#is. well frankly its Insufferable and i Want It To Stop

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

whyyyyy are dog people so obsessed with their pet taking a shit...

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓟𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. KAMISATO AYATO ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 2.1k ノ fem reader — distracting him from work in a certain way. petnames — dear, wife, darling. implied breeding kink. fucking against the wall. teasing and flirting. established relationship. marriage

When he sees you in his office room this late, he knows his frustrations with endless paperwork finally end as the long-awaited — and, what is wee embarrassing to admit, long-forgotten — break came to visit. Break, albeit used to describe many situations and events, in this particular case means you, his most beautiful wife. Ayato’s favourite type of break.

“It’s late, my dear,” he says, tone playful. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping already?”

Your fingers graze against his temple in a caring manner, and he purrs with satisfaction, allowing you to sit right beside him near the low table.

“I wanted to see you. It’s so cold in bed without you…” Your hand slowly slides from his temples to the nape, feeling your husband tremble ever so slightly at your meek touch. The warm pads of your fingertips trail across his shoulders and the area where the neck meets the broad back, resting for a bit and then gently rubbing circles against it, working through the layers of expensive garments. You don’t say anything for a few long minutes — rather, you’re fully immersed in taking care of his stiff muscles.

“Judging by the warmth of your palms, perhaps your claim is not entirely true, hm? Leaving your cosy bedding just to visit me in nothing but a flimsy robe? I sense an intrigue rather than a genuine concern.” Ayato’s hands grab yours before they escape anywhere else. He gives your knuckle a quick peck. Only once, unimpeachable, and he does this every single time you crave some intimacy after what seemed like eternity without him.

Frankly, you do not appreciate it. A pout forms immediately on your lips. They feel lonely, unkissed.

“Spare me a moment or two.” You wrap around his neck, burying your face in the curve of his shoulder and inhaling the intoxicating scent. Camellia flowers and cherry blossoms — a fragrance almost too sweet and innocent for a man such as Lord Kamisato. “I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself anymore if you’re not near me.”

What could have been better than enjoying all those delectable noises reserved only for him? A solid offer. No wonder you two are together, one always outsmarting another, always trying to bargain a better deal, be it a kiss, a hug, or an indecent touch during a walk in nature where even butterflies can’t seem to find a way to your secret place.

Insufferable are his thoughts now that you’ve inflicted this venom of lust into his system. If anything, the first dosage was administered long before this evening and had gone untreated due to your husband’s own unwillingness to firmly stop himself from overworking.

Ayato must say that it takes both more patience and determination than usual to fight off your beauty. The purple of his eyes never loses its enticing luster — a mystery worthy of thousands of poems dedicated solely to you. Why should he torture himself any longer while you’re within his reach, offering yourself so obediently?

“My sweet wife is already going for the kill.” His arms encircle your waist in one fluid motion. As expected, he grins to himself, feeling you shiver with excitement against his chest, gaze wandering between your parted lips and star-stricken eyes. “If your request wasn’t so very irresistible, then maybe… Oh well.”

None of you waste any more time, shamefully clawing at each other’s garments just to open them enough to continue making out. You cling to his nape as he puts one hand beneath your ass to hoist you up in order to carry you closer to him.

Every breath burns his throat until he presses you onto the nearest wall — away from the main corridor and prying ears of curious servants, which is unfortunate since he has planned something particularly scandalous involving said corridor. This one he will remember for another occasion, that is. Nothing lost. It does not matter anyway — whatever idea would’ve come to his head can be used tomorrow, a day after tomorrow, anytime, provided that the opportunity arises once again.

Ayato allows himself a brief evaluation of his abandoned tasks before getting down to business. A mere moment later, he’s fucking you relentlessly against the wooden column, your hair tangled with the surface and messy behind your head. With a warm hand on your cheek, it contrasts with the cool breeze coming through the window.

Debauched noises escape your throat without regard to decency, like waterfalls running dry after a hot summer, until there is nothing left but a silent heap of exhales.

Still starving for attention, deprived of everything your beloved husband has been reluctant to provide these past evenings, even the most minuscule gestures spark flames below your navel.

Supposedly, getting so easily wet could be considered unwelcome, always messing up your underwear, but in the company of your adored man, it’s perfect. It’s foolishly easy to slip past the entrance of your pussy and force it to catch every tiny shift of his shaft.

The quick work on your clothes made you too flustered to act before you could even explain your presence here in more detail. With an arm sneaking around your waist, he pulls you closer with a goal to slip his painfully hard cock deeper into your sodden cunt.

Alongside the kiss pressed to your forehead, his mouth lingers there for a brief moment, humming praises against your sweaty skin.

“Is this exactly what you wanted?”

“I love you.” You pant in desperation, fisting at the back of Ayato’s embroidered suit. A string of needy whines flows from your tongue in rapid succession while his lips pepper kisses over your jawline, up and down and across your heated skin until they land on the juncture of your neck, eliciting a small gasp as a reward.

“Aren’t you the most precious one? You should be aware that your words are more dangerous to my heart than any blade or poison.” The Commissioner lets his guard down, a ripple of relief and solace washing over him in the loving warmth of your closeness, and he leans into the embrace while holding you as careful as one holds an ancient vase.

“Hmm, isn’t that adorable that even you have a soft spot?” Your giggle turns into a wanton yelp as he manhandles you to fit against his lean body like a missing puzzle piece.

“Only because I adore you so dearly, I will allow myself to pause the work of utmost importance.” His fingers are brushing against the soft material of your night robe, creeping under the fabric to keep your thigh high enough for him to push his pelvis right against your clit. “It’s not as important as you, I have to admit.”

He kisses your cheek, and his lips travel down your jawline, the feather-like pecks on the side of your collarbone, and you can’t help the content sigh that escapes your mouth. His breath is ticklish, and when his teeth gently nibble the delicate skin, the gasp that follows makes him chuckle, his pace not slowing down.

“If my darling is not silent,” Ayato whispers, his hot breath fanning against your ear, “the servants may notice something unusual is happening in my private quarters.”

As if it would not rouse is excitement…

Such a threat is empty, just a fickle of a joke to raise your pulse before his pace returns to the previous rhythm. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes betrays his amusement, knowing that he will most likely fuck you dumb until you whimper out his name pleadingly, for he does not care if others hear how much of a perfect lover he is. Those working under him are long adjusted to the questionable ways of their Lord’s doings.

You can’t deny the effect it has on you, though. Especially with his hand moving to your mouth, covering it completely to muffle any delicious mewls slipping down your tongue.

“Bite it, if you have to.”

A rush of heat engulfs the pit of your stomach, your cunt squeezing his shaft hungrily. He doesn’t slow down — no, quite the opposite, as if motivated by the shame that strikes your silhouette. His thrusts are steady and merciless, and you are glad that the column is keeping you upright; otherwise, you’d collapse into his arms like a lithe rag doll.

It works like a charm on you. Heavy weight of his words, a need for control in every little detail, always caring, always considerate towards you. Although there are times where your husband will bend to your will and please you thoroughly, there are also moments like these when he won’t give you a chance to think straight, all because of such a simple reason.

He adores you to the point of addiction.

And now he wishes to enjoy you to the fullest without further pauses, reducing his duties to mere distractions that otherwise would stop him from revelling in your body.

No longer form a coherent sentence, you accept the mind-numbing sensation of his cockhead hitting the deepest spots simultaneously with his fingers rubbing at your wet, puffy clit. The tension in your core is threatening to snap at any moment, your juices soaking his length as your pussy greedily milks his shaft with each and every snap of his hips into your pliant body.

Even with limbs unable to muster out any strength to cuddle to your husband, the feeling of your hole gripping him like a vice rewiring Ayato’s mind into a mush, a delirious haze of lust. He removes his hand from your mouth, cupping your face and wiping the drool that is trickling down your chin, his thumb gently caressing the damp skin.

Dark lavender eyes follow sparkles dimming in your fluttering gaze as you try your best to not fall into bliss and close your lids. His forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy and shallow, his lips dangerously close, and the Commissioner swallows at the familiar heat pooling in his abdomen.

“Just like this, dear,” he says softly, his voice trembling and strained. “Just a bit more.”

With a shaky sigh, he shoves his mouth against yours in a sloppy kiss to avoid any loud noise to escape him, savouring the flavour of your tongue as if you were the finest dessert prepared solely for his appetite.

Despite being unsure if you could truly make it last until your husband finds relief as well, you fight for balance on your shaking thighs while even a portion of your weight feels too much to bear on your wobbly knees. His cock swells, the pressure coiling and tightening from the inside of his balls as the release hits him like a tidal wave. As soon as his essence souses the walls of your womb white, you sob and join him in the moment of sweetest carnal satisfaction.

The sudden contractions of your cunt bring you both to the sweetest peak of pleasure, all too intense to not slump down the polished floors in a puddle of fine silk stained with your mixed essences.

Although Kamisato Ayato is the epitome of politeness and strict discipline, there is no way to deny the truth that he might turn the world upside down just to rest between the thighs of his darling wife.

The delirious euphoria comes to an end when he slips himself out of your snug cunt, soft and worn, satisfied but also amused upon noticing that some of his cum already leaked out of your hole. A pity, such a waste that his seed is seeping through the slippery gash. Maybe the idea of making you pregnant will stay with him until the next close encounter, then.

There is nothing left of composure that usually defines him as the leader of the Yashiro Commission. Instead, the sight is almost unnerving compared to his usual image. Clothes crumpled and skewed, hair ruffled atop his sheen forehead, and the pink blush adorning his cheeks. Perhaps you did him some good tonight after all, clearing his mind and relaxing the muscles tense from sitting still for hours. There are plenty of tasks left to be done — he won’t sleep even after exhausting himself — but perhaps now he’s willing to consider joining you in bed for the rest of the night.

As if hearing your thoughts, he chuckles breathlessly, scooping you up in his embrace without worrying about cleaning the mess just yet.

“There are several things I’d rather do instead of dealing with t-those reports right now...”

“Do I r-really have to coerce my beloved husband into sleeping together?”

“Obviously, no. It’s only a matter of fact that I forget about the passage of time until you have to visit my office. But wasn’t it just as sweet?” His teeth nibble at your earlobe before he laughs under his breath again.

[notelcol]

Wriothesly enemies to lovers (more like annoyance to denial💀)

You were always in the fighting rings. That would be fine if you knew how to fight. It made him angry to watch you, every day since you arrived two weeks ago you had walked in that ring and made an utter fool of yourself. The first week he found it a little funny, but by the start of the second it became painful to watch. He could not fathom why you kept going back in. By the end of the second week he decided to call you into his office, you were starting to bring shame upon the fighting rings.

You were a bit confused as to why you had been corralled to the Dukes office during your lunch.

“Save my food!” You called over your shoulder to Julienne, the woman you were talking with before you were interrupted. She simply laughed in reply. Your food was definitely going to be gone when you came back.

You started to become nervous as the looming doors grew larger with each step. What could he want? Has something happened to your family on land? Your mind raced with possibilities. You even considered the idea that someone had gotten you in trouble somehow. The echoing creak of the doors opening broke your questioning thoughts.

You looked around the round room, black shiny decor with gold accents seemed to be its theme. You found it rather pretty, which surprised you. The decor in the dorms were no where near pretty.

“Ahem.” You were reminded of the Dukes presence. “I assume you’re wondering why you are here?” You nodded in reply, allowing him to continue. “I ordered you here today in the hopes that you would shed some light on something that has been bothering me since you arrived.” His statement caused you to swallow nervously, you couldn’t think of what he was referring to. You hadn’t put a toe out of line.

“I don’t understand.” You said, making him sigh.

“Neither do I.” His answer confused you more. “I don’t understand why you let Julienne pummel you every day.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You made me miss my lunch to ask me that? You must be drunk on your title, I guess the rumours are true.” You smirked when his eyebrow twitched.

“I think you will find it is well within my duties to put a stop to someone making my fighting ring look like a flawed system.” His self righteousness was irritating you already. Much to your dismay, he continued. “Give me a good reason not to ban you from the ring.” He should have outright banned you for the sake of the system he created, but he was compelled to know why you were doing this to yourself. Luckily for him, you were amused by the situation and decided to explain.

“Julienne is my friend. She’s teaching me to fight. We thought it would be fun to make a show of it. Not much entertainment round here.” The answer was simple and made him snort, very uncharacteristic of the image you had painted of the Duke.

“She’s obviously not doing a very good job.” He snickered. Was he teasing you? How insufferable. You jumped to defend your friend.

“She told me that the best way to become a good fighter is to get your ass beat and learn from it.” Julienne was trying her best, it wasn’t her fault you weren’t strong yet. His smirk dropped into something more sincere, eyes meeting yours intensely.

“That works for natural fighters, but for people like you….you will never learn that way.” He shattered your hopes. Now you really didn’t like this guy. “There are two kinds of fighters. Ones foundation is instinct and emotion, while the others is foresight and precision.” You tried to take in his words. “You are clearly not an instinctive fighter and quite frankly, your emotions are all over that ring and not in a useful way.” He explained and you did not know whether to be offended or not. “If you wish to fight in that ring again, it’s on you to learn the foresight and precision needed in battle. Until then, you are banned. You cannot continue using Julienne’s technique, it’s not for you.” You sort of understood him, but it still annoyed you. How can you learn to fight when you’re banned from the fighting ring?

He stood from his seat and rolled up his sleeves.

“Get up.” He ordered. You furrowed your brows but complied anyway. You realised his intentions when he held his fists up, bare arms flexed and ready to fight. He was going to teach you. You copied his stance, barely in position before he swung. You swerved left, his fist just missing your shoulder. Your leg stretched out while you dodged so you decided to use it to kick his ankles, earning a grunt and an impressed nod.

You landed a few well placed and timed hits while avoiding most of his. You were doing your best to be precise and keep your mind steady. He decided to test your foresight, sending a punch he knew you could dodge. When you ducked, he spun around and kicked you to the ground. You fell ungracefully. As always you got back up, impressing the Duke once again, your determination was shining through. You however, thought you needed to up your game. You refused to show any weakness. You threw your punches harder and faster, but every single one missed as he weaved from side to side.

Rage erupted from your throat as the Duke grabbed your hand mid punch, stopping its course to his face. “Slow down.” He chuckled. “Let’s do that sequence again but slowly.” He leaned to the side and pulled your fist in the same direction, leading you into the pace. Just as you registered the fluttering in your heart, he dropped his hand and leaned to the other side. You blinked hard before throwing a slow punch with your opposite hand. You went back and forth like this a few times, finding a rhythm reminding you of clock pendulums. You could tell he wanted you to find a way to break the rhythm. So you threw another punch the same way, then stole his trick. You twirled when your punch went past his head, then hit his neck with your other hand.

He wheezed loudly, the noise bouncing off the walls. He was actually taken by surprise by your choice, he was expecting you to go for the ankles again. You had to stifle your laugh, though it didn’t work too well.

“Well done. You picked that up quick.” He spoke, voice a little raspy. “A few more sessions and you will be allowed to return to the ring.” His statement made you grin. The breath in his lungs got caught as he saw your eyes light up. He did not know if it was you or his throat at fault so he coughed, but it was clear.

“That will be all for today. Go have lunch. I’ll send a message out to explain why you’re late back to work.” You were confused why he ushered you out so fast, but assumed it was busyness. You were surprised he even had time to train someone in the first place.

You walked back to the canteen, stomach rumbling loudly. You hoped Julienne didn’t eat your food. Lunch was probably over by now though, so even if she didn’t, it was likely gone. You finally turned the corner, pleasantly surprised to see your friend sitting next to your untouched food.

“You waited!” Julienne was a true gem.

“Lucky for you I skipped work today, had the extra time to wait around.” She punched your shoulder. “I got to go now! I have a bet on some guy in the ring, gunna try catch the end.” Julienne grabbed her drink and stood from bench. “You can tell me later why you’ve come back from the Dukes office all hot and sweaty.” She winked before dashing away, leaving you to smile to yourself at her antics.

While you ate your cold lunch, your mind found itself on the Duke. He was annoying and self righteous, but also kind enough to teach you how to fight properly. His curiosity intrigued you, but you hated how he teased you. Most of all you hated how he made your heart skip a beat when he stood too close. Fighting with him felt like an intimate dance. You cursed when caught yourself looking forward to your next session with him. Yet you prayed to the archons that he shared your sentiments.

Ty for reading this❤️

Requests are open ✨

[aurorawest]

The Scottish Boy by Alex de Campi - 5/5 stars

This book managed to rip my heart out at least 3 times. I loved it. Medieval enemies-to-lovers slow burn; very romantic. Kinda read like fanfiction at times but in a good way. 10/10 would read a follow-up love story about Arundel and Captain Wekena. If you like Captive Prince, give this one a try.

Reforged by Seth Haddon - 4/5 stars

Pretty good bodyguard romantasy. Ironically CS Pacat blurbed this one (another am-I-in-the-matrix moment). The world was interesting and I enjoyed the politics, though they're definitely not as complicated as other SFF politics I've gone feral over (see: Captive Prince, Winter's Orbit, A Memory Called Empire). I ordered the sequel after I finished this.

