#it's even worse than when i got a low grade on history on the last exams.

[crescentmp3]

hi ms. arabic teacher. please

[hyungieyoongi]

See You

Pairing: Professor!Hobi x Professor!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers + fluff + angst + Hobi and Reader have some personality conflicts at work but should really just make out or something and stop acting like they dislike each other + this entire fic is inspired by Hobi’s look in that gum commercial I mean he screamed professor with that turtleneck and plaid blazer (thank you @moon-write​ for encouraging this vision)

Word Count: 3.2K+

---

“No, no, please tell me you’re joking,” you groaned, eyes scanning over the classroom assignment list posted on the faculty board in the hallway over again, hoping you were seeing things wrong. A third look at the paper confirmed that your fears had in fact come true – you and Hoseok were teaching next door to each other the entire fall semester.

Hoseok was the History of Dance Professor in your department. He was hired at the beginning of last year, three years into your career as one of the youngest faculty members in the Music & Arts program at your university. While he was bubbly and energetic, you were the more typical academic – down-to-earth, a little bit serious. He was beloved by his students for his positive personality and passion for teaching; you were well-regarded as being a natural talent who wanted to hone your students’ abilities.  

It wasn’t that your students didn’t like your course. No, it was well-reviewed and relatively popular considering it was an elective. But once Hoseok arrived, you felt like you were competing with the star of the program. Every student, even the ones who didn’t like dance, were lining up for his course, pushing your class and others into smaller classrooms with dwindling numbers. He, of course, got the large lecture hall this year.

He was the pain in your side, constantly flashing his bright smile to get his way in the department, dazzling your colleagues. Students would often be buzzing in the hallways about how they didn’t have to take an exam in Professor Jung’s class like they did in Professor Y/L/N’s. They got to go to a local show instead and analyze the dance performance. Hoseok was creative and intelligent – that much you could agree with – but you rolled your eyes every time you saw another one of his students attempt to flirt with him.

Hoseok and you figured out you got on each other’s nerves pretty quickly. He would always play music too loud in his office while you were grading papers – he timed how long it took you to show up at his door to tell him to turn it down every afternoon. You would make it a point to have your students play samples of their pieces they’d written on the piano while he was in the middle of a lecture, leaving your classroom doors open so the notes of the instrument would float down the hallway to the lecture hall. You’d have a satisfied grin on your face when you heard the telltale noise of the lecture hall doors slamming shut.

The entire department knew about this little game the two of you would play with each other, not to mention the sarcastic comments from you and teasing jokes from him that were on repeat any time you were in the same room. The bickering was bound to get worse with the two of you in such close quarters all semester.

“Y/N!” you heard a loud voice call down the hallway. You hadn’t heard that voice in two and a half months thanks to your summer vacation. You gritted your teeth, turning with a tight-lipped smile toward your least-favorite coworker.

“Hoseok,” you greeted with a nod. As usual, your semi-chilly behavior toward him didn’t faze him.

“Y/N, come on, I thought I told you to call me Hobi!” he said cheerfully, his eyes squinting from his smile. He was wearing a cream turtleneck tucked into his khakis, plaid blazer over his shoulders. He had dyed his hair from the black you were accustomed to, his strands now a platinum blonde. You realized, begrudgingly, that he looked more attractive than he did last year.

“Well would you look at that, we’re neighbors,” Hoseok said after scanning the list on the board.

“Try to keep the gaggle of screaming fans away from the hallway when I’m teaching, would you?” you said sarcastically. Hoseok’s hand flew to his heart, acting like you had personally attacked him.

“Y/N, I cannot believe you would accuse my students of being so frivolous,” he said dramatically. “Just because we have more fun in my class, doesn’t make it any less serious than yours.”

“Oh, please, save the theatrics for the students who signed up thinking your class would be an easy ‘A’. I know for a fact that you gave out four D’s last semester.” Hoseok’s eyes twinkled at your challenging tone.

“And how many did you give out, Professor Y/L/N?” Hoseok asked in a sweet voice.

“None, thank you very much. Since my students actually learn something in my class, I don’t have to give out such low grades,” you quipped. Hoseok chuckled, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair.

“Maybe I should sit in on one of your classes this year. Learn a thing or two,” Hoseok said, stepping toward you. You flushed momentarily at his low tone, immediately stepping back. He smirked at your reaction.

“It’s invite only to audit my class, Jung,” you said before turning on your heel to walk toward your office down the hall, “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not!” you yelled over your shoulder.

You heard Hoseok laugh, and you cursed yourself for giving him the satisfaction of knowing that his teasing had gotten to you.

You had promised yourself at the end of the summer not to play into it this year – you were going to be professional, courteous. But the first time you see Hoseok, bam, it goes right out the window. 

You would just have to avoid Hoseok as much as possible.

You sighed once you closed your office door behind you. It was going to be a long semester.

---

Two months into the semester, the leaves had turned to burnt oranges and red, signaling the return of fall. Hoseok was sitting in one of the auditorium seats, his legs crossed over each other, looking down at his fingers with a soft smile playing at his lips. The delicate notes of the piano were playing from your classroom, the noise piercing the thin walls separating your classroom from his.

His class had been dismissed half an hour ago, and, based on the lack of students having straggling conversations in the hallway, yours had, too. He often waited after he was done teaching to see if you would play when you thought no one was listening. The notes you played sometimes indicated your mood; the music was soft and flowing, other times dark and intense.

Today it was, melancholic? He couldn’t quite place it, but it made him think about the change in seasons. He wondered if that was on your mind. The song was fluid, making him want to choreograph a piece to it, the dancer’s body matching the tempo of the music. He shut his eyes, picturing the movements behind his closed lids.

He’d never admit that he indulged in this as often as he did – he knew you wouldn’t be playing if you found out he was your only audience member. You had been avoiding him this semester. He had tried all of his old tricks – the loud music during office hours, teasing comments during staff meetings. But you wouldn’t blink.

He opened his eyes, the song transitioning into something light and happy. It made him think of sunshine.  

---

You stopped playing, your hands lifting off the keys like they burned you. You had been playing mindlessly, your fingers starting to pluck away at the keys in the melody that you had thought of when you would think of Hoseok.

The more you avoided Hoseok, the more you seemed to miss his overly positive personality. You would see him at staff meetings, always giving you a big smile. One day you came in late after a meeting with a student ran long, and you came into the room to see that he had saved you a seat next to him, the last one left empty in the room. 

He was still playing his music too loud, but you had stopped bugging him about it, and you noticed that it was gradually getting quieter.

You closed the cover over the keys, willing the thoughts about Hoseok to go away, packing up your papers and laptop. He was just your annoyingly happy colleague; there was no reason he should be taking up this much space in your mind.

---

“Are you honestly suggesting that the music composition class shouldn’t be considered a prerequisite for all music program students going forward?” you questioned angrily. You and Hoseok were at a standoff in the department meeting, his normally pleasant features tense, arms crossed in front of him.

“If that means that it prevents funding from getting diverted from the dance program to the instrumental students, then, yes, that is what I’m suggesting,” Hoseok countered.

“That’s ridiculous! Music composition is a fundamental building block for all students – including dance, Jung!” your voice had risen, and the department head looked between you both, deciding that the meeting had gotten too out of hand to continue.

“Professor Y/L/N, Professor Jung – why don’t the two of you take a walk around the building, get some fresh air. The rest of you, dismissed. We’ll resume this conversation, civilly, next week,” the department head declared.  

You were fuming, angrily shoving your notebook and pen in your bag before storming out of the building. You felt someone else’s presence, and you turned, groaning when you saw the last person you wanted to see standing behind you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up your hand to stop him.

“Give it a rest, Jung, I’m not in the mood,” you said grumpily.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the bookstore to grab a coffee and put this behind us,” Hoseok scoffed, smile wiped away. “But, I guess not.”

“Not everyone wants to just roll over and play nice when you flash them a smile, Hoseok.”

“Well, not everyone wants to act like they have a superiority complex, either.”

Your lips pursed, hands beginning to fidget with how angry and upset his comment made you. The two of you had been annoying last year, sure, but you had never been mean to each other. Until today.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said quietly, heated tone still evident despite the low volume.

“The feeling is mutual,” Hoseok said harshly. “It’s not like you’ve even tried to get to know me. You immediately disliked me from day one. You never even gave me a chance!”

“That’s rich coming from you. All that shit with the music and the comments – it’s like you wanted me to dislike you,” you replied.

“I wanted you to talk to me, Y/N,” Hoseok said, exasperated. “Forget it, I can see now that it was useless to try.”

“I was trying to play nice this semester,” you said, glaring at Hoseok. “You came in like a damn bulldozer last year, disrupting everything in the department. And everyone just did what you wanted because you’re ‘mister nice guy’, and you make people laugh and people just think you’re perfect. Well, I don’t buy it.”

You took a deep breath, leveling your gaze at him.

“Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours,” your voice was stone-cold. Hoseok’s eyes flashed, lips in a thin line before he responded bitterly.

“Perfect.”

---

Things had been quiet between you and Hoseok since your fight outside of the building a few weeks ago. You politely nodded at each other in the hallway when you passed by, avoiding eye contact. You would grimace when you heard his laugh during lectures next door to yours, wanting to block the sound out.

You couldn’t get what he said to you out of your thoughts – you really didn’t know Hoseok very well. All you knew is what he presented to the rest of the world. He was bubbly and positive and optimistic; he probably thought you were just some brooding, academic stiff.

Hoseok noticed the songs you were playing lately were rather intense. Sometimes he would hear you smash against the keys like you were angry with the piano for not producing the sounds you wanted to hear.

He knew the feeling. He was spending more time in the dance studio lately, dancing aggressively to loud hip hop music, trying to drown out the frustration he was feeling at not being able to make you crack and talk to him.

That’s where he found himself tonight, trying to get rid of his stress. You were stubborn, but you were also beautiful, intelligent, passionate, tenacious. He turned his music up louder, drowning out the thoughts of you.

---

You had re-read the same sentence four times, red pen poised in your hand ready to edit the student’s paper. The loud beats were still audible from the practice rooms. It was late, and the building had been closed to students for the past two hours.

You decided to go down there. You weren’t going to get them in trouble for staying past close, but with finals coming up, you were sure the students needed a gentle reminder that sleeping was just as important as practicing.

You walked down the dark hallway, going down the steps to the practice rooms on the floor beneath the faculty offices, finding the one with the light on, music blaring through the glass panes separating the space from the hall.

You glanced into the room, seeing Hoseok dancing. You had never seen him in his element before, and it was captivating. He was wearing a black pair of sweats, an oversized yellow t-shirt adorning his slender frame. The music seemed to be moving through his body. He was grounded in the floor, an intense expression on his face as he hit heavy movements on the beat, fluidly moving through other parts depending on the music. You felt like this was personal, like you weren’t allowed to be watching, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Hoseok looked into the mirror, his eyes looking toward the shadow in the hallway. His eyes met yours, his gaze burning into yours through the glass. You gulped.

He turned, grabbing a bottle of water and pausing the music. You figured that was your cue, opening the door to the studio and stepping inside.

“Was it too loud?” Hoseok asked, voice light despite the obvious tension in the room.

“No, it’s okay uh – I was grading papers, and I thought a student was still down here,” you explained softly. “I thought I’d tell them to go home, get some rest.”

Hoseok had a curious expression on his face. If he was surprised to hear why you were down here, he didn’t mention it. You felt the need to fill the silence, so you spouted the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re really talented, Hobi,” you said quickly. His eyebrows shot up at the sound of the nickname you never called him. “Hoseok – sorry, I meant Hoseok.”

“Watch out, people might think we’re friends,” Hoseok joked, but it came out strained.

“Hoseok – Hobi. I’m sorry about what I said a few weeks ago. I was heated, and I apologize,” you said, looking down at a scuff in the hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry, too. What I said was uncalled for, and I didn’t mean to upset you. Last year, this semester. Anything I’ve done that has made you mad or annoyed. I’m sorry,” Hobi said sincerely. “I-um, well…”

You looked up, waiting for him to continue.

“I just wanted your attention.”

“What?”

“I wanted your attention. I wanted you to want to talk to me. I wanted you to get to know me. Not the version of me that I show my students. I wanted you to see me. Really see me.”

You gulped, Hobi’s vulnerability making you nervous. He took a step toward you, and you willed yourself to stay in place.

“I know you do the same thing; you hide. Hide behind this persona you’ve created. I think it goes away when you play piano.”

“How do you–what do you mean?” you asked incredulously.

“I hear you play. After class. I never told you because I selfishly wanted to keep listening. Your music it – it tells a story. About your day, your feelings. If you didn’t tell me yourself, at least your music did.”

Your cheeks burned knowing that he was audience to all of the time spent in your classroom, working out your feelings on the piano like it was your therapy.

“Everything goes away when I play,” you stopped, thinking about how distracted you had been lately trying to compose. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

“That’s how I feel when I dance,” Hobi admitted with a gentle smile. You nodded, realizing that the two of you had this in common, at least.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you said, backing away from Hobi toward the door.

“Wait –,” Hobi said, slightly flustered. “Dance with me.”

Your eyes widened. Hobi laughed, and you hated to admit that you had missed the sound.

“Come on, just trust me, Y/L/N.” You waited while he picked out a song, holding out his hand. You placed your fingers in his, and he pulled you close to him, leading you around the studio floor to the song. He made you feel light on your feet despite your lack of dance experience, his hand tightly gripping yours, his other floating over your waist. Your skin tingled from the contact.

He spun you around twice, your hands landing on his chest as you tried to regain your balance. You looked up at him, genuinely enjoying yourself. His bright smile you used to roll your eyes at lit up his features, causing your smile to match his.

“Can you see me now, Y/N?” Hobi asked, referencing his earlier confession. “Because I see you when you play. When you tell a student crying in your office that everything is going to be okay. And I see you now when you’re dancing with me like this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Remember when you said I didn’t know anything about you?” You nodded, recognizing his reference to your fight outside of the department building. “I don’t think that’s true. But I know there’s so much more to know. And I want to know everything.”

Hobi’s hand came up to your cheek, softly placing it on the side of your face.

“I want to know you, too, Hobi,” you whispered.

He leaned forward, his breath fanning over your lips, “Want to start now?”

You gripped his t-shirt in your hand, pulling him the last few inches to your lips instead of answering. You felt him smile against your lips, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him.

He pulled back, his forehead resting on yours as you caught your breath.

“Does this mean I can start playing my music loudly during office hours again?” Hobi teased, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, brushing against your skin.

You made a face at him, causing him to laugh. He kissed you on the forehead, then on the lips again to make you smile before answering.

“Not a chance.”  

---

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[rodr1cks]

Sick Day | 2.1k

fluff!! you’re sick and rodrick comes to the rescue.

warnings: vomit, being sick in general

All day you had been feeling extremely ill. The nurse at school was being impossible and refused to send you home, despite your pleas.

“Please Mrs. Williams, I feel terrible you have to believe me!”

She was extremely skeptical, “Child, do you know how many times I hear that in a day? You don’t have a fever, back to class.”

And just like that, you were dismissed. Sent to endure the rest of your classes in misery.

The day went by painfully slow after your trip to the nurse. The fluorescent lights berated your pupils making it impossible to concentrate and worsening your headache.

It was sixth period, the last class of the day. Also your least favorite class of the day. You couldn’t stand the teacher. Mr. Wright. He was your classic asshole history teacher.

You were completely zoned out, trying to focus on not vomiting. Your name being called pulled you out of your haze.

“Miss y/l/n? Do you care to answer me? Unless you’re busy of course.”

Condescending bastard.

You held your tongue, swallowing any smart-ass comments that threatened to spill past your lips. You cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was the question.”

He went through the whole “this is a learning environment” lecture after that. Again, you didn’t listen. You couldn’t have even if you wanted to. Thankfully, he left you alone after that.

Finally, the last bell of the day sounded through the school. You lept from your seat and ran to the bathroom. You practically body slammed the door open. Luckily, the bathroom was empty, most kids having already filed out of the main doors, eager to begin their weekend festivities.

You were hunched over one of the white porcelain bowl, tears filling your eyes.

Today could not get any worse.

After taking a few deep breaths, you were able to compose yourself enough to exit the bathroom.

You crossed your fingers, hoping that the halls had been completely evacuated.

You crept through the empty corridors and out into the parking lot. You were especially dreading the walk home today.

You were walking through the parking lot, enjoying the fresh air when you saw him. Rodrick Heffley.

The two of you were best friends in elementary school but you drifted apart after a while. You honestly developed a certain distaste for him, as he had you.

Please don’t notice me, please don’t-

“Y/n!”

Shit.

“Rodrick!” you feigned enthusiasm.

His brow furrowed, “You look… paler than usual?” You rolled your eyes, classic Rodrick. You wanted this interaction to end, immediately. “Yup. Not feeling well.” You deadpanned, providing little detail.

Rodrick hesitated for a moment, “Well, let me drive you home, kid.”

Kid. Who did he think he was?

“I think I’ll pass, weather is nice today.” The weather was far from nice.

“Oh really, the weather is nice, y/n? Where are you right now? Because it’s raining where I am.”

He sighed, “and I also saw that little performance Mr. Wright gave you...”

Oh so he pities me.

“Rodrick, If I get in your van will you stop talking?”

He motioned, pretending to zip his lips up and throw away the key. A small smile spread across your face but you didn’t let him see that.

A few minutes into the drive, you decided you were glad you let him take you home. The sky had opened up and it was storming.

Oh God.

“Rodrick, pull over, now.”

He looked over at you and could tell what was about to happen. He pulled over quickly and you opened the door. You leaned over and vomited right onto the grass patch parallel to the road, in the pouring rain.

Coyly, you returned to your seat in the van. You were unsure if you should apologize, so you stayed silent.

“Y/n, are your parents home?”

He knew they never were. Ever since you were a kid, your parents had been anywhere but home. Business trips, vacations, retreats, you name it.

You looked down at your shoes, water dripping from your hair, and shook your head.

“Alrighty then, change of plans.”

You protested, “Rodrick that’s really not necessary I’ll be fine.” Part of you knew there was no point in arguing. If he was one thing, it was stubborn.

He reached out, placing the back of his hand on your forehead to prove a point, “Y/n, you’re burning up. You’re coming with me.”

You were closer to his house anyways. That’s how you justified it, at least.

His van pulled into The Heffley’s driveway. Rodrick got out and rushed around the vehicle to open your door.

“Come along, y/n. I know somebody who will be very happy to see you,” he grinned.

The front door swung open and you were hit with a wave of nostalgia. The Heffley’s house was always warm and always smelled spectacular. Somehow, Mrs. Heffley was always baking or cooking something.

“Y/n? What a nice surprise this is!” Mrs. Heffley beamed. She had always loved you. “How I’ve missed seeing your face around here!” She said, placing her hands on your checks.

“You’re soaking wet!” You nodded awkwardly in response. “And goodness, you’re burning up! Are you feeling alright?” She felt your forehead and cheeks, then squeezed your shoulders gently.

From a young age, Mrs. Heffley had looked after you as one of her own. Nothing had changed it seemed.

“No, actually,” you smiled half-heartedly. Mrs. Heffley frowned at you. “Rodrick, get her some dry clothes, would you?.” Rodrick nodded, leading you up the stairs.

You stood in his room, obviously uncomfortable. He was knelt in front of his dresser, digging around for something.

“Ah! Here it is.”

Rodrick whipped out a t-shirt for you to change into. He grabbed a pair of black sweats from another drawer as well.

“Here you are, mademoiselle.” He stuck out the wad of clothing in your direction. You couldn’t lie, you were happy to have some dry clothes to change into.

You stepped into his bathroom, taking a moment to examine your appearance. You looked rough. Intense bags hung low under your eyes and you truly did look more pale than usual. Fantastic.

You emerged from the bathroom, Rodrick’s clothing drooping slightly from your frame. Rodrick was sitting on the end of his bed and he patted the surface.

You joined him on his twin mattress, only because you were exhausted.

“Rodrick, why are you being nice to me?”

He looked guilty. “You’ve had a rough day, y/n…”

He sucked in a breath, “...and y’know I’ll always care about you.”

How could he still care for you? You completely wrote him off when high school began.

“Listen, y/n, the past is in the past, okay?”

A genuine smile appeared on your face. Before the moment could become too sentimental, Rodrick interjected.

“Oh! Be right back,” he chirped.

He ran downstairs and came back with an orange soda and some cold & flu medicine.

Rodrick explained himself, “Orange! Like, vitamin C, right?” He looked too happy with himself, you couldn’t bring him down. At least his heart was in the right place.

Concealing your laughter to the best of your ability, you accepted the beverage and medicine from his hand.

You hated this kind of medicine with your whole heart. The orange soda could be useful honestly, just not for its nutritional value like Rodrick intended.

Rodrick measured out the appropriate amount of the medicine for you as you cracked open the can. He handed you the small cup full of the thick, red liquid.

You threw back the grotesque cherry flavored solution, grimacing as it coated your throat. You chased the medicine with the orange soda. See, it did come in handy.

