone else but she was capable and strategic, following Tim's orders and offering insightful suggestions that sped things along. When it was over, she vanished with a quick salute in his direction, smiling brightly.

“She was…not horrendous,” Damian said stiffly. It took Tim by surprise because that was practically a compliment coming from him. “Hadn't you better go and find your friend? On the off chance that you have not been cat fished, she must be rather perturbed by the attack.” 

“Thanks Robin, I'll see you back at base,” he acknowledged, changing back to his civilian clothes in record time. He grabbed the cups of coffee and the box of doughnuts, and headed for the arrivals. 

Looking around, he held the box as visibly as he could, checking his phone. He sent a picture of the doughnut box and flipped the camera to show his line of sight and hoped that was enough for her to find him. He was staring at the check marks to see if they changed colour when someone stopped in front of him. He glanced up and was met by the woman he knew had to be Multimouse. He froze for a fraction longer than felt comfortable, until she broke the awkwardness. 

“Tim? Or, uh, whatever your real name is, HortonsCoffeeFiend,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice giving away her nerves. He was a little astounded that she was nervous to meet him when she had been completely calm during the fight. 

“Oh, uh, it actually…yeah, my name's Tim. Tim Drake,” he said, feeling a little smug when she laughed. “What about you, Marigold? Or would you rather I just keep using that?” 

“Marinette, actually,” she said with a bubbly giggle. “That's so crazy, what were the odds I would have picked your actual name? You look like you would know that sort of thing.” 

“Rude,” he said, holding out her coffee cup. “Sorry, it's probably a little cold now. But welcome to Gotham! As much as it sucks that you got caught in an attack, it's really…kind of common. Not how I pictured this meeting going though,” he added glumly. 

“Yeah, I thought I'd get at least a couple of days in before I experienced one of your villains,” she agreed, accepting the coffee and taking a sip. Upon finding that it was more than a little cold, she grimaced before chugging it back. “Hmmm, not too bad. At least it's caffeine.” 

“I'll get you a hot one another time,” Tim promised, reaching to take her bags. She shared them with him and chattered happily as he led her to his car. “I should probably warn you, my house is kind of…manic. And big.”

“That's fine, I won't stay too long. Thanks for offering me a space, I really didn't want to get an apartment without seeing it in person. Plus, I couldn't come to Gotham without meeting my online coffee bestie.” 

They lapsed into silence when they were seated, Marinette opening the doughnut box and offering it to him first. They got through the box of half dozen fairly quickly and he laughed when she licked her fingers clean. 

“I take it you want a serviette or something instead,” she mused, pulling napkins out of her purse. 

“Sure would, thanks,” he said, accepting them without taking his eyes off the road. 

“Would you be up for hitting a drive-thru or something? The doughnuts were nice and all, but I think I need something more substantial.” 

“Sure, why not,” he agreed, mentally figuring out where the closest drive-thru was and how to get there. Which was probably why he missed the sharp look she sent his way. 

Once they had more food, Marinette seemed to be mulling something over. She ate quickly and was done well before they pulled up at the manor. But where most new arrivals gawked at the massive building, Marinette was studying him. He cocked his head, wondering what the problem was, when she groaned and hit her head onto his dash. 

“Uh, are you okay?” He asked, nervous suddenly. He knew the manor was intimidating, but-

“Oh, yeah, just peachy thanks. Just wondering if you know the odds on us both having secret identities,” she said, tone flat. 

Well hell.

[howwynnderful]

Are you into me? Like I'm into you... (Ch. 5)

Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader

Ch. 4 - Ch. 6

Synopsis: You find out who he really is and freak out and do something stupid.

Warnings: anxiety attack occurs, cursing

Notes: not much bucky until the end i will prolly have more of him next chapter tho :P

Reminders: No use of Y/N. Diverges from movies/shows canon a bit. Takes place during TFAWS. Will be a slow burn, will have a lot of fluff, will probably have a bit of angst but all happy endings here this fandom is already allergic to happiness enough. Title is from Hello? by Clairo.

Word count: 1.3k

You were pacing around your room. It was already 2 in the morning, you had to leave for work in 5 hours, but there was no way you could get your brain to quiet down enough to go to sleep.

The Winter fucking Soldier was your neighbor. Except that wasn't even the main thing on your mind. You just couldn't stop staring at the screen in front of you.