The Doctor's Date by Heidi Cullinan - 4/5 stars

A Power Unbound by Freya Marske - 5/5 stars

Where do I start? I love, love, LOVE A Marvellous Light. It's one of my favorite books ever. None of the rest of the books in the trilogy could live up to it, really, because it's so good. You'll notice I rated this one 5 stars though, because quite honestly I fell prey to a bit of The Academy Paying The Lord of the Rings Trilogy Its Due syndrome. I did love this book and thought it was better than A Restless Truth (which I still loved!) but part of that is, quite frankly, just due to the fact that I prefer m/m romance to f/f romance.

Anyway. This was such a good finale to the trilogy. I loved that the romance was a giant middle finger to purity cultists. I loved that one of the mains was Italian. I loved finally getting the story of what happened to the Alston twins. One thing I thought was really cool was how, viewed from the outside, you totally get why Edwin is such a loner. I really admire from a writing perspective how Marske pulled that off.

I feel like there's a lot to be said about what Marske was trying to SAY with this book, but I definitely need to reread it first before I can articulate any of it. The purity culture stuff is obvious, but the magic system too. I feel like Jack when he's almost able to connect everything in his mind into a bigger idea, but he can't quite get there.

I've got a special edition from Illumicrate coming, so I'll be rereading it when I have that.

Oh also, this book was the embodiment of all that one tumblr post -

The Guncle by Steven Rowley - 5/5 stars

I saw this in bookstores for years before I finally gave in and bought it. The blurb makes it sound insufferable and twee. Ignore the blurb. This was such a good book about grief and learning how to live again after terrible loss.

I Like Me Better by Robby Weber - 4/5 stars

At last I can stop getting the Lauv song stuck in my head whenever I set eyes on this book (it's stuck in my head as I type this). Pretty standard-issue YA, but it was cute and had a good message.

The Stagsblood King by Gideon E Wood - 4/5 stars

Another book about moving on from grief! This is the second book in a trilogy. When I was trying to determine if I wanted to read on beyond book 1, I scoured the internet for information about what happens in books 2 and 3. Eventually I decided, hell, I enjoyed book 1 well enough, even if what I want to happen in the rest of the trilogy doesn't happen, they're worth reading. SO, to that end, I will tell anyone looking for info that Tel gets romantically involved with a new man in this one, which, eh. I still want him to somehow end up with Vared. It was still quite good though.

In the Lives of Puppets by TJ Klune - DNF at pg 82

So funnily, we were at the bookstore the day I was about to start reading this, and my wife pointed out Ravensong (also by Klune) to me and said, "Do you have this one?" I made a face and said, "That's an older one of his books and I'm wary of his early work after that horrible Verania series. I don't think I've ever read an author as hit or miss as TJ Klune."

I wrote the above when I was 60 pages in and now I have officially DNFed this. Listen. You know how in Thor: Love and Thunder, Taika Waititi was clearly given free rein to do whatever he wanted, so all of his worst impulses made it to the final cut unchecked? Yeah. That's what this book is like.

Here's my Storygraph review: I see Klune is officially Too Big To Edit now. This book has exactly the same problem that his awful Verania series had—a joke that's funny at first but quickly grows tiresome when it's repeated five times per page. The emphasis on Victor's asexuality was also weird and read like Klune was just super proud of himself for writing an ace character.

Lion's Legacy by LC Rosen - 4.25/5 stars

Queer, YA Indiana Jones, but less #problematic. This book had some eerie similarities to my own archaeology adventure novel(s), which made me wonder half-seriously if I somehow know Lev Rosen? Anyway, I feared this would be very heavy-handed and not nuanced on archaeology's ethical dilemmas, since it's YA and also the current culture is to view said dilemmas as completely black and white with no nuance, but I was pleasantly surprised. It manages to examine that, queerness, and daddy issues, plus has time to be a genuinely fun and exciting adventure story. Highly recommend.

Too White to be Coloured, Too Coloured to be Black by Ismail Lagardien - 4/5 stars

I picked up this memoir in a bookstore at OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg as research for Six Places to Fall in Love, since Percy is coloured. A pretty brutal read, but good, and definitely good research. The author was a photographer and journalist through the most violent years of apartheid.

The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson - 5/5 stars

Two nonfiction books in a row?? This is the second book by Erik Larson I've read, the first being the excellent The Devil in the White City. I'm not, in general, all that interested in WWII when it comes to military history, but this book is about the day to day lives of Churchill and the people surrounding him (with brief stops to visit FDR and high-ranking Nazis sprinkled throughout). This is a very, very good book, and I recommend reading it if only as a reminder of the resilience and bravery of ordinary people under terrifying circumstances.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh - 5/5 stars

Holy shit. Holy shit is this book good. Imagine the love child of Lost, Person of Interest, and Battlestar Galactica, but queer and with multiverse shenanigans thrown in.

I need everyone to read this book. Now. Yesterday. Get to it.

[merinsedai]

It's my final bingo fill! Seems fitting it should be the final prompt.

for the @dreamlingbingo

Square/Prompt:E5- Cute Banter (+ adoptable prompt: Retired Dream)

Title: The Perils of Crib Gogh

Rating: G

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: mountain climbing, rightful fear of crib gogh, I wouldn't do it

Dream and Hob go mountain climbing, at Dream's insistence.

My final bingo fill! I dunno, 3 fills in 3 months then 22 in a week. That's just how I roll, gremlins. 🤷 (now I'm going to bed)

Sometimes, Hob really wonders what Dream is thinking when he decides to do these random (and frankly a little crazy) things. Dream had recently taken it into his head that he wanted to complete the Welsh 3000s (that is, climbing all 15 peaks in Snowdonia over 3000ft in 24 hours) despite never having before expressed any desire  to walk further than the nearest park in his past three years of being human. 

And Hob doesn’t know what he was thinking, indulging him so. Well, indulging him to a point, because there was zero chance that either of them were climbing 15 mountains in 24 hours, given the zero amount of experience or training between them. So instead he had talked Dream down to just going up Snowdon. “Surely conquering Wales’ tallest mountain is a good beginning?” He’d pleaded. And by some miracle (and perhaps a smidge of common sense squeezing its way into his brain) Dream had agreed.  

Now, standing overlooking the exposed and frankly terrifying Crib Gogh, Hob is having serious second thoughts. 

“Why have we come this way?” he demands, more of himself than of Dream, who he knows will pay not an ounce of attention to him. Hob is questioning many of his life choices right now. Mostly about his inability to say no to Dream. He should have said no to this foolishness, full stop. He should have said no, we need to work our way up to this. He should have said no, we can take the train instead. Same views at the end of the day! He definitely should have said no to Dream wearing unrelieved black walking gear because how were the mountain rescue people going to find him when he slips off the side of this godforsaken ridge? He supposes he should be thankful that Dream had condescended to even wear proper gear and hiking boots. and not his usual black skinny jeans and Docs. Thank heavens for small mercies. 

“We have come this way,” Dream answers, staring out over the ridge with a look at manic determination on his face, “Because conquering Crib Gogh is the only way to truly climb Yr Wyddfa.”

“We could be at home, and you could be climbing me instead!” Hob says, really quite seriously. Dream glances back at him with a wolfish grin.

“Later, Hob. I need to work up my appetite first.”

“You won’t have an appetite when you go careening down the side of that scree slope!”

“Come now, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I left it back in the hotel- where incidentally there’s an exceptionally large and comfortable bed- along with your sense of self-preservation!”

Dream comes hopping nimbly back across the rocks to Hob’s side and pries one of his hands off the rock.

“It’s like you are glued on,” he says musingly, “Quite fascinating, we are not even near the edge. And here I thought I was meant to be the clingy one in this relationship?”

“Ha ha,” Hob says, though his smile is genuine. It is always so nice when Dream feels good enough to tease. “Can I help it that I was born in the Fens? No mountains there.”

“Well there is no snow in Jamaica, but did the Jamaican bobsleigh team let that stop them?”

“I can’t believe you’re using Cool Runnings against me.” Hob huffs as he lets himself be pulled to his feet and reluctantly follows Dream forwards, swearing under his breath as the full ridge unfolds beneath him. From this angle it looks exceptionally narrow and… ridge-y, and Hob is certain the wind is picking up just to mock him.  “Oh my god,” he whispers. 

“No, just your Dream,” murmurs his insufferably happy partner. “Now, best foot forward, that’s what you are always telling me. It’s time to live a little.”

“Live a little?! I’ll have you know I’ve lived a lot! And would very much like to continue doing so.”

“Yes,” Dreams says solemnly, “Your lack of a death wish is somewhat legendary.” He steps closer to Hob and runs his hands up his chest, smoothing over his shoulders and down his arms until he can interlink their fingers. “If you do this with me,” he promises, “Not only will I climb you as much as you desire later, I’l even buy you some fish and chips on the way back to the hotel. Extra salt and vinegar.”

This is less of an incentive for Hob than Dream is making it out to be, since he is the one who prefers fish and chips to almost any other meal. Still, the thought is there.

“Too much salt is bad for your heart,” Hob says, just to be slightly contrary. But Dream smiles at him, his eyes soft and warm.

“Ah, but you have always been so good for my heart, you have mended it so well and kept it safe,” he says quietly. “That I think I need a little badness to moderate the goodness now and then. Moderation is key, yes?”

What can Hob do but let Dream kiss him then? This beautiful, slightly mad creature that he gets to love? Then he lets him lead him over the pass and miracle of miracles, they survive and climb the rest of the way to the top. For once in Snowdonia the weather is fine, and though the mountaintop is crowded the views are worth it. Especially the view of Dream’s face as he stands on the summit and smiles into the sun.

They get fish and chips, of course, on their way back to the hotel. And if the hotel bed’s springs are a little worse for wear the next morning, well… perhaps it needed replacing anyway.

[rainycat2]

Though I Could Not Stop For Death

Chapter Five: Throw Away the Plan

Damian was having a no-good, very bad day.

First, the nonsense with Gordon running into a clone, the clone acting oddly.

Second, the clone apparently operating Twitter to post a picture of himself with coffee, rapidly rising to viral fame. Father had already been receiving requests for interviews about the apparent doppelgänger of his youngest son, and if there was another adoption case in the works. 

The clone’s actions were smart, all things considered. By showing up in the public eye, its disappearance would cause some concern— unless they were somehow able to pass it off as Damian or a fluke. The cleanup from this particular strategy would take a while for the public to forget. 

Not to mention, Jon was being frankly insufferable about it. He’d “popped over for a visit”, planting himself firmly in Damian’s room (which he was not sulking in, thank you) until Damian talked to him. 

“He’s not a clone, is he?” Jon asked, thinking out loud as he inspected the selfie, zooming in on the features. “Dude, he has constellation freckles. Look close, here.”

Damian resolutely did not look at the phone. “Just another point that this is a failed clone,” he insisted. “My mother is getting desperate if she is resorting to this.”

“Damian, come on.” Jon tucked his legs up under himself on the bed, kicking off his boots at Damian’s halfhearted scowl. “What’s going on? You’re, like, super upset about this.”

Damian looked away, looked out the window as he padded over to the sitting bay, climbing into it smoothly. “It’s a long story, but I shall attempt to summarize— so long as you swear not to tell my father or yours. Or any of my siblings.”

“Cross my heart,” Jon agreed, going through the motions. “Total secrecy. Well, as much secrecy as you can get here.”

Damian hummed, waiting for Jon to climb up into the window seat with him, looking out over the gardens below. “My father’s adopted children are not… the only siblings I have ever had,” he started reluctantly. “I had an elder brother, albeit only older by a short amount of time.”

“Had?” Jon asked, tilting his head. Damian reached over to poke him between the eyes. 

“Quit that, you look like a sad puppy. Yes, had is the key word here. We trained to take on our separate roles, myself training to become Batman, and he… he would have been the Heir to the Demon,” Damian explained, his voice going soft. Jon noticed his eyes shift, lost in memories. “I am reluctant to admit it, but he was… superior to me in everything. It came naturally to him, whether the it in question was languages, stealth, deception, fighting. He was a true protege, a true heir to Ra’s al Ghul.”

“So… what happened?”

“I was not. I was… a disappointment to the al Ghul name,” Damian gritted out, his face hardening. “I was clumsy, and soft. I could not bring myself to kill.”

Jon stared for a moment. “You?”

“Yes, me,” he drawled, raising an eyebrow. “A surprise, I understand.”

“It’s just…. You?”

“Yes, yes,” Damian waved off. “We can return to this later. To summarize, we were given the directive. Ra’s only needed one heir, after all— Batman was not a necessary component of his empire, after all, and the League had recently… acquired Todd.” 

Snow blowing through his hair, his hands shaking as he held the katana pressed into his hands. It’s too big for him, unwieldy in his eight-year-old grip. Not strong enough, not willful enough. 

He was going to die, and it would have been all his fault. Not strong enough, fast enough, good enough.

Damian shook off the memory with a twitch of his shoulders. “He sacrificed himself for me, intentionally taking a mortal wound so that I could survive. I… I never truly understood why.”

Jon watched, concern flicking across his face. “Damian, we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice soft, weary. 

Damian pressed on, his teeth ground together. “My mother must have… kept some of his DNA. Enough for this tactic, but not enough to be perfect,” he theorized. “Thus the imperfections in the clone. Even if it is imperfect… it stands to reason it would have all of his talent and skill, and could pose a threat. For all that I am trained in the art of killing… it came easier than breathing to him.”

“So… potential clone is super dangerous, got it,” Jon hummed thoughtfully. “Peak assassin.”

“In a sense.” 

“What’s his name?”

Damian hesitated. For a long moment, nothing was said, Jon and Damian looking out the window in a slightly tense silence. 

“You don’t have to-“

“Danyal,” Damian interrupted. “His name is- was- Danyal.”

===

Nobody ever called Danny Fenton smart. 

If you asked his peers, they’d say he was reckless, having failed most of freshman year and had to take remedial courses. Some would call him a dork, others would call him names. 

Most would call him impulsive, though. Including his older sister.

“I. Cannot. Believe you,” she said exasperatedly. “I let you explore for an hour. An hour. What happened to “stay under the radar”, Danny?”

“If I intentionally draw attention to myself as Danny Fenton,” he explained, “I’ll have Batman’s attention on my human self. He, hypothetically, will be too distracted on… me to notice Phantom doing his job.”

Jazz paused, her mouth which was previously open to lecture clicking shut. “That’s… either the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard, or one of the most devious. You’re intentionally directing his attention into something emotional to get him off his game?”

“Ding ding,” Danny grinned. “Besides, the minute we get back into Amity, we’ll drop off the radar. After enough time, people will think it was just a weird hoax or photoshop. Pretty much as soon as we got here, someone clocked me.”

“What- who?”

“Redhead on the wheelchair I knocked into,” Danny explained, spinning a pen lazily in his hand. “I look exactly like a young Bruce Wayne, Jazz. I don’t want anything to do with that… mess, I’m happy in Amity, you know that. I have responsibility there.”

Jazz sighed. “He’s still your dad, Danny.”

“Blood only. I don’t call Talia my mom.”

“Okay, Little Brother. Just… be careful, please? The Waynes are one of the richest families in Gotham. If you’re going to keep playing this game, you’re putting a big target on your back.”

“And I’m really, really good at dodging,” he said with a reassuring smile, moving over to sit on the bed and lean against Jazz. “The plan’s going just fine. I’m going to do recon tonight on the city barriers, see if I can’t find the limits of Red Hood’s haunt.”

“Just don’t get knocked into a building, please.”

“You wound me, Jazz. I even upgraded my suit and everything with extra armor and a mask. I’m taking precautions to keep myself from being linked with Phantom and everything.”

“Like?”

Danny transformed swiftly, leaning against the wall as he let his sister examine him. The only things that truly remained of his original jumpsuit, even after the upgrades he’d added over the last year, was the color scheme, the boots, and the emblem. Everything else was dramatically different. 

For one, his armor had added neon green accents, tracing along his shoulder guards, accenting his cape and knee pads. His torso, hips, and legs were deep black, with segmented armor providing better protection. Each piece was comparable in strength to high-caliber Kevlar, but magically enhanced to knit back together upon damage. Fabric draped across his hips called back to his armor from the League, and Danny took a moment to trace the familiar pattern with his fingertips. 

Instead of the long white gloves of his heroic persona, he’d swapped in white wrist bracers with black fingerless gloves, extra armor on the knuckles. His boots were the same, long and white with a rubber sole, but with added protection at his knees. 

The one true callback to his heroic persona was the emblem at his chest, pinning the cape together, the white insignia on a black pin. Above, only his eyes, hair, and ears were visible, from nose-down hidden by a sleek black respirator. His piercings had even changed from silver to matte black. 

Jazz whistled as she looked him up and down. “Yeah, I guess that’s as good a disguise as any, but why aren’t you using your regular set?” She asked, tilting her head. 