You leaned back into Rodrick’s pillows, trying to relax.

About fifteen minutes later you felt extremely drowsy. “Rodrick, can I see that bottle?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, confused.

You read the bottle and instantly threw your head back in annoyance. “Rodrick this is the drowsy kind!” You continued inspecting the bottle, “and it’s extra strength!”

With each second passing, it got increasingly difficult to keep your eyes open.

Everything was blurry and you were teetering between consciousness and sleep.

“Rodrick,” you slurred. “I’m so sorry I stopped talking to you… stopped being your friend. Felt like I wasn’t cool or pretty enough… didn’t deserve you.”

Rodrick was extremely confused. You thought you were too good for him? He had to hold back a laugh.

He couldn’t conceal his smile, ���Excuse me? Y/n, that must be the nyquil talking.” He rolled his eyes and brushed off your comment, contemplating the sentiment for a mere moment.

You eventually drifted off, unable to ward off sleep any longer.

When you woke up, you first noticed rodrick. He was sitting on his beaten up couch with his headphones covering his ears. You could hear the muffled baseline from your spot across the room.

How are his eardrums still intact?

Rodrick had a shoebox on his lap and he was shuffling through the contents, smiling to himself.

You cleared your throat, obtaining his attention.

“Oh, y/n! You’re up!” He smiled at you, ripping off his headphones.

You nodded slowly, knuckling your eyes sleepily.

“What time is it?”

Rodrick glanced at his watch, “It’s only 8:30.” You nodded again, continuing to rub the sleep from your eyes.

Rodrick stood, picking up the box and walking over to you. “Look,” he said softly. You peered down into the small shoebox and numerous photos and letters.

“This one here is my favorite,” he said quietly. It was a picture of you and Rodrick at the roller rink. You recognized the photo immediately.

“Seventh grade kick off,” you smiled. You took the box from his lap and began looking through each photo, braided friendship bracelet, concert ticket.

You laughed as each item brought back memories you had long forgotten.

You stopped at a photo of the two of you dressed up in ridiculous outfits. You wore a sequined hat and Rodrick held his drumsticks in hand.

“Was this when we saw Good Charlotte?” You asked.

He giggled, “It sure was. I remember thinking I looked so hot that night. Guess not huh.”

“What are you talking about, you looked incredible Rodrick. Seventh grade me was dying to jump you right then and there.”

His face lit up, “Really?”

“No,” you flashed him an expressionless look before breaking out into side-splitting laughter. He joined you.

You missed this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy. Rodrick was the only person who you had truly experienced that with.

You sighed to yourself. Come tomorrow, you’d be back to strangers. Tears welled up in your eyes and your lip quivered. Rodrick was oblivious until a single tear drop fell onto the photograph below you.

He immediately tried to comfort you. He placed an arm around your shoulder, dragging you into his larger frame. It caught you off guard but you allowed yourself to melt into his touch.

Rodrick distracted you from your sorrow. “Look at this one right here.” It was a photo of you and the Heffley Family in their backyard. You and Rodrick were around fifteen, if you remembered correctly.

“This was the day that I realized I had a big, fat crush on you.”

He followed up, “S’lame I know…”

Heat flooded your cheeks, this time the heat was not a result of your illness. Was it anxiety? Happiness? Both? You couldn’t decide.

“You never really explained why you stopped talking to me and coming by my house.”

You shrugged at him, feeling like your explanation would make him mad. “Well, Rodrick, you started getting new friends. Friends that were better than me or cooler than me.”

“Y/n that is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I could never replace you. To this day, nobody’s ever come close.”

He gave you a playful smack over the head.

“...anyways, to be honest that crush never really went away?”

Before you had time to process the sentence he was gently grabbing your chin, turning your head.

You were facing him now, your lips only inches away from his.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah, yes, I think so, yeah.”

He laughed at you and leaned in slowly. Rodrick used one finger to gently move your hair out of your face.

The kiss was gentle and filled with emotion.

You felt like you hadn’t known what you were missing out on until that moment. You felt completed.

“Oh shit, I better not get sick!”

[gangles-toybox]

Idiot.(Tommy x Doughy)

CW: Thinking your grades = your intelligence

Tommy had been at college for a few years now. Everything was going steady, he was learning about actual science for a change, not falling for drugs or alcohol, and getting good grades. Plus, it helped him that he shared a dorm with Doughy. He was studying at his desk one day like he usually did. It was near the end of the semester, right before finals started, so this was crucial. 

He tapped his pencil on his bicycle helmet as he tried to figure out the equation. All things considered, for a community college, he was doing rather well in all of his studies, especially in applying them. On the other hand, Doughy was generally studying because he had no idea what he wanted to do. He had some classes with Tommy, but he wasn't doing as well.

Doughy slammed the door open, making the other jump. He held his phone in his hand. "Tommy! Grades are posted!"

He gulped. He always hated checking his grades. He knew that he would most likely get all As, maybe the occasional B like he always did, but still. It always worried him that one paper that was marked low could affect his grade letter. 

He quickly put a bookmark into the textbook into the book he was studying and closed it. Doughy settled in as Tommy logged into the student grading system as the different classes were organized into a table. He looked at the S1 column as he scrolled down cautiously.

Chemistry:

A

Biology:

A

English: 

B

He winced but took a deep breath. It was just a B after all, as long as the rest were better, it would be fine. 

American history:

A

He sighed in relief. Thank God. Still, he was a bit cautious of his next and final class, since it was required to graduate. Doughy looked over at him, wondering what the matter could be. Doughy's grades were…better than usual, a sea of well…Cs and a B or two. 

Debate: F

…

He felt his heart drop as his brain processed what this meant. He gripped onto his phone as he tried to keep it together, on the outside at least. On the inside, a million thoughts quickly poured themselves into his quick thought process. Oh my god. How the fuck are we going to graduate? It’s not surprising though….we deserve this. God, I’m such an idiot. Everybody was right about us. The last one stung him, despite it being from his own thoughts. He tightened the straps on his helmet, to make sure he didn’t screw up again. He teared up as he took a lot of short, quick breaths. 

Doughy looked up from the bed, looking at his roommate. “Tommy…are you ok?”

He jolted, looking up from his phone. He cleared his throat, putting on a soft smile. “Y-Yea I’m fine…”

He walked behind the chair he was sitting in. “Well, what’d you get?”

“I-It….really doesn’t matter…” He slammed his phone so the screen was facing the table. It was bad enough that he proved everyone right of being an idiot. It would be worse if anybody else found out.

“Tommy…” He looked at him, genuinely concerned. Most of the time when their grades came back, he would be happy and overjoyed. Or, a bit annoyed if he got a B. But…never this strangely calm about it. 

“I-I’m fine…” He made his hand into a fist as he sunk lower into his desk. It didn’t help that after finals, he would have to see his parents, and they still treat him like an idiot. 

Doughy looked at him. Even if he wasn’t the smartest, he could tell something was wrong. He stepped in front of him. Tommy was confused until he felt a pair of arms around him. He was surprised but held onto him. The simple fact of hugging brought him to sniffling.

Doughy rubbed his back. “You’re still smart…”

… “N-No I’m not…”

“Yes you are, you’re the reason I’m not failing.”

“Great…I can help you and not myself…” He rolled his eyes, his voice quivering. He hated the fact that he was saying this about himself, but he did believe it and all.

Doughy held onto his face. This was bad. “I’m proud of you…”

“I-I got an F though…”

“Still. I’m proud of you regardless.”

That’s where the waterworks came in. He teared up before the stinging water came down his cheeks. He put his head on his shoulder. Doughy patted his back, shushing him comfortingly and whispering nothings, though he actually meant them. 

“Heh…you’re too kind…” Tommy said between hiccups as he calmed down thanks to his comforting grasp.

“Only trying to help…” He kissed his forehead.

He blushed, pulling away from him to look up at him. “Uh…”

“S-Sorry…” He loosened his grip on him. “I uh…”

He smiled. It was sweet and kinda cute. It made him feel comforted, so he returned the favor. Now, it was Doughy’s turn to blush. 

Tommy just simply smiled. Even if it was “wrong”, by Moralton’s standards, it sure was a lot better than what the others had going on in their relationships. Plus, if he already disappointed everybody, what’s a little more going to really do?

He unstrapped the helmet that had been on his head for years, it felt like at least and placed it on the desk. 

Doughy immediately started playing with his hair. “How’s come you took it off?”

He smiled again, only wider. “I don’t feel stupid around you.”

The End. 

[allthingsfangirl101]

Soulmate Tattoos–Zac Efron

Your Soulmate Tattoo is your soulmate's first words to you. For girls, their tattoo is on the underside of their left wrist. For boys, their tattoo is on the underside of their right wrist. The year before you meet your soulmate, your tattoo begins to appear. There is no ink, no colors, and no words. Instead, there is a red splotch where the tattoo will appear on the exact day the following year.

The month that you are going to meet your soulmate, your red splotch becomes more defined. It begins to softly outline the edges. Seven days before you meet them, the words slowly start to form. The day before you meet your soulmate, the words finally appear in brown. That brown doesn't change to black until you're standing right in front of your soulmate and they have spoken the words to you.

My tattoo didn't start to appear until the summer after my third year of teaching. The minute the red splotch appeared, I couldn't stop glancing at it. That next year was horrible. I made note of the day, hoping it would help with the nerves, but it only made them worse.

When it got to the week I would meet him, I constantly rubbed the outline of my tattoo. And the second the words appeared on my arm the day before, I memorized them.

I'm so sorry, beautiful. I hope I didn't spill my coffee on you and ruin your nice dress.

I bit my lip when I first read his words. I couldn't help but start to imagine what he might be like. I spent the entire day thinking about him and our first interaction.

He's going to call me beautiful. He's going to spill or almost spill his coffee on me at a coffee shop. And I'm wearing a dress.

I woke up that morning, fighting the urge to go to the coffee shop right away. They don't tell us what time we meet our soulmate. I didn't want to sit in a coffee shop all day, waiting for him to show up. But I didn't want to miss him either.

Instead of overthinking this, I got ready at my normal pace. I took my shower, got dressed (making sure to wear my favorite sundress), curled my hair, and did a little more makeup than I normally wear.

There were positives and negatives to knowing the day you meet your soulmate. You can make sure you look nice, but it also leads to a lot of overthinking and anxiety.

I headed to the coffee shop, my hands shaking as I walked in. I got in line, nervously playing with my dress as I waited.

I gasped when I felt the burning. I looked down to see my tattoo changing color. My heart started beating really fast when I noticed the color was turning darker. Which means. . .

I was brought away from my tattoo when the guy who was in front of me turned around and bumped into me.

"I'm so sorry, beautiful," the guy said, his voice light and soft. "I hope I didn't spill my coffee on you and ruin your nice dress."

I could hear my blood pumping when I noticed the words this man just said were the words I'd spent the last 24 hours staring at. I looked up, my eyes widening when I saw who said the words on my arm.

This can't be right. There is no way this is my soulmate. I'm a high school history teacher. And he's. . .

My soulmate cannot be Zac Efron.

"It's alright," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "No harm, no foul."

Suddenly, he sucked in a breath. He slowly looked down at his wrist and let out a small chuckle. He looked up at me, his eyes filling with tears.

When his eyes drifted down to my left wrist, I rolled it so he could see it. He laughed and reached over, grabbing my left hand in his as he read the words on my wrist. I bit my lip when he intertwined our fingers, slowly looking up at me. I glanced down at our hands, our tattoos almost touching.

"Can I buy you some coffee?" He asked, his voice low. I hesitated, a small part of me thinking this was a weird twisted joke.

"I guess we should," I whispered.

Without letting go of my hand, Zac led me to the counter. I ordered my usual latte, my whole arm burning from his touch. I went to pay for my drink, but Zac paid for it before I could even get my wallet out of my bag.

Zac led me over to a booth in the corner, our hands never disconnecting. He politely waited for me to sit down first before taking a seat across from me, finally letting go of my hand.

All I could think was; no way. There is no way that Zac Efron is my soulmate. And how is he so relaxed about meeting his soulmate who is a complete stranger?

"So, we're soulmates," he said, laughing awkwardly.

"We are," I nodded. I cleared my throat as I wrapped my hands around my latte.

"This is kinda awkward," he chuckled. I looked up at him to see him smiling at me.

"I don't understand how people expect us to be so relaxed right now," I sighed. "You and I are complete strangers and because of a tattoo, we're soulmates."

"Well," he said, reaching over and grabbed my hands. "It's not like we're expected to run to the nearest church and get married."

I laughed, finally starting to relax. "I mean, we could always go to Vegas. I hear their drive-thru weddings can be quite beautiful."

Zac laughed, both of us relaxing. He let go of my hands and leaned back. When we stopped laughing, he was still smiling at me.

"I'm Zac," he introduced himself.

"I know," I awkwardly giggled. I felt my cheeks burning as I cleared my throat.

"Right," he smirked. "Do I get to know your name, Soulmate?"

"I don't know," I teased. "I kinda like being called, Soulmate."

He sent me a playful pout before breaking. I bit my bottom lip, my nerves resurfacing.

"Y/N," I finally told him.

"Y/N," he repeated. "Not as pretty as Soulmate, but I'll take it."

We both laughed as I playfully pulled my hands out of his. My breath got caught in my throat when the look on his face changed.

"My beautiful Y/N," he said, his voice so low it gave me chills. "Tell me about yourself."

I let out an embarrassed giggle as he leaned his elbows on the table, physically making himself look interested.

"Well," I said, nervously tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "I was born and raised in Burbank. I moved to LA to go to UCLA and I ended up getting a job at my old high school."

"You're a teacher?" He asked, perking up. I giggled at his excitement.

"Yeah," I said, tucking that same piece of hair behind my ear again. "I teach AP U.S. History."

"AP? Damn!" He laughed. "That's like the top class!"

"Kinda," I giggled.

He cleared his throat, slightly shaking his head. "So, what grades do you teach?"

"Mostly seniors," I smiled. "But I also teach a few freshman classes."

"You get them as they come in and come out."

I tilted my head, biting back a laugh when his eyes widened like he just realized what he said.

"That came out. . . So wrong," he said slowly.

"It's okay," I chuckled.

                                * * * * *

We spent the next fifteen minutes, talking about ourselves. The more of his life I heard, the more I realized we had nothing in common.

"You alright?" Zac asked after I suddenly went quiet.

"This can't be right," I said under my breath.

"Why not?" He asked, laughing slightly.

"It's just. . . You're the famous Zac Efron. I'm just a high school teacher."

I held my breath when he reached over and gently grabbed my hand, lifting my arm and turning it over to show my left wrist. He smirked as he slowly ran his thumb over my tattoo.

"See?" He said, dropping his voice. "Soulmate tattoos don't lie."

"Your soulmate should be another famous actress or a model," I stuttered. "Not a high school teacher who's been mistaken as one of her students. I mean, what are your fans going to say? Honestly, my students would lose it if they find out my soulmate is Zac Efron, but your fans might not be as excited."

Zac chuckled as he stood up and walked over to my side of the booth, sitting next to me. I sucked in a breath as he reached up and cupped my cheek. He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I held in a moan as I kissed him back. Zac slowly pulled away and leaned his forehead against mine.

"As far as I'm concerned," he whispered, "you're just the girl for me, Soulmate."

[dantelionwishes]

"Watanabe."

Sato spoke in a firm tone as he leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed with difficult-to-read expression across his face. He was never a fan of lecturing his students like this, but it needed to be done every now and then. Kids were getting more and more stubborn nowadays, and he's not sure who to blame.

"We've discussed this in the past during our classes. Have you forgotten? Tell me." The teacher waited for an answer from the injured boy, his voice loud and clear with instruction.

A soft huff came from the boy. He felt like he was somehow dying and dead at the same time. Everything hurt. Everything felt terrible.

"... I was winning." He croaked. Whether that was really true or not didnt seem to matter. Maybe he fried his brain a little...

"You were winning in a losing battle with yourself, Watanabe." The teacher had raised his voice a little with urgency, "So many times. I've told you to never overuse your quirk like that." Even while wearing the mask it was clear how loud his voice was getting as he spoke, a growing exasperated appearance on his usually calm face.

"Do you understand the risks you physically take when you pull of stunts like these, Watanabe? Do you?"

....

He turned his head away from his teacher, grunting lightly. Hell, even that simple movement hurt like hell-- "Everyone's quirks b-.. Backfires somehow." Sniff. "... 's not my fault-... Not my fault mine sucks." If he had just gone a little further he could have knocked her out of the ring. Could have proceeded. Hell, he might have won the entire event!

A sigh.

He was crying. Sato took a deep breath to calm himself down and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"You're not listening to me, you can't even answer my question." His brain really was that close to getting melted, his student's basically delusional at this point. He can't think of anything else. Sato really is grateful to have a co-teacher like Lucca to act as referee. Their special class of unique students were a bit stubborn, almost comparable to the current third years when they were younger.

"I've told everyone in class to not overuse their quirk, not just you." The teacher leafed through Taishiro's medical papers, briefly going through the history of his quirk. "Do you understand where I'm going, Watanabe?" Based on the student's expression alone, he knew he wasn't listening.

Previous records of burns. Overuse. Overheating in summer. Some brief notes about malnutrition and possible neglect from a few years back-

"......"

Was he listening? Tired? Or did he fuck himself up and needed longer to think? Oh lord.. ".... Ss.." ow

".... Sato-sensei... I-- gh... You don't get it at all." sniffle. Ow existing is painful. "... I-i have to."

"You don't." His voice stayed unyielding, but kinder. "You don't have to, Watanabe."

Sato set the papers beside away, handing it to Recovery Girl who watched with a worried expression. "It's...a high school event," he approached, sitting at the foot of the bed where his student rested. "Watanabe. It's a sports festival. You are a sixteen years old teenage student who shouldn't be focusing on studies and making friends."

"...."

Sniff

".... You d.. you don't get it-" It felt like no one did "You just-- S-sometimes you just gotta deal with a little pain- UGH-" Yoshie look what you did you fucked up the kid- He squeezed his eyes(?) Closed. "T-... To get where you need to.."

"A little." He repeated, "A little pain." Sato felt a nerve pop at how Tai's words, but let it slide. Take a deep breath, you're past your prime, Osamu. It's his story, not yours. Don't make it about you. The kid needs this. He needs you right now.

The teacher pointed to his pitch-black hands, his injuries, his bandages, his current state of being. There was even a constant, soft whirring of a fan as his student recovered in bed. "You're going to get yourself killed before you can get where you need to, Taishiro. I can't let you do this."

His hands twitched. There was an attempt to ball his fists, but the pain didn't do any favours.. If he kept this up then he'd lose the functions in his hands entirely, if not the hands themselves.

"W-" An attempt to sit up. Very short lived though. "Y-you're not kicking me out of the tournament are you?!" Owie his throat. "You can't do that!"

"Stay still, Watanabe-kun!" Recovery Girl raised her voice from her seat, upset. "You shouldn't move around so much in your condition. You're going to stay here until you've stabilized." She crossed her arms. "Anything happens to you, and it's going to be on me!"

"You heard the boss," Sato turned back to his student, putting a sympathetic hand on Tai's blanketed knee. "Please, you need all the rest you can get. You need this more than anything else right now."

B- but that's not fair!!!" He shook a little. Pain? Anger? Who knows. "I was so close-- You can't do this to me, Sensei!!!" Oop tears ahoy

"Close to dying, if that was your goal." The teacher's expression was solemn, serious. This conversation was getting nowhere, and his student continued to be stubborn and in denial. He wished he could stay here for him, but he's got his job as a homeroom teacher cut out for him. He has other students to tend to, but this one...he might not be enough for Tai.

"I don't want you risking your life out there, against your own classmates. It's. A sports festival. You're supposed to be having fun out there." Sato pointed to the window, where the stadium could be seen from the clinic, "You enrolled here to become a hero, didn't you? What's the point if you don't make it to fighting villains? You won't be anywhere close if everything ends here."

"If I can't handle a sports festival how am i going to handle villains?!??" Angy.. "I-its not my fault I was matched with someone powerful!!"

"No hero gets to choose who they'll fight on the battle field. That's exactly what you're here in UA, Watanabe." Sato raked his fingers through his own locks, giving his student a meaningful glance. "To learn."

The usually tired teacher's eyes began to blaze with passion. "You're going to exactly learn how to, without endangering yourself. I've been teaching you how to, haven't I?" He didn't enroll into education for nothing, after all. "Or perhaps my classes really are that boring, hm?" Sato passed a joking glare towards Taishiro, recalling his grades and current standing.

".. I was winning" Huff "You should be happy about that... One of your students was doing good.. And now you're blocking him from winning"

He's not listening. Teenagers really are a different breed, huh?

The bed shifted from Sato's weight as he slowly moved towards the other student before gently, softly, enveloping Taishiro in the warmest hug he could give without adding pain to his injuries.

"You've done amazingly, well beyond my expectations...and now you need to rest. I'm so sorry I have to stop you here, when you're so close. I really am." Sato brings a hand behind Taishiro's head, carefully caressing his brightly coloured hair. He strokes the back of his head gently, speaking in a voice just as tender.