His eyes were on the headline of the page.

This paper had been written years ago, back with the Winter Soldier resurfacing had been the biggest news, back when your career had just started and you were trying to make ends meet. Now? You felt like you were going to throw up.

The Winter Soldier, one of the most feared individuals, was recently seen sitting in a coffee shopping, living a seemingly normal life. The once feared assasin seems to have started a new chapter.

But even if he is taken out of HYDRA's control it doesn't erase all the damage he has done in the past. Many people agreed, including a former S.H.I.E.L.D. employee agreed, stating that they "didn't care how many therapy sessions he might have sat in on" and that he would "still always be HYDRA's pit bull."

Even if some insist he's a victim, all his cruel actions should not be forgotten. The government has failed all of us in letting this dangerous man go. He should have been treated as the war criminal that he is.

Those three paragraphs just kept replaying in your head. It didn't matter how long you paced, how many times you scrolled through your old piece, the pit in your stomach didn't disappear, if anything it felt like it was getting heavier and heavier until it made you sink down to the floor.

The cool floor pressed against the palm of your hand as you tried to keep yourself at least sitting upright as it gets harder to breathe. You knew what was coming, but you hadn't felt like this in years. It was too much thought for you to move, so you just sit there as the air feels like it was getting squeeze out of your lungs and everything gets a bit fuzzy.

Every thought in your head felt like it was 10 times bigger, every regret about your past tightening around you while you struggled to your feet. Water. Everything felt like it was darkening around the edges and your hands were shaking as you fill a cup with water.

Most of it ends up on your shirt, but at least the coldness helped you snap out of it a bit.

For a moment you just stay hunched over the counter by the sink, unsure if you just felt nausea because of your anxiety, or if you actually were about to throw up.

The clock keeps ticking quietly, and you can hear Raccoon breathing while she slept peacefully. As you stand there and you had no idea how long you were there, until finally the tightness in your chest eases and you're able to straighten up.

The thoughts didn't go away though, it always took a while. All that you can do is lay in bed and stare at the ceiling as the time passes and your mind makes you feel smaller and more insignificant by the second.

By the time the sun filters in through your window and Raccoon is getting up and meowing for food, you had barely slept an hour. It takes all your energy to drag yourself out of bed and get yourself out the door to work.

You felt sick to your stomach, and guilt lurched at you every time the article popped up in your mind. The words were permanently engraved into you at this point, how carelessly and emotionlessly you had written all those years ago was beyond you now.

To think you were almost going to text him. That you even saved his number in the first place.

It would've been a nightmare if you had decided to text him, or went out with him, or had any interaction with him.

Maybe it was crazy that you felt so guilty about this, but this one piece was the lowest point of your career. You had almost forgotten about it, but whenever you were reminded of it, it really did make you sick. It was a piece that went against every single thing that you stood for.

Which is why, for the next several months you meticulously plan out every detail of your life outside of your apartment to make sure you don't pass him. You timed what time you leave for work to be earlier than when he comes back from his morning run, and on Thursday's you made sure you tried to either get home earlier or come back after 8 pm to minimize all chances of running into him while he's getting groceries.

Things were going great, too great. James started to slip from your mind, you started to forget about why you had this schedule in place, and by the time half a year passed, you accidentally came home at your normal time Thursday evening, and as you step into the elevator and close the door, a leather gloved hand shoots out to stop the doors from closing completely.

James Barnes had just walked into your elevator.

"Fancy seeing you around" He mutters gruffly as he steps in. "Almost forgot you were my neighbor. It's like you've been avoiding me for the last few months." Bucky chuckles dryly and glances at you.

It doesn't slip from his attention how you're so rigid and seem eager to get the hell out of the elevator.

The last thing on your mind was how you were being perceived. Every single cell in your body was urging you to get out before he found out the horrible things you had written.

Plus, there was the small part of you that was nervous.

You never judged someone by the cover, but the rumors around The Winter Soldier were pretty terrifying.

This isn't the Winter Soldier though, you remind yourself and bite your tongue lightly to get yourself out of your toxic train of thoughts. This was James. He said he was James. Not The Winter Soldier.

Forcing a smile you look at him, "Yeah, I've been busy...work and all y'know. I got your flowers. They were nice. Thank you."