Danny shrugged. “It calls back to League armor. Any Bats seeing me would likely assume I’m an assassin on a mission, and won’t connect it back to me. And before they can get close enough, I’ll just drop from visibility.”

“Alright, Danny,” she hummed, ruffling his hair and deftly ignoring his protests. “Be safe, and stay on comms, okay?”

“I will,” he said, tucking the small green earbud into his ear. His had to be specially shaped due to the relatively recent taper of his ears, but hey, at least it made sure nobody else could use them. He reached into his duffel bag, tossing some emergency supplies into the bag at his lower back. Thermos, some ecto-shots in reinforced containers, bandages & antiseptic wipes, just in case. 

After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the hilt of his sword, pinning it to his side by tucking it into his belt. It would absolutely not work with anyone else, but due to Magic Ghost Powers, he can just… ignore gravity. 

It would never be the one from Before, but it was a good replacement. Well-balanced, and created of his own unbreakable ice. 

He tapped his earbud, the improved Fenton Fones crackling to life. “Testing, one-two,” he hummed as he turned invisible and intangible, floating up through the floors of the hotel to the roof. As it was daytime, he stayed invisible, looking over the city. “Can you hear me?”

“Coming in clear,” Jazz said. “How’s it looking?”

“Busy. I’m going to start mapping out the city, find those borders. Hood’s usually active at night, so with any luck, he’ll be asleep and I won’t get my shit rocked.”

“Please refrain from getting your shit rocked.”

“Doin my best!” Danny laughed, doing a loop-de-loop as he sped up, wind flowing through his hair and snapping his cape behind him. He circled the city, mapping the borders in his mind as he worked his way in. 

As he got to the eastern side of Somerset, Danny stopped sharp in his tracks. Okay, the vibes here?

Rancid. Holy shit. 

His parents, as protected from ectoplasmic radiation and liminality as their protective gear could provide, mentioned that ectoplasm smelled like battery acid mixed with a particularly sharp green apple. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz, at varying levels of liminality, described it as a more sour apple smell. 

But to Danny? Pure ectoplasm, the ectoplasm of the Zone, smelled like a sweet Granny Smith apple, with a hint of an indescribable kick. 

This? 

The ectoplasm surrounding Park Row tasted fucking awful. Danny nearly gagged as he approached slowly. God, it tasted rotten, worse than a Lazarus Pit. And THAT was a high bar to cross. 

The emotions tangled in that hellhole of a district were just as complex. Anger, rage, protection, fear, anguish, to name a few. 

Danny sank to a nearby rooftop, leaning against a brick wall as he wrinkled his nose, thankful for the respirator that took the worst of the edge off the smell. “Okay, alright. Damn, I understand the issue now,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “Can you stop enhancing it now?”

Lady Gotham hummed as she approached. “Of course, my dear. I simply wanted to gain your attention.” Danny nearly sighed in relief as the smell receded, only faintly smelling of rotten apples mixed with way, way too many chemicals. “Though you now understand the problem, don’t you?”

“Oh, yep.” Danny chanced a glance at her, blinking slightly at her changed appearance. The Victorian visage was gone, replaced with a more modern floor-length black evening gown, a fur coat, and a black mourning hat with a veil. White pearls decorated her neck, with the same broach from before. Long black hair coiled over her shoulder in a braid, glowing violet eyes looking back at him from under the veil. “You look different, ma’am.”

“I have taken many appearances,” she giggled softly. “Different impactful events on my city’s history can affect them.”

“Ah, of course.” Danny knew better than to press. Asking a regular ghost how they died was a good way to get your teeth knocked in. Asking a city ghost which of their deaths influenced their appearance? You’d be lucky if you ever got within 100 miles of the place with all your limbs in place. “It fits you, my Lady.”

Gotham laughed, shaking her head. “Your politics lessons have treated you well, I see. Now, on to the matter at hand. My dear Hood has been… struggling. I believe you may remember him from your own childhood, the project your mother took on?”

Danny thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think so. The Revenant that was then dipped in the Pits? Yeesh, no wonder the poor guy’s like this.”

“Mm. As for his predicament, I’d like you to at least see what you can do. If you are able to get into proximity with Hood, you should be able to cycle out his ectoplasm for fresh using the ‘ecto-shots’ you keep on your person.”

“I can do my best, but…” Danny gave her a side glance. “You do know he’s, like, a mob boss, right?”

“And you are a former assassin,” she pointed out. “Your point?”

“Fair,” he acquiesced. “Alright. Come nighttime, I’ll scope the place out, get him a gift and all that. I’m not gonna trespass on someone’s haunt without bringing a “please don’t maim me” gift.”

“Such good manners,” Gotham praised, patting his hair. Danny gave in almost immediately, honestly. Gotham was still an unknown, and he wasn’t going to flinch away from these… almost grandmotherly tendencies. “If you have need of me, call; I can act as a mediator for Red Hood’s more murderous Rage.”

“Thanks,” Danny muttered, feeling more than hearing her disappear. “Go catch up with the murdering mob boss, Danny. Gee, I’d be happy to, Ms. City Ghost, boy howdy, I hope I don’t get stabbed again!”

He rubbed at his face, leaning against the wall as he shifted back into visibility for a moment. He was still working out some of the kinks in his powers, and long-term invisibility was one of them. Shadow manipulation (thank you, Johnny) was useful, but in the early morning facing east, he wasn’t likely to find any he could actually use. 

Regardless, he kept out of view of the street, his ears twitching as he surveyed the sounds and noises of the city. Man, Gotham was huge. Amity felt like a village compared to this, car horns, conversations, people moving and breathing and living constantly hitting him. If it weren’t for his practice at shutting things out, he would’ve had an overstimulation meltdown forever ago.

Danny sighed a little, pulling out his phone. The plan was working like a charm so far, with people comparing him to other members of the Wayne family. He flipped through a few of the tweets idly, then switched to his messaging app.

Halfalive: so it’s going well i think

Halfalive: gotham is scary but also weirdly wholesome

Halfalive: no progress on White tho, which sucks

Plantlady: youve also been there a total of 15 hrs

Plantlady: you have time

Techmaster: you don’t have to rush it yknow

Plantlady: we can handle ourselves

Halfalive: i know i know 

Halfalive: i just get weird vibes here yknow

Halfalive: i do NOT need the bats on my ass much less the League

Halfalive: either one of them tbfh

Plantlady: i still am so surprised about that whole Deal ™ 

Techmaster: you didnt meet him when we were kids

Techmaster: i thought he had rabies :( 

Halfalive: bitch please

Techmaster: YOU BIT ME!

Halfalive: YOU BIT ME BACK????

Plantlady: sweet ancients ok we get it youre both feral now moving on

Plantlady: if you see Dr. Ivy pls let her know that she is my favorite person

Techmaster: shes an ecoterrorist

Plantlady: and??

Techmaster: she’s a VILLAIN

Halfalive: hey, reformed villain

Halfalive: also i think they’re called rogues here

Plantlady: AND????

Halfalive: a n y w a y 

Halfalive: on one hand gotham is very pretty 

Halfalive: [image]

Halfalive: on the other hand holy shit there is so much smog here

Halfalive: i understand the ecoterroism thing tbh

Plantlady: i can be an ectoecoterrorist

Halfalive: sam no

===

Later, Danny would muse to himself that he really should have known better. No plan, regardless of how perfect, survives first contact with the enemy.

In his phantom assassin form (as Jazz was calling it, he really needed to stop letting her name things), he leapt from building to building, sticking to the shadows and intentionally dulling his inherent ghostly glow. On occasion, he’d simply disappear, throwing off any who may or may not be following him.

And, well. Maybe following the sounds of gunshots wasn’t his best plan to find a crime lord turned vigilante, but hey. Where else are you gonna find a crime lord?

And if he left a few people conveniently knocked out and tied up with sticky notes and the cops on their way, well. That’s nobody’s business but his own. 

Danny hesitated as he approached Park Row, evidently known as Crime Alley, what the fuck, honestly. That’s just asking for trouble, even he knew that. The smell of rancid ectoplasm tugged at his senses, and he… paused, near the border of the Revenant’s haunt. It was across the street, but Danny stopped, sitting down on the ledge of the building idly.

Maybe he could avoid pissing off the resident if he just…

He pulled out a piece of paper from his to-go notepad, scribbling something on it before folding it into a paper airplane, then sent it fluttering down across the street. A bit of power snaked around the airplane, keeping it from being too terribly affected by gravity as Danny guided it across, letting it fall on the building opposite him. Just enough ghostly power to get the Revenant’s attention, while being polite and cautious to show he doesn’t pose a threat.

Yes, he was posing a risk to his own plan by going out of his way to get Hood’s attention, but for one, it was a stipulation of his agreement with Lady Gotham herself to help him, and two, Danny wasn’t just going to let the guy suffer.

Pit Madness fucking sucked.

He sighed, tapping his earbud to turn the mic on. “Communication initiated,” he murmured. “Now we wait to see if the attempt was enough.” Idly, he scanned the area ahead of him, leaning against the wall lazily.

Footsteps behind him though, landing almost silently but with the crunch of gravel betraying their arrival, got his attention, even though he didn’t move. “You know, I never understood why people sit on ledges,” a voice said, cheer in their- his? - voice as they approached cautiously. 

Danny stifled a snort. “It’s got a decent view,” he hummed, not turning around. “Would be nicer if there wasn’t quite so much pollution, but hey, I guess that’s what happens when you keep locking up the plant lady so she can’t fix it.”

“There’s more ways to fix pollution than blowing up oil rigs and refineries.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Fair point. So, which one are you?” He shifted, turning to make eye contact with the probable-vigilante. 

For a moment, he thought it was Robin. Apparently Batman had picked up another one, causing a whole Deal with the third Robin. The fourth apparently wielded a sword, though, so this guy was out. Red and gold and black, with a golden bandolier criss-crossing his chest. Danny’d heard rumors that he wore a black cowl, but that was foregone tonight, evidently, a domino mask used instead as black, spiky hair was ruffled by the wind. 

Danny heard his breathing hitch as he made eye contact, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Ah. Red Robin, got it. So, what brings you to this corner of Gotham, Mr. Red Robin Sir?”

“Saw a weird cold spot on the map,” Red Robin said, his voice slightly more tense than before. “Decided to investigate, but I didn’t expect a teenager to be sitting on a ledge. You mind getting up away from that for me, by the way?”

“No need to stress.” Danny pushed himself up, stretching lazily as he turned. That, however, was apparently a bad decision, as Red tensed even further. “What, do I have something on my face?”

“You’re awfully chatty for an assassin.”

“Would be, wouldn’t I?” He laughed a little, shaking his head. “Too bad I’m retired.”

“And yet, you wear the armor of the League,” Red pointed out. “Sitting across the street from Park Row, and I saw you throw something over the street. Are we going to do this the easy way, or the fun way?”

“Calm down, traffic light,” Danny snickered, showing his open, empty palms. “I’m not here to cause trouble -- in fact, I’m here to help you out. Well, not you specifically, but one of you Bats. I guess this is better than brute-forcing my way into Hood’s territory and getting my shit rocked.”

Red visibly jolted. “Wh- you’re a kid. No adult uses that kind of lingo.”

“Uh, duh, dude,” Danny said, stretching his arms lazily above his head. “Now, can you get Red Hood here or not? I wanna talk to him.”

“Why?”

“Cause he has fuckin rabies, and your City asked me to do her a solid.”

“That… is not an explanation,” Red ground out.

“It is, you just don’t like it,” Danny retorted, a grin tugging at his lips under the respirator. “Now come on, man. Can you get him here or not?”

“Considering he’s a slightly genocidal maniac, I don’t think that’s a super great idea,” Red muttered. “Why do you want him here-- and don’t say rabies, I swear.”

“...Ghost rabies.”

“Jesus fucking hell,” Red groaned. “You’re worse than Nightwing, I swear to God.”

Danny just laughed as Red took a few cautious steps toward him, intentionally relaxing his posture and showing his lack of weapons, lack of intent. “Seriously, man. I just want to help him with his problem, get him some food, kickstart his immune system, and get the hell out of here. I don’t need all y’all fucking in my shit, you know?”

“And what shit is there to fuck in?”

“Shit you’re better off leaving to me.” His face turned serious. “Deadass. You do not want to get wrapped up in this, none of you do. Not the Bats and Birds, not your League, and definitely not John Constantine. Fuck that guy, honestly.”

“I-” Red just stared. “I am so confused right now. Aren’t we supposed to be fighting?”

“Yeah, we would be, but I have this, like, thing… anyway. I’m not out to cause any harm, mischief, or otherwise Bad Stuff. Scout’s honor, I promise.” He went through the motion of the Boy Scouts salute, failing halfway through. “Eh, I wasn’t a boy scout, give me some slack. Anyway. Can you get me Red Hood here, or not?”

Footsteps behind him, again, damnit he’s distracted, announced the arrival of yet more people. “I’m afraid not,” came the growl of the man he’s been so completely dreading. Shit, he should’ve booked it when he saw Red Robin in the first place. This is going terribly.

Oblivious to Danny’s internal panic, Batman loomed over the teenager, the shadows clinging to him and really hyping up the intimidation factor. “Why are you looking for the Red Hood?”

Danny took a slight step back, his boot scuffing the ledge. “Just wanna help the guy, honest to God,” he said. “I’m gonna reach back into my bag, is that okay? I don’t have a weapon.”

“What’s on your belt, then?” Batman challenged, gesturing to the hilt tucked into Danny’s belt. 

“Something I’m not gonna go for. I’ll even use my left hand to get the stuff from my bag, not my right, if that makes you feel better,” Danny offered. “Look, seriously. I just want to get this guy feeling better, then dip.”

A scoff caught his attention. “And we are supposed to believe that? You wear the armor of the League of Assassins, and are hunting the Red Hood, going so far as to seek out Red Robin and cause enough attention that we are brought in for backup. And yet, you insist you mean no harm?”

No.

Shit. Fuck. That’s not possible.

It couldn’t be possible. That’s not fair, that’s not right. 

Slowly, glowing green eyes tracked from Batman to the figure at his side, taking him in. Lean muscle, strong in the arms and legs, extra armor at his wrists and knees. A sword, a painfully familiar sword strapped to his hip. Red and green and yellow and black--

“...No fucking way,” Danny breathed. “You have got to be shitting me.”

“Excuse me?” Robin-- fucking Robin-- said, voice reflecting his disbelief. 

“You have got to be fucking with me!” Danny insisted, turning sharply to gesture at the sky. “Clocky, I am going to have your ass for this!” 

He whipped back around, his eyebrows furrowed. “You are supposed to be safe and not galavanting around on goddamn buildings, oh my God, I am going to skin Talia alive for this.”

Okay, maybe not the best thing to say, as everyone on the rooftop except Danny tensed. “Not- not literally! Jeez!”

“Who are you?” Batman intoned, his voice leaning against ‘threatening’ territory. 

“Just-- sht-tt-tt,” he tisked at Batman, staring down Robin whose hand was hovering near his sword hilt. “I am going to fucking-- oh my God, you’re not supposed to be doing this, how did you even get here, what?! I’m having a fucking crisis.” Danny groaned, stepping back and running his hands through his hair as he paced the ledge of the rooftop. “What the fuck are you doing as Robin, Damian?” TAGLIST: @mynameisnotlaura @fisticuffsatapplebees @screamingtofillthevoid @lizisipancardo @digitizedworld @dahliasandrosemary NEXT CHAPTER: ==>

[proposalanonaita]

Well, that's... definitive.

In all honesty I'd forgotten about this by now, but I'm sure you'll all be very happy to know my fiance actually checks tumblr, and is being completely insufferable about the fact that 700-odd strangers think that I'm an asshole. I WILL concede, the risk to reward ratio involved in sending the rich ex an invite is probably more trouble than its worth. Probably.

On everything else, however, all of you are so comically wrong I'm about to spend the rest of this post responding to questions I'm seeing crop up in the comments repeatedly. To that end:

Why do you hate the groomsmen/Why are you uninviting the groomsmen/&c. - When I said that uninviting everyone I hate would take out half the groomsmen, that was a technique called "exaggeration" I and many other people use when arguing. I certainly don't LIKE several of his friends, but he's well aware of that fact already & we're perfectly capable of interacting politely when needed. This isn't a legitimate grievance, they're just loud and don't really 'get' me. The rest of his side of the aisle is lovely.

Do you even like him/Why do you talk about your fiance like that, I would never insult my partner in public - I wanted to mention this one specifically because I was completely baffled about it for so long. To me, the COMPLETE opposite is true; I would sooner film a sex tape, show it on the jumbo screen of a sport arena, and provide director's commentary throughout than admit to loving my partner in public for anyone to hear. It would be much less revealing.

Anything heartfelt I have to say about him I am going to say TO him, behind a closed door, with no one else around. The ONLY exceptions are the time I had an appendectomy (which involved MANY drugs and SHOULDN'T count), our vows, and if he dies in public.