"I'm more than happy, Watanabe. Thank you for being a proud, strong student of Class 1-X."

He flinches a little from the pressure. Ow- Injury--

Whens the last time someone pet his hair like this? Not since he was tiny, probably. It was nice. Reminded him of snoozing on his dads lap on the way home from the park.

...

Sniff.

Sniff sniff-

The tears were already there, of course, but this just made it worse, thick black tears pouring from his eyes(?) Mann.. Even after all of that. After almost melting himself alive. After being so stubborn..

He was still just a teenager.

Hic-

He trembled, hiccuping as his lip trembled... And finally fully giving into his tears. Wailing onto his teacher. Sorry Sato your shirt is gonna get stained

It's not the first time Sato's shirt got stained with black tears. If anything, he's just happy to be there for his students in their time of need. He continues speaking what's on his mind, all the while hugging and comforting him via headpats.

"You kids are going to be the future. You guys are going to protect us when the time is right," voice low and soothing, he kept going. "So as your teacher, I can't have you risking your life as early as now. It would be my fault if something bad happened to you, it meant I didn't teach right."

He leaned back, breaking the hug. Even with the mask, Sato's smile was evident as his eyes crinkled with encouragement and pride towards Taishiro. "So with that, please continue being a good student, 'kay? Study well and become a great hero."

Hic hic hic--

Oh he's a mess. Aw man the bandages are gonna get stained too. :C

He kept shaking. Pained. Both emotionally and physically. God he was so tired-- "I-i'm trying!!"

"Trying a bit too hard, I'd say." Sato laughed softly, if not a bit cocky.

"You'll need some extra remedial classes if you want to be a good hero. And maybe some extra focus." Before he could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. Ah, right on time. Recovery Girl glanced as Sato put away his phone into his pocket, did he contact someone?

"Come right in, sir. The door's open."

Sniff...

He lifted his head. Another doctor maybe? Who would- ...

"Taishiro-!"

Oh lord-

Yoshie wastes no time. He's still in his pizza place uniform. Pizza smell. Pizza man.. He dashes over to grab and hold his son, of course causing the kid a little more pain but- Hey he could deal. Proabbly-

"D- Dad?!"

"Tai- Taishiro i saw everything--" He grabbed his son by the shoulders, face full of concern.

"How could you do that to yourself?! Do you know how dangerous that was?!?!"

"Dad...-"

"No! You can't-- Son. You can't keep doing this!!"

"I was winni-" "YOU WERE KILLING YOURSELF, TAI."

...

Oh

Tai is pulled in for a tight hug again, his father tearing up as he holds his son protectively, tai looking stunned for a moment.

"You can't do that-- Why would--" A sniff. From Yoshie this time. "..You're my only son, Tai! You can't do that to yourself!"

The father turned his head a little, looking at the teacher. ".. I-is it possible for me to take him home? Watch over his recovery?"

Sato hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well...it's a miracle the match ended before things for irreversible. It's another miracle that we've got such an amazing nurse on our side, too." He glances over to Recovery Girl for an opinion. "What do you say, Ma'am?"

"He's still a bit unstable, so we need to watch over him a bit more. He did too much work this festival, so..." The school nurse herself huffs, always with the tendency to scold those she heals up. "Learn to control yourself, young man! You're still a teenager, don't risk yourself at this age!" She raises her cane, gesturing to all the other students in the ward. "And that goes for all of you, too! Got that?!" A collective groan from the injured students follows, sounding like a "yes, ma'am."

The teacher decided to continue for her, "He should be okay to bring home by tomorrow." He placed a hand on Yoshie's shoulder, kind but firm. "Don't worry Watanabe-san, your son is in good hands."

"...."

A small nod, before he turns back to his son, cupping the students face.

"Tai.. I know it's not been easy. I know-.. I know i've not been the best father to you-" Two idiots be crying "... But this-..You can't do this. Not for my sake.." Looks like he saw the rin match. oop. "You have to do things for yourself. Make friends! ignore your work-- Hell, get another piercing- Just.. Don't give up your youth for me, Tai."

"D..."

All of this was for him.. All of this was.. All... "

... D-daaad-!!"And back to wailing he goes, his father chuckling a little through his own tears, holding him close. and letting his son cry it out. There was a lot of healing to be done, but at least this time he'd fight like hell to be around to help with it.

Sato watched as the two cried in each others arms, relieved that things turned out pretty well in the end. He excused himself from the clinic, waved goodbye to the nurse, father, and patient.

Now, then...

As soon as he closed the infirmary door behind him, Hikari, the redheaded girl from the other class was clutching her cellphone anxiously as she stuttered to find her voice. He wasn't well acquainted with her, but knew she did rather well in his class knowing that she received some sort of prior training from her pro hero relatives with that unfortunate quirk of hers. And she's the last of Class 1-Y standing...if anything, he's a bit worried considering Lucca's most anxious student is going to fight his scariest, angriest student.

"It's okay. He's doing well." He craned his neck as he looked up at the towering high schooler, "It's not your fault."

Taishiro didn't know Hikari's immunity to heat and fire. Trying to pull off a stunt like burning himself up in the inside to try and fry her only backfired completely. She couldn't do anything either, doing her damnedest to keep herself in the stage even if he kept rewounding time. Lucca must have noticed her student's distress in trying to get close to Taishiro to stop him. I really have to treat her to drinks sometime, it's tough being a teacher.

"S.....S-Sensei...."

A broken whimper stopped his trail of thought.

"Ah, sorry. You want me to escort you back to the stadium? Don't worry, I know Fuwa is scary and all, but--"

"........it's not th-that...."

Sato raised a brow and observed her movements. She's always trembling, but...she's shaking pretty badly. The student looks like she just finished crying, puffy eyes, nose and all. She clutched her phone close to her body before opening her mouth again. Hikari recalled the conversation she had on the phone and mustered up all the courage she had.

"I...I need to go home."

[fanfic-chan]

hi there! if the requests are still open, could i request for a ler!mama midnight and a lee!momo? perhaps momo is really upset over a failed grade or a bad week! if you do this, thank you! :D

Tysm for sending this ask! I feel like Mama Midnight doesn't get nearly enough attention, and it was really fun to write for her! I hope you like it!^^

Perfectly Imperfect

Ler: Mama Midnight

Lee: Momo

"Hey Momo, are you coming?"

"Oh, um, yes of course! You guys go on ahead without me, I'll catch up in a moment! I just need to pack my things."

"Ok, no problem! See you at the dorms!"

As soon as the last of her classmates had left, Momo slumped in her seat, picking up the piece of paper from her art history test to look at it once more. 

79%

That was her grade.

To anyone else, this might not have been such a big deal. It was still a passing grade, and it wouldn't hurt her overall grade average to badly.

But for her, the girl who strived for absolute perfection, the girl who had never gotten a grade below 87%, well, it was rather disheartening.

What's worse is the fact that she'd felt so confident during the test. She might have had self-confidence issues in other areas, but academics was not one of them. She'd always done well in school, and took great pride in her ability to retain information.

So… Why had she done so poorly this time?..

"Yaoyorozu? What are you still doing in here?"

She jerked her head up suddenly to be met with the concerned gaze of her teacher, Miss Midnight. 

 "O-Oh! Miss Midnight! I- I was just- j-just!.."

She covered her mouth as she realized how trembly her voice was, and she was completely mortified when she realized tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"I- I'm so sorry! I-"

She didn't even have time to finish her frantic apologies before she was suddenly wrapped in a warm embrace, and she stiffened for a moment in shock before relaxing into her teacher's touch.

"Miss Midnight I-"

"Shh. Just let it all out alright? Your fine Yaoyorozu."

Her teacher's tone was uncharacteristically firm, yet gentle. Much like her own mother's. That comparison alone was enough to make her break, and she sobbed into the hero's shoulder, all the while being hushed and soothed by the woman.

It took a while, and Momo wasn't sure how long they'd stayed that way until finally her cries had lessened into small whimpers, and she pulled away.

"I'm sor-"

"Nuh uh, none of that now. It's my job as your teacher to look out for you alright? Now, what's the matter hm? Is it something you feel you can talk about?"

The creation hero hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, looking down at her lap.

"I… I got a 79 on my test and I- I know it's not a bad grade, and I should be greatful! But… But.. I've just.. never gotten such a low score before… It's silly, selfish even, to think this way. I know that! But I still feel terrible about it, like I've let everyone down. I'm supposed to be this perfect girl, and I do try, but it's just so hard sometimes and I promise I'm not trying to let everyone down but I am anyway and-"

"Your wrong."

"W-what?.."

"Your wrong. You don't have to be perfect Yaoyorozu. No one is, and no one ever will be. I realize that you have a tremendous amount of pressure on you, as do all UA students, to set an example for the world. However, I also realize another thing, and I want you to look at me when I say this."

At this point, she paused to take the girl's hands in her own, and the young hero in training locked her onyx-colored eyes with her teacher's own blue ones, which were shockingly intense.

"You couldn't be a more perfect you, than you already are, Yaoyorozo. Your an amazing vice-rep, and you show such an amazing amount of dedication in everything that you do that it truly astounds your teachers. Yes, even that grumpy Aizawa. Getting a lower grade than you hoped does feel terrible, yes, but just know that it doesn't affect how any of us see you. Your classmates will still look up to you, and your teacher's will still support and encourage you in your journey. Don't forget that alright?"

Momo couldn't help but stare in awe at her teacher for a moment before her breath hitched, and she practically jumped into her teacher's arms once more, whispering small 'thank you's' between her quiet crying as she did so.

The woman simply held her, and began to rub small soothing circles into her back. Well, they would have been soothing, if not for the slightly familiar sensation that accompanied them.

"M-Mihiss Midnihihight."

"Hm?.."

"Th-Thahahat tickles!"

The rubbing stopped for a moment, as her teacher seemed to take in that information, but instead of stopping, she simply grinned and started up again, feigning ignorance. After all, her student could use some cheering up about now. 

"Tickles? I'm afraid I don't know what your talking about Yaoyorozo."

"Y-yehes you dohoho!"

"Nope. I've never heard of that word before. Hmm. Now if only there were a smart girl around here to tell me what that means."

Momo couldn't help but laugh at her teacher's teasing, and giggled softly as she continued to trace light, ticklish circles into her back. She knew she was baiting her into admitting she was smart, into complimenting herself.

It was working.

"T-tihihickles: it means to lihihightly touch a person in a way that causes a tihihihingling sensahation and oftehen lahahaughter."

"Oh thank goodness! It turns out there was a smart girl here to tell me after all! How amazing!"

Finally she stopped, and helped the poor girl up to her feet, soft titters of laughter still bubbling up as she helped her to clean her face up.

"Your perfect just as you are Creati. Don't forget that. Now run along and see your friends. We wouldn't want them to be worried."

As Momo stepped out of the classroom, she felt a sudden wave of gratitude for her teacher, and she couldn't help feeling sorry that not many people got to see this side of her. She truly was an amazing person, inside and out, and she really wanted to show her how much she appreciated her encouragement.

So if the next morning the hero found a pretty card with a note of thanks inside and a vase of her favorite flowers on her desk, well, she was pretty sure that would get the message across just fine.

Requests are: Open!

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

Heteronormativity and its impact on Stranger Things

While taking a walk today, I got to thinking about how romantic relationships are handled on TV and in movies. It generally comes down to the basic formula of the male and female leads getting romantically linked, regardless of any actual romantic building. We just expect a man and a woman who meet to have some degree of romantic attraction to each other. We see it all the time in real life. How many of you have had friends or relatives who see boy and girl toddlers interacting and begin to say things like “He’ll be a real heartbreaker.” or “Oh, I hear wedding bells.” I imagine many of us who oppose the idea of heteronormativity have fallen into this behavior as well.

We simply have been conditioned to expect boys and girls to pair off. Joyce and Hopper had a fan following for their relationship as early as season 1, despite there not being much to go on until season 2. We knew they were familiar with each other, but there wasn’t really much in the way of romantic undertones. Still, fans started to pair them together. Mike and El’s fan base acted like they were the best couple in the history of fiction, even though they were 12 and only knew each other for a week. There were even people who shipped Will with Jennifer Hayes. Why? Because she cried at his funeral. That’s it. That’s all they needed.

Strong relationships between same-sex pairs end up being written off as mere friendship and/or adoration. Even worse, terrible same-sex relationships take off as popular pairings. Look at Steve and Billy. There’s no reason for those two to be romantically linked, but it’s one of the most popular pairs in the fandom. It reeks of a horrible concept of homosexuality, one characterized by animalistic attraction and a lack of genuine affection. This all harkens back to old ideas of gay people: that they are sexual deviants, immoral, primal. There’s still this idea in even progressive culture that sees the heterosexual couple as the ideal, and the homosexual couple as inferior. The better among those who think this way at least understand it is not a good mindset to have, but it still leaks, subconsciously or not, its way into popular culture.

Had Will been a girl, there’s no question as to whether his relationship with Mike would be seen as romantic. There’d be a full-fledged ship war going on. We’d have Team Will vs Team El. I realize that I have my own biases in this, but I didn’t start seeing Mike and Will romantically because I wanted them to get together. I started wanting them to get together because I was reading that there was something going on between them. Just close your eyes and imagine these scenes with a female actor playing Will:

Mike becomes intensely worried after Will disappears and goes searching for her despite the growing danger.

Mike breaks down in tears when Will’s (fake) body is pulled from the quarry. He tries to console himself by looking through the drawings she had given him.

Mike is the only one awake in the hospital waiting room, and the first to rush to Will’s side when she wakes up.

Mike dotes on Will during the entirely of Season 2. He’s constantly in tune with her emotional needs.

Will trusts Mike, and Mike alone, with what is going on with her. Mike tells her that if they’re both going crazy, then they’ll go crazy together. Will smiles and says, “yeah, crazy together.”

Mike becomes Will’s primary source of comfort throughout the season. He stays by her side, making use of a lot of physical contact. 

Despite the Mindflayer eating into Will’s memory, she still remembers who Mike is. Mike smiles a bit bashfully in response.

Mike tearfully recollects meeting Will in an attempt to break through to her. Will starts off staring blankly at him, as she did with Joyce and Jonathan, but by the end of Mike’s story her eyes are glassy and her mouth is trembling.

When a boy walks up and asks Zombie Girl if she wants to dance, Will looks over at Mike briefly before going off at his urging. Mike suddenly looks stunned and then upset.

That summer, when Mike meets Will, Max, and Lucas for a movie, Mike sits with Will a row apart from Max and Lucas. He notices when Will sense the Mindflayer, asking her if she’s ok.

When Mike bails on the party to go off and make out with El, Will turns away with a sad look on her face.

In fact, everytime Mike makes a display of his feelings for El, Will looks sad.

When Mike and Will fight, and Mike asks if Will really expected things their relationship to stay the same forever, Will tearfully says she did. Mike looks sad as she bikes away from him. He chases after her in the rain to apologize.

As Will sits in Castle Byers, she looks around at pictures of her and Mike and recollects him telling a campaign. She calls herself stupid and proceeds to destroy everything.

Before she moves away, Will packs up her D&D set to donate to Erica. Mike nervously asks what she’s doing, but Will reassures him that she’ll just use his set when she comes back. She tells Mike it’s not possible for her to find a new party. They smile at each other.

This would be a blatant “Will they or won’t they?” situation if Will were a girl. There would be no shock that Will had feelings for Mike or that Mike had feelings for Will if it were to be revealed explicitly. Everyone would already have been waiting for it, regardless of who they wanted Mike to end up with. There would be no cries of pandering or sexualization of children. Fans wouldn’t be threatening to burn merchandise or boycott the show.

I know there’s no chance that anyone associated with the show will ever read this. I know that I probably shouldn’t get so worked up about the love lives of fictional teenagers. Still, the entire situation, and the fact that most fans insist Mike and Will are just friends, reeks of heteronormativity. It’s nothing more than a low-grade homophobia. It pisses me off. This mindset is one of the last obstacles to same-sex couples being truly accepted. Stranger Things has a real opportunity to strike a blow against it, but I worry that it won’t. The buildup is genuinely all there, we are not delusional, but will they pull the trigger on it?  I’ve grown to be pessimistic about such things. I hope I’m proven wrong.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Emp-ire “Anti-Alliance.”

So my schedule at work has been really weird lately, so I apologize for the weird posting schedule and if things seem a little cramped. I am trying to keep upon my posting, but it has been rather difficult recently.

I hope you all enjoy :)

He hadn’t thought that Spartans were normally meant for stealth with their red cloaks, bright red feathers, and pockmarked golden shields, but he had been wrong before. The ground below them was rocky even as they ducked and dodged through the large boulder field that marked the edge of a wide white salt flat.

From a distance it wouldn’t have looked all that interesting accept for familiar pockmarks in the ground, which he recognized to be evidence left behind from the landing struts of shuttles. His head was still reeling over the idea that there was any sort of Anti-GA resistance. Yeah he knew there were the isolationists and others who did not agree with their cooperation with alien lifeforms, but the idea that people would go to such lengths as to sell weapons to each other was nearly mind boggling.

He would have understood if the government were at all…. Oppressive, and granted there had been a few times when the GA hadn’t gotten it right, especially when it came to the whole LFIL business, but things had been rectified, and there were good relations all across the galaxy. Is only other thought is that maybe the people blamed the GA for the invasion of Earth, though how that could have been called an invasion was beyond him.

Most of the Burg had died within the first few minutes of landing on the planet, and there had only been one reported casualty in the entirety of Mericanda, that being a frail old lady who had seen the Burg from a distance and died of a heart attack related to shock, which he hardly thought counted.

Things were going good for them. In the history of humanity things had honestly never been better, so why someone would want to go and screw that up was beyond him.

But you couldn’t make everyone happy.

He slid into place next to James, the king of Sparta, and Xanthia, the queen, A they poked their heads over the rocks.

James had pulled off his helmet and handed it to Xanthia as he peered over the rock.

“What are we doing here?” Adam muttered as he glanced between a set of rocks and towards the deserted salt field. His bare knee ached from where he knelt on the partial gravel. The leather skirts may have been nice for the mediteranian climate, but he still missed wearing pants. He switched to his other knee, the fake one, so he might be more comfortable.

“My operatives in Athens recently sent me a report detailing this as the place where the anti-alliance ships have been landing.”

“Spies? But that doesn’t seem-”

“Not very Spartan of me? Well Adam, just because we took some inspiration from Ancient sparta doesn’t mean we do everything exactly like they did, besides Spartans were at war far more often than us?”

“Speaking of which, do you guys actually fight anyone?”

“Under GA law, we generally don’t, but the Anti-alliance scumbags work outside the law, and based on some of their actions, which have in the past included slave trafficking, I have taken it upon myself to dispatch a few of them. And no one has gone to the government about my activities because if they did, they would have to explain what they were doing in the first place.’

He gripped his spear tighter, ‘And as technical royalty, I am allowed, by law, mind you to police my own planet.”

Ramirez had schooted up next to them crouched low, using his spear to help him crawl over the rocks.

James nodded to him and he nodded back.

“What are you planning on doing.”

“Well, first of all, since you are here, I want to give you proof of what I have been saying all along, and then maybe you will understand better what is going on here. I want you to see that I’m not just some kind of tyrant trying to get rid of people who disagree with me.” he pointed towards the salt flat, “I really believe that these people need to be removed, but It would take a lot off my conscience if you knew that as well.”

Queen Xanthea raised her head, lips pressing together slightly.

Adam had a feeling that even if he did agree, the queen wasn’t likely to stop anytime soon.

The troop of spartan soldiers crouched behind the rocks with a stiff breeze blowing through them.

Adam had grown immune to mild temperature discomfort since his training had begun, and barely even noticed the early morning chill that rolled over him. Glancing out the corner of his eye, he noticed Ramirez and another one of the young spartans crouching close together, almost touching, sharting body heat.

He shook his head slightly.

Leave it to Ramirez to land a fling with a Spartan.

He turned his head back to the salt field, and was surprised to find movement on the far side.

The Spartans grew very quiet as they watched across the open plante to where a group of people had just emerged from the rocks.

A few of them were dressed like simple athenians in their tunics or togas, but there were a few more dressed in flight suits, looking very out of place on the Grecian landscape. Adam cocked his head trying to hear better, and watched as the king of the Spartains tilted his head and pressed into the skin below his ear. 

Adam forgot that the Spartan King also had a military grade translation implant and data chip installed just like everyone else. 

And also that he had one too, and therefore could amplify the sound.

He followed the Spartain’s lead and was just able to pick up the tail end of a conversation.

“We are moving them to the market on A1-36.”

“The GA has presence there don’t they/”

“It’s just a supply waystop for them, they don’t actually go in.”

“You know how the GA feels about slave trade.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what the GA thinks about the slave trade, without it we wouldnt be able to pay the damn Kree.” He snorted, “Little bastards upped their price after the war, and now we are having to pay them double for being involved.”