As soon as you met his eyes you immediately look away again, they reminded you too much of the paper you had written.

"I thought I had screwed up real bad when you never said anything about the flowers. Or texted me." Bucky admits bashfully. "No hard feelings right?" "No no, of course not." You say quickly, your heart was pounding in your chest. What if he could read minds? That wasn't something that was ever disclosed but of course the government would keep some things private.

Don't think about the article, be normal. It's fine. It's all fucking perfect.

"You should take me on that date sometime. My phone just wasn't working so I couldn't text you but now it is so...."

What! The! Fuck! is wrong with me. You curse yourself silently, that was the complete and utter opposite of acting normal. What on earth were you about to get yourself into. Why was your mouth moving before your brain, how could that even work.

Bucky on the other hand, was incredibly surprised. "Oh uhm." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "Yeah, sure. If you'd like. When are you free? If you still have my number-"

The elevator doors opened with a ding and you practically sprinted out, cutting him of mid sentence, "Yeah I have your number! I'll text you! Thanks!"

God you were actually such a fool.

authors note: this is kinda short yall sorry </33 i've been so busy this week. i'm gonna write more coming up this next week tho!

[insociometry]

oh my sweet sweet inso…i have a sneaky suspicion that once the spice starts in this fic, it’s “full steam ahead, buckle up, hands inside the vehicle at all times‼️” type scenes 😼(with the still obvious sweet and slow soft moments because really everyone is js a big sap☺️)

while i (not quite anxiously but somewhere close to that feeling lmao) wait for that to come, could we get a list of each members different types of “punishments” for MC during/relating to sex?(gosh😅😭 punishment seems like such a mean and serious term, i really mean more of like “do they tease, do they ignore” type of stuff when MC is bratty?) also maybe aftercare/reassurance once the scene is over?

much much love! 🤍🤍

Hello dear! I'm so glad you're looking forward to it! I am too!! 😊💛

My immediate reaction was to be like, “Actually, they go pretty slow and it never gets super super kinky!” And then I remembered I am infamously terrible at judging what ‘counts’ as kinky or not, and THEN I remembered what the next chapter was and what tags I’ve written up for it so far, and I envisioned getting like 5 anons after going, “Inso wtf” 😭😭😆 IDK, I don’t think the kink in RON is very extreme! But I’m also pretty confident at this point that if you gave me a quiz called, ‘What IS Vanilla Sex?’ I would fail. So take it with a grain of salt? 🤷

Anyway, punishments and aftercare!!! Ahh, MC’s brat tendencies do come back to bite her 💛 Let’s see……

Tags: NSFW, brat taming, bondage, orgasm control, overstimulation, light s/m, choking

Chan:

Methods: ignoring, impact play, orgasm denial

Brat tolerance: 3/10

He knows what you’re doing right away, you can see it in his eyes, in the flavor of smile he sends you — but you keep pushing anyway, because you want that reaction. So he ignores you! Full-stop, talking to other people, not paying attention; when you tug on his sleeve, he takes just a moment too long to look down at you. But when you whisper something filthy in his ear, he snaps, just like that — and when he drags you home, he edges you until you cry, and you can’t sit down for days. Aftercare king, though — gets you clean, holds you tight, whispers sweet nothings into your hair. Thanks you, even — because you love to act up, but he loves it even more.

Lino:

Methods: orgasm denial, teasing, bondage

Brat tolerance: 1/10

You know the rules very well already; you know that, and he knows that, too. The first time you act up, he lets it go, because he has a soft spot for you. Then you push, wide-eyed and faux-sweet: “Oppa, are you going soft after all?” His eyes narrow, and you shiver. He wrings you out for hours before he lets you come, all soft-voiced and delighted, holding your face still to watch every sob and tear cross your face. Weirdly protective after, like he isn’t the one who wrecked you; very serious about you eating and drinking enough. Carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the counter while he makes you a snack, coming back periodically to kiss your hair or grab at your thighs.

Changbin:

Methods: bondage, ignoring, overstimulation

Brat tolerance: 6/10

You’re usually good for Binnie, so he’s a little surprised when you get bratty; the first couple times, he might even back off, unsure if it’s play or not. But when he sees the smile in your eyes, all mischievous and triumphant, and his jaw sets. He brings you home, kisses you breathless, ties you up — then ignores you, until you beg him to touch you. So he does, because he never refuses his princess — he touches you over and over and over again. Super clingy! Drags you into the shower with him, complains about how cold he is when he’s not the one under the water, holds you because he has to, he’ll freeze to death otherwise. Makes sure you both get something to eat before nap time.