You are toxic/Both of you are toxic/You shouldn't be getting married at all/&c. - Oh damn, you're right. Let me just call this whole committed relationship off real quick, obviously you know everything about me and my partner from reading a few words online!

I don't respect you and I'm going to find a way to marry him even harder specifically to piss you off.

Why are you making a seating chart before you have your RSVPs back - You're the only one asking the right questions on here, congratulations. The venue has several rooms we can pick from, arranged VERY differently, and I needed to get an idea of what each set up would look like at maximum capacity to choose between them. I'll admit making a full chart was going a LITTLE overboard, but spending an afternoon methodically calculating who should sit with whom is surprisingly effective for excising the jitters. Also, it was an excellent bonding moment with my mother, who is a fellow hater at heart and had insane amounts of intel on the extended family's beef. I think she was more choked up watching me put labels on my magnet board over FaceTime than she will be seeing me in my suit, frankly.

Stop doing mind games on your partner/Don't manipulate your fiance/WTF is wrong with you quit it - No. It's VERY effective foreplay. Also, he is genuinely quite bad at event planning. I'm not about to let him blunder into a subpar special day when I could just do it CORRECTLY and give him the perfect wedding instead. Duh.

To that point, no one asked specifically but I think it would help assuage some worries to reiterate that AS STATED IN THE POST I am NOT pulling any strings when it comes to his actual stated wants, this is ONLY about the minutiae of planning for a very large event.

He wants all his younger siblings to play a role? Absolutely, I will find jobs for all SEVEN of them to do, including the kindergartner who curses at me. His best friend moved abroad and can't afford travel fare? She can now, because I'm chipping in to get her here as a surprise. He really wants Thinking Out Loud by Ed fucking Sheeran on the playlist since it was on the car radio when he realized he loved me? I wish to GOD I were a crueller man because that tacky garbage will be our first dance song so my basic bitch of a betrothed can get all weepy about it.

He thinks orange and pink "works fine" for a color scheme?????? Objectively deranged, someone needs to save him from himself.

To conclude, I have ACCEPTED that I shouldn't invite the ex, I will be taking NO further criticism at this time, and now that that's all settled I'm going to leave this be and go talk over my fiance's TV shows. He hates it so much <3

I am not the asshole, and I think this whole thing is stupid, but I was promised that if I sent my side of things to this blog I could pick the hotel for our honeymoon, and I am marrying a man who once tried to take me BACKPACKING of all things, so this ask has become a necessity. In light of that:

AITA (I'm NOT) for planning the seating for our wedding in a logical way?

I got engaged in June, apparently in part because of my partner writing in to this blog (I don't know how to find or link to his posts, but I'm the man who got the cat to bite him, if that rings any bells?). At any rate, for the past ten weeks, I've been in the beginning stages of planning our wedding with my fiance, whom I have been secretly attempting to remove from the planning process as much as possible. I have ALREADY been given a list of his must-haves, and I AM incorporating as many of them as our budget allows. This has NOTHING to do with the emotional side of the event, and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that this is an idiot with no real planning experience or taste who thinks he knows more than me.

For the most part, this has worked very well. I'm the one who's been collating all the contact information for things, so I just replaced all the emails for the tacky companies with false addresses, responded to his inquiries as the companies to say the date was already booked or the price was outside our budget, and let him filter his way to the ones I DO like on his own. I also made a fuss about being "willing to compromise" on the few things he's picked I'm completely fine with in the hopes I can use it to make him compromise later, and have been humming portions of the songs I want on the playlist in the hopes he'll think he came up with the idea to include them himself.

None of this is the real problem. The PROBLEM is that he is deliberately ruining my seating chart, by moving our horrible friend's seat when I'm not looking.

The man in question dated both of us at one point in our VERY early 20s (both ended BADLY), is generally the messiest person we know, and will almost certainly get sloppy drunk and try to make a speech IF he does make an appearance. I'm banking on the fact that he won't, because he's also ridiculously wealthy, and will almost certainly send us some very lavish gift in lieu of coming.

He is SUPPOSED to be sitting beside my fiances aunt, at the same table as his grandmother, his work friend, and her girlfriend, because all four of these women are stone cold terrors who I believe are more than capable of keeping him in line on the slim chance he does come. My fiance INSISTS they won't be able to have any fun if they're running interference all night, and keeps moving him to sit at the head table instead. You know, where WE are. I finally caught him switching the label magnets on my planning board last night, and confronted him.

I tried leveraging how much I've been compromising already, that he's almost certainly going to RSVP no, and that I shouldn't have to deal with him on our big night. My fiance said he knew about all the fake emailing and such, and told me, and I QUOTE: "Look, the mind game shit was hot when it was just about the colour scheme or whatever, but I actually care about this. So you can suffer with everybody else, or you can do the normal thing and not invite a guy you hate to our wedding, you weirdo."

I said that if I did that, it would take out half his groomsmen, he called me an asshole and said I should go explain this to "literally any rational adult" so they could tell me I was in the wrong, and now here we are.

Would you recommend calling my fiance's bluff, since he doesn't want the man sitting near us either? Or should I focus on ensuring he'll turn down the invitation no matter what, so the matter of where he WON'T be sitting can be a moot point?

What are these acronyms?

Original post

The update

[iscratchdoors]

blah blah trans healthcare rant dont mind me

i know people get pissy about regrets being given voice but holy fucking shit i should have not taken my time trying to get on hrt. i already knew i would eventually have to get top surgery to live my life normally at like 14 years old but for like 2-4 years after i was going back and forth on wanting to go on t, partially bc i wasn't sure i wanted all its effects and to look like a Manly Macho Man (wow a 15 year old struggling with the idea of looking like a 40 year old man? no way) and other gender stuff but mostly because everything i'd heard about trying to get hrt was a fucking horror story and i was already dealing with a ton of shit so i took my time to really make 100% sure i wanted to be on t (coincidentally happened when i became an adult and youthful androgyny stopped being an option, who woulda thought?) before ever contacting a doctor about it and holy FUCK was that a bad idea

it's always "take your time" and "don't rush into things" but holy fuck the waiting game is fucking insufferable. i did exactly that and took my time but turns out, so will my doctor! it does not matter how much Taking My Time(tm) i have done before seeking medical intervention this dipshit needs to take half a fucking year to even start talking to me about treatment. 6 appointments since last year and i've so far done nearly all the talking and gotten 0 information back and for about half of those ive been hearing that "next time we might talk about the next step" and guess what! we fucking haven't! because i need to wait, wait, wait, and make sure, and wait

for fucking what? ive already done all the making sure, giving me more time isn't going to change shit except delay my ability to live a normal goddamn life. he's not a psychologist and clearly doesn't know shit about autism, so i have no clue why he thinks he's qualified to decide if that has somehow tricked me into thinking im trans, a thing that famously happens. he's not telling me shit about fuck about how my treatment might even go and im not allowed to even fucking ask because that immediately gets shot down with "well we cant just give you hormones right away" BITCH FIRST OF ALL its been MONTHS ive had all my psychiatric work done for YEARS before i ever had to deal with your donkey-headed ass and im literally just ASKING. FOR INFORMATION. NOT A PRESCRIPTION.

but noooo we have to wait wait wait, wait before we even talk about the one goddamn thing i came for. like we arent sitting here having talks about my truest inner self and how to best achieve it or whatever the fuck i didnt come here for counseling and it certainly isnt what im fucking getting. like what the fuck does he think is going to happen during an arbitrarily decided waiting period? i suddenly change my mind? without him giving me ANY information about what im getting myself into? hes going to discover some secret psychosis i have that my ACTUAL PSYCHIATRIST didn't for years??? it doesn't make any sense. it's always "oh you can't get hormones on the first appointment" WELL CAN I AT LEAST BE FUCKING SENT TO ENDO BY THE GODDAMN SIXTH???? im not taking shit at my own pace im entirely reliant on someone else's that they decided for me with frankly no justification

and i can't even vent my frustrations about this to acquaintances and relatives because for some goddamn fucking reason, they almost ALWAYS take the doctor's side. i complain about the shit i had to go with my joints, nobody assumes the doctor was in the right when i tell a story of how they fucked something up or were a prick. i say one bad word about THIS motherfucker and suddenly well the doctor has his reasons surely :((( you cant just expect to be given what you want immediately :(((((( what if someone gets on hormones and changes their mind :(((((( not you just Someone :((((((( still your problem tho :(((((((( by the way i need you to listen to this story about how a trans person you've never met annoyed me once :) i dont have anything against trans people btw did i mention that? i really dont. if you want medical treatment die tho.

every single fucking time. what the hell is it about transgender healthcare specifically that always makes people play defense for a medical professional they dont know anything about. i know im kind of unhinged with anger and hyperbolic from rant frenzy but i mean no exaggeration when i say that i genuinely believe that half of these people would rather see 100 trans dudes kill themselves than let 1 confused cis girl end up with a deep voice and extra body hair. it's fucking ridiculous. even my goddamn social worker gave me the "can't expect hormones at first appointment" speech. a fucking WEEK ago. first appointment was LAST YEAR girl. no matter how directly i describe exactly what's wrong with my doctor's approach and why (it's not only the waiting period he's just a general cunt) somehow the narrative of the entitled impatient trans person who is attacking this poor poor medical professional on an unhinged whim when really they could just accept themself and be cis and happy :( is the first thing that springs to their mind. there's not an ounce of trust in me, or anyone else in my position.

and this is all just the first step. i'm already looking into paying out of pocket for surgery because the fucking rate this is going at doing it the standard way seems a last resort more than anything. but to even get into talks about getting surgery done, in ANOTHER FUCKING COUNTRY most likely, at that, because fuck me for being born here, i of course need to be diagnosed and on hrt! haha! amazing! i can't do shit to progress any further until ONE OLD FART decides that i'm allowed! wanna permanently ruin your health with booze and smoking? sure! you're an adult! wanna get a cosmetic surgery in line with your agab? aye if you can pay for it! oh you want to get a different cosmetic surgery to improve your mental health at well over 18? now hold on there bucko we're going to need 2 doctors to sign off on that, what if youre just being an insane wackadoodle and you'll regret the horrible, horrible fate of not having titties while living as a dude. that's not a decision you can just make. have you considered spending the rest of your life unable to comfortably go outside or even move around much inside your own home instead? seems like a much safer option.

and all the waiting and frustration is one thing but the absolute lack of support is what really finishes the job. i go to my dumbass dipshit appointments and do my dumbass dipshit jester dance of how good of a trans i am and may i please please please have a crumb of medical care sir? spare a doing your fucking job sir? and after that goddamn exhausting ordeal of justifying my right to existence and well being i go home and instead of winding down i fucking do it again. no reprieve. and then i go to my room and i wait, wait, wait, wait, and wait, and it never fucking ends, and all i do is wait, wait wait, wait, wait, and i barely even get to talk to people who aren't paid to do it anymore, and i wait, wait, wait, and im slowly going more and more insane, and wait, wait, wait, and life is a fucking nightmare, and i wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, and there's no one left to ask for help, and i wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, and think about putting a hole in my skull, and wait, and wait, and wait

[stitchthesewords]

It took me a while to get around to reading your rift au but I am so happy I finally did. (I should have followed atherix’s suggestions sooner lol)

I just wanted to say that I am very much enjoying the story and the dynamics between the characters. Also the way you have built the society under king ren is so interesting? (/pos) Like the way the citizens are just inconvenienced and how ren isn’t actually that fussed about stopping the resistance. It feels like the perfect parallel to the actual videos while still feeling like its own seperate world. 10/10 very well done.

I look forward to reading more (and also figuring out what the heck was happening on grian’s side of the rift to make him so cautious in how he approaches the world)

Ahhhh thank you!!!! It means so much to me that you got to rift AU from Atherix lol.

Yes!!! I am trying so hard to get the vibe of the King arc incorporated into Rift AU while also like. Stretching it out? Making it function societally? I'm very excited to properly introduce how Soup Group works in Rift AU, its very likely they'll be the next major story arc because I have Ideas. I'm also excited because Ren as a king is so fun to mess with? Like - I'm imagining that Hermit Town within Rift AU is brand new to monarchy - they've only had a King for as long as Ren has BEEN king which is only like a few years? At most I think? and Scar and Mumbo and others have existed within Hermit Town for much longer than Ren too. So I think the sort of behind the scenes resistance works well because I think in general Hermit Town is only going along with the King because some good stuff comes out of him [which is how I read early king arc stuff. Frankly the only reason I hc the king arc even ended is Ren got tired of it and tried to be as insufferable as possible to GET overthrown. lolol] I am VERY excited for some Royal Court shenanigans bc I want to write the royal polycule so bad. They're a mess. They are. SUCH a mess. I cannot emphasize enough how utterly messy they are.

Good news! With luck, more should be out either tonight or tomorrow morning [And as a bonus, with some Rift action hehehehehe]

[king-finnigan]

UHHHHHHHHH 68 YENNSKIER??

Your song is: Boys Will Be Bugs by Cavetown

He sighs and ignores the chattering of the other students a few dozen yards away, his eyes following a bumblebee as it dawdles through the leaves above his head. Its buzzing stops for a few seconds as it finds one of the fuchsia-coloured flowers and rests inside its petals to gather the sticky pollen. Then, it launches itself into the air again, its plump little body covered in white powder.

"Hey."

Jaskier closes his eyes and curses at himself and the girl that just made a guest appearance in his little world half underneath the bush. He thought he'd been so well hidden.

"You're the new kid, right?" the voice asks and he resigns himself to awkward small-talk. Where did you come from, why did you move here, couldn't you have stayed there? The same questions he's been asked for the past few days - and frankly, he's fucking tired of it.

"Yup, that's me."

"Why are you in my hiding spot?"

He frowns, flexing his neck to look at the girl and he immediately meets eyes the color of the flowers above his head. "What?"

She sighs, waving her book around annoyedly. "I always come here to read. Shove off. Go be popular somewhere else."

He scoffs and lets his head fall back. He's disgruntled to discover he's lost track of his little, dawdling bumblebee. "I'm not popular."

"Yes, you are. All the other girls adore your stupid little blue eyes and your ridiculous floppy hair. Now piss off, I want to read."

He shrugs. "I'm not stopping you from reading," he says as he lets her words mull around in his head. The girls like him? That would explain why the guys are almost downright bullying him - he's disturbed their social hierarchy of smelly teen boys and that means they want him gone.

He's pulled from his thoughts as a figure appears in the periphery of his vision. It's the strange girl, sitting down in a huff, folding her jean-clad legs in front of her and opening the book in the nook of them.

"I like your sweater," he says before he can stop himself.

"Thanks," she murmurs, pulling at one of the yellow stars embroidered on the black wool for a second. "It's my favorite."

He hears buzzing in the leafs above his head and he spends a few seconds trying to find his bee again, but quickly gives up when the sound grows fainter and fainter - probably towards bigger, better pollen-filled flowers.

"You said 'the other girls' like my hair." He's never been good at keeping his mouth shut, and despite the awkwardness, he grins. "You don't?"

She rolls her eyes, pushing some raven curls behind her ear and pulling up an unfairly perfect eyebrow at him. "No, I don't. Why would I?"

"Because my eyes are very blue and my hair is very bouncy?"

"Ugh." It does hurt when she hits him in the chest with her book, but the slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth makes it worth it. "You're insufferable."

"And you're grumpy."

"Someone has to be."

She folds the book open again, trying to find her page as Jaskier tries to find his bumblebee. They both succeed and fall into an easy silence for a while.

Then the school bell rings.

"Well," the girl says, snapping her book shut. "Back to hell."

"Back to hell," Jaskier agrees.

He pushes himself upright and she ignores his outstretched hand, brushing the dirt off her jeans.

"Alright. Well, bye then, sorry I took your spot." He turns away from her, making the trek back to class.

"Yennefer," comes her voice from behind him.

"What?"

She pulls his eyebrows up at him. "My name, idiot. Yennefer."

He blinks. "Right. I- I'm Jaskier."

She nods decisively. "Horrible name."

"Thanks, you're the worst."

She snorts and starts walking, hitting his shoulder with hers deliberately as she pushes past him. "See you tomorrow, Jask."

He can't help the grin that spreads across his face, a weight he hadn't known was there lifting from his chest. "See you tomorrow, Yenny."

"Fuck off," she calls over her shoulder.

Oh yeah, he muses to himself, they're gonna be great friends.

[goblinhoursinsomniaramblings]

why am i allowed to do things

inspiration struck

i am so sorry

They had been getting along so well, too. The mood swings had ebbed as the baby had started getting big enough to make visible changes to him. He had been able to actually enjoy being held again rather than alternating between needing it desperately and loathing it with every fiber of his body. He and Daniel had been enjoying a lovely, quiet evening with just that, Vlad getting some reading done while his badger had wrapped him and his belly in arms, radiating the low hum of glee one only truly felt around a ghost whose obsession was actively being fed.

It had been sweet, but certain things took priority, and Vlad being absolutely overwhelmed by a need for a cheese bake was one of those very things. (He still believed that, because he still didn’t have it, and if he didn’t get one as soon as possible he was probably going to burn this entire state to the ground.) However, the second he had tried to shift his weight to get up–

“Oh, do you need something? I can get it,” Daniel had suggested.