“Why are we even doing this? We haven’t gotten anywhere, too small time to really even make a dent.”

Their leader turned to glower at them, “All big operations started out small-time. Now shut the hell up, and stop bitching. We have work to do.” 

There was a roaring in the sky overhead, and the group turned their eyes up towards the great blue vastness as they watched a silver distortion roll like a hazy wave through the atmosphere. Adam didn’t even realize what it was until the shuttle touched down, and noted the reflective skin covering it’s hull.

It was a pretty clever if low-budget trick, though they didn’t need anything more high-tech on a planet that didn’t really seem to use technology in the first place.

The door to the shuttle hissed open, and a group of men stepped out dressed in black flight suits.

A few of them carried weapons, though the vast majority of them were armed with only batons.

While the distribution of firearms was common on earth, and an estimated 65% of the population owned one for personal use, the ability to get your hands on a human grade firearm in space was a little harder.

The GA had strict regulations on the movement of weapons through intergalactic airspace, and you had to have permits out the ass to even own one.

However, since when did laws ever stop criminals?

He doubted that any of these men actually had a permit, which was an arrestable violation to begin with, though he had more than enough probable cause to arrest these men anyway. 

He stayed put however, and waited for the scene to unfold before them as the group of men stepped down onto the salt, their boots crunching against the ground looking around nervously at the rocks.

If these men had had any REAL military equipment on them, their shuttle would have been able to detect the heat signatures of the company of Spartans crouched in the rocks, but even so, no one had noticed them, and they wanted with bated breath as the group of men met up with each other.

“Parked her in low orbit, sir.”

“Good, then let's get things going before anyone has the chance to notice. The damned Neo-Spartan bastards have been giving me trouble. I have had to change shuttle sites three times in the past month. I have a feeling those assholes have spies with the Athenians, though I can’t prove anything.”

“There are no spies, that’s not how the spartans work.” One of the Athenians piped in.

The man turned to look at the speaker, “Then your men are just Fucking incompetent because how else do the spartans seem to know where we are at every turn.” He kicked at the salt sending up a wave of white flecks into the air, “The Damned Spartan King and his and his stupid skirt-wearing, oily, dog shagging bastards showing up every damn time I try to do anything around here.”

The group stood around watching as their leader threw his little fit.

Behind the stones, the skit-wearing oily bastards grinned a little at each other. 

Adam bared his teeth.

He already didn’t like this guy, though the man didn’t exactly make it difficult to hate him.

“Whatever, just get them on the dam shuttle so they aren’t my problem anymore. All the wining and complaining and bitching. You were stupid enough to get caught now they can suffer the consequences.”

Adam had met psychopaths in the past, and even though the last one had totally tried to kill him, he was still pretty sure he liked that one better. This guy was much, much worse.

He talked too much.

And that was coming from Adam, the kind of talking too much.

His hand tightened around the shaft of his spear as he moved into position with the other spartans.

The kind nodded back towards the rest of the group, and then quietly engaged the shielding over the metal faces of their shiels. They had spears and the enemy had bullets, not that that would matter once they got within stabbing range, but until ten, it was a good idea to have some cover.

There was a soft shuffling from the other side of the valley, and a group of chained prisoners were walked out onto the salt. Most of them were alien, Tesraki, and Finnari, but a few of them were human. Adam’s stomach clenched as he noted that most of the human prisoners were wide eyed young women.

His teeth ground together in anger, and beside him he could feel the tensing of muscles from the other Spartans as they responded similarly.

James cracked his knuckles and Xanthia pulled her short sword.

That was an odd thing about her, she didn’t seem all that interested in the use of spears, but he HAD seen her use her two short swords before, and boy was it a sight.

These men were in for a wold of hurt.

Adam looked to James who nodded back at him.

This was clearly enough proof for them.

The Spartan’s shifted as one unit to the balls of their feet, pulling out their spears and adjusting their shields on their left arms.

Adam scooted up next to James on his left, and Ramirez covered Adam’s left in return. 

Their shields hummed  softly with the faint blue pusing of the shields.

James raised his spear, and the men waited on bated breath as the prisoners were brought out further onto the salt. The men with guns were turned away, their focus pulled to the chained prisoners who whimpered pitifully as they were dragged over the salt.

James thrust his spear into the air.

The men did not let out a war cry like they had practiced on so many occasions before, but they went running as silently as possible at full tilt across the salt, keeping in tight formation with each other as they did.

The prisoners noticed them first, and then the gunman allerted to their rapid approach by the clattering of shields and spears. They turned with shocked expressions on their faces just in time to be bowled to the ground by a wave of bodies and metal.

Adam rammed into one of the gunmen hearing the subsonic crack of the rifle as a bullet tore into the salt near his feet. He slammed the man to the ground with his shield. And then raise it just in time to deflect another bullet. Before he could take care of the next man, Xanthia was already there. The cything of her sword caught the man in the wrist completely severing his hand, then she kicked him hard in the chest causing him to fly back over the stone. Blood pooled in crimson puddles against the white salt as the group of Spartans hurried to surround the cowering prisoners.

Adam put his back to them and crouched low behind his shield spear at the ready.

He looked around in the confusion, and saw the slimy little rat running the operation as he clawed his way up the nearest incline and away from the fighting.

He bared his teeth in anger, before turning to shout to someone to take care of him, but it was just at that moment that a horn blast somewhere in the distance.

The group of them turned to look…. As a wave of Athenian soldiers came roaring over the hill.

***

“SHIELDS!” He heard James shout, and crouched down, interlocking the large round shield with the men on his left and right. Behind him, Ramirez was suddenly at his shoulder spear at the ready. Another man behind him locked a shield in palace over Adam’s.

At their backs, the mall group of prisoners cowered together in fear as they were surrounded by the spartan shield wall.

“BRACE1” James shouted, and Adam dug his sandals into the dirt.

The first wave of Athenian soldiers crashed against them, and the shield wall racked back absorbing the impact.

“PUSH!” Came the shout and with a heave of his legs and his back Adam slammed the shield forward pushing the Athenian soldiers back a good two feet, a few of them stumbled to the ground. He opened the shield just enough for Ramirez to lunge forward, stabbing outward at the first line of Athenian soldiers catching one in the stomach before pulling back behind the shield wall.

They turtles up again as the Athenians slammed against them one more time, and again they held, Throwing  them back with a powerful push which sent them sprawling to the ground.

The Athenian line broke.

WIth screams and cries of fear the scattered as the Spartans broke from their shield wall and charged into the frey.

Adam and Ramirez roared out together.

Adam clobbered one of the Athenians with his shield knocking him to the ground for Ramirez to finish off. He thrust his spear forward and waist height, impaling one man straight through the stomach and out his back. The Athenian looked almost surprised as he was thrown to the ground, a hole torn straight through him.

Adam had no time to think about what he had just done, as he stepped over the man’s body to meet another.

This time his spear caught the man in the throat. He knocked the body to the side, and use the reverse end of his spear to turn and take a man who had been sneaking up behind Ramirez.

Blood painted the white ground red as the short pitched battle came to a head.

James and Xanthia fell into step beside Ramirez and Adam and together they washed through the battlefield like a tidal wave of destruction. Adam caught one man’s swords on the haft of his spear, and james darted in, taking the man between the ribs with the point of his own weapon. Behind them Xanthai and Ramirez held their backs, chasing the enemy away from the cowering prisoners.

Adam took a cut high on his cheek feeling warm blood run in slow trickles down his face to drizzle onto his collarbone.

The shield protected his unarmed torso as he roared into another line of men batting them back.

After all the raining he had done with the spartans, these men were barely worth a match, especially since he had trained in the spear against creatures with four arms instead of two.

An athenian charged at him, and he ducked low, catching them in the upper legs and waist with his shield before heaving with his legs and back, sending them up and over his head with a wail and straight into Ramirez’s spear.

He was surrounded by at least three men in the second moment.

One was blocked with his shield, one with his spear, and he kicked the other directly in the chest sanding him spinning backward and away.

He plowed painfully into the ground.

Adam ducked to the side as the man’s sword cut past his arm, cutting his friend in the thigh. He let the spear drop through his hands, caught it near the end and drew the spike right into the man’s face.

There was a brutal crack but he didn’t stop to look as he spun, pulled back his spear, catching it on the balance point in the middle and threw it with unerring accuracy into the chest of the second man no ten feet away.

He fell to the ground sputtering as Adam ran forward and tore the spear from his chest.

He spun, but there was no one there to fight.

Lowering his spear, he stopped to look around at the carnage and blood that drenched the ground.

The Spartans were finishing off the Athenians who had attacked them and Adam lifted his head to find Xanthia dragging the rat from back down the hill. He had a horrible gash across his face, and was bleeding profusely down his front. Adam tried not to look at the bodies that littered the ground below his feet and hurried to join James ashe marched forward, 

Xanthia threw the man to the ground, and Adam and James both stepped over the body as he lay in the dirt.

“Been a hot minute since I last saw you.” James said casually as he bent don to look the rat in the eye.

The man snarled at him.

James shook his head, and then pointed at Adam, “Do you know this man?”

He turned his head to look up at Adam. At first there was no recognition, and then his eyes widened in shock and horror.

“Exactly, now the GA knows about your little group, and sanctioned what we have done here today. You have taken slaves which is the highest offence of the GA. You attacked A GA officer, and I would continue adding to the list, but we might be here all day.”

The man just stared at him with his cold dark eyes.

James leaned a little closer spear in one hand.

A cry of pain broke through their little conversation, and they all turned to look in that direction unconsciously.

Adam gave the credit to his mechanical eye for catching the movement.

The rat had taken the opportunity and launched forward drawing a small blade from his belt, aimed straight at James’s throat. Adam, reacting as fast as he could dove forward, shoving James out of the way.

He staggered and hit the ground. The little blade missed its mark but impeded itself high in Adam’s shoulder.

His adrenaline was pumping so hard that he barely even noticed as he turned and slugged the rat in the face. He hit the ground, eyes rolled back in his head. Xanthia reacted only a moment after him. Her swords to the man’s throat but he was already incapacitated.

James turned over into an upright sitting position, staring back at Adam with a look of surprise.

Adam glanced down at his shoulder, and here the small two inch knife was sticking.

It would have been devastating had the man had caught James in the throat, but as it was Adam would probably only need a few stitches.

Xanthia kicked the man in the ribs, and he grunted in pain.

James slowly stood, “You saved my life.”

Adam shrugged, “You would have done the same.” he rested his spear over his shoulder, “Either way, I will want to make a call to the GA and let them know what happened. This is a bit more serious than I had expected.’

James nodded in agreement.

***

Adam and Ramirez stood at the edge of the dock watching as the boat slowly drifted into position.

A group of Spartans stood around them.

Ramirez was off saying goodby to his “friend” and Adam was standing with Xanthia and James.

“It was a pleasure to fight with you, Admiral. It’s a real pity that we can’t keep you and your Marine longer.”

He nodded in agreement, “I wish we could stay as well.” He clasped the other man’s hand, “Keep in touch, it would be a pleasure to fight with you again, plus, I have a couple of aliens I think you would like to meet.”

James smiled, “Any alien that trained you how to fight like that would be welcome.”

He paused and then, Dropped the shield from his arm.

He held his spear and shield out to Adam, “Here, take these.”

Adam looked at him in surprise, at the well worn haft of the spear, and the dented golden metal of the shield, “I, but your weapons…”

“I can fight with any spear and shield, but you saved my life. Maybe one day, these will save yours and we can call each other even.” 

The boat docked.

Ramirez walked over to stand with Adam and together the two of them stepped onto the deck.

Behind them the spartans raised their weapons punching them into the air three times with matching shouts as the King of Sparta saluted them.

Ramirez and Adam saluted back as the rowers began to pull the boat away from the dock.

He was going to miss those men and women.

But now he had to leave, with the knowledge that the anti-alliance was out there.

Hopefully at least, there would be men like the Neo-spartans and their king to keep men like that at bay.

[sondepoch]

Chapter 4

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

“Bro, you good?”

Satan blinks the sleep from his eyes at the feeling of a pencil tapping against his shoulder, groggily turning to face the owner of the voice that tore him from his precious slumber.

“...bwha?” is the educated response Satan can come up with in his sleep-addled mind.

Solomon snorts.

“Dude, this is the third time you’ve fallen asleep in class this week.” The white-haired athlete grins. “Keep this up and I’m gonna score better than you on tomorrow’s test.”

“We have a…”

Satan groans inwardly. He has a test tomorrow? The blonde blinks up at the board. It takes a second for his vision to clear, but then it registers that he’s in math class, and everything else falls into place. A quick scan over the whiteboard confirms that Satan didn’t miss anything important, that the chapter the teacher is covering is something Satan taught himself roughly two years back, but the boy still groans to himself in frustration. He doesn’t like to sleep through class. Ever.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Satan mumbles to his friend when he glances at the clock. It seems that Solomon let him doze for nearly the entire period, opting to wake him up a mere minute before the bell should ring. 

“No problem. But seriously, I’ve never seen you slack this hard. You good?”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired because…” Satan trails off, hesitant to confess that the reason he’s so exhausted is because of you. No doubt, Solomon would read way too deeply into that—nope, wait, it looks like Solomon figured it out on his own from the shit-eating grin he’s now sporting.

“Ah, your future girlfriend, is it?” Solomon leans back in his chair, grinning. “The love life is rough, buddy. Make sure you’re using protection at night, though.”

Satan has never been more relieved to hear a bell ring.

“Would you lower your voice?” He growls when a couple of kids passing by give him weird looks. Satan glares hard at Solomon, but the latter gives a grand total of zero (0) shits.

“Sorry,” Solomon says in a voice that makes it all too clear that he’s not sorry.

Satan has never hated his schedule more than in the next moment when he realizes that Solomon is in his next class and that they can’t split ways. Worse yet, it’s Physical Education—the stupidest course of all time because all it consists of is kids walking in circles for an entire hour and being “encouraged” to run. And somehow, to top it off, Satan always ends up walking with Solomon. 

“We’re not together,” Satan grunts to his friend when they’re outside doing laps around the track. “It’s just that it’s fucking hard to balance club duties, her volleyball schedule, and my own studies.” 

“I totally get it,” Solomon blurts. “But you’ve gotta get used to it, bro. Imagine how much harder it’s gonna be to when the two of you start dating! You’ll have to take her out on dates, and—fuck—have you ever been to one of her games? She has crazy stamina, man. The two of you’ll be at it all night.”

Satan thinks back to freshman orientation, wondering why, of all the places to sit, he chose the seat next to the most annoying person in the entire academy. 

“Solomon, can you shut the fuck up?”

Solomon, unsurprisingly, does not shut the fuck up.

With enough difficulty, Satan does finally manage to steer the topic away from Solomon’s matchmaking attempts and towards more normal topics. Namely, Satan’s matchmaking attempts. Of course, just as Satan places no weight on Solomon’s opinions on his love life, Solomon completely ignores Satan’s advice to stop beating around the bush and just ask Asmo out, the athlete having the nerve to say “I’ll ask Asmo out when you ask our volleyball captain out”—as if you and Satan have a remotely similar history to Asmo and Solomon, who, as now known by the entire campus, are both desperately pining for each other but are too dumb to see it.

Satan sighs, shaking his head.

Idiots, he thinks. I’m surrounded by idiots.

It’s to this thought that Satan hears someone calling his name in the distance: an extremely familiar voice, almost grating on the ears, but a voice he knows he should not be hearing. 

Satan shakes his head, deciding that he’ll clear up his schedule today so he gets a nap in because surely, surely he must be imagining you calling his voice. Surely you’re not actually on this track field. Surely you’re not cutting English, of all courses, a subject that Satan insists you pay extra attention to because it’s the single course you're most likely to fail.

“Bro,” Solomon whispers, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Satan closes his eyes, trying to see if pretending that he doesn’t hear your footsteps sprinting closer and closer towards him will make it so that they’re not real.

It doesn’t work.

“Satan!” You shriek, now close enough that he can’t pretend you’re a figment of his imagination anymore. “Satan! Satan, Satan, Satan!”

The blonde continues staring resolutely forward, committing himself to the ideology of I do not see it, therefore it is not happening.

Unfortunately, Satan sees it. And so it happens.

Without any warning whatsoever, you lurch forward and grapple on to Satan, wrapping your limbs around him like a literal koala as you yeet yourself onto him with enough force that Satan is just barely able to remain standing when you attach yourself to him while shrieking: ”Satan! Guess what, guess what!”

The blonde is at a loss for words, so dumbfounded and taken aback that it’s all he can do to sputter out a confused “w-what?” 

You grin at him with a smile so wide it looks like it hurts, and Satan can only stare as you reveal what made you so happy.

“I got an 85 on the Shakespeare test!” 

The Shakespeare test, the man thinks, trying to remember.

The Shakespeare test, he repeats in his mind, a vision of you cram-reading the final acts of King Lear flashing through his mind

The Shakespeare test! Satan realizes with a start, suddenly recalling how it was a test he expected you to fail.

Satan’s mouth drops open at that. He had been prepared for you to get a 20, a 30; the highest you told him to expect was a 60, and even that was below the fail margin, but an 85? Holy shit, Satan might cry if he got a grade like that, but for you, it’s a genuine accomplishment, and he’s fucking proud.

“You’re joking,” he blurts, already calculating how this will affect your average and, holy shit, it’s actually going to pull you up to a passing grade.

“I’m not!” you declare with so much happiness that it’s infectious, and then the two of you are hugging and laughing except that Satan’s literally carrying you so it’s awkward, but neither of you care because this is the highest grade you’ve pulled all year, and Satan is finally beginning to feel like the late hours and the sleepless nights are all worth it.

The two of you are grinning and beaming at each other even when you finally de-koala yourself from Satan and land on the ground; and it’s at this precise moment that Satan realizes just how many people are watching. 

The blonde clears his throat awkwardly. 

It felt so natural when you tackled Satan midair, but he’s now beginning to realize just how intimate that whole scene looked to any onlookers. He stiffens, and you seem to notice, your own demeanor turning sheepish in turn.

A low whistle from next to you diffuses the situation.

“An 85, huh?” Solomon slings an arm around your shoulder, sandwiching you between him and Satan as the three of you continue walking along the track field—effectively sending a message to anyone watching that the show is over. “Not bad, Captain, not bad.”

“It’s amazing, Solomon!” you cry out in turn, grinning as you lean into his shoulder. (Satan doesn’t feel weird when he sees that, he swears he doesn’t.) “I haven’t scored this high since, well, I dunno. I don’t really pay attention to the scores I get because they’re always so low!”

Solomon laughs at that, definitely remembering when he was the same way. 

“It’s all thanks to Satan, no?” Solomon prods, and the blonde shoots a sharp look at his friend. He’s up to something. Satan isn’t sure if he wants to know what.

“Oh, definitely! He literally read every single text out loud to me! I left this one book for the very last day, and he actually stayed with me and—”

“You need to get back to class,” Satan swiftly interrupts, his ears turning red. “You did well on one test, but you need to pay attention if you want to continue.”

“Oh, but—”

Satan practically shoves you away, gesturing wildly the whole time with a vigor that has you confused but compliant as you slowly depart, doubtlessly making your way back to the English building as slowly as you possibly can.

When you’re gone, Solomon snorts.

“You read to her?” He asks, expression brimming with mirth.

“It’s not—it’s an effective studying technique that we use to save time—”

“Oh my god,” Solomon mumbles under his breath, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Next thing you know, I’ll find out that she’s sleeping on your shoulder or something. Seriously, Satan, way to make a move early on.”

Satan is incredibly grateful that Solomon doesn’t see how his face changes at that part, a flush rising on his cheeks when he realizes that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder not once, now, but several times. 

“Shut up,” Satan grumbles, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“No way, man!” Solomon cackles with laughter, finding great amusement in his friend’s frustration. “Oh my god, the two of you are so perfect for each other that it hurts! Here, take a look at this—”

Solomon pulls up his phone and opens up his Photo Gallery, swiping twice before handing it over to Satan.

“Just look at that, dude—” he gestures vaguely at the picture. “You two already look like you’re dating.”

Satan stares at the image, his feet slowing down. It’s a picture of you and Satan hugging, taken conveniently when you were still koala-ing Satan with your entire body because of course Solomon was able to get a picture that quickly, and although Satan can’t see either of your faces due to the side angle, even he has to acknowledge that the two of you really do look like a couple.

“It’s not like that,” Satan mumbles, shaking his head as he hands the phone back to Solomon. 

This might be the first time, though, that he actually entertains the thought of what it would be if it was like that.

It’s not a terrible thought.

You hate away-scrimmages for a lot of reasons.

The first reason is that, more often than not, the environment is hostile. The other team is always bound to have more support, more cheering, more motivation powering them forward while yours has nothing more than the girls on the bench and the loud voice of your coach. 

The second reason is that they always feel like a waste of time. Scrimmages, by nature, are meant to be an extension of practice. So what’s the point of a scrimmage if you spend more time driving to the school than you spend playing against the school? It’s totally backwards, in your opinion, and pretty stupid.