Hyunjin:

Methods: teasing, bondage, overstimulation

Brat tolerance: 8/10

So in love with the way you pout and stamp your foot that he just laughs, delighted, swaying you in his arms and nuzzling into your hair; you have to really wind him up and wear him down. He warns you, too, holding you still by the jaw, gentle but stern: “This isn’t cute anymore, bunny.” But you want it, and Hyunjin always gives you what you want — until he doesn’t. Until he brings you home and ties you up and touches himself over you, eyes lidded, gasping your name, making you squirm before he’s even touched you and making you cry and beg and say ‘too much’ before he’s even inside you. Very tender and romantic in the aftercare, but also kind of chill; yanks one of his hoodies over your naked body, kisses the red marks on your wrists, and orders takeout. Asks for your review out of ten after, but says, “It was ten, right?” all hopeful and starry-eyed, before you can answer.

Han:

Methods: overstimulation, bondage, choking

Brat tolerance: 9/10

He doesn’t usually react much beyond an amused smile when you act up, still tucking your hair sweetly behind your ear, still kissing your temple — “That’s cute, angel.” But if he gets mean, he’s mean — eyes wild, grip too tight, working the excess energy out on your body. His preexisting tendency to overstimulate you is turned up to eleven, tying you up and making you take it with his hand on your throat, telling you he won’t stop until you say his name and laughing when you can’t even gasp out a sound. Nervous afterwards, holding you a little too tight, alternating between staring too hard and nuzzling his face into your neck so you can’t see him. Lots of cuddles and reassurances, telling him you like him and him saying it back, quiet time spent together, maybe with a movie you’ve both seen a million times.

Felix:

Methods: teasing, orgasm denial, overstimulation

Brat tolerance: 5/10

Loves to hate bratting, and you can see the warning signs coming in that it’s working: the tense jaw, the way he licks his lips, the way his eyes flick to you slightly narrowed. But when he gets you in the bedroom he’s still so sweet at first, all dancing fingers and tender words — though they stay just as tender when he builds you up and then doesn’t let you come, and then when he does it again, and again. When he finally lets you come, he doesn’t stop until you’re crying, bubbling promises you both know you won’t keep: that you won’t do it again, that you’ll be a good girl. Cuddles you and feeds you and lets you nap; brushes your hair out for you, humming. Soooo sticky, just all over you, full human-octopus mode.

Seungmin:

Methods: choking, impact play, orgasm denial

Brat tolerance: 2/10

His tolerance is low but he wants to make you work for it; there’s no point in trying to back out once you start bratting. He makes you regret it before he even touches you just from his expression alone, laughing when you falter: “C’mon, you wanted this, baby. Might as well commit.” So mean when he gets you alone, making you ride him with a hand on your throat, doing just enough prep so it doesn’t hurt to take him but it aches, that too-much feeling making you tremble before you even move. But he makes you move, and he doesn’t let you come — not yet. Incredibly attentive and incredibly tender after, full of compliments and one million options for dinner. Will buy you whatever you want at this point with minimal complaints; Minnie at his most suggestible. Will ask you questions about your experience like you’re filling out a customer service survey.

I.N:

Methods: ignoring, impact play, overstimulation

Brat tolerance: 6/10

The thing about Jeongin is that he’s a brat too. Oh, you’re acting up? So is he! Blatantly ignoring you. Rolling his eyes when you complain. Getting that spark in his eye before leaning in to talk to someone just a little too close. But if you do the same, you break him — and then he breaks you, happily. His hands are so big and pretty and they hurt so good, and he fucks you until you can’t breathe, until you can’t think, until you don’t even know where you are, his voice a near-growl in your ear as he holds you down. Keeps it casual after but holds you close; asks you quietly if it was too much. Kind of giddy, too, counting your hickeys with pleased, embarrassed, breathy laughs, taking photos ‘just to show you’ — “I’ll delete them after, noona; I promise,” he says, eyes glinting mischievously, because he always ‘forgets’