More strongly than he probably realized, given he had not unwrapped his arms from around Vlad.

“Just a craving, little badger,” Vlad had said, but that had made the arms no looser.

“For what? I can get it for you.”

“I want to make it, Daniel,” he had said, trying very hard to stay patient.

If his mood swings had ebbed, Daniel’s protective instincts had started to flow, and frankly Vlad was finding it insufferable. He knew how hard an obsession could strike, so he did try, but sometimes that Fenton bullheadedness would raise its obnoxious head and the biggest hint in the world would not be taken.

“Let me make it, you take it easy-”

And there it was. The exact moment he knew he would need to be blunt on the matter.

Targeted intangibility let him slip away (and the yelp from behind him as he did so was hilarious) and he moved quickly to his kitchen before the discussion followed him. Thankfully, he had everything in the oven before Daniel had his argument ready and waiting at the entrance.

“You turned on the anti-ghost shields?!”

Not the argument he was expecting, but a compelling one. He had, in fact, turned on the passive defenses so he could bake in peace.

“If I hadn’t, how fast would you have been down here trying to convince me it’s dangerous to bake in my own kitchen?! Cheezits, I have a portal to the Ghost Zone in my basement and this is what you–”

Oh, he saw the exact moment he should have stopped talking. That light in Daniel’s eyes that flicked on when logic clocked out and sheer opportunistic determination kicked in. He had pressed the obsession button, and it was very likely the Ghost Zone was about to pay for it.

“I’m just… going to…” started the young man as he moved towards where he’d hung his jacket.

Vlad followed, mainly out of a complete disbelief he was going to be this… no, end sentence, he could not believe he was going to be this.

“You know I need that portal open-”

“I know but what you said–what if the baby phases down there-”

“And what, somehow fires up the highly advanced technology and wanders out into the shifting infinite energy fields? Are you hearing yourself??”

“I’m just saying, what if they wander out somewhere unsafe? Sometimes the exit point shifts, I gotta make sure it-”

“Yes, and sometimes it randomizes entirely and has to be compensated for, my point is it’s a hypothetical, and a ridiculous one!”

Aaand, he was still putting on his jacket.

Unbelievable.

“What are you going to do, Daniel? Babyproof the entire Ghost Zone?”

“Maybe!”

And that was Vlad’s limit for the night. He was getting his cheese bake, and he was going to forget this entire asinine argument even happened.

Up until he remembered Danny actually had a very credible claim on several portions of the Ghost Zone. And his obsession had just flared.

So this is how Daniel discovers ambition, thought Vlad as he rubbed one of his suddenly throbbing temples.

*skedaddling into your inbox* Hello I heard old man mpreg. Danny cuddling Vlads bump and just has the strong instinct to protect him. Fretting over him like a mother hen and it starts to get on Vladdys nerves. *skedaddles out*

[drowsy-writer]

I Can't Stop— regulus black x reader

Summary: An unmovable object vs. an unstoppable force (aka Reader tries to get Regulus to bed) 

Warning:  cursing, angst, bittersweet fluff, crying

Notes: Reader has she/her pronouns and is a Hufflepuff; this can also be read as either romantic or platonic also yes I sometimes face claim regulus as Benjamin Wadsworth pls don’t @ me i’m new here lol

Hogwarts 1975

Every Hufflepuff knows that when 10:00 hits, the kitchen goes silent. No pots boil, no ovens switch on―without the house elves, the place is as silent as the library on a good day. The alluring scents of the day’s meals would linger in the air, hitting the face of every Hufflepuff who entered eager to make it to their common room and call it a night.

Tonight the smells of roasted chicken and creamy beef stew were replaced with the stingy aroma of coffee as two students sat at the end of the kitchen’s massive table, books spread out amongst themselves. Two gigantic porcelain mugs were placed within arms reach and a fresh pot of coffee sat between them.

“Find anything yet?” the Hufflepuff asked. Her [h/c] curls bounced slightly as she looked up from her piece of parchment, observing the pale Slytherin boy across from her scrunch his brows.

“No,” Regulus shut another book and tossed it on top of the stack next to him. He reached over to his mug, which embarrassingly had an orange flat-faced kitten painted on it, and downed its remaining contents. He then slammed the mug on the table and ran both of his fingers through his short ebony locks,” nothing. Yet.”

“House elves are bound to wake up soon,” [Y/N] mused. She cocked her head towards the tiny door sitting next to the fireplace,” maybe we should call it a night.”

Regulus groaned as he reached for the pot of coffee and poured himself another cup. The pot shook a bit as Regulus poured it, the bags underneath his eyes growing darker. [Y/N] looked at her friend and sighed.

“We’ve gone through almost the whole library, Reggie,” [Y/N] said. Regulus took a quick swig of his refilled cup of coffee and cracked open another book,” look! That’s even the same book you opened last night. Cover and all!”

“Nope,” Regulus held up the book and tapped his pale finger on the cover where it read Volume 2. It was [Y/N]’s time to groan as she took her own mug, this one with a silly looking dog on it, and sipped at the now cold contents. Her face scrunched up as she placed the mug down,” Zatara might’ve been a loon, but he was Bullock’s assistant. He probably hid something in here so Dumbledore or anyone else couldn’t find and burn it..” 

“What makes you think that Volume 2 is gonna have something when the first one didn’t?” [Y/N] had got up from her chair, cold cup of coffee in hand, and dumped it down the drain of the sink behind her. She turned the faucet on, rinsing out the mug and gently putting it back on the drying rack. When [Y/N] spun around, she was met by Regulus’s signature scowl,” don’t get your knickers in a twist. You know I’m right. I’m always right with these sorts of things.”

“I know,” Regulus hissed. He looked back down at the book,” but right now, I’m hoping you’re wrong.”

[Y/N] huffed as she sat back down on her chair again. A small yawn escaped her lips but she knew it’d be a while until Regulus decided to pack his stuff and leave. This was the case every night since 2nd year where Regulus and [Y/N] would stay up right before the elves came back in to prep for breakfast, reading and discussing topics both school related and pure nonsense. Neither knew how this little tradition started and, quite frankly, neither cared. It was a breath of fresh air for [Y/N] and a sense of normalcy Regulus craved for within his ever turbulent life. 

As of recently, however, their midnight meetings were overwhelmed with a sense of dread. It had been months since Regulus had properly been exposed to the world of the Death Eaters and of Lord Voldemort, courtesy of his mother. From then on, he had been put into an almost inescapable hole, one that he was intent of crawling out of. Regulus might've not had the luxury of running away like his brother, but he sure as hell wasn't going to give in without a fight.

“So if I am wrong, what’s gonna happen next?” [Y/N] asked.

Regulus quirked a brow as he stopped reading the passage he was on. Not even bothering to look up, Regulus clicked his tongue in thought. He then, to [Y/N]’s annoyance, shrugged his shoulders and continued to read.

“I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far yet.”

“What do you mean you haven’t thought that far yet? We’ve been looking into Horcruxes for the past three months and you haven’t the clue as to what you’ll do next?!”

“Something like that.”

“You're so—,” [Y/N] let out a muffled scream as she buried her head in her hands,” you're insufferable, you know that? Why am I even friends with you?”

“Haven't thought that far yet either,” Regulus smirked. 

“Very funny, Reggie. Now c’mon,” [Y/N] motioned towards the stack of books,” let’s stash these away. We’ve got a Potions exam tomorrow morning, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

Regulus didn’t make an effort to get up and continued to read through the book. As Regulus flipped through another page, [Y/N] muttered underneath her breath as she jumped down from her seat and walked over to the Slytherin’s side.

“Alright. That’s it.”

Before Regulus could make sense as to what was happening, [Y/N] wrapped her hands around his waist and hoisted him up from the seat.

“[Y/N]?!” Regulus sputtered, dropping the book from his hands,” let me go!”

“Oh shut it, Black! You need to get some sleep!”

Still in her arms, Regulus tensed as their bodies pressed against one another. He cursed himself underneath his breath as his face flushed red.

“Just put me down. Now.”

“No.”

“[Y/N]—!”

[Y/N] tightened her grip as Regulus squirmed within her hold. She dragged him from his chair to the middle of the kitchen where he finally pushed himself off.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You need to sleep, Regulus! You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. You’ll fall back if you keep doing this.”

“Well what else am I supposed to do, then? Run away from my problems like my brother? Ignore them? I can’t just turn away from my family and pretend nothing ever happened!” Regulus shouted. His breathing turned ragged, as if he just finished yet another Quidditch match, “what would you expect for me to do?”

“I—I don’t know! I don’t have the answers for everything!” [Y/N] retorted. Regulus groaned as he turned around, intent on picking up where he left off in his book,” but I do know that when the time comes, whatever remnants of a plan you do have, you’ll be too exhausted to do anything about it!”

Regulus stopped in his step as he stared at the rack of spices before him, afraid of meeting his friend’s eyes. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and turned around. His eyes had yet to meet [Y/N]’s as they shifted throughout the room.

“Why are you—ugh,” Regulus sighed as he ran his hands through his hair,” I just—this is how I work, [Y/N]. You’ve known it since 2nd year. Even when I stop, I can’t stop. When I go to sleep at night, my mind is still racing with all this bullshit about purebloods and Muggles and—.”

“But you can’t just—.”

“—And the fucking potions test you won’t stop telling me about! There’s so many things in my mind that I think Bellatrix’s head looks healthy compared to mine! I can’t stop thinking about my family, my house, even Sirius for Godric’s sake! I can’t stop worrying that if I were to put a pause for even a sliver of a second, everything I’ll ever love will cease to exist. I can’t risk that [Y/N]. Not for a second. Not when I have so much on the line.”

[Y/N] looked down at the floor as her friend’s words ran rapid through her head. She touched her forehead with the palm of her hand, dragging them down until they met the bridge of her nose. 

“Fucking—I know that, Regulus. I just—,” [Y/N] gave a pained expression as she pinched the bridge of her nose,”—fuck! I just want you to be okay, ok? You’re my friend. My best friend, actually. It hurts like hell because there’s nothing I can do about it. I can get you as many books as you want, sneak out around the castle as much as you want, lie to as many people as you want , but I can’t—no. I won’t stand here and watch you whittle away. Not when I can do something to prevent it.”

Regulus swallowed hard as his eyes met [Y/N]’s and the pit that had been growing inside his chest began to increase, pushing painfully against his rips. He felt his lungs constrict and if Regulus didn’t know any better, he’d say someone casted a Crucio curse on him and it was slowly ripping his body from the inside out.

“I just can’t let him win, [Y/N],” Regulus mumbled. He leaned back on the table and pressed both hands to his face, rubbing at his eyes as tears began to build up in the corners,” I can’t let that thing win, no matter what.”

Shielding his face from [Y/N], Regulus quietly sobbed as his friend stood in front of him, tears threatening to pour out from her eyes as well. Taking a deep, shaky breath, [Y/N] slowly walked towards her friend and gently wrapped her arms around him. Despite the slight size difference, [Y/N] was able to situate her friend so that his face was buried in the crook of her neck. She combed a hand through his inky, black locks.

“I know won’t,” [Y/N] said,” but I highly doubt snake face over there is going to wait for you to take a quick power nap. We’ll beat him, but not like this.”

Regulus’s grip tightened around [Y/N] and she felt his lips pull into a smile as a low chuckle emitted from him. 

“It’s amazing how you’re not a Ravenclaw with how much wisdom you spout out.”

“Well I’m far more interested in my friends then a bloody book,” [Y/N] stepped back, hands still wrapped around Regulus, and smiled,” now let’s clean up and head to bed. You deserve at least one good night’s rest.”

[sneverussape]

i haven’t had this oc for more than a week and already i’m torturing him.

sappy brother things below.

anyway, since @byronicbat asked: does titus know of severus’ role in the war? yes and no. he knows there’s a war coming, but he doesn’t know just how deeply severus is involved, and how everything is hinged on him. titus knows he’s a spy, because sometimes severus goes to the farm to heal after a rough time with the DEs, but as much as possible, severus tries not to involve his brother. it doesn’t often work, because titus is horrified at the various states severus arrives in, and more than once gets into an argument with him about leaving the wizarding world and its madness behind. it’s reminiscent of tobias‘ own tirades, only this time it’s punctuated by bouts of wild magic expelled by titus that sometimes takes out chunks of the farmland, and it’s never directed at severus. it’s fear that drives the anger, they know. titus is afraid of what can happen, of losing the only family he has left to two madmen hellbent on claiming lordship of a world and, truthfully, severus is too. both of them secretly want to be allowed the leeway to be selfish, to give in to the temptation of picking up and disappearing into the muggle world, but it’s not anything either of them has the stomach for. titus curses the wizarding world, curses dumbledore and voldemort, curses severus for ever getting himself involved in the mess, but always keeps a lookout for random pops and thumps in the night, in case his brother ever needs his assistance. he’s a dab hand at basic healing spells, even without a wand, and can channel his magic to make them more effective. titus isnt impressed whenever severus comes only after reporting to dumbledore, thus making his injuries wait.

that old coot can wait, he says with gritted teeth. if you’re hurt, stop acting like an arse and come home. don’t you see you’re only making it worse? for a self-proclaimed genius, you’re a bloody idiot.

(it surprises him that severus responds well to this statement and does end up coming home more often to seek his help. severus doesn’t tell him he prefers titus’ tutting and rebuking more than poppy’s, and his healing magic is frankly remarkable, but there’s never enough time to study it)

when severus says goodbye to him at the end of his yearly summer visit (1996), titus already knows it’s the last time. despite his efforts, severus is thinner, more anxious, and his hands are constantly clenched into fists. even though he wants to, this time he doesn’t argue for his brother to stay. it isn’t his world, and it isn’t his fight, but he knows severus is a stubborn bastard who will do what must be done. he looks his brother over and embraces him.

try not to be an insufferable martyr and come home soon, yeah?

severus gives him a wry smile. i’ll try not to track blood into the sitting room next time.

as titus lets him go, he holds on to the hope that someday severus will find his way home again.

(and he does, eventually, but with a horrific neck wound and hastily stated instructions from narcissa malfoy, but that’s for another time)

[sparklingpax]

A Different Side (2/2)

Summary: Optimus comes back from an unsuccessful mission and seems to be out of sorts…but there’s more to that story.

///

A/N:

-Part 1 arguably where I should have ended it :’)

-Literally been a year and I apologize so hard sdjdj ;w; also this part is too long asfsksdjfl aaa 

-BEFORE YOU ATTACK ME, this is not “the first time optimus ever makes a joke!!!” kind of story, despite how much it looks like that. It’s just. something,,,

-as usual, there are definitely typos and mistakes; hopefully I get around to fixing them aha ^^’’ Also please don’t mind the weird spacing, for some reason the way I type things out never seems to translate well to when I put it here so,,,

-please I’m literally not funny, my humor is broken 😀 Like, I didn’t quite know how to continue or conclude this, and it’s not creative or interesting at all and it highkey doesn’t make sense tbh?? so aaa qwq I just hope it’s not too cringe,,,,but I did say I’d finish it so rather than keep y’all waiting any longer than I already have, here it is....part 2....

-I just. wanna apologize again that it took so long and this scrappy second bit is all I have to show for it. hh. 

///

             “At last…” Ratchet sighed contentedly to himself.

             He carefully placed two pieces of metal together and wielded them to one smooth shape.

             Stepping back to admire his work, smiling a little, he then picked it up and started towards the supply room. 

             After a long day of work, Ratchet was pleased to finally be able to place the repaired tool back on its shelf and retreat to his room for a few hours of quiet reading.

             Maybe three at the very most, he wagered his bet with a slight grimace. 

             After all, it was commonplace for commotion to interrupt his every attempt to enjoy himself quietly.

             Such is my fate. 

             However, hearing a familiar set of footsteps thumping slowly down the halls, Ratchet paused.

             “Optimus? Is that you?”

             He leaned to the side and peered down the hall.

             Said mech emerged from the corridor and into the medic’s view. He had a funny look in his eye as he came to a stop quite abruptly. 

             He placed his hands on his hips and regarded Ratchet for a strange few moments of….awkward silence…before speaking.

             “Ratchet,” his voice tremored almost imperceptibly, “Would you consider me…humorous?”

             The medic blinked at him. He was officially more confused.

             He had been just about to ask what had happened to upset him so much earlier, or if there was anything he wanted to talk about, one-on-one.

             After all, from time to time, Optimus would reach a point where he could no longer bear whatever was troubling him. And of course, Ratchet was right there for him, ready to listen and help. In the end, he was able to get Optimus to say what was troubling him, and they would talk about it or they wouldn’t. But something about the way Optimus walked away each time told Ratchet he’d done at least something to help.

             “…Ratchet?” Optimus prompted him gently, eyes showing a little concern.

             Scrap, I still haven’t answered his question—Ratchet, focus!

             Still, the thought drifted through the recesses of his mind: had Optimus…not been upset in the first place? 