The third reason is the most compelling reason, though. And it’s probably because this is the issue you’re dealing with right now: the fact that at away-scrimmages, if there does happen to be someone from your school who puts in the time and effort to come watch, the pressure on your shoulders instantly triples. Scrimmages are supposed to be fun, enjoyable. They’re nothing more than practice matches to collect data and get ready for when you’ll go against the school for real—but when people from your school travel such a long distance to watch you play not even a game but a scrimmage, it feels like you owe it to them to bring home a win, to succeed, to make the match worth their while.

And while Satan doubtlessly had no intentions of adding to your stress when he asked to watch you play at today's scrimmage, that’s exactly what has happened.

“Listen, girls,” your voice is low as your team groups up in what will likely be the last huddle of the match. “I want us to win this. Really badly. Do what it takes, but bring home that victory.” You take a moment to recite the weaknesses of the other team, trying to downplay their skill and build confidence in your own teammates, but ultimately, you all know the truth. “It all comes down to how we play this point, girls, so let’s play our best.”

You glance around at your teammates, stealing a glance at the bleachers where Satan sits, watching the scrimmage.

You want to make him proud.

“Wolves on three: one, two, three—”

“Wolves!” your teammates echo, raising their fists as the lot of you split off into your serve receive positions.

As it stands, match point is weighing against you, and your team is at a heavy disadvantage. From what you’ve gathered on the opposing team, their libero is a literal legend when it comes to front row saves, and they have an amazing right-side hitter, one that easily rivals your own skill. This entire game, their team has been leading, but all your team needs to secure victory is a measly three points, three points that you know you can obtain if you try hard enough.

You crouch low, getting ready for the opposing team’s serve.

The first two points are easy for your team to get: the first point comes when the opposing team’s outside hitter rams the ball into the net, and the second comes when your team's right-side hitter manages a clean hit through a line of defense that jumped a second too late.

The final point, as always, is the hardest to get.

It just so happens that it’s your serve, so you consciously aim at what you think is the weakest link in the opposing team, but they’re able to recover. From then on, it’s an intense volley back and forth until it’s just you versus the right-side hitter, #18, the two of you fighting it out in a rhythmic contest of pass-set-hit that just won’t end.

It’s at this time that you feel the pressure beating down on you heavier than ever before. More than anything, you want to win. Not just because you’re naturally competitive, not just because you really fucking hate #18 right now (seriously, what business does she have being as good as you?), but because you know that Satan is watching. 

You really, really, really want to bring home a win for him.

It’s to this thought that you set the ball over on the first touch, sabotaging the flow of the game and ruining the other team’s momentum. 

It happens in slow motion as the ball falls, slowly, slowly.

The entire room seems to hold its breath as three girls on the opposing team, #18 included, all pancake-dive for the ball. Sensing their success, you bend your knees, preparing for the ball’s return.

It never comes.

The blow of the ref’s whistle is surreal, almost as faraway as the subsequent cheers of your own team, so empty and distant as they instantly group up for a team tackle—but for the first time, you don’t join them. 

Instead, you’re left staring up at Satan who, from his spot on the bleachers, is grinning down at you with a proud look on his face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy to win a scrimmage. 

Everything else passes by in a blur. Your team regroups and changes out of your uniforms, and the lot of you board the bus that’s set to bring you back to the Royal Academy of Barbatos. 

You, however, stay back.

“I’ll get a ride from my tutor,” you tell your coach, bidding farewell to your friends. 

The man arches an eyebrow at you, asking once and then twice if you’re certain you don’t want to stay with the team, but you nod your head. 

Weird, you think as you go to find Satan, who’s waiting for you at his car. This must be the first time I’ve prioritized someone else over the team.

You decide not to dwell on that thought. 

Instead, you choose to think about how sick Satan’s ride is.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, gawking as soon as you see the car. “Satan, I knew you were loaded, but I had no clue you were this loaded.”

Satan laughs at your reaction, grinning when you can do nothing but stand and stare at the sheer beauty of it: a slick, black Bugatti with a single green stripe down the middle. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” you coo, marveling at the interior when you slide into the passenger seat and slug your volleyball bag unceremoniously in the back. “Satan, I think I like this car better than I like you.”

The blonde gives a short laugh, rolling his eyes as he gets inside next to you. “I’ll let you drive it someday,” he offers.

You’re quick to decline, shuddering to think about how many more sports scholarships you’d need to ever pay such a thing off if you were to crash it. 

Satan can only smile at that, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t hear.

“Your match was amazing, by the way,” he says before you can probe him about what he said. “It looked really intense. It’s impressive that you were able to keep a level head even at the end.”

You don’t tell Satan that your head wasn’t level, that you were practically dizzy with fear from the possibility of losing in front of him.

“It comes with practice,” you instead choose to say. “Something we’ve gotta do tonight!”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

You shoot Satan an innocent smile in response.

“Your match lasted a good hour, and I saw you practicing with your team before your bus left.” Satan shakes his head, a frown beginning to spread across his lips. “You’re going to destroy your muscles if you try to do any more. Even you need to rest.”

“Yeah, but resting is boring.” You lean back in your seat and stare at your palms. “Besides, that scrimmage was way too close for comfort. Didn’t you see number eighteen? She was, like, really good. If both our teams make it to the state tournament, we’re going to have a lot of trouble dealing with her unless we practice like crazy until then.”

“Exactly,” Satan says. “Your team needs to practice, not you. The best thing you can do for them is relax and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

“But don't you want to reward me for getting a good grade on my Shakespeare test?” A smile curls onto your lips because you know that's something Satan has been thinking about. “Come on, just a few balls? It’ll be quick, I promise. I just want to try a few moves out.”

Satan lets out an exasperated sigh that lets you know he’s agreeing.

“Yes!” You exclaim, resisting the urge to jump out of your seat and hug him because he probably won't be as inclined to help you if you make him crash his car. “Thank you so much, Satan! I won’t be long, I promise!”

The blonde doesn’t say anything to that, sighing softly as he switches his destination from the student parking lot to the on-campus gym you usually conduct your practice sessions in. It takes a while, but when the two of you get there, the spot Satan pulls into is far from the doors. It's a necessity since all the other spots are taken, but it makes you raise an eyebrow because this is the first time you’ve seen this gym even remotely filled up.

You nudge Satan out of his car regardless.

“Alright, so today I want you to make my tosses higher than normal. Number eighteen was taller than me, so I’ll need to increase my jump height if I want to be able to break past her defense.” You pull him to the door, wasting no time to get inside. “And don’t worry if your tosses aren’t perfect! It’ll be good practice for...for when…”

Your train of thought is disrupted when you see how packed the gym is.

“Damn,” Satan mumbles next to you, frowning. 

There must be some kind of athletic event coming up. That's the only explanation you can think of for the picture in front of you. As it stands, there are tons of students inside this gym, everyone practicing their own sport. It’s ridiculous, honestly, because even sports that are traditionally outdoors are practicing inside. You can see Solomon leading his soccer team through a few drills on the far side of the court, taking up one half of one of the six nets set up in the gym.

“They must be here because it’s so muddy outside. All the outdoor sports are practicing inside.” Satan crosses his arms. “Let’s come back tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to get an effective practice in.”

“No!” you immediately exclaim, if only because you see a group of people setting up to leave. “Look, we can take that side of the court. Let’s go! I don’t want someone else to get there first.”

It’s a bit harder to find a spare cart of volleyballs than it was to find a spot to practice, but after checking enough supply rooms, you finally find what you’re looking for. After that, it takes you all of two minutes to wheel the cart over to Satan where you present your findings to him proudly.

“Shouldn’t you stretch first?” He frowns. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

“Come on, Satan. I just came back from a match! My muscles are all loosened up, so let’s get straight into it! The faster we can get this done, the faster we can return to the dorm, so let’s hurry!”

The boy doesn’t look wholly convinced, but he acquiesces to your request nonetheless, throwing you a toss higher than usual as you jump to slam it down.

It’s only once the two of you have returned to your usual rhythm that you begin to feel the stretch in your thighs, and for a moment, you stop to consider the fact that it might have been better if you’d stretched after all, but you ultimately decide that you’ve already started so there’s no point in stopping.

The practice whizzes by, as usual. It's almost pitiful how quickly the end of it nears.

“Three more balls,” Satan says, glancing at the number of balls left in the cart. “Then we go back, alright?”

“Sure thing!” you exclaim with pride, the familiar sense of satisfaction after a practice session well-done setting in.

Satan tosses you the third-last ball, and your feet begin following it as soon as it leaves his fingers. Your feet follow a familiar pattern—left, right, left, jump!—and you force yourself to put in a little bit of extra power to increase the height of your jump, letting your palm collide with the ball just a few inches beneath the peak of the arc to let it slam onto the court at an angle so steep that even a reinforced defense wouldn’t have been able to save it.

“Perfect!” you shout the moment your feet land on the floor. “Two more like that, and we’re set!”

Even Satan can’t hold off a smile at that.

Already in-tune with you, he doesn’t bother asking if you’re ready before throwing the next ball into the air. 

Again, you go through the motions that have been ingrained into your muscle memory since you were eight years old. The sting of pain against your palm is familiar, too familiar, and you’re still high in your jump when the ball spikes down onto the floor.

What isn’t familiar is the immediate calls of concern from across the court.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn your head to the source of the noise, the loud group of soccer players who are on the far side of the gym and are all shouting to watch out. You stare at them in confusion for a moment, squinting to look for what they're all pointing at, because right now you don’t see anything to watch out for, and why—

Your eyebrows furrow.

Why are they all looking at you?

That thought is the only warning you get before your feet land—and the first thing you realize is that you landed way too early, that you should have been in the air for longer given the height of your jump. That’s when you realize that you haven’t landed, that your foot is instead twisting on top of a soccer ball that’s rolled directly underneath you.

Your hands go out to catch yourself when you fall, but there’s nothing you can do about the swell of pain that bursts from your ankle when the soccer ball pops out from underneath you.

There’s a moment of trepidation, a single second where your body is completely suspended in the air, and the gym is silent.

In that quiet moment, you hear Satan call out your name in a terrified voice.

Then, the ground collides with you and hard, and there’s nothing you can do as the pain you’d been feeling earlier blossoms out from all parts of your body.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: ive returneddd :D this chapter is dedicated to the vball captain who, in my freshman year of high school, injured herself. her injury was more dramatic, given that it was way more severe and it was during an important match, but irene, i carry you in my heart <3

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[moondustis]

love is not just a verb (m)

pairing: mark lee + reader genre: fluff, smut | word count: 3k summary: Fridays meant that the boy that had the butterflies in your stomach absolutely going crazy would be waiting outside for you, and you would finally be in his arms as soon as the teacher dismissed the class. 

College had a way of getting to you. The pounding headache and too stressed to function kind of way.

It’s not that you didn’t like your major or your classes, you loved them very much and each day you fell a little more interested on the subject you had decided to study. But it had been a long week, filled with too many assignments and a bad grade on a essay you thought you would do well, so your patience was running low.

And to make things even worse, it was a debate day. See, foreign affairs was a cool major and you were passionate about it, had chosen it for a reason after all, but debate days were just a completely different story. You had experienced a few on high school, but it didn’t come close to the complete chaos that happened when you put together a bunch of conceited college kids that thought they knew a lot about everything.

You watch with a scowl as the representative for China slams their hand on the desk and screams about how the girl that’s representing USA doesn’t know anything and should just shut up already. And that’s just a tame bit, you had heard far worst curses and offenses when the debate just got a little overheated, because if there was something your classmates didn't enjoy, was being wrong.

But none of that even mattered anymore because it was a friday and almost time for the class to be over. And fridays meant that the boy that had the butterflies in your stomach absolutely going crazy would be waiting outside for you, and you would finally be in his arms as soon as the teacher dismissed the class.

You had met Mark Lee two years ago, on freshman year. He was friends with Donghyuck, who was friends with Jungwoo, who happened to be your best friend and in the end it was probably meant to happen, because you kept seeing him at parties and sometimes at the library, with his cute eyes and even cuter laughter.

And bless the day Jungwoo had invited you to study together with some friends, including the one and only. You didn’t even care that you had accidentally spilled juice all over his unfinished paper, because that prompted your first actual conversation and well, the rest was history.

So you watched as the clock ticks too slowly, the heels you had to wear for this hurting just as much as the headache you had going on.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

And finally, you let out a deep alleviated sigh as the teacher tries to contains the class to wrap things up, but you don’t even bother to stay for that. Grabbing your things you practically bolt out the classroom, opening the door with eyes immediately searching for him.

You find him by the drinking fountain, looking at his phone with eyebrows furrowed and you swear your heart does somersaults in your chest by how cute he looks with round glasses and plaid shirt, a certain smile forming on your lips at the sight.

You basically skip on your way to him, his eyes as if on cue moving from the phone to find yours and he immediately mirrors your smile, locking his phone and putting it on his pocket.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He says when you stop just in front of him, scrunching your nose at the silly pet name before you press a quick kiss on his lips. “Another one, please.”

You grant his wishes, a hum forming in his throat as he thanks you with a small chuckle.

“Ugh, I’m so tired.” You mumble when he takes hold of your hand and the two of you start walking.

“How did the debate go?” The question is more out of his interest on the latest gossip then to know the reason behind your tiredness.

“God, a mess as usual.” He moves your arms a little as you talk. The day outside is still pretty, the sun of a late afternoon giving you exactly what you needed after a long week. “This girl called another one a dumb piece of shit and said she should just go back to her mother’s house and become a trust fund baby.”

He laughs loudly and it’s so contagious that you laugh too. “Oh my god, people really get crazy on those. Was it the same girl that cried last time?”

“Nope, that girl wasn’t even there today. I think she got traumatized.”

“Man, that’s crazy. I wish I could watch one someday.” He seems talkative today, as if sensing that you don't feel like doing it much yourself. “Oh, but good news. Hyuck is gone for the weekend so we’ll have the apartment to ourselves.”

You turn a little to look at him with excitement painted across your feature, letting him lead the way as you walk mostly blindly. “Really?”

It wasn’t that you disliked Donghyuck, but he had no sense sometimes, always trying to sneak into your movie nights with your boyfriend. And there was just something about having to kiss quietly because there was someone sleeping on the other side of the room that bothered you to no end.

“Yup, we can be as noisy as we want.” He teases and you only lead it on by raising your eyebrow suggestively.

“I’ll hold you to it, Mark Lee.”

-

You sigh a little bit too exaggeratedly when you finally remove your heels, the satisfaction of finally stepping on the cold floor with bare feet almost sending shivers down your body.

Mark chuckles as he locks the door, then leans down to remove his own sneakers. “Want me to massage your feet later?” He asks and you coo.

“Such a good boyfriend, you are.”

A kiss to your lips. “Only the best for my queen.” It was something that became an habit for the both of you, to joke about corny couple things because it made both of you cringe, but it had been ongoing for so long that sometimes it came naturally.

Snickering you make your way to the living room, stretching your arms above your head and resisting the urge to just plop down on the couch in the middle of it. Mark shared a small two bedroom apartment with Donghyuck and it was what you would think a place shared by two college male students to be like. But today it was neater than usual, meaning he probably cleaned for your visit.

“Can I borrow a t-shirt?” You ask as he walks into the kitchen, a counter separating the two of you. “These clothes are not comfy.”

He just hums, going through the cabinets looking for something. probably dinner.

In his room, you remove the outfit you always had to wear for special matters, such as debates, that consisted of a button up and a pencil skirt and it made you feel like a business woman, but it was far too uncomfortable. You fold it neatly on the chair he used as a rack, your bra coming after and making you sigh again at the heavenly feeling of finally letting your boobs rest.

“Do you want ramen for dinner?” He asks from the kitchen, a bit loudly so you would hear.

He was far from a great cook, but ramen was something he knew how to do well. “Yes, please.” You reply, sounds of pots clinking together following right after.

Digging through the very unsettling and messy wardrobe Mark kept, you look around for something to wear and settle on a sweatshirt with the words AMOUR on it. It’s comfy and runs a little big even on himself, so it covers enough to make it decent for you to walk around in just it and panties. Not that Mark would care otherwise.

When you walk into the kitchen he’s about to put the raw ramen on the boiling water, sneaking a glance at you and smiling. “Looking cute.”

You look down in a fake bashful way, playing with the hem of the sweatshirt to emphasize. ”Thank you, baby.”

He mutters a little ‘so silly’ as you hug him from behind, basking in the scent that was imprinted on your mind by now, something that was very close to clothes softener and the perfume he used. “Think we can finish Itaewon Class today?” His chest moves a little where you have your hand folded on it as he speaks.

“If someone doesn’t fall asleep.”

He snorts, the sound of boiling water filling the room as you keep your head pressed on his back. “Please, we both know that someone will be you.”

In your defense you had been very tired the five times it happened. “I won’t today, promise.”

“Uh-hum.” It’s obvious that he doesn’t trust you one bit.

When the ramen is ready you eat it in the couch while watching the drama you both had been addicted to and trying to finish for weeks now. It’s nice, something you had been waiting for all week and you feel a weight leave your body when the ramen is finally over and you can lean into Mark’s chest as he cuddles you. The sky starts to turn pink and orange outside and you couldn’t feel more content.

—

You wake up surrounded by warmth and it takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re not in the living room anymore, instead you’re squeezed in Mark’s tiny bed with your body feeling lethargic from your nap. Blinking your eyes open you are met with darkness, the only lights coming from his phone and the lamp he kept on the bedside table.

“W-What time is it?” Your voice is hoarse and it makes him chuckle.

“It’s almost nine, miss ‘I won’t fall asleep this time.”

“Sorry, I was tired.” You mumble out, groaning when you move to drape your arm on his torso in an attempt to hug him closer. It was a really tiny bed, so being this close was a necessity.

‘Mhm, M just teasing, baby.” He pats your head gently and you almost fall asleep again from how warm you feel and how soothing the slow rise and fall of his chest is. But the thought of finally being alone in his dorm is present on the back of your head, so you try your best to keep your eyes open.

Wiggling around a little you try to get his attention but he just continues patting your head, focus on his phone as soft guitar sounds come from it. “What are you watching?”

He turns the screen so you can see it, a man playing a guitar just as you thought. “He’s teaching that song I talked about.” He talked about a lot of songs so you just hum, letting him finish his video and making do with the hair stroking he will give you for now.

It’s really hard not falling asleep with the soft song but you manage and after some time he finally locks his phone and places it on the side, finally giving you the attention you deserve.

You hum pleased when he turns to cuddle you into his chest, surrounding you by his scent and body heat. It’s a place you think you would happily live forever in. “Hmm, really nice.”

He laughs a little, pressing you closer and that’s when you feel it. His hips press to yours and there, almost against your center, you can feel what is unmistakably his hardness and if you weren’t so lazy you would have reacted with a little more enthusiasm. Instead what you say is “Are you hard right now?”

He probably blushes but you can’t see it. “Yeah.” He exhales because there’s no point in hiding it.

“Why?”

Groaning, he hugs you tighter. “I don’t know. It felt good to have you pressed against me, I guess.”

Your turn to chuckle now. “You’re such a sap.” And then “But I think I’m a little horny too.”

It was just a small feeling in the pit of your stomach, but still it was there. That’s what being in bed with your hot boyfriend did, you guess and the way he felt against you helped.

“Yeah?” He asks in a whisper, turning to hover over you. There’s no seductiveness in his tone, just the genuine interest in his girlfriend being horny and the proposition of sex.

You hum, arms sliding to his neck so you can finally kiss him. It starts with just the press of your lips together, moving in a pace that suits the moment, but when his bottom lip fits between yours, you suck on it lightly, before you’re giving it a kittenish lick that is just enough to have him parting his lips.

His tongue slides against yours in languid motions, the taste that had become so familiar filling your senses and that would be enough by itself but he’s too eager. The hand he slides down to rest on your waist sends shivers down your body that are increased infinitely when his hips are pressing down to yours.

The thought of him hard underneath the low sweatpants he has on makes your mouth almost water, a moan escaping it and he seems to mimic the sensation.

It’s suddenly too hot in the room so you take your sweater off, throwing it somewhere in the room as he groans at the sight of your naked chest. “Fuck, I’m so hard right now.” You almost tease about how you can feel it,  but he busies your mind by moving his head down and pressing open mouthed kisses all over your chest, free hand squeezing a boob softly, because he knew how sensitive you were, and his tongue darting out to flick at your nipple before he’s sucking on it.

“Mark, oh my god.” You breath out a moan, back arching a bit from the bed and he just urges you on by slowly moving his hand down until he’s where you crave him the most.

His hand dips inside the cotton panties you had on, two fingers going to your entrance and dipping inside. “Wet already?” He says around a pleased smile.

“S-Shut up, you got hard from cuddling.” And he just chuckles, fingers sliding up again so he can press them to your clit in a way that makes you part your lips a little in a silent moan.

“No, I got hard because you’re hot.”

You huff as he gives the first roll of his fingers. “Ah — Yeah, right.”