             If so...what had it been all about? 

             Or was he simply reading too much into it?

             At a loss as to how to answer, the medic fumbled for a word to say in response. 

             He actually didn’t know, now that he thought about it. 

             Optimus—or Orion, even—had never really attempted to be funny before as far as Ratchet knew...which Ratchet was well aware that he didn’t know everything. It couldn’t be a yes or no. Of course, there were moments Orion was humorous, everyone has their moments.

              No, he means funny—as in, on a regular basis, as something part of his personality, even. And to that....

             A more appropriate response was ‘why?’ 

            But Ratchet knew better than to snark at Optimus like that. It was uncalled for, at the moment.  

             Perhaps Megatron would be more likely to know.

             After all, it had been him Orion had spent the most time with back in those days.

             As if I could just call him and ask! 

             “W-well, Optimus, I wouldn’t really know that!” Ratchet paused, feeling slightly guilty for his tone of voice just then. “You’ve never tried to be…that I knew of, anyway…”

             Optimus just nodded slowly. That weird glint in his optics remained. It hit him that something seemed….different. Like the Prime was planning on...doing something. 

             Just then, footsteps alerted the two of Jack’s arrival. He came into view, leaning against the wall and panting. He pointed wordlessly at Optimus for a second, trying to catch his breath. Ratchet stared at him, somehow growing more confused as the seconds passed. Then, finally, Jack straightened, managing to say what he’d wanted to.

             “Optimus was…not upset…”

             “What?!” Ratchet practically squawked. “What?!”

             Optimus glanced from Jack to Ratchet, looking surprised for all of a moment, then simply nodded. Just then, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead returned to base. Their engines could be heard from all the way down the corridor. They skidded to a halt in front of Optimus and Ratchet, transforming a backing up a bit.

             “Oh no,” Bulkhead murmured to his teammates. “Cue pissed-off Ratchet.”

             And pissed Ratchet was. 

             He had been worried for his friend.

             “Wh—then—why on earth did you go off to your room in such a huff?!” The medic exclaimed, setting down the newly-repaired tool not-so-gently.

             “That is—”

             “AND WHY WOULDN’T YOU OPEN THE DOOR?!”

             “I—”

             Just as Optimus was about to answer, a proximity alarm went off. Everyone gathered wordlessly around the main computer screen as Ratchet pulled up the video feed. He rolled his optics, sighing heavily.

             Instantly everyone knew it could only be Agent Fowler.

             Jack took this opportunity to attempt to get Optimus’s attention and pull him aside for a second. He waved and whispered the Prime’s name.

             When Optimus finally heard him, he departed from the group and made his way over to Jack, kneeling down when the human motioned for it.

             “Hey, Optimus,” Jack started, a bit awkwardly. “Sorry—uh……so....I saw what you were watching…”

             “Oh…” Optimus instantly looked kind of embarrassed. “Well, I was….admittedly….curious.”

             Jack tilted his head.

             In the background, their liaison to the government was shouting something about Bumblebee and a burger joint parking lot, to which Ratchet was defending his teammate and annoyedly asking how it could be his fault or problem.

             “After yesterday,” Optimus began to elaborate quietly, “Miko said...something to Ratchet. It dawned on me that Earth humor is much different from Cybertronian humor—which, in honesty, I never knew much about anyway.”

             “You mean when she yelled ‘in this world, it’s yeet or be yeeted’ to Ratchet after he asked why Bulkhead decided to throw that guy he was fighting?”

             “Yes.”

             “So…” Jack sighed. He looked so confused. “You looked up vines?”

             “No, Jack,” Optimus responded rather seriously. “I used the Google Engine program you children seem to enjoy so much—”

             Enjoy…not when you have friends like mine, Optimus. I’ve seen some things...

             “—to find the meaning of ‘yeet.’ Through my research, I came across the concept you humans refer to as…” his optics flicked to the ceiling for a second as he held up a hand and air-spelled the word, trying to remember the pronunciation. “…Memes.”

             “You…you found memes?” Jack repeated, as if he couldn’t process this. 

             “Yes, Jack,” Optimus affirmed, looking very pleased with himself. He had that same sparkle as when he watched his teammates laugh, when he was tired but relieved everyone returned from a mission alive.

             Except. It was for memes he found. On the internet.

             Jack was about to ask another question when Optimus abruptly stood up again. He put a finger against his lip in a shushing motion, smirking ever so slightly. A twinkle in his eye told Jack all he needed to know.

             “O-Optimus, which videos did you exactly—”

             “Vine is no longer dead!!” Optimus whispered a little too excitedly.

             And then he winked.

             “This is a dream,” Jack murmured in disbelief as he heard Optimus walk away.

             He was apparently going to try to make vine jokes.

             Jack knew it would be hilarious, but he was also worried for the Prime’s dignity. 

             Oh, Lord.

///

            “Oh, YOU want to hang up on ME?!”

            “THAT’S DAMN RIGHT,” Ratchet hollered back, “YOU CAN TAKE YOUR COMPLAINTS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR—”

             ‘Ratchet!!!’ Bumblebee cut in, looking rather uneasy. He hated it when people were shouting at each other like that.

             The medic whipped around and Bumblebee flinched a bit. The older mech was fuming.

             He had been in a generally awful mood after the events of the day, and as the seconds of silence passed, he realized just how angry he was—or at least, how he seemed to everyone else.

             Can’t vent frustrations like this, Ratchet—you have to talk it out. He stared back up at the computer screen and watched Agent Fowler straighten his tie as he started up again.

             “Now you listen to me, Ratchet. Neither I—nor my superiors—will tolerate your—”

             Ratchet decided he’d had enough of dealing with others’ foul moods, because they were only making him even more upset.  

             “Agent Fowler, I’m frankly not the bot you want to talk to right now. These are not my doings, you in fact have no qualms with me. All you do is call us up and gripe at us, and no one here appreciates it,” he hissed at him, having toned his voice down to a mild stern one.

             “HEY!! DON’T YOU DARE—”

             “Goodbye.”

             And with a simple tap, the base fell silent again.

             “Well….that’s that,” Arcee said.

             “Yup,” Bulkhead agreed.

             ‘Why is Fowler so aggressive all the time?’ Bumblebee buzzed, annoyed. Arcee shifted her weight and shrugged.

             “He wants what’s best for humans, and he’s concerned for the planet. I mean, yeah--he has the right to tell us to be careful and all,” she made her guess. Then her optic twitched as she, too began to look rather irked. “But he’s so….”

             “Insufferably rude,” Ratchet finished for her. Arcee nodded.

             ‘And…loud.’

             After a moment of attempting to compose himself, Ratchet turned to Optimus, who had discreetly drawn up beside them.

             The medic was about to ask him what the scrap he’d been doing and why he left Ratchet to fight with Agent Fowler on his own. It was usually Optimus who took the calls, and that’s why there wasn’t always an argument like this. Fowler would yell at Optimus, but not for long.

             They had some kind of interesting mutual respect for one another. Of course, all the bots respected Fowler—even when he was being overly aggressive—but Optimus seemed to even get along with the government agent in a special way.

            Even more of a reason he should have been the one to talk to him.

            So, Ratchet was annoyed. Or he was.

             It was then he noticed the grin on his leader’s face. His first question was understandably, why.

             Before Ratchet could speak, Optimus put up one digit and tapped it against his lips, as if to signal for quiet.

             “I apologize,” he said solemnly, leaning a bit closer to Ratchet. The medic felt his spark begin to pound, and was sure that some color was heading to his face. He swallowed.

             “That’s alright….but, uhm…what were you doing instead?”

             “I was discussing with Jack a rather important finding…” he responded quietly. Ratchet tilted his head at Optimus.

             Arcee and Bulkhead exchanged confused looks. Bumblebee debated leaving the room or asking what exactly he was talking about.

             It was at that moment, Optimus bit his lip, visibly trying to hard not to laugh. He then took a shaky breath and stood straight.

             “Ratchet, I have but one question.”

              Tentatively, Ratchet moved the conversation forward. 

             “…yes?”

             Optimus pointed to his tools lying on the metal surface behind the two, and with the most level tone, spoke.

             “...What are thoooooose?”

             There was silence before Ratchet slowly and rather confusedly glanced back at the desk. He answered Optimus just as slowly. 

             “They’re.....my…reparation tools….”

             And with that, Jack lost it laughing so hard from the corner. Optimus looked on the verge of bursting into laughter himself.

             But Ratchet wasn’t laughing. He just stood, blank. 

             Very quickly, Optimus realized no one else was laughing either—except for Jack, of course—because they also looked like they were trying to process this.

             He felt a pang of worry.

             Even if gradually, Optimus had been hoping for a long while that he could show his teammates that Primes do laugh, lose their cool, cry, and party. It was a silly notion, he would often chide himself. Nonetheless…it was a hope.

             After all, it was the only reason he had gone to the Google Engine and decided to try and figure out what exactly humor entailed.

             But…I might have approached this incorrectly.

             Now looking just a little annoyed, Ratchet backed up and picked up his tools. He had no idea what had just happened and wanted some time alone in his quarters. 

           Optimus gently grabbed his shoulder, causing him to stop and look at him again. The Autobot leader looked rather abashed, obviously regretting the last five minutes of his existence. 

            In the background, Jack had gone over to the other Autobots and started explaining what had happened, the vines, the context of what Optimus had just pulled…

            “I…apologize, Ratchet…” Optimus looked away for a moment. “It seems I…lack the ability of timing…”

             Ratchet blinked a few times, then setting down the tools, he sighed.

             “Optimus…”

             “I know now that it is not my place to attempt humor.” He looked quite sad, but at the same time, resigned to it. Ratchet was about to tell Optimus that not everyone was cut out for everything, and that he was rather amusing in his own way.

             But he was interrupted for a second time by laughter. Ratchet and Optimus instead turned to see behind them, the other three team members absolutely losing it.

             Optimus was taken aback.

             He wondered briefly if they were laughing at how pitiful his attempt at humor had been. Then Bumblebee spoke up.

             ‘Jack just told us what that actually meant!’

             “Yeah!”  Bulkhead chimed in. “And now I wanna know what vines are!”

             Arcee, giggling, added, “Yeah, and what crocs are.”

             Ratchet felt Optimus next to him, struggling to contain his pride, and himself began to laugh. At this, Optimus let a little of that joy show, smiling and standing straight again. 

            What a funny thing to be proud of…

            But, then again, that had been the Prime’s intent.

///

*dies* I’m sorry I even wrote this please forgive me--

[yarbz]

cowardly game of rival — n.jaemin ( f )

synopsis!

 ━ as the girl’s football team captain, you were used to the endless derogatory taunts, the wolf-whistling, the attempts at romance being boys telling you what they thought of barcelona’s starting XII. na jaemin fell into all those catergories, a detestable flea in your hair. as sworn enemies, there was not even an inkling of romance, and you were convinced that your attraction to him was ONLY physical. weren’t you?

pairing ━ na jaemin x female!reader

word count ━ 6k

genres ━ fluff, rival!au, football!au, comedy, romance, very little of the football game is described in detail.

warnings ━ profanity, football terms, dirty jokes, y/n and jaemin are literally just cowards

( author's note! )

this one came to mind when i thought of how i love female footballers and decided that jaemin would be the idiot in question to chicken out of confessing to their crush by being an ass instead. i really hope you like it !! other notes are sissoko is the name of like three different players and a cracker is slang for a really good goal.

Football.

A sport of creatively insane wits, fancy footwork and incoherent celebrations. Those were all the things you loved about it, along with the ridiculously cute uniform.

It provided you an escape from the man's world, a chance to carve out your own story, free from the shackles of stereotypes. At least, that's what you'd initially thought.

Unfortunately, the boy's football team made it their sole objective in life to demean you. As captain, you took on the strenuous task of refusing to resort to physical violence when a stupid comment about your short length was made or when boys assumed you couldn't tell your Sissoko's apart (you could, quite well actually).

You had taken it as a sign of war, and refused to comment on their pathetic sneers. You did, however, feel as if Na Jaemin made a blood pact or something to be a parasite towards you.

He stood at the cusp of six foot, towering over you like an evergreen beanstalk, cheshire-cat like smile taunting you. Chocolate colour tresses fell over his eyes in straight lines, shielding his forehead.

It's not like you paid attention to his visage, but even you had to admit in your spite that he was attractive. And horribly so.

Today started like every other, going to your locker before heading to your homeroom. Luckily, you'd managed to get there before the freshmen started to pile in. Being a senior had its positives along with its various faults, one of them being the early access you got to the school.

You jammed your key in the lock, flinging open the locker door, making quick work of exchanging your books. In your fast-paced stupor, you didn't notice the figure leaning behind the door. You slammed the door shut, nail catching an patch of skin, scraping it.

"If you wanted me to leave, you could've been less catty." The voice wheedled, throwing a withering glare in your direction. You rolled your eyes, annoyed, arms crossed across your chest.

"Jaemin." You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Why are you hiding behind my locker? Are you looking for a death wish?"

He sat up slowly, soothing his reddening nose, suddenly regaining his smile as he leaned closer towards your face. "If I was looking for a death wish, I'd eat whatever food you just stuffed in there."

"Fuck off. Don't see you making any gourmet meals."

"I'm the gourmet meal." He slithered, breath fanning your nose. From this distance, you could see the wonder swimming within his eyes, breath caught in your throat.

Damn, he was too fine.

You tore your gaze from his eyes, "And yet, I don't feel inclined to taste it." He jumped back in surprise, eyes widening, giving you an opening to dash. Chuffed that you left him speechless, you walked towards your next class, resisting the urge to turn back to revel in his awe-struck face.

Jaemin's eyebrow quirked in curiosity, crooked smirk hanging from his lips. He watched you stalk away, cursing underneath his breath softly. You carried a fiery aura around you, burning him with every snarky remark — even though it beat him bruised ghastly lavenders, he could bear to play with fire if it meant you would pay him attention.

You see, Jaemin did not hate you as per say. The 'hate' which you believed in was merely his inability to profess his affections towards you. For lack of a better word, he was a coward.

A dashingly handsome one, but a fragile, chicken-legged coward all the same.

You'd made it to class in record time, ego bared boldly on your shoulders, attracting the curious eyes of your best friends Yangyang and Donghyuck. Both were terrorists in their own right, but you couldn't help loving them all the same. Sure, they came as a dreadful pair, but love had decided to shackle your heart to them.

"What's got you so happy? Jaemin finally drop dead?" Yangyang joked, shifting to make space for you. Headband strapped to the pinnacle of his forehead, he grinned at you from beneath the base of stretchy ebony material.

"No..not yet." You hummed, sad lilt to your tone.

"Awh, didn't kill him yet?" Donghyuck teased, nudging Yangyang in their laughter. "I think it must be love stopping you from committing the crime yourself." You shoved both, peals of laughter tickling your throat at their whines of pain.

"If you don't shut up, I'll be killing you two instead, never mind Jaemin." You snapped. "Love is what I feel when I score a cracker from the halfway line. Seeing Jaemin makes me want to jump out of the nearest window."

"Are you sure it's not just unresolved sexual tension? I, too get antsy when I haven't jacked off—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll have no arms."

"I'm flexible enough to suck myself off." Yangyang mused, "You'll never stop my libido."

"You're disgusting." You and Donghyuck said in sync, swatting his grabby hands from flying at your shoulders. Quite frankly, you didn't want to hear about his freakishly boneless limbs, or his untameable sex drive, nor hear anything about his genitals at all.

"Does that count as self—"

"Yes, it does. Please don't be telling people that I'm your friend, or that you can do that. It's not a little icebreaker."

Friendship with these two had crossed all sorts of personal boundaries you didn't know existed, and it was starting to decompose you, like a rotting piece of cabbage infested by slugs, yet still hanging on for the glimpse of sunlight to regenerate.

Okay, so you were being dramatic. But, that didn't explain their dire need to over share certain aspects of their lives with you.

"Doesn't change the topic at hand —Did you get my pun?" He asked, looking for Donghyuck's reaction.

"I did. Not going to comment on it before she breaks my arms. Just know I enjoyed it very much."

"If I wanted to mess around with Jaemin, I'd put my hand in a beehive. It'd sting less." You snarled, slamming down your books. They winced comically, faces alert as the teacher walked into the class.

Apart from football, you enjoyed learning — how to make things, break things, self defense, people skills, and education fell not too far from that. Classes like biology interested you greatly, which is why you found yourself fully immersed in the process of respiration.

Your mind drifted for a second, thinking back to what he'd said. Was it actually sexual tension? Did you actually bare an emotion other than loathing towards him? Then, you thought of that face and how you'd want to do nothing more than break his pretty little nose—

Yeah. There it was. You were normal after all.

School had come to her daily dreadful end, and you were happily striding into the ladies' changing rooms for football training. Nobody had gotten here yet, luckily.

You glanced over into the full body mirror, tugging at your shorts until they fell just above the bump of your knee, pulling your sock midway at your calf. Lean abs shone underneath the dim light, and you proudly paraded around the room, happy to be alone.

A knock on the door came, and you swung the door open with a feverish excitement. "Who is it?"

"Didn't take me as a bra kinda girl. Was thinking more spandex or a binder." Jaemin seethed, hands on hips, azure jersey hanging off his lithe frame.

"You're insufferable. Why are you here?" You groaned, choosing to ignore his taunt at your breast size. His eyes crinkled into upside down crescents, wandering lower to the dip of your frilly black bra.

"To see my favourite girl, of course." He whistled, eyes still glued to your unmarked expanse of skin. "I think those need a new owner." He pointed towards your chest.

"Preferably one whose face I can stand to look at."

"I'm roaring with laughter." You snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm, making no attempt to cover yourself up. Jaemin was still staring, face flushed a flaming cerise. "You gonna keep staring or are you gonna leave me alone?"

"I'm not staring. Why are you staring at me?" He shot defensively. Your eyes narrowed at him, watching his cheeks darken with every lingering stare.

"You're in the girl's changing room, drooling over two lumps of fat on the body of a girl that you hate. The real inquisition here is your lack of sensibility to stop thirsting after anything with a vagina."

Jaemin stayed silent, eyes boring holes into your full lips, tongue instinctively darting out to wet his own nimble, chapped ones. Rolling your eyes, you lead him to the door, hand clasped against the door handle.

Then, you heard loud footsteps approaching the room, incoherent rambling increasing in clarity. You began to conjure up a plan, wondering how on Earth you'd be able to kick Jaemin out without the girls knowing.

With the shouts of the team gradually getting closer, you panicked, chucking Jaemin into a locker.

"Fine, I'll leave! Lemme out!" He squirmed, trying to come out of the metal confines.

"You can't leave now, they're literally outside. Do you want to be stomped to death by Nike Mercurials?" You hissed, closing the door over, much to his protests.

"Don't wanna die with the last image being your breasts."

"If you survive this, I'll gladly provide you a new image."

He shut up at that, and you straightened, reaching for your jersey in a false calmness. The girls burst in, squeals of various greetings being thrown across the room.

You smiled gently at them, encouraging them to get changed, joining in to laugh at their jokes. The topic kept shifting from manicures to new boots before finally settling on Na Jaemin.

"Cap'n, what's going on with you and Jaemin?" One of the girls asked, batting her eyelashes softly. "A boy on the football team told me that you guys are dating."

Dating..that devil? A sin punishable by death! You repelled all instinct to shudder in disgust, instead choosing to maintain a neutral expression.

"I am absolutely not dating Na Jaemin. He's a despicable little mongrel and I'd rather eat my shoe—"

"Mon bébé chérie, why do you curse me like this?" Jaemin squeezed from the locker, voice like a wounded puppy.

"Did you hear that? I think it was—"

"No! It's my Jaemin impression. Isn't it so good?" You spluttered, voice rising in volume. You were sure that your face was a painful beetroot, breathing crazily as you over-exerted yourself.

"Cap'n, it was so good I almost thought Jaemin was in here with us!" She gushed, hands clasped. "You guys would be so cute together. Even if you don't like him, I think he most definitely has feelings for you."

The rest of the girls joined in at this, shouts of 'you should take a chance!' resounding in the hollow room. You'd already ruled out that as a possibility, chalking it down to his uncontrollable thirst for being a pest. Na Jaemin was your rival, the utter bane of your existence, a rodent that fed on robbing your spirits dry of any positivity.

"He'll get a chance when pigs fly." You muttered, noticing their eyes staring at you inquisitively, as if they knew something you didn't. Awkwardly, you smiled at the girls, ushering them towards the door, scanning the hallway after the last one had skipped out.

Jaemin untangled himself from the locker, straightening his limbs, pulling at his calves in a stretch. You peered over your shoulder, frown deepening at him.

"Did you mean what you said?" Jaemin breathed, walking into your personal bubble. He was way too close. His breath tickled your forehead, eyes dark with something you couldn't decipher.

He felt his heart pound against his chest, resisting the urge to pick the stray hair in your eye to the side. You were looking at him with a confused expression, nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed. You were going to be the death of him. Devastated, he broke eye contact, feeling all forms of fight seep from his bones.

"You don't like me." You whispered, wincing at the wobble in your voice. "Everyone's just saying that....right?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"No. I want you to say no."

"I can't do that."

"Well, you have to say no. I don't want to hear the rest of your sentence — keep us as just this." You softly yelled, pointing between the pair of you. "Don't change anything."

"Okay. I'll leave, but only because you want me to. But, before I go..you've gotta start being more observant." He sighed, ruffling your hair before making his way out.

"I’m plenty observant. Wouldn’t be a good player if I wasn’t.”

"I’ll see it when I believe it. Oh, and the thing you said about pigs flying..”

“What about it?”

“Renjun’s working on it.”

You laughed heartily, locking the door behind you. So, Jaemin did in fact think of you as his Aphrodite — all those nicknames were genuinely created out of affections. 'Mon bébé chérie' held a lot more emotional weight than it did twenty minutes ago, and you had to breathe before your eyes prickled with saltine tears.

Fresh air hit you like a loaded delivery truck, Mother Nature delicately wiping the tears from your eyes, shaking you with a cold flourish, roaring your cheeks to life. The team had already started their warm-up drills, as opposed to the boys' football team who were cooling down from their jog.

You ran over, tightening your ponytail, shifting into 'Captain' mode. The coach pushed you into the circle, encouraging you to take the reins. "Team, we've been doing nothing but straight work. Let's make this session count before the match tomorrow." You shouted, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline.

The team chanted back, settling into their positions for the first drill — a penalty shoot out. You stepped to the ball, striding back to gain a better angle, socks hugging your knees.

Giving yourself a five second countdown, you charged at the ball, foot pointed, kicking it with a passion that rivalled Lionel Messi. It rolled in the back of the net, flying past Hyejoo, who could barely even process it.

"Still got those fire feet, I see, Cap'n!"

"Lady Luck gave them to me for a reason." You boasted, smugness slapped all over your face.

From the corner of your eye, Jaemin snickered, winking at you when you turned to make eye contact. At least he had the audacity to keep up appearances in front of everyone, even if you had probably made everything awkward.

"My granny could kick better than that, babes!" He boomed from across the pitch, teasing smirk on his lips.

"Your granny lives in a retirement home and still calls on you 'Nana Banana'..it's not very nice to lie." You retorted, eyes narrowed, nearing his hunched form.

"Doesn't mean she can't kick your ass. Granny was a little Aguero back in the day."

"She can't if I'm the Manè, can she?"

"But I'm a Modric. I'll beat your ass, any day, any time." He grinned, leaning in to you. "In any way you want."

You heard blood pumping in your ears, your cheeks filling with immense heat. He grabbed your cheeks softly, grinning even wider when you flushed even warmer, a human sauna. Pushing a lock out of your eyes, he searched your eyes for any sense of rage, face softening at your lack of that emotion.

"Any..way..I want?" You mouthed silently, innuendo catching your attention again as you mulled over the words. "Na Jaemin, you're a dirty boy."

"I think you're the dirty girl." He hummed, saying the next sentence in an octave that made your head spin, quietly enough that only the two of you could hear. "Sauntering around in your little Victoria's Secret bra, cozying up to me without even batting an eyelash or covering up."

"These boobs are mine. I'm allowed to show them to anyone I want."

"So you admit to showing them to me? You admit that you were trying to put on a show for me?" He pressed, purposely craning his neck over you.

"I was trying to change. If you didn't come into the room like a little pervert, you'd never have gotten a visual of these."

"And yet I know how they look now. There's nothing that can erase that image."

"Fuck you, Na Jaemin."

"I think you meant to say fuck me, but I'll allow the slip-up just because I'm so nice." You squirmed under his predatory gaze, heat in your cheeks akin to a fever. "Better get back to training, Cap. Your team's got a match tomorrow."

You hissed at him weakly, choosing to walk away from his provocation, going back to the team, who were all smiling at you with a glint in their eye. By the looks on their faces, they'd definitely taken that exchange as a form of flirting.

Not that you were disputing it, of course.

The coach rounded the girls up, calling them to grab bibs. You relaxed, running over to take the last bib once you'd calmed down. Na Jaemin was a little toe-sucking, filthy mongrel who only knew how to charm his way out of everything — totally not your ideal type or anything.

His penance for being blunt coupled with that honeyed voice was what was throwing you off. Not your physical attraction to him. At least, you hoped so.

The shrill shriek of the whistle behind you shook you out of your mind, bringing your attention back to the practice game. With every shot at the goal, you could see Jaemin taunting you, making kissy faces.

After the first half, you weren't sure if it was real or if you were hallucinating — almost like a mirage, he was wearing that stupid little smirk and there was nothing more you wanted than to slap those lips clean off his face.

Soon enough, you clocked that it wasn't just an illusion, as he'd shifted to the opposite end of the pitch, the other boys from the football team watching from the stands.

They'd started jeering at every pass, exaggerating their reactions, commentary toeing the border of sexual harassment. You volleyed the ball on your foot, battering it into the stands, grinning widely as it hit one of the boys in the face, leaving his nose lopsided.

"If you're gonna be a sexist piece of shit, just fuck off. My team doesn't deserve to hear your brain-dead commentary, nor see your fuck face." You smiled, bite in your voice. "Kindly take the opinion that nobody asked for and shove it up your ass."

Jaemin's eyes twinkled with respect, breath caught in his throat at the dark look in your eyes. He felt his chest warm in adoration, heart doubling in size. "You heard the lady."

"Includes you too, Jaemin. Better get home before Granny Na starts missing her little boy."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fuck off." You said playfully, recovering the ball. He waved you bye, lugging his bag over his shoulder, fixing the collar of his jersey. A beam touched your lips, face lighting up.

Jaemin smirked back at you, taking his leave. He dragged the remnants away with him, leaving the girl's football team alone in the cooling dwindle of Autumn light.

"Nice shorts." A tug.

"Oh? Na Jaemin complimenting me?" You mused in surprise, arms folded across your chest.

"You didn't let me finish." Jaemin whispered, standing on the sidelines of the pitch, pulling at the hem of your shorts. "Ooh, I can see your stubble. Better bring out the razor."

Your jaw tightened, feeling that rush of annoyance fill your veins again. The nerve.

"More stubble than you'll ever grow on that chin."

"At least I'm not a human Sasquatch."

"I've got hair in the right places—" You started, catching the innuendo, glaring at Jaemin's raised eyebrows. "—I know what I meant. Don't be such a dirty boy."

"Say it again. Love the way it rolls off your tongue."

You gaped at him, whole body blowing a fuse, skin reddening at his tone. Sweltering heat danced atop each fingertip, each muscle, making you jolt. His gaze was still glued to your face, relishing the quickly dilating pupils in your eyes.

"I—"

"—Would rather have you speechless after our first time, not for your championship final. When you win, I'll buy you fucking adorable ice cream with the little star sprinkles that you like."

"Going to ignore you on that first statement, but the second one sounds like a motive."

"Win the match, and I'll ask you out. Properly."

You saw his eyes flash with something passionate, flakes of gooey molasses swirling behind the irises. Before you opened your mouth to reply to him, he pleaded silently for you to just take it as it was. "Gimme a chance. Who knows you better than your enemy? Nobody."

"I mean..."

"Only you know that my grandma calls me those corny names or that I see her all the time."

"Or that you lose every game that's not football because you're too lazy to pay attention." You added.

"And I know that you broke a guy's jaw because he was bothering Yangyang." He continued. "And I also know that you know one thing I've never told anyone."

"Ooh, what's that?"

"That I like you."

You looked away from him sheepishly, goosebumps popping up on your skin, and whether it was from the cold or from his words, you didn't know. He was looking down at you tenderly, ruffling your bed of hair, pressing a small, wet kiss to your forehead as the whistle blew.

"Don't play with fire, Na."

"You're more like a carpet burn."

You sighed, defeated. "Fine. I'll give you an answer when we win. If you're playing me, I'll break your arms."

"Okay. Go get 'em, Lady Luck." He smiled, waving you off as you scurried onto the pitch, face glowing under the fluorescent lights. Jaemin felt his chest tighten with pride, jaw aching from all the strenuous smiling.

With that absurdly contented face, you reminded him of a cross between a kid at a carnival and a man about to kill another. Your hair gathered wildly atop your head, a wicked glare painting your face.

This was you at peace, he deduced. Even with the gruesome of expressions, you looked calm. The pitch was truly your home away from home.

Two minutes into the second half saw you being carried off on a stretcher with a torn hamstring. You'd fallen to the grass, no sounds coming from your limp body. Jaemin swore he felt his heart plunge into his ass, and with a frantic flourish, he was coddling your head into his chest.

"Luck, don't die on me. I'm supposed to take you out for ice cream after this, and I stole Renjun's Baskin Robbins loyalty card to cut costs so if we don't go, I'll be getting beat up without having kissed your stupid face." He babbled, slapping your cheeks, scared that you'd genuinely lost your life.

You groaned, rolling slowly in the elastic. "Stop touching my face, I'll get acne." Mildly concussed, you soothed your throbbing headache, registering Jaemin's face looming over you. "Jaemin?"

"Oh, thank God. Thought I'd never see that unruly sparkle in your eyes again."

"Fuck off. My hamstring feels like a fried chicken mukbang and you're talking about my eyes."

"I can't cry before our first date. You'll think I'm a wimp."

"Already think that."

He hit your arm lightly, beaming at your focus on his face, meeting your eyes. You were glaring at him with a kissable pout on your lips, eyebrows furrowed — he wanted to pepper your face in balmy kisses.

The paramedic pushed him away, leading you to the ambulance. You flipped him off, yelling loudly as they wheeled you in, "Make sure you win! Won't forgive you if you don't."

The girl's football team had gathered around the door, all tight-lipped smiles and crumpled faces. They visibly brightened at your declaration, huddling together to recalibrate — the ref blew her whistle to call them back, summoning them back into position.

Yangyang and Donghyuck left the stands, rushing into the ambulance alongside you, closing the door behind them. Jaemin could faintly hear your loud curses, and sighed in relief, knowing that you'd be fine.

With two goals up, the team were at optimum working speed, playing loyally for your honour. Jaemin stood at the sidelines, holding your jacket in his hands as he recorded the match on his phone, wanting to send it to you later.

At 90 minutes, the girl's team had become the winner of the Division One Seoul Inter-district championship, and Jaemin was content. Not because it meant you'd go on that date with him, but because he could feel how much it meant to them.

Everyone around him was cheering madly, chanting and spraying assorted drinks in each other's faces, an infectious joy lingering in his veins. Amongst all the commotion, he'd somehow been pushed into the middle of the team, feeling their gazes boring into his frame.

"You like Cap'n, right?" The brunette said, eyes bright.

"No. I don't like her. She's my rival." Jaemin lied pathetically, trying to escape their judgement.

"Why were you in the locker room then?"

"Damn. How do you know that?"

"Cap'n is horrible at lying, so she's always upfront. She also cannot do an impression so she never attempts it."

"Wow, you guys sure know your stuff. Bet she's glad to have a team like you. I know I'm feeling a little jealous."

"Cut the smooth talk. If you like Cap'n, just be straightforward. She's more innocent than she seems, and can get her heart broken easily."

"Got it." He nodded, "Well...ladies, I have to thank you for the advice."

"No problem, but if you break her heart.." They chorused, "We'll break that pretty little nose." Fifteen studded feet swung at his face, narrowly skimming the bridge of his nose.

He flinched, caught off guard, grin bared. "Now, I definitely got that message. I'll be going to check up on her, what do you want me to say?"

"We've already called her and shown her the trophy, so we have nothing left to say, you, however...take all the time you need."

"Since I have your blessing, am I allowed to—"

"Don't finish that sentence. Keep in your lane."

Jaemin promptly closed his mouth, and bid them a goodbye, dashing into his car towards the hospital, stopping at Baskin Robbins to buy the ice cream he promised. He hoped you’d at least be able to eat the sprinkles (the ones you liked were expensive, and if you didn’t eat them, he’d just wasted an extra 2,500 won.)

In the hospital, you were now dressed in a medical gown, surrounded by the two idiots. It smelt like an experiment lab, and the spotless shades of ivory splashed on the walls made you feel a tad bit overwhelmed.

Your leg had already undergone the MRSI scan, and the nurses had told you that you’d definitely tore your hamstring, but surgery would fix it right up along with natural healing.

Of course, all those details lacked in comparison to your team finally winning the trophy you’d worked so hard towards — that excitement numbed the pain considerably.

“We thought you’d somehow died.” Yangyang confessed, grasping your hands in his clammy ones.

“You did.” Donghyuck sneered, pointing at him, continuing when he saw your face change in confusion. “Yang was convinced that you were invincible like Superman or something. He started blubbering about how you could definitely defeat the grim reaper in close contact and that should be enough to steal back your soul or whatever—”

“I’m just never going to ask questions again.”