“It’s true.” Bringing his face to level with yours again he presses a kiss to your lips. “You’re so fucking hot, baby. Kinda drives me crazy.”

And he kisses you like he means it, your tongues lazily gliding as he flicks on your clit with the sole purpose of driving you mad, even more when he dips one finger inside, then two, curling them up as he opens you up for what you really want.

The warmth in you lower belly just gets more and more intense, your hands grabbing at his nape. “I’m ready, please, just fuck me.” You gasp around his mouth at a purposeful press of his fingers.

His movements stop, hand blindly opening the drawer in his bedside table in search for what you hope is a condom. “God, since you asked so nicely.”

He lets out a relieved breath when he finally finds it, pushing the sweatpants down along his boxers with your help and the sight of his erection in his closed fist makes you clench around nothing. “Here. Let me.” You offer, taking the condom package from his free hand and opening it with ease. “Let me do it.”

He drops his hand so you can roll it down on his length, a hiss on his lips as he uses the moment to slide his t-shirt off. “Y-You look good with my dick on your hand.”

That makes you chuckle but both of you know there’s a blush on your cheeks. “Will look better with it inside me.” And that’s what it takes from his to slide his hands to your thighs, parting them so he can fit in between and at the feeling of him sliding against your wet folds you bite your lips.

It’s always an overwhelming feeling when he gets inside of you. Not too big that you can’t take it, but enough to leave you with the feeling of being full that you love. “Shit baby, I really—” He murmurs when he finally thrusts all the way inside, your nails marking his back in your state of pleasure “really love your pussy.”

The things he said were enough to make you feel a wave of the feeling you were chasing wash over your body. “Then fuck me.” You exhale, because two could play a game. “I want you so bad.”

And he gives it to you, with slow snaps of his hips that feel just a little calculated but much more messy, like he can’t really control himself. And you love it, feel him hitting deep inside of you with each thrust and when he’s finally able to hit the one spot that has you seeing stars, you cry out his name.

“T-There? ”His hips punctuate the words and all you can do is moan quietly as he fucks into you. You watch through hooded eyes as he brings his thumb to his lips, wetting it before pressing it in your clit.

It doesn’t take you long to come with the way his hips move against yours and with the fast circling of his thumb on your clit. “Ah, Mark. I — I’m — Fuck.” The last words is elongated as your orgasms crashes down on you, your entire body tingling and back arching from the bed.

He continues thrusting into you, movements faltering from how you clench around his dick as wave after wave of arousal makes your body shake in his hold. “Shit, shit. You feel so fucking—” A pained groan leaves his lips accompanied by a wet gasp “Ah, so fucking good. Think about fucking you all the time.”

His confession only makes you clench harder and that’s what it takes for a deep moan to come out of his chest, hips faltering as his cock pulses inside of you and he empties himself inside of the condom.

With his head dropping to your shoulder he tries to calm his breathing down as you run your hands soothingly on his back. He always got too cuddly after sex, so when he slips out of you with a hiss, throwing the condom out and tucking himself back into his pants, you’re already waiting with arms open for him to plop down his head on your chest with a huff.

Your hand slides to his head so you can stroke his hair and he almost purrs, pressing a kiss to the underside of your boob. “Think I’m getting hungry again.” He mutters absently.

“Me too. Maybe we can order pizza.”

You feel his smile pressed against your chest. “Love you.”

And that's when you love to hear it the most, when it's just the two of you and the world outside feels very far away. "Love you too, Markie."

[mydearesthrry]

places we won’t walk (chapter one) || peter parker

summary - the doors at midtown seem a little boring, but when you get introduced to someone you seem to remember, what happens when they seem to remember you too?

word count - 2.9k (wow shes gettin better!)

pairings - peter parker x fem!reader

warnings - like mild mention of s*xual assault, angst if you squint really hard, mj being a softy for you, mj being a lowkey bi, peter being stupid as always, y/n calling peter a colonizer.... thats it ok enjoy

a/n: so i know i last updated in october, but as u all saw i have a 25 days of xnas thing going on (PLS I WROTE THE A/N LIKE A MONTH AGO PLUS I FORGOT ABOUT THE XMAS THING DISREGARD) so pwww updates will be slow (as if they werent already omg) but the next chapter will be arriving hopefully, fingers crossed, on xmas eve or xmas! also, are you guys watching the new euphoria episode? also, i’ve stopped using the word ‘stuttering’, as it may be ableist, and i’d never wanna come off as insensitive. anyway lmao, enjoy chapter one, the trials and tribulations of hitting someone in the nuts.

also side note psa: biggest thank you to @blossomparkers for helping me so much w this chapter. i owe it all tooooo u lani yani. thank u for everything !!!!!

series masterlist | regular masterlist | series playlist

(gif not mine!)

when y/n y/m/n stark was in her early years, she was never aware of the impact her father would and did hold over her life, and in turn, the whole world. for the longest time, you’d always assumed that your father wasn’t real, and everything that had been told to you by malicious family members who were jealous over your father’s “successes” had been lies, and you had it believed yourself. no one would even think that you were tony stark’s daughter until it had been mentioned. tony’s snarky attitude had been a character trait that you’d gotten, and you always took pride in your humor and attitude.

the story of your mother and tony had been messy and all over the place. from a drunken hook-up followed by multiple days of morning sickness, to a surprise pregnancy test, the storyline of your parents had been.. well.. interesting to say the least. you never focused on your family’s history, solely based on the fact that you didn’t have two fucks to give about your family history, but you also never knew your father which was-- bizarre. 

when tony had found out about you, he claimed it was a drunken accident, a mistake, and one he made when he was “less responsibly a stark”, which was actually just some fucking bullshit, but he didn’t wanna admit that he hooked up with some random chick at a bar that he thought was hot.

since you had been raised by a mother who was barely there, you had to raise yourself. you were kinda street smart and book smart, and you were always smart when it came to books, because you were the type to want to learn-- unlike others.

when you were in your teen years, you had tabs on you and the media on you 24/7 to make sure you didn’t royally fuck up. the unwanted attention became too much when you started realizing that people didn’t want you for your personality, they wanted you for your title. but this was after you moved from brooklyn. nuvale and peter never saw you as some “movie star”, or some famous person in the media because you weren’t. but when you had grown to learn what your father did, he had forced you to not fuck up to maintain his-- somewhat okay reputation. 

you always wanted that superstar life, as a fantasy of course, but when you got to it, you realized the cliche-y-ness of it all. you’d idolized the famous women in the media-- idolized how they looked like. you realized fairly quick how fucked up the media truly is. you realized how things really aren’t as they seem. its not just the galas that look extravagant, or getting to wear a fancy new gucci outfit every night. it honestly was a whole bunch of other shit you wouldn’t even imagine. it comes with the no privacy thing- people stalking you in public, the death threats, so much shit that wouldn’t happen as common if you were just anonymous.

being an avenger (basically), your dad had natasha teach you the ropes; the basic rules of how to kick someones ass. it was a handbook that the women of the avengers had created, and it had all the rules and regulations of how to spar someone on the team, and basically how to righteously beat someone's ass up. it was never really something you found too important, but as you grew older, you realized that it was very important to know, especially since you were a girl.

despite your harsh remarks and snarky attitude, your father always knew how to hit a sensitive point in you that always managed to break you down. you never quite understood why he would want to make you feel worse about yourself than you already felt, but regardless, you always felt underappreciated by him. being a stark, you were expected to be a genius, get over the top grades, and constantly be able to keep up, but with your luck, you were graced with depression, social anxiety, and a 4.0 gpa. fun, right? 

wrong.

when you were 11, you had made friends with the kids in your apartment halls, and you learned that their names were nuvale jones and peter parker, and you were basically the golden trio. you were hermione, peter was ron, and nuvale was harry. which, now that you look back at it, makes much more sense than any other arrangement. you also had another friend, harry osborn, but once he moved away, there was no way for you to talk to him anymore. he had moved across the country to california, and from then, it was just you, peter, and nuvale. your best friends ha been there for you for what seemed like decades, although you only knew them for about three.

peter was the boy with the rosy cheeks who little 12 year old you would get butterflies in her tummy. or the type of boy to bring you an extra snack if you weren’t able to pack it the night before. he was the type of boy to walk you to the nurses office if you got hit with a dodgeball. he was the type of boy to fall for someone like you. but he didn’t. or so you thought. 

little prebubescent y/n was an awkward girl who thought the world would be on her side when she needed it the most, or that whenever you needed peter or nuva, they would be there. you didn’t think your best friend would stop talking to you after you had moved away. you were too naive to know that peter liked you, and you were too naive to know that he had liked you back, but you wanted to believe what your brain would tell you, so you decided to flush your feelings down the drain and forget about them, which, in hindsight, was a pretty shitty idea. who would’ve known?

your alarm clock blared loudly from beside you, causing you to let out a loud groan in protest. you hit the side of your head angrily, then whining and rubbing the spot which you hit. whines and loud sighs fell from your lips as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and pulled the covers over your head, knowing what would come next after you would try to snooze your alarm.

“good morning, miss stark, how could i be of service to you this morning?” friday’s voice echoed through your large bedroom. you peaked your eyes and forehead from beneath the covers, your eyes slowly starting to adjust to the light that was pulled through the big blinds which were now open. 

“mmm, fri, just tell happy to get the car ready, ill be ready in a few min- nevermind, tell him to get ready in thirty, im probably gonna fall asleep in the shower.” you croaked, taking your phone from the charger which was on your nightstand. you slipped on your bunny slippers and turned on the heater in your room, the draft filling your room with cold air throughout the night.

-------

once you walked through the large industrial doors of midtown’s cafeteria, everyones voices started to drop into sharp hushed whispers, making you roll your eyes and pull your hood up over your face. you pulled your airpods from your pockets into your ears and tried your best to avoid any and all eye contact with anyone you did end up coming into contact with. you walked over to the food bar where you grabbed a red school tray and plastered on your best smile to the lunch ladies who work oh so hard to make sure you all were fed. as you walked through the line, you could feel the intensified stares on you, making your back erupt in chills. you didn’t like to be watched, and the fact that you were a so-called celebrity didn’t help your cause in any way. 

“hey.” a low voice called from behind you. it was a girl with curly hair with gorgeous light brown skin, and a jawline that would cut you. you were almost astonished by her beauty, but you remembered the facade you had to hold, especially to strangers that you didn’t know.

“hey?” you asked unsurely, wondering if she was with the media or not. which was something that tended to happen quite a bit.

“don’t worry, i’m not with the press. you just seem interesting.” she said in a monotone voice, but still with a strong look of seriousness on her face. you giggled softly when your eyes locked and your faces went totally still, making the girl in front of you laugh as well. she held out her hand in front of you, while also balancing her tray and book in the other hand. you placed yours into hers and shook it, smiling when she told you her name.

“michelle jones.” she smiled, your throat getting a little tight at her last name, and you had to admit that it struck a little chord within you, but you quickly cleared it from your thoughts and introduced yourself as well.

“y/n stark. pleasure to meet you, jones.”

“pleasure to meet you too.”

“so, i get that you’re new here,” she started walking, inviting you to walk along with her. “what- what are you doing here? i mean i get you’re smart and all, but this is a nerd school; you literally could’ve gone anywhere, so, might i ask, why here?”

“hm, interesting question. seriously i don’t know. my dad and i don’t really get along so he makes the decisions and i tell him if i like it or not. which by the way, i’m gonna have to stay near you-- you’re the only one making this bearable for me right now.” you snorted, nudging your elbow to hers. 

“hm, daddy issues. great song, love the artists.” she smirked, making you shoot your head back in loud laughter, gaining some side eyed glances from a few people sitting at the tables around you.

“so, where are we sitting? i usually nev-”

“hey mj!” you were interrupted by a boyish laugh and hoots and hollers coming from a table two tables ahead of you. 

“jesus fucking christ. what? just because i got some and you didn’t doesn’t mean that you have to be that fuckin’ loud about it.” she grumbled, placing her tray down, slinging the backpack on her right shoulder beside her. you looked at her with a nervous but curious glint in your eyes. she gave you a knowing look which said, ‘just go with what i say’, making you nod in understanding.

“woah! holy shit! i m- i mean woah- nice to- nice to meet you!” the boy fumbled over his words, looking at you and michelle in disbelief, shaking his friends shoulder and poking at his cheek.

“nice cut, g. looks nice.” you said to him, giggling as you stuck your straw into the mini juice box.

“o-oh, thanks… g?” he said back to you, observing your looks with a confused expression written on his face making you giggle at his confusion. 

“peter! look! y/n stark is at our table!” he whisper shouted to his friend, making you look at michelle with a smile on your face and playfully rolling your eyes. she looked back at you, rolling her eyes as well, gesturing to her head as if saying ‘idiots’, making you giggle and turn back to them. 

“so, bowl cut dude, what’s your name?” you nodded to him, picking at your salad with the blac spork that was so cordially given to you by mj. 

“n-ned, ned leeds.” he smiled sheepishly.

“and you, colonizer, what’s your name?” you tapped on the table, alerting the boys attention. you could hear michelle and ned hollering and snickering from their seats, but decided to keep your poker face rolling. but i mean, how couldn’t you? the look on his face was absolutely priceless. 

“peter park- wait did you just call me a colonizer?” he cut himself off in his own sentence, looking at his other friends for confirmation, to which they nodded, still cackling at the fact that you had indeed call him a colonizer.

“peter park, hm?” you teased, ignoring the way you hesitated and ignoring the way your chest felt heavy when the name of peter was said.

“n-no thats not my name-” he said, tripping over his words, making you let out a chuckle. 

“i’m messing with you. with what you’ve given me, i could only guess your name is peter parker?” you rested your chin on your hand, engaging in the awkward conversation.

“yeah. thats my name.” he said more confidently, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“nice to meet you, parker.”

“you too, stark, my pleasure.”

----

after the small encounter with your new found friends, you had gone back to your respective classes, which meant that your next class had peter in it. after you had split up, you decided to get there early to avoid any commotion surrounding you.

as the boring class continued, you heard the loud clicking of high heels in the hallways, which had to be one person and one person only.

“stark,” someone shouted from the door which swung open. low and behold, in front of you was the prickly bitch, your principal, mrs cunningham. “come with me, eugene’s parents have requested a meeting with you and your father considering that you had just hit their son in the private areas!” everyone snickered and laughed. finally someone had stood up to flash’s shit. 

“y- you punched flash in the nuts? i thought that was just a rumor?” peter stuttered, looking at you in disbelief.

“yeah, the fuck was i gonna do? let him flirt with me? no. that bitch tried to grab my ass. i’m a stark, i was raised better than that.” you whispered to him, packing your bag as you did so.

“hm, guess you’re right. well, good luck stark.” 

“thanks parker.”

--------

once you arrived in the principals office, you saw what seemed to be his mother in one of the seats decked out in expensive pearls and diamonds. typical.

“little miss over here punched my son in the privates! i will not allow this to happen!” fuck. you thought; another one of those stuck up cunty parents.

“pfft, probably paid to get their son into here.” you muttered under your breath, playing with your protection bracelets incase anything was to ever happen.

“wHAT? mrs cunningham, i will not allow this child to talk about my son this wa-”

“hello! i was called in?” a voice interrupted, one you could only peg as your father.

“ahh! mr stark! you’re finally here!” your hilarious excuse as a principal said cheerfully.

“i am! and i am here to.. come and have a meeting about my daughter's- behavior?” he asked questiongly, already seeing the triumphant and cocky look on your face. he knew you weren’t at fault, and you were gonna lie your pretty ass out of it.

“well, mr stark, we have a student in the nurses room due to the actions of your daughter!” she looked at him menacingly. he shook his head with a smile on his face and walked over to you, grasping your shoulders in his hands.

“well kiddo, wanna explain what and why you did what you did?” he smiled, giving you two taps on your shoulder, already knowing what was next. you two had a pretty good acting schedule when it came to it, when in reality, you despised eachother.

“sure daddy! eugene had been hitting on me for several days now, and even found my private social medias in use to.. how can i say this, use me for my fame? he tried talking to me, very inappropriately on several occasions, and even went as far as to try and grab me in areas in which i find extremely inappropriate, without my consent, might i add, which doesn’t seem okay with me. does it seem exceptional to you, mrs thompson?” you asked, while only keeping your eyes on his mother.

“why, i am so sorry miss stark! his father will be in contact, i did not raise my baby to be this way! im sorry for any inconvenience he may have caused you!” she gasped, raising a hand to her heart. 

“it’s okay, i just request, may this never happen again? i would not like my privacy to be invaded, much less from your son, and can i please ask that he never try to hit on me, nor any girls at this school ever again? i can only imagine how many other girls this may have happened to, mrs thompson.” you sighed, your eyes filling up with fake tears. you reached up to touch your fathers hand, tapping it twice back, knowing that you both had just won.

“never again miss stark, once again, i am so sorry this happened to you.” 

“it’s okay. now mrs cunningham, shall we see our way out?” your father answered for you, looking over at the old white woman who looked like a piece of cheese. she could only nod in awe, giving you the cue to pick up your bags and walk proudly to the door.

“thanks i guess.” you muttered, pulling out your airpods once more, hoping to seal the conversation with your father.

“yeah yeah, no problemo.” he muttered back, avoiding eye contact and stuffing his hands in his  pockets. 

once you reached the door, you remembered that you had left something in your locker, and informed your dad that you’d be going back to get it. he all but nodded and looked back at his shoes before trudging to the car.

once you entered the seemingly halls, much to your surprise, you saw a scrawny teenage boy lifting open a set of lockers, which you didn’t even know was possible, and pulling out a red and blue suit. once you saw who the hands belonged to, your mouth fell agape as you gasped,

“peter?”

[wizardnuke]

sickfic prompt 38 “Just let me take care of you why are you so stubborn.” for rhodeytonypepper??

“Pep-”

“I’m fine.”

“Pepper,” Tony said. 

“Tony,” she replied, matching his tone without looking away from her tablet. “I need to get this done.”

“I can do it for you,” he said. She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously. I will. You need to rest.”

“I’m resting. I’m on the couch. I have chicken noodle soup on the table beside me and DayQuil running through my system.” She glanced up at him for a moment. “And I need to finish this.”

“Let her work, Tones,” Rhodey said from the other side of the couch. He was folding laundry with a fraction of his usual efficiency, and acting like he wasn’t having any problems at all. He had a high fever, he was going to have problems, but he shooed Tony away whenever he tried to help. 

He dropped the washcloth he was folding, bent down to pick it up, and swayed when he sat back up. His eyes unfocused for a moment, and he shook his head slightly, and then kept working. Tony sort of wanted to scream.

He looked back and forth at them, and he knew he looked nervous and clingy, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “But she’s sick. You’re sick.”

“We’re okay. It’s just a cold,” Rhodey replied. “Not even the worst ones we’ve had.”

“You don’t know that yet,” Tony muttered. He put his hands on his hips, thinking, then: “J, how are their fevers?”

Pepper breathed out through her nose in that way she did when she was annoyed and only sort of trying not to show it.

“Ms. Potts has a low-grade fever of a hundred point one. Mr. Rhodes has a fever of a hundred and two.” 

“I feel fine,” Rhodey said. His hands were shaking, his grip strength was weak. Why was he still working? Why was Pepper still working? They were sick, they needed to rest to get better and they weren’t going to get better if they kept trying to keep busy. They were going to get worse, Pepper had already been sick for three days and Rhodey for two, if they didn’t rest-

“There,” Rhodey said to himself. Oh, good, he’d finished doing the laundry, maybe he would lay down and go to sleep for a bit. Tony stepped forward and picked up the blankets that he’d folded on his first load, ready to put them to use. Rhodey picked up a stack of pants, shifted to the edge of his seat, and eyed Tony warily.

“No,” Tony said. Were his hands tingling? Why were his hands tingling?

“Tony,” Rhodey sighed. Pepper made a vaguely annoyed and agreeing noise.

“You’re sick,” he said again. “I can put those away.”

“I can’t just sit here.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want help?” Pepper asked, looking over to him. Rhodey opened his mouth to reply, looking like he was going to say yes, and-

“Just let me take care of you! Why are you so stubborn?” Tony burst out. His spouses both paused and looked at him, startled. “God! And you call me a workaholic, really. Un-fucking-believable.” He dropped the blankets between them with a huff, then stepped back and pointed at Rhodey, who was looking at him with a mixture of alarm and amusement, and he did not appreciate it. He was not in the mood to be laughed at, not for this. “You! You have a fever of a hundred and two. You’re acting like you’re not graying out every time that you get up to get the laundry or do the dishes, and I know that you are because the last time you tried to walk through it I saw you almost collide with the kitchen counter. So sit down and stay there. I can do the dishes, I can put the laundry away.” His voice cracked.

“...yeah, okay,” Rhodey said, his amusement gone and concern evident in his expression. He sat back. “Read you loud and clear.”

Tony didn’t acknowledge his response. He turned to Pepper. She had turned the tablet off and was watching him with her head cocked to the side and eyebrows knitted together. “And you are going to work yourself into an early grave. You got sick in the first place because you’ve been working non-stop for three weeks,” he waved a hand, “thank you for that, you are a brilliant CEO and I’m so glad that you’re running SI, but you aren’t going to get better unless you take a break and rest. I know that neither of you like inactivity. I get that, I do, you’re both brilliant and I love you very much and I want you to get better.” He took a step back and crossed his arms tightly. He took a deep breath. “Please.”

“Oh, honey,” Pepper murmured.

“Tones,” Rhodey said softly, like he was talking to a spooked animal, which made Tony want to snap at him but he didn’t because he was sick, his face was ashy with exhaustion and nausea, probably, and should Tony have yelled at him? Well, he hadn’t yelled, he wouldn’t do that, but he had been speaking pretty forcefully and what if he was going to stress them both out and they’d get even more sick, he was going to make it worse and they would take longer to get better and what if-

“Hey. Hey, nope, don’t check out on us now,” Rhodey said firmly. Tony snapped back to reality, where there wasn’t just static and constant, unending regret. “Tony.” He pulled a blanket off of the stack and spread it over his lap, and Pepper did the same, still watching him with soft eyes. “Sit.” 

He blinked again.

“Tony,” Pepper murmured. “Sit. Just for a second.”

Tony sat. Rhodey turned to him and took his hands in his too-warm ones. Pepper pressed her shoulder against his back and leaned her head on the back of his shoulder. “Listen to me. I’m about to drop a truth bomb on you, okay? You ready?”

“Sorry,” Tony said, and he shook his head. 

“We’re not upset with you,” Pepper said. “We needed to hear that, and we’re going to listen,” Tony relaxed a little, relieved, “but you need to listen to us for a moment, too.”

“...okay,” he said.

Rhodey’s expression was serious, and concerned, and Tony saw understanding there, too. “Hey.” He squeezed his hands. “Out of the three of us, you have the worst immune system.” Pepper nodded against his back. “It’s bad when you get sick. You don’t bounce back easily, you always end up bedridden, and you have to be hospitalized more often than not.” He smiled wearily. “But neither I nor Pepper have reduced lung capacity like you do. Neither of us have a history of getting pneumonia or bronchitis from a cold, or even the flu. Even if it’s bad, we don’t get as sick as you do and we will get better. Okay?”

“You don’t get as sick as I do,” Tony repeated, slowly, because he hadn’t thought of that at all. Of course they didn’t. They were healthy, they could- they could breathe when they got sick. Tony couldn’t. He’d forgotten that that wasn’t normal.

Rhodey nodded. Pepper hummed in agreement and rubbed her face against his shoulder like a cat.

“We understand why you’re scared, and it’s a good reason to be,” she said, “but we’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m not scared,” he objected, more for show than anything. It was weak. Rhodey rolled his eyes. It made him feel a little better.

“You are.” Her tone was blunt. “It makes sense. We don’t fault you for it, and we understand why you’re mother-henning us-”

“I’m not-”

“You are. It’s okay, we don’t really mind it, but you can’t get yourself so worked up about this, honey.” She turned to press her chest against his back, and she circled her arms around his waist. Her forehead pressed against the back of his neck, she was warmer than she had been before this, and he made himself take a deep breath. “It’s not healthy. You’re not going to make us more sick if you sit down and tell us that you’re really worried. I’m sorry that I didn’t notice you were so upset.”

“Me too. Tell us before it gets to this point and you give yourself a minor heart attack,” Rhodey said, and his warm tone didn’t match his teasing words. He was still holding his hands. Tony didn’t consider pulling away. “Okay?”

Tony ducked his head. “Yeah, okay,” he said. 

“And you’re right.” Pepper’s voice was muffled against his back. She sounded tired. “I shouldn’t be working, it’s just gonna stress me out more. I have people who can do my job for a couple of days- you might have to do some paperwork.”

“Done,” Tony said. He felt her smile. 

“I get restless,” Rhodey said, “but you’re right, I almost passed out last time I got up.”

“Don’t do that,” Tony said, a little helplessly. “I can find something easy for you to do, or you can tell me to get you a- a puzzle or a Rubik’s cube or something.”

“A Rubik’s cube,” Rhodey repeated, a smile growing on his stupidly cute face. “Because I’m how old, again?”

“Oh, shut up, I’ll get a couple of the six-by-six ones and race you.” Rhodey’s eyes brightened with interest. Nerd. 

“Could he beat you?” Pepper asked, sounding genuinely curious. Tony paused, considering.

“Say no,” Rhodey said.

“No,” he repeated obediently. She snorted. Rhodey tilted his chin up in challenge. Tony didn’t really know why everyone thought he was the cocky bastard when Rhodey was right there. 

Tony turned away from him and he slumped against the back of the couch, still smiling, still cocky, but tired. Pepper leaned back to let him move, and then when he was also sitting with his back to the couch, draped herself over his lap. Her head rested on Rhodey’s thigh, and he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“Got any instructions for me, Mr. Stark?” She asked in a very, very poor imitation of her usual businesslike tone. Her face was fever-flushed. Tony bumped his shoulder into Rhodey’s with a hum.

“Well, Ms. Potts, I think you should take some time off,” he said, nailing his own usual I’m the boss tone, thank you very much. “I have other people who can do your job, you know.”

“‘re you replacing me, Mr. Stark?” She slurred. He huffed and rubbed at her back. He was going to get them both a cold compress, and some headache medication, because he recognized the tightness around Rhodey’s eyes and the way that Pepper pressed her temple against his thigh. He pressed his palm to the nape of her neck for a moment to test her fever- a little too warm for comfort in his opinion, and she relaxed a little bit more. Rhodey put his arm around Tony’s shoulders and leaned against him.

He was going to move. In a little bit. Soon. “Certainly not, Ms. Potts. You’re irreplaceable.”

[and-it-freezes-me]

Accidents Happen - To Pieces

Summary: Roman, feeling himself coming undone at the edges, continues to dig. Almost everything that could go wrong, does.

Content: Discussion of drugs, fainting, (brief) discussion of disordered eating, alcohol use, discussions of bad parenting

Word count: 7,188

{Part 3} {Part 5}

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Three days. They were going to meet outside Janus’ house at around four on Friday, and it was now eight on Wednesday morning. So… Forty-eight hours until eight on Friday, and then eight hours until they met up, and add another hour to actually put his plan into motion… Fifty-seven hours was almost too long for Roman to wait to get to the truth.

But he did it anyway, because this was the plan he had made, and because he couldn’t risk Janus getting suspicious and hurting Remus again.

When he got to school on Wednesday, Janus was waiting outside his locker for him, and Roman had to fight down the urge to sink his fist into his jaw. He’d aim for the scarred side, knowing it would hurt more, watch Janus stumble back, hands flying to his face… He didn’t. Instead he greeted him, smiled at him, and went over a few flashcards for their calculus exam that afternoon.

He begged off their lunchtime revision session, though.

Instead of going to the library, he went to find Virgil. There had to be more he could find out about Janus, about whatever he had on Remus, and the odds were that the caffeine-fueled senior would know more than he had told Roman in the first place. It would be hard to keep his reputation as the all-knowing man of mystery if he just gave away all of his secrets as soon as somebody said please.

Virgil was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of one of the benches outside the back of the school when Roman found him, his head in Patton’s lap, allowing the other boy to braid small plaits into his dress-code-breaking purple hair. They were both giggling, and Roman almost felt bad about interrupting their private bubble of sunlight with his approach - then he realised that there was so much bad inside of him already that he couldn’t fit any more in. He stopped in front of Virgil, waited until his dark eyes broke away from Patton’s broad grin, and then cleared his throat. Virgil raised an eyebrow at him. “How can you possibly want more from me? I gave you everything I had on Janus…”

Patton made a scandalised noise, and tugged sharply on the plait he was working on. “Verge! You said you’d stop dealing secrets!”

“Ow, Pat, I lied, alright? Lay off…” Virgil winced and rubbed the side of his head, and a look that Roman couldn’t decipher passed between them. Then Patton sighed, nodded, and returned to playing with Virgil’s hair. There were three flowers in it, and Roman was certain that Virgil didn’t know they were there.

He cleared his throat again, licked his lower lip, and debated joining Virgil on the floor. “I think you have more.”

“Do you.” It wasn’t a question, and Virgil’s voice was flat. Patton’s eyes moved slowly between the two of them.

“You know everything about everyone.”

“I’m flattered, but we all know that’s not entirely true,” Virgil responded, sounding almost bored. He was doing a very good impersonation of his elder brother - and Roman hoped, for the hundredth time, that he didn’t know that Remy was dealing again.

“Fine. Tell me about Remus.”

Roman hadn’t realised that it was an order until Patton frowned up at him, his golden curls falling into his uncomfortably inquisitive blue eyes. “Manners, Roman. If you can’t be polite, you’re not getting anything.” Virgil just shrugged when Roman looked at him.

Roman resisted the urge to snap at Patton to shut up, to mock Virgil for letting his bit on the side try to run business for him, and wondered when he had become villainous enough to think like that. He swallowed and nodded once. “Sorry, Patton, Virgil. Please, tell me about Remus?”

They both considered him for a long second. Finally Patton nodded, apparently satisfied, and pushed his glasses back up his button nose before returning to Virgil’s hair. The information broker, on the other hand, gave no such quarter. “No.”

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“No. I’m not informing on your brother to you.” Roman felt as though he had been reduced to merely staring at people in mute shock more times in the last week than ever before. Virgil rolled his eyes and leaned his head back into Patton’s lap again. “You could have asked him anything you wanted, any time you wanted, and you didn’t.”

“Then…” Roman cast around desperately. He should just cut to the chase. Shifting from one foot to the other, he licked his lower lip, struggling to meet Virgil’s gaze. “Then… Tell me what Janus has been blackmailing him with. ...Please,” he added, because Patton’s stern gaze was on him again.

The expression on Virgil’s face was something like pity, but moved his head a tiny distance from left to right and then back again, as much as a shake as he could manage with Patton curling his hair around his fingers. “No. If you’d have given a shit about Remus before he ended up in prison, you’d have spoken to him before. I’m not telling you anything else. Patton, are you braiding flowers in-”

“I’ll tell Logan you’re cheating on them.”

A haze of anger had descended on Roman’s vision, and he had blurted the words out before he had properly thought them through, before he could jerk them back into his skull and bury them with the rest of his mealy, maggoty, un-Prince-like thoughts.

It felt as though time had stopped. Virgil had paused mid-sentence, Patton’s hands had frozen mid-way through trying to sneak a daisy into the plait he was working on. The sound of shouting from the front of the school had stopped; even the wind had ceased to blow. The couple in front of him looked very briefly confused - and then Virgil’s expression changed to one of absolute disgust, whilst Patton’s became merely disappointed. Very disappointed. Roman discovered that he could manage to feel bad about something else, after all.

He was stepping backward, already trying to find a hole in which to curl up and die, when Virgil’s hand shot out and fastened around his lucky red sash, dragging Roman down so that they were face to face.

“For your information,” Virgil began, drawing the words out so that Roman could feel the disdain and anger in every syllable, “Logan is fully involved in our relationship with Patton.”

Another second of horrible, itching silence. Roman risked a glance at Patton, and found that he was refusing to meet his eyes. Then Virgil shook him once and, when he was sure that he had his attention again, continued speaking, his words deliberate, furious, cold.

“I never thought you would stoop this low. Remus might be unpredictable, sometimes dangerous, but you’re even worse, aren’t you?”

Roman shook his head desperately. “I - no! I -”

“No? Nothing gets in the way of your goals, Roman. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed. Not your friendships, not your morals, not even your own twin about whom you care so very much. Do you want to know the difference between you and Remus, Roman?”

Roman shook his head faster, and Virgil tugged him close enough that he could feel his breath on his cheek.

“Remus hurts people. You don’t even see your victims as people - you see them as obstacles in the way of your perfect, shining life. Remus knows what he’s done, what he does, and you? You have no idea what you do to the people around you. You pretend to be the hero, you’ve managed to delude yourself into believing that you’re the hero - Remus accepts that he’s human, while you think you’re some kind of god. You’re not.” Virgil was surprisingly strong. Roman was trying frantically to tug his sash out of his black-nailed grip but to no avail. “You’re so full of self-righteousness you can’t even see that people can make mistakes without being monsters - and you can’t see yourself turning into one, either.”

He released him with the air of one dropping a particularly filthy sock into a laundry basket, and Roman stumbled backward, panting. “Hasn’t your family hurt me and my dates enough? Get out of here.”

Roman didn’t need telling twice.

-

He considered saying he was sick to get out of school on Thursday. It wasn’t entirely untrue: after his confrontation with Virgil, Roman had found himself hurling what little lunch he had managed to eat into one of the toilets near the sports hall; a similar thing had occurred later, after dinner, when he had started trying to think through what Virgil had said. Skipping breakfast seemed like the safest thing to do in light of all of that.

In the end, he knew he couldn’t skip. Not really. He had two more exams that day, and if he missed them his grades would tank. He couldn’t let that happen. Not on top of everything else going on.

Roman had thought that he and Virgil were still friends, even if they didn’t talk much anymore. Well, obviously they weren’t now, but… He hadn’t realised that he had hurt Virgil that much. He had thought they had just drifted apart halfway through middle school the way people do, because they have different interests - but apparently that had not been the case from Virgil’s point of view. So what if he had missed a few calls from him, skipped a few invitations to hang out? They had stopped talking properly some time after Virgil came back to school - he had been off for a few weeks toward the start of eighth grade. Virgil had always passed it off as no big deal. 

Remus had always passed everything off as no big deal, too.

This time it was only bile that rose in Roman’s throat, and he swallowed it away. He could fix the mess between him and Virgil once he had figured out how to save Remus and ensured that Janus met his downfall.

He tried to speak to Logan as they filed out of their history exam that morning, but they just scowled at him. Clearly, Virgil had told them what had happened.

Janus was happy to talk to him, though. Janus was happy to talk to him, to sit with him, to talk and talk and talk at him, until Roman wanted to wring his stupidly graceful neck. Instead he just smiled, nodded, gave absent half-answers where he thought they were appropriate.

“There was a greater focus on The Great Depression in that exam than I was expecting, you know?” Janus asked as they sat down on the grass outside.

“I guess so,” Roman murmured, pulling out his lunchbox and his revision notes.

“Depressing, if you’ll excuse the easy pun.” Roman didn’t chuckle.

“You don’t eat much lately,” Janus commented, putting a gloved hand on Roman’s wrist as he closed the lid on his practically untouched egg rolls.

“Not hungry,” Roman muttered.

“Hm,” Janus responded. He squeezed Roman’s forearm briefly before pulling away.

“You seem distracted today. Everything alright?” Janus pressed. They were packing up to go to their afternoon exam.

“Yeah, just stressed,” was Roman’s automatic answer.

“We still good for tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes.” It was the most emphatic answer Roman had given all day, and Janus looked pleased.

Snake.

Roman passed out halfway through his biology exam on Friday morning.

It had been hot in the exam hall, even more so than it had been on Monday, and Roman found that he had emptied his water bottle within half an hour of the exam starting. The words on the paper before him had blurred again, had straightened out when he had blinked, and then blurred again. It took until his pen caught on the paper and sent a spray of ink over his desk that he realised that his hands were shaking, and once he noticed, he couldn’t make them stop. He couldn’t control his own handwriting, either: no matter how many times he blinked at it, how many times he rubbed a hand over his face and pressed his knuckles into his eyes until he saw stars, it seemed determined to quiver in place before scuttling over the lines of his paper, their spider-like scurrying taking on Virgil’s voice. Monster, they said, villain.

His throat felt like a desert, tumbleweeds blowing across his tongue, and his water bottle was empty. Roman’s chair made an unnaturally loud scraping sound as he pushed it back; he could feel eyes turning toward him, burning holes in the back of his neck. Small black spots appeared in his vision as he stood to walk to the water cooler at the front of the hall, and although he squeezed his eyes shut tight before taking a step, they didn’t go away. They danced around the corners of his vision as he started moving between desks, keeping his eyes fixed on the clock on the front wall. How much time was he wasting here?

He didn’t realise he had stopped walking until his professor’s face swam into focus in front of him, her mouth moving. Roman had no idea what she was saying - it was as though he was underwater, with her swaying in front of him, sound bubbling past his ears in unintelligible blobs. Raising his hands, he tried to show her his water bottle, hoping he could get his message across, and then realised that his hands were empty. Had he dropped it? Or was it still back at his desk?

Roman tried to turn around to check, and that was when he felt his legs give out beneath him. He didn’t have time to worry about the ground rushing up toward him, though: it disappeared into a dark fog before it got too close.

-

The next thing he saw was Janus, haloed in a soft, bronze light and gazing at him in concern. Roman’s head throbbed dully: he went to raise a hand to rub it, and realised that he was lying on his back, head resting on something soft.

Janus was saying something, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. It looked as though he was arguing with someone: he was waving one hand the way he did when he was talking passionately about something. Where was his other hand? Usually both were involved in this dance - oh. There it was, running through Roman’s hair. He could feel his fingertips pressing lightly against his scalp.

Roman suddenly realised that his head was in Janus’ lap.

That was when sound returned to his surroundings.

“- be his choice!” That was Janus.

“He could have a concussion! This isn’t up for debate, Mr. Sinclaire.” Who was that? A teacher?

“He doesn’t have a concussion, Ma’am -” The emphasis in Janus’ voice said that he was seconds away from calling the teacher something far less complimentary. “- and you know that because you saw me catch him. He just needs to get outside.”

Roman blinked, and Janus’ fingers hesitated in his hair, then rubbed a gentle circle just behind one ear.

“His parents need to be called, at least. I don’t know if you missed it, Sinclaire, but Mr. Wang just collapsed.”

Roman sat up slowly, feeling the room swim around him, and was braced by an arm slipping under his shoulders to support him.

The irritation was even clearer in Janus’ voice now. “How could I have missed it? I caught him, while you just stood there and watched. Roman is an adult, meaning that it is his decision who should or should not be informed, and given that he recovered consciousness within five minutes, basic health training states that he should only be taken to hospital if he faints again, or begins acting unusually. So how about we ask him, hm?”

It was Janus’ arm supporting him, Roman realised. Their teacher was just staring at him, and it occurred to him that he was supposed to say something now. He licked his lower lip anxiously. “I… I’m fine. Don’t call them. Just need to finish my paper…” Roman tried to pull away from Janus to stand up, stumbled, and found himself grateful for the fact that Janus rose with him and caught him again.

Both he and the teacher were shaking their heads now. “Ro, don’t be stupid. You need a-”

“Mr. Wang, don’t worry about the paper. ”

“Come on. We’re heading outside, Ro. We can come back to discuss making up the paper later.” Janus was draping one of Roman’s arms over his own shoulders to help himself support him.

Roman nodded slowly. He didn’t really feel good about walking out, but the idea of going back to his paper wasn’t a particularly pleasant one either. Besides, he had a feeling that neither Janus nor Miss Fox were about to let him do that.

It wasn’t until Janus started guiding him toward the fire door that he realised that everybody else was still sat in their seats, most of them staring at him. Janus appeared to notice him noticing, because the arm around his waist squeezed his side briefly and he murmured, “Hey. Focus on getting out of here, alright? Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” he muttered back.

Janus guided him out of the sports hall, grabbing both Roman’s backpack and his satchel from the heap by the door. Roman blinked in the bright morning sunlight. It felt as though he had been in the exam hall for hours, days, through the heat-death of the universe - not less than an hour, assuming Janus had been right about him only passing out for a few minutes.

A thought occurred to Roman then, and he frowned. Having checked the seating arrangements earlier that morning, he knew for a fact that Janus’ seat had been somewhere behind his: it didn’t make any sense for him to have caught him. He’d have had to practically teleport across half the hall to be there on time. He said as much. “Did you really catch me? How were you right there? You should’a been on the other side of the hall.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Janus’ mouth. “After you got up and stumbled halfway up to the front, then just stood and swayed at Fox? There was obviously something wrong. And all she could do was ask you what you were doing and if you could return to your seat. You could have been seriously injured if she’d have just let you fall and crack your head on a desk on the way down. The incompetence.” He scoffed, and Roman’s mind boggled at the fact that he had just been rescued by the villain he was trying to bring down. Janus seemed to be thinking along similar lines, because as he maneuvered the two of them around the bins at the back of the sports hall, he commented, “Always thought it would be you catching me as I swooned, not the other way around. Funny how these things work out, huh?”

“So you abandoned your paper because I walked across a room? Where are we going, anyway?” Roman was fairly sure that he could walk on his own now, but there was something comforting about leaning against Janus. It was the physical contact, of course - Roman wasn’t entirely sure of the last time he had hugged somebody - not the fact that it was Janus with an arm around his waist.

“The bench behind the science block. That alright?” Janus waited until Roman had nodded before continuing. “And no, not just because of that. Virgil texted me on Wednesday, said all the evidence pointed toward you having a slow-mo breakdown - his words - and that I should keep an eye on you. Sit.”