“Jaemin was on the verge of a breakdown when he saw you fall. Never have I ever seen him run so fast towards a girl.” Donghyuck said, hand on chin in mock thought.

You blushed, remembering your promise about the ice cream and falling back into the bed in distress.

“What’s going on with you? I saw you two all friendly at the sidelines.” Yangyang murmured, eyes squinting in judgement. “Don’t tell me...you guys fucked before the game?”

Suddenly it was too hot in the room. You fanned yourself to cool down, slapping your own cheeks before pulling Yangyang’s ears. “Yeah, because I have the guts to just have my first time in a school setting.” You deadpanned.

“Naughty girl.” Both boys swooned, unable to note your sarcasm.

“Just because my leg is gone doesn’t mean I can’t harm you anymore. I’ll break your kneecaps.”

In the midst of your fight with your best friends, you spotted Jaemin opening the door, wearing that greasy smirk that made butterflies tickle your throat.

“I see a broken leg isn’t enough to stop you, is it?” Jaemin drawled from the door, hands behind his back. “Still threatening people?”

“It’s not threatening if they deserve it.” You mumbled, suddenly shy. Jaemin maintained his distance from you, arm outstretched, ice cream tub in hand. He was looking away from you, faint blush tinting his cheeks, lips squeezed in a puffy ‘o’.

“Not that I remembered or anything, but you did say something about liking these sprinkles.” He said, eyes darting around to focus on anything but you.

“I do...like these sprinkles..how did you know?”

“Everyone calls you star, and you’re cute. It’s your personality in an edible sugar shape.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, forgetting both Donghyuck and Yangyang were seated in the room. It felt like the two of you were just stuck in your own world, glaring at each other like a pair of lovers.

Unfortunately, that moment was cut short by your ungracious best friends, cooing annoyingly. They were squealing like little girls, incomprehensible screams of ‘our girl’s grown up!’ scraping your eardrums.

“Leave me alone!” You whined, face scrunched in discomfort, making futile attempts to push them away. “Jaemin...please get these two off me.”

“Asking your boyfriend to get rid of us? Already?” Yangyang hollered, one of Jaemin’s arms stopping him from jumping on you again.

“He’s not my boyfriend. As of now, he’s the only sensible one who isn’t mauling the girl with a broken leg, and that’s why I’m asking him for help.”

“Should I throw them out?”

“Yes —actually, do whatever. Let them go terrorise someone that isn’t me.”

“Your wish is my command.”

On that, Jaemin escorted both boys outside, shutting the door on them, cutting off the beginning to their long-winded rant with a smile. That left the two of you alone.

Oddly enough, the silence wasn’t stifling but rather a conversation of the mind — you were able to see what he wanted to say by looking into those mocha coloured eyes. You threw the ice cream tub in the bin, reaching for Jaemin’s hands shyly.

He’d sat down beside you on the bed, just staring at you like you were an abstract painting, a mosaic of a splendid array, unable to take his eyes off you. He took your hand warmly, running his fingers over your calloused knuckles, sharing his heat with you.

“Jaemin.” You yawned, head falling onto his shoulder. “I’m saying yes to your date. If I didn’t get injured, you could’ve taken me out today, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. Being with you is enough for me, even if I do want to comment on your horrible tackles during the match.” Jaemin teased, grabbing your hand a little tighter.

“Haha...I’m dying of laughter.”

“Hey! None of that here.”

“Sorry. I’m just happy. My team won our first championship, which we’ve been trying to do for three years, and I feel on top of the world. All those years of boys being absolute dickheads to us about our abilities, trying to put us down have amounted to this moment. I’m at peace right now.”

“Don’t apologise. I should be sorry instead. It was easier to talk to you if I pretended I hated you. I shouldn’t have been like that.”

“I accept your apology. But..I think it was cute you couldn’t tell me you liked me! That’s so endearing.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s my line! Well, you were always attractive to me, even when you were being a dickhead. Now that I think about it, you’re at your hottest when you’re being mean.”

“Is that so?” Jaemin mused, rolling onto his hands, dangling over you, lips eerily close to your own. “Do you want me to treat you mean, keep you keen?”

“Firstly, don’t ever say that again.” You stopped him, hand placed on his chest to push him away lightly. “Secondly, I’ve never had a boyfriend or my first kiss. That means no experience.” You slurred that last part, rushing the words so he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Cap’n, you’re telling me that I’ll be your first?”

“Not if you don’t ask me out.”

Jaemin sat back beside you, looking up to the ceiling. This was the moment. He took a deep breath, standing up before you, hands rubbing his stomach softly to calm down.

“I wanted to do a real dramatic confession, but I rushed over here in fear that you wouldn’t be able to hit me again, so I’ll have to stick with my speech.” He cheesed, trying to ease himself of his nerves. You laughed, hissing in mock anger when he wore that stupid grin. “I like you. Like a lot. Sometimes, I come to school with a dirty scowl on my face, but then I see your face and start smiling like a love struck fool. You’re someone that I wouldn’t want to lose.”

“Jaemin, you little mongrel. Come here.” You waved him over, arms outstretched in a hug. “Even though I know your ego won’t let you ask me out properly, I would love to be your girlfriend. However, if my heart is broken..I’ll be stoning your car.”

“Thought you were gonna say that you’d break my face.”

“That too.”

He snuggled closer into you, peering up at you with shining eyes, not wanting to move too much to keep you comfortable. You grinned back at him, placing a soft kiss on his head, running a hand through his hair.

That familiar silence returned, and that’s how you fell asleep with Na Jaemin enveloped in your chest. Although you’d broken a leg, Lady Luck seemed to have twiddled her fingers to send you a ‘get well soon’ present, the ever cunning Na Jaemin.

Five months later had you no longer hobbling around on crutches like a hobbit, but walking proud and tall. Jaemin drove you to school (using the excuse of carpooling) and helped you take your books to first period everyday — the alpha male in him winced seeing you attempt any ‘heavy lifting’, and he’d made it a routine.

“Can you fuck off? I can carry this.” You complained, pinching his side. “Just because I see a physio biweekly doesn’t mean I’m about as able-bodied as a monkey.”

“Got the hair to be a monkey.” He snorted.

“Look who’s talking, Mr.Sasquatch. Bigger feet than his prints, you little scoundrel.”

“Big feet means big—”

“Don’t finish that if you wanna keep the body part in question.”

“—heart. Dirty girl.”

You felt the honey pooling in your stomach, kissing his cheek in haste to escape his relentless teasing. He shut up at that, pulling you back to kiss you properly, attracting the attention of everyone in the hallway.

“Get to class.” He announced as he parted from you, enjoying your petulant face. You hit him softly, flipping him off from behind you, blowing him a kiss.

Ah, Na Jaemin. You still hated him. Just a little less this time.

[aellynera]

An Off Day (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

AN OFF DAY

(okay, look. my husband thought he was being funny and said “give me a character and i’ll give you a scenario” and then i snorted laughing and then...well. this happened. set sometime before the events of the movie.)

((shoutout to @anetteaneta for an important bit of info and @tinygaydemonbby​ for the random chat and another key bit.))

Word Count: 2100(ish)

Summary: It’s your day off and you’re just trying to enjoy it. Nathan is working and he’s trying to enjoy it. It doesn’t at all go the way you imagined.

Warnings: Cursing. Banter. Robot sex (not graphic). Personal injury. Innuendo. Propositions. Nudity. Complete and utterly ridiculous trash. Possible typos. Nathan Bateman.

The absolute magnificence of the Alaskan landscape was something that, quite frankly, you were never going to get used to. The trees, tall and majestic, towering over the lush green grass. The river, crisp and pristine, bubbling its way to the immense waterfall that cascaded down the cliff face and eventually made its way into the ever-vast ocean. The bald eagles that would soar from treetop to treetop, even the occasional moose that would make itself known at the edges of the compound and then disappear like ghosts into the forest beyond.

It was otherworldly.

The occasional twig snapped and leaf crunched under your boots as you hiked along your usual trail along the north side of the property. Today’s air felt cool on your cheeks despite the sun overhead; at least it was summer - technically, even if the temperature wasn’t getting much above 60 degrees Fahrenheit these past few weeks - so you had twenty hours of daylight instead of the twenty hours of darkness in winter.

You found your favorite spot on a nearby rock and perched on the smooth surface, tilting your face up to that glorious, shining orb. This really was what you needed right now.

*ding!*

...And that was really what you didn’t need. Definitely not right now, and probably not later either. Speaking of otherworldly.

Your boss was a difficult man, and you had a strange rapport with him that was irritating on a daily professional basis, and to your dismay, increasingly so on a personal level. To be fair, you were the only two humans out here. To also be fair, your boss was kind of annoyingly hot.

You sighed and reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone and glancing at the screen.

God: Where the fuck are you?

God? What the… You were annoyed by the text, but more annoyed by the name. When the hell did that bastard changed his name in your phone? He was insufferable on the best of days, but this was a new low. A new high? You weren’t really sure. Sighing, you shot a text back.

You: It’s my day off.

God: You know that’s not really a thing here right?

You: It is when I need a break from you.

God: I’ll make it up to you.

You: Unless you’re asking me to dinner, I don’t want to hear it.

You groaned. You really didn’t mean to say that.

The little ellipses that showed he was typing back flashed across the screen several times, then stopped. Then popped back up, and stopped again. And just because your boss was your boss, it did it four more times, but still no response.

You shoved your phone back in your jacket pocket and returned your attention to the river, breathing deeply and watching the water swirl around a pile of rocks on the opposite bank.

*ding!*

Dammit.

God: I need you to come back like right now.

You: I’m not gonna sit around and be your Eliza Doolittle today, Nathan.

You weren’t just saying that. Last week, the man had dragged you, literally, into the lab by your elbow and had you repeat vowel sounds and random words extremely phonetically while holding a pulsing orb of glowing blue goo. He claimed it was some kind of brain training. You’d said it wasn’t part of your job description, but honestly, it probably was. You were there to assist, you were there to manage, you were there to occasionally have a satisfyingly intelligent and non-arrogant conversation, and you were mostly there to make sure Nathan Bateman didn’t blow anything up or burn anything down.

That didn’t necessarily mean you liked any of it. Okay, fine, you kind of liked the assisting part and definitely the intelligent conversation part. But it was your day off, and all you wanted to do was not be in the house.

God: What? No, it’s...I just need your help with something.

You: Nathan. It. Is. My. Day. Off. No assistance today. Bother me tomorrow.

God: ...Please?

That gave you pause. Since when did he actually ask for anything politely?

You: Fine. I’m halfway up summit trail, give me like 20.

God: Make it 10.

You:  Asshole.

God: And bring a bag of frozen peas.

What the actual hell.

You blinked at the screen twice, turned your phone off completely, and started back towards the house.

*****

You didn’t know why you paid the slightest bit of attention to Nathan’s request, but once in the house, you found yourself in the kitchen, pulling a bag of frosty legumes out of the freezer. With it in hand, you made your way to the lab.

Nathan hadn’t told you where he was, but you knew where to find him. He was always in the lab.

“Okay, I’m back,” you called out as you pushed through the door to Nathan’s inner sanctum. “Now what is so damn important that…”

“Oh thank fuck,” Nathan’s voice called out. “Do you have the stuff?”

You glanced around suspiciously. You couldn’t see him. Until you came around the side of the long table in the middle of the room and found him. Your eyes widened at the sight of Nathan, curled up on the floor in a fetal position, sweating and vaguely shaking.

And totally naked.

He glanced up as he saw your shoes approached and weakly raised his arm and made a grabby hand. “Gimme.”

Tossing the frozen vegetables to him, your mouth opened and closed several times, trying to process the scene. Before you could really take it all in, you watched as Nathan reached over his shoulder, grabbed his discarded t-shirt, and wrapping the icy bag in the shirt, placed it directly on his crotch.

“All right,” you finally got out, “what the actual hell is going on?!”

“Ohhhhh,” Nathan moaned as the cold compress made contact with his skin. “I thought I was gonna die.”

“Why are you naked?” you yelled at him.

“There was a malfunction,” he replied, nonchalant as if you were simply discussing the weather.

You just gaped at him. This was definitely not in your job description.

“A malfunction,” you repeated.

Nathan made a feeble gesture at the table. It was covered in metal parts and wires, screwdrivers and other things you assumed were robotic but couldn’t recognize. He had been working a new body build for the past few days, that much you knew. But now there were metal bits everywhere and Nathan was bare as the day he was born, sprawled in the middle of the floor. Your eyes scanned the table again; the biggest object, in the middle of the mess, looked sort of like...oh, you did not like where this was going. You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I may have miscalculated the required tension,” Nathan said, still curled up on the floor.

The required...oh hell no.

“Nathan...you know you’re the literally the smartest person I know, and you know I think you’re brilliantly creative and inventive and all that important stuff, but please, please tell me you were not actually doing what I think you were doing,” you muttered.

“I was working!”

“You know I can just check the security footage, right?” you stared him down.

Nathan looked at you over the top of his glasses. “I had to test it and make sure it worked.”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Why does a robot have to have working...parts?!” As soon as you asked, you wished you hadn’t. This idiot genius actually had the nerve to blush. Slightly. He would never admit it, but his ears definitely got pinker than they’d been a few seconds ago.

Nathan sat up suddenly and glared at you, adjusting the ice pack again - thank the heavens - to keep himself covered. “First of all, it’s not a robot, it’s an AI. There’s a big difference. And second of all, we talked about this. The point is to make it as human as possible, so this particular part was necessary.”

The glare you shot back at him could have melted his current loincloth. It was your day off and Nathan couldn’t even leave you be for one whole day without his compulsion to cater to whatever whim was in his head and get under your skin. You dropped into one of the lab chairs.

“So...let me get this straight,” you sighed. God help you. But not the God in your cell phone, because he could go fuck himself. Or get fucked. Whichever.

Suddenly, through your haze of utter exasperation, what you’d just thought clicked into place and you snorted a laugh. Your eyes flashed over to the thing in the middle of the table. It was definitely shaped like a pelvis.

Nathan’s eyes became daggers. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

Your eyes went to the thing on the table and to his hands, and then back again. You shook your head, cleared your throat, and tried not to laugh again. It didn’t work. “Sorry. Um. So...what you’re saying is...you got injured because you were...fucking a robot pelvis.”

“I should fire you,” Nathan grumbled.

“And you got injured - from fucking a disembodied robot pelvis -”

“I am so going to fire you.”

“...because it was too...tight?”

“I shouldn’t have asked for your help. I should have just let myself die here, naked and unsatisfied.” He flopped back down.

You couldn’t help yourself any longer. Your laughter rang through the lab, a mixture of actual amusement and horrified reality. You snorted again and that made you laugh harder. Nathan had always joked about making a sex robot. Well, you thought he had been joking, but now, clearly not - and he’d hurt himself in the actual process of trying to make sure it worked. You weren’t a monster, you hoped he wasn’t truly actually injured, but you also took a little satisfaction in knowing karma existed.

After a few minutes, you wiped your eyes and looked down at him. Nathan stared back, but you could see the start of a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I told you I miscalculated the tension. It was fine--”

“Until it wasn’t?” you wheezed.

“--until it cut off all the circulation to my dick.”

You bit your lip. “Nathan Bateman. You literally cockblocked yourself.”

He didn’t respond right away. But then he spoke, at the same moment you noticed the smirk on his face fully bloom and what you’d come to call his “up to some bullshit” look glimmer in his eyes.

“Are you gonna come help me or not?”

“Excuse me?” You were fairly certain your eyebrows could not go any farther up your forehead.

“Well, I’m not in excruciating, unimaginable pain now, and I’d like to make sure my dick isn’t going to fall off. And I didn’t finish. Need a little help here.”

“You want me to--” you stuttered.

“Un-cockblock me,” his wolfish smile broke out fully now.

You hurled a pen at his head. “You really are an asshole.”

“I admit,” he continued, easily dodging your projectile, “this wasn’t what I was expecting for the first time you saw me naked, but I’ll work with what I got.” He started to remove the ice pack.

Another pen went flying his way. “You know, I’m just going to pretend that you’re not about to flash me with your mechanically impaired penis, and that you didn’t just proposition me, and I’m leaving this room now,” you said, standing up and shaking your head.

“Baby, you’re just gonna leave me hanging here?” he grinned, stretching back out on the floor. He folded his hands behind his head. The t-shirt wrapped bag of frozen peas remained - now perched rather proudly, you noted - on his groin.

A vexed growl left your lips as you walked towards the lab door. “Leaving now!”

“Well could you at least toss me my pants?”

You glanced down. Nathan’s sweatpants were balled up behind the lab door. How they’d gotten all the way over here...nope. Nope. You decided that information was entirely unnecessary.

You threw his pants at him and they hit him in the face with a satisfying whump.

“You sure I can’t convince you to help me out here?” Nathan asked serenely from under the fabric.

He couldn’t see the small smile on your face as you walked out the door. Thank god. Or...God. Whatever. The man was a menace.

“Ask me to dinner,” you called over your shoulder.

“I’ll text you,” he called back.

God.

~end~

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