Roman sat. What else had Virgil said? Did Janus know he was onto him? He wouldn’t blame Virgil if he had gone and spilled all the beans - a spider couldn’t be expected to keep its secrets for long. What good was an intricately crafted web with nobody there to marvel at it?

But Janus didn’t look mad. He was digging through his  backpack, and after a second he tossed something into Roman’s lap before sitting down beside him. “Eat.”

“What?” Roman picked up the thing Janus had thrown at him. It was a sandwich, sealed in a reusable plastic bag. Red jam was oozing out from its edges. He swallowed. “This is your lunch. I’m not eating your lunch.”

“Well, you’re not eating your lunch, so you’re going to eat this.” The response had been immediate, brisk; Janus looked a little guilty, and took a deep breath before continuing in a much more gentle tone. “And it’s not my lunch. I’ve been making an extra sandwich every day in case you needed it. And you obviously do.”

Roman considered arguing, but decided against it. There was probably poison hidden between the brown bread. He opened the bag and pulled out the sandwich, then nibbled quietly at one corner.

Janus wasn’t touching him anymore. Roman wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or frustrated. No, he was - he should be grateful. He didn’t want to touch his nemesis any more than he had to to keep up the act. The little thing inside that was begging for Janus to hug him again was just the part of him that was so desperate for affection that even a monster would do.

“Roman, are you… Alright?” The brunet sounded tentative, as though he were afraid to upset him by asking, but as though the question really mattered to him. Yet again, Roman reflected upon how good an actor Janus had turned out to be.

He swallowed a bite of sandwich. “Fine. Tip-top. Never better. Why’d you ask?”

Janus gave him what could only be described as a look, and started counting on his fingers. “Let’s see… You just passed out halfway through an exam, Virgil’s concerned enough about you to actually ask me to keep an eye on you; unnecessary because I was doing that already because, oh yes, your twin brother is in prison for grievous bodily harm, and you’ve gone from being slender to being positively skin and bones in less than two months.” It looked as though Janus wanted to say more, but he stopped himself.

There was jam on his fingers. It was sticking to his skin in stains almost the colour of blood, and Roman stared at the last bite of sandwich in his hand for a few seconds before popping into his mouth and sucking his fingers. Demons and monsters drank blood as though it were lemonade, right? And according to his inner compass, he was well on the way to becoming one of them. According to Virgil, he was already a monster.

“Drink.” Janus handed him a water bottle, and Roman obeyed. “I’m just worried about you, Princey. I’m your friend - possibly your only friend, given the fact that I’ve never seen you actually hang out with anybody else - and I don’t want to watch you burn away.”

“I’m… Just stressed.” Roman offered finally. Janus just looked at him, face open, and Roman was struck by the urge to tell him everything. He didn’t. “It’s been rough not having Remus around. I mean, I know he’s a monster, ‘n all,” he hurried to clarify, eyes landing on the burn tissue around Janus’ bad eye, “but… Home’s different without him.”

It looked as though Janus wanted to say something. He opened his mouth, his throat bobbed as he swallowed and winced, but in the end he just rested a hand on Roman’s knee and squeezed it. “I think you should go home. Get some rest. Sitting Geometry this afternoon isn’t going to-”

“I’m not going home. I - It’s just one more exam, plus whatever I need to do to make up Bio. I’m not failing just because-”

“Just because you worked yourself to the point of collapse?” Janus took his empty bottle back from Roman and returned it to his backpack, ignoring the scowl Roman gave him. “Fine. But only if you eat lunch today. I’m sitting with you, and if you don’t finish, I’m skipping this afternoon to take you home.”

“My dad will be home. It’s his day off.”

“I never specified whose home.”

Roman let out a grunt of frustration and pressed his face into his hands, and Janus squeezed his knee again. Roman wished he would stop. Not the knee-squeezing in particular - all of it. The lying. The pretending to be Roman’s friend when he had blackmailed Remus into prison. The pretending to care when he was just looking for a way into Roman’s head, a way to destroy him as well. It was difficult to believe that the boy sitting next to him, the one that had helped him out of the exam hall and had had a panic attack because his sleeve had caught fire, was the same person as the man that Remus was so clearly scared of.

If Janus kept this up, Roman was scared that he’d forget who the villain was altogether. He needed to finish this, and soon.

“Okay. Deal, whatever. Can we still hang out this afternoon?”

Janus looked incredulous, and the expression brought a faint smile to Roman’s wan face. “You still want to hike through the woods after this?”

“Yes. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.” It wasn’t a lie.

“I… Okay. But only if you eat everything, and you don’t pass out again in Geometry. And if you start getting dizzy while we’re walking, we’re going back to mine to watch TV. My parents are going out of town for the weekend.”

Roman opened his mouth to argue, but the firm stare Janus gave him clearly said that there was no point. He stared him down until Roman finally nodded.

He ate his lunch while Janus quizzed him on formulae for the exam that afternoon. When he was done, Janus handed him a raisin biscuit; when he looked at him in askance, the other shrugged and said, “I heard that squashed flies are lucky in some parts of the world.”

-

They met outside Roman’s house at four, Roman squinting in the summer sun, Janus sporting a large pair of sunglasses. Janus was also carrying his satchel, and when Roman asked what was in it, he opened it to reveal two bottles of water and another blood sandwich. Smart.

The clear plastic bag that had gotten Remus kicked out of the house was in Roman’s back pocket, but he didn’t mention it yet.

Roman tried to ignore the anxious glances Janus gave him every few minutes as they walked into the trees, as though he was expecting him to just keel over any second. He withstood a full ten minutes of silence and furtive looks before finally speaking up. “I’m not going to, you know.”

Janus noticeably startled - or pretended to, at any rate - and then gave Roman a thoroughly unconvincing look of surprised innocence. “Not going to what?”

“Collapse again. I’m not going to, so you can quit watching me like I will.” Roman picked up the pace a little.

“I’m not watching you as though you’re about to collapse,” Janus protested, walking faster to keep up with Roman. How annoying.

“You are. You keep looking at me, and your forehead goes all scrunched, like somebody’s planning on planting root vegetables in it.”

Janus made an exasperated noise, and Roman glanced briefly over his shoulder to see him tugging at the cuffs of his gloves and then adjusting his beanie. Why was he still wearing that thing? Wasn’t he roasting?

“Fine, I was watching you. It’s scary, alright? Watching someone you care about just crumple up like that.” Roman deliberately ignored the fact that Janus was trying to imply that he cared about him. Actually, he internally scoffed at the words. Janus had been rather heavy-handed with the beguiling today, first stroking his hair and saying they were friends, and now saying he cared about him. Not at all up to his usual subtle standard.

The repeatedly exaggerated care was making Roman irritable and snappy. "It won't happen again. I'm not fragile."

"I know you're not, R- Roman." Janus sighed. "Sorry." And that managed to make Roman feel even worse, even though he knew that Janus was just trying to manipulate him further.

"Whatever," he snapped, speeding up again until he was moving at a run.

Janus kept pace with him without complaint, even though Roman could hear his breathing becoming more and more laboured as they headed deeper into the forest. By the time they stopped in a small clearing by a stream, he was gasping for breath.

"It's nice here," Roman said gruffly, and Janus doubled over, his ragged inhalations the only sound in the quiet space.

It took approximately three seconds for Roman to stop feeling some perverse satisfaction over having managed to make Janus suffer, and to start feeling guilty. He didn’t want to feel guilty, of course - but it wasn’t something he could help.

Taking the three steps back toward him, he took Janus gently by the arm and guided him to a large rock, where he sat, wheezing. “Sorry,” Roman murmured. Flipping Janus’ satchel open, he pulled out one of the water bottles and opened it, then handed it over and watched Janus take a few small sips.

It was a few minutes before Roman was able to hear birdsong over Janus’ gradually slowing breaths, and a while after that before Janus cleared his throat - it sounded painful - and returned the water bottle to his bag. He offered Roman a nervous smile. “If you were trying to turn my lungs to mush, Princey, you’ve had quite a good go…”

“Sorry,” Roman muttered again, and this time he accepted the apology with a nod and a wave of one gloved hand.

“You’re forgiven. It’s not your fault, really.”

“It’s Remus’?” Maybe Roman sounded a little overeager in pushing for more information, because Janus gave him an undecipherable look.

“I was going to say that it was mine. I could have just stayed walking at a sustainable pace.”

“Well, I’m flattered you tried to keep up,” Roman made himself chuckle, pressing one hand against his chest. Janus wouldn’t have let him run off on his own: the other had made it quite clear that he thought he was about to faint in the middle of the forest and be eaten by rats if he wasn’t around.

This time, the look Janus gave him was like the surface of a hot spring: placid on the surface, but Roman could tell that there was something simmering below.

The thought occurred to him that maybe Janus had allowed himself to be dragged into the middle of the woods because the trees and lack of witnesses would give him ample opportunity to reveal whatever heinous thing he had done to Remus, and that he had enough material to blackmail Roman into driving a second car into a pole if he wanted him to. Clearing his throat, Roman took a step back (he had been hovering in front of Janus like a wrong-doing child waiting for a telling-off) and then waved a hand at the trees. “You know, I come out here a lot.”

“You do, huh?” A slightly teasing tone had entered Janus’ voice, and he was smirking despite still being red in the face. Some strands of his brown hair had fallen across his eyes, and he reached up to tuck them under his hat. “Never would have guessed, what with the way you were so tentative about bringing us out to this charming clearing.”

Roman allowed himself to pause, tilt his head, chuckle as natural a chuckle as he could manage, and then continued. “Yeah. It’s peaceful out here, y’know? Relaxing.”

He glanced back at Janus to see that he had stretched out with his back against the rock - like a snake, basking in the sun, waiting for its moment to strike. “It’s certainly very calm when I’m not puffing like a steam train…”

“It’s pretty private, too.” Roman moved closer to him and, ignoring every instinct that warned him that getting closer to a viper was a horrible idea, sat down to lean against the rock as well. “A good place to think, or spend some time alone, or…”

“Yeah?” There was a nervous, softly excited note in his companion’s voice now (how was Janus so good at controlling himself? It just wasn’t fair), and when Roman looked at him out of the corner of his eye he saw that the late-afternoon sunlight was turning Janus’ tanned skin golden. He should be framed and hung in an art gallery, he mused privately.

Or framed and hung for as punishment for his crimes.

“It’s a nice place to smoke a bit.”

Surprise flickered over Janus’ features - genuine surprise, cracking through the carefully built mask. “You smoke?”

“Ah! No,” Roman pulled the bag from his pocket and waved it, hurrying to clear up the misunderstanding. “It’s just weed. Not cigarettes. Those things kill. And smell gross.”

“Yeah. My dad smokes. It’s a disgusting habit…” Janus closed his eyes briefly, tilting his face to the sky. From where he was sitting, on Janus’ right, Roman couldn’t see the scarred side of his face. It was possible to believe that Janus had never gotten involved in the crash that had ignited his life as though it were a field of grass.

“Mine used to,” he agreed, hands already working to roll two joints into shape and pulling Remus’ keychain from his other pocket. He offered one to Janus, who raised an eyebrow slowly at him.

“Are you actively trying to kill me, Wang?” Roman blinked, and Janus waved an exasperated hand in the direction of his throat. “Given the smoke damage, I don’t plan on inhaling anything other than oxygen for a very long time.”

Roman blinked again. He hadn’t thought of that. His dumbfounded expression must show on his face, because Janus’ expression softened again. “Don’t worry. I had a feeling you’d be planning something like this, so I came prepared with my own refreshments.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a metal flask that Roman hadn’t seen when he had grabbed the water bottle.

“A proper boy scout,” Roman commented, and they both chuckled, Janus out of amusement, Roman out of relief. If Janus was going to help, then getting him to talk was going to be even easier than he had expected. He returned both joints to the ziploc bag and stuffed it back into his pocket, but didn’t put the keys and their attached lighter away.

“Well, cheers.” Janus raised the flask to his lips and took a large gulp, then offered it to Roman, who accepted. The metal was cool, and he could feel rough lines on one side. Flipping it over, he saw that the shape of an octopus had been roughly scratched into the face of the otherwise smooth flask. He smiled absently at it. It reminded him of the doodles Remus had used to do, back when they were still a family, back when he was still friends with Virgil. Roman would find a piece of paper and use an orange felt-tip to draw a four-legged shape, and then scribble around its head in red in a rough approximation of a lion. Both his best friend and his brother would draw blobs with eight legs, one in green and one in purple. The green octopus would have curly legs, often spreading over the entire page and wrapping Roman’s lion in its grip; the spider would sit quietly on the edge of the page, and they’d look away, and when they looked back Virgil would have added half a dozen more. The three of them had gotten in so much trouble when their drawings had made their way first onto the floor and then the wall of the kitchen.

He seemed to remember that being his idea, but now that he thought about it, Roman was certain that Remus and Virgil had taken the brunt of the punishment for it.

Roman raised the flask to his mouth and swallowed as much as he could in one go, using the burn of whatever Janus had brought - was it tequila? He couldn’t tell - to jerk himself back to the present. Then he took another, because it didn’t taste bad.

That, of course, was when he regretted taking such a huge mouthful. Roman already knew he was a lightweight, and he needed his wits around him for what he was about to do. Janus smiled at him, took the flask back, and took another sip. “It’s bourbon,” he supplied.

“Whiskey? Isn’t that stuff expensive?”

“Came out of my parents’ liquor cabinet. They won’t notice it’s missing.” Janus shrugged and took another sip, then handed it back to Roman.

Which was good, because Roman wasn’t sure what to say to that.

They sat there in a sleepy sort of silence for a while, passing the flask between them. After his mistake with his first mouthful, Roman was careful not to drink any more, only tilting the thing until the whisky touched his lips and then lowering it again, pretending to swallow.

He wasn’t sure whether Janus was drinking any. It certainly looked as though he was, but Roman wasn’t sure if the flask was getting any lighter or not.

That would be amusing, wouldn’t it? Both of them sitting there, pretending to drink in the hopes of getting the other to get sloppy and reveal some secret or other.

Eventually, Roman came to the conclusion that he was going to have to say something. Otherwise, they would just sit here until it got dark, and then they’d go home, and the entire day would have been an unprecedented disaster. He cleared his throat, and Janus lowered the flask to look at him.

“I… Wanted to talk to you.” He started, and was surprised when his words were met with a broad smile.

“Me too. Do you mind if I go first?” Well, that wasn’t what Roman had expected at all. He shrugged, wiggled a hand in the air in a ‘go ahead’ motion, and then watched Janus take another gulp of whiskey. What was Janus about to say? Was he about to confess?

No, he wouldn’t be confessing. He was about to open with an easy request, for Roman to stop digging for the truth and to become his little puppet, and close with blackmail. Roman sat up a little straighter, the warmth in his stomach partially sunlight, partially alcohol, partially triumph.

“Roman, I…” Janus hesitated. Wow - he was putting a lot of unnecessary work into this. “I… It’s my fault, Princey. I blackmailed Remus until he believed the only way to free himself was to drive both of us to a fiery end. I don’t regret it. And now I’m going to blackmail you, because I still need a pawn in my evil plans for world domination. I don’t care if you never want to talk to me again - you’re my minion now.”

Only maybe that wasn’t what Janus had said. Maybe what Janus had actually said was, “I… I like you, Princey. A lot. I have for ages now, and I… Well, I was hoping that with us becoming friends, maybe you’d be open to… I don’t know, trying something. You - You don’t have to, of course. I won’t pressure you. And I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me ever again.”

Roman gaped at him, the words refusing to sink into his brain. “... What?” He was saying that a lot at the moment, it seemed.

Janus chuckled nervously and pressed the flask into his hand. “I have a crush on you, Roman. I’m asking if you want to try dating, or something.”

Roman looked down at the flask, wondering if he had somehow drunk enough to be hallucinating. Sure, a couple of weeks ago he had suspected that maybe Janus might like him, but he had ruled that out as an option. It was all just… Acting. Manipulation. Janus wasn’t being sincere.

“Roman? Ro? You okay?” A yellow hand was waving back and forth before his eyes, and Roman brought his focus back to the man sitting next to him. It was a trick, right? It had to be. Janus had been hurting Remus, he was using this as a way to get closer to Roman to hurt him as well. It was the only thing that made sense.

“I’d… I’d appreciate it if you said something now, Ro.”

Janus was playing with the cuffs of his gloves again. Roman just kept staring, waiting for the catch, for the trap to spring shut around his ankle.

“Anything. Yes. No. I hate you. I like you too. You disgust me. Anything, Ro, just stop staring at me like that.”

It was taking a considerable amount of effort to make words come out of his mouth, and Roman bought himself a few extra seconds by lifting the flask to his mouth and taking another mouthful. It burned on the way down - again - and helped bring him back to himself. Again.

Janus looked almost afraid now.

Janus looked almost afraid, and Roman didn’t like it.

“Is this… Is this a trick? Some sort of sick joke?”

Now Janus looked offended - no, he looked hurt, and that was worse. Taking the flask back from him, Janus shoved it into his bag and stood up. “I… Take it you don’t feel anything, after all. That’s… Alright. I won’t bother you again, Roman. It’s been nice knowing you.”

No - no, Roman couldn’t let him leave! He had to ask him - had to ask him - pushing himself to his feet, Roman grabbed at Janus’ sleeve, missed, and found that he was squeezing his hand. There was a vulnerable look on Janus’ face when he turned, so raw that something inside of Roman cracked painfully open, and the maggots within him writhed, although they were more sluggish than usual. Maybe that was the effect of the alcohol.

“Roman?” Janus asked, voice hopeful.

Roman spoke at the same time, the words tearing themselves from his chest in a torrent of anger and fear, blood and worms and guilt, vengeful wrath and desperate plea, alive. He just wanted Janus to stop lying, just wanted to stop feeling like the villain in this stupid, stupid tale, just wanted fix everything Janus had broken, that he had broken, and stop feeling bad about doing what needed to be done. “Why’re you hurting Remus?” He didn’t want the words to come out like that, faintly slurred and all at once, but he couldn’t stop now that he had started. “Why’s he scared’a you? Why’d you have to hurt him - what d’you want from us?!”

The apprehensive, excited look on Janus’ face slipped away, taking the world around them with it and smashing into fragments at their feet.

Taglist:

@bloodymari-0666

[youralternantpersonality]

The Note

Paul x Reader: The Note

Anon request: Hey! so I just wanted to do a request. [Paul: He finds reader lost and cold in the forest.] and (if you can) [Embry: Reader was part of Victoria’s army and he imprints with her while they're fighting.] Thanks! I just love your stories.

Warning/Authors Note: Just know, the reader has curly hair but your hair color. Mentions having anxiety and indirectly saying depression. Also, I feel like it is necessary that I post in hopes that it takes other's minds off of everything that is going on. I know it doesn't do too much, but I hope it helps and does enough. 

Embry’s request can be found here

***

Stupid Janie, stupid Daniel, they can go fuck themsel-

“Fuck!” I said, falling. I scratched the palm of my hands to catch myself. I look back, and I can hear those cheating bastards calling for me.

“Y/n! Come back!” Janie said.

“Babe! Come on! Where are you!?” Danie called. Ha, yeah, right, like I’m about to go anywhere near you guys. I hurry up and continue walking towards my house. I cannot believe what I just witnessed. My “best friend” and my now ex-boyfriend were fucking! Are you fucking kidding me!

“Y/n! We can explain! Please come on, girlie!” Janie said. Really bitch! Why should I? How could you? I knew I should’ve listened to that note in my locker. A few weeks ago, I received a mysterious message in my locker saying,

Don’t trust Janie and Daniel.

They used to date and still see each other now behind your back.

Please end it with them both! Save yourself.

Whoever wrote it had horrible penmanship, but I should’ve listened. I saw the signs, the way they glanced at each other not long after Daniel and I started dating. Daniel always tried to include himself when Janie and I wanted a girls day and how he “conveniently” shows up. Fuck! I’m an idiot. And not only was I an idiot for not listening to the note, but I was also stupid because I was so caught up in my thoughts that I am currently lost.

I can hear Janie and Daniel from a distance where I should’ve turned to and try to follow their voices. Not long afterward, I find myself lost again! I stopped hearing their screams about 10 minutes ago, and I’m scared. There’s supposed to be a storm, and it’s already getting dark.

I look around to see if I notice any sign of familiarity, but I find nothing. I stop and close my eyes as the adrenaline rush I had earlier declined, and I lost it. I slide down a tree to the left of me and cry. I can’t believe I thought they both cared about me. When I first moved here last year, Janie quickly searched me out and befriended me. At the time, she always talked about an ex that she loved, but it never worked out. Had I known that ex was Daniel, this whole mess would’ve never happened. I now wonder how long this fiasco has been going on. Right after we got together. Must’ve been at the point where Janie said she was over him. The hoe! Now, here I am, lost in the forest, in need of bandages for my hands and knees. Suddenly, a light drizzle comes down. Encouraging me to get up and run out of the forest. Or at least attempt to.

As I’m rushing, I feel someone or something following me. I look around and see nothing due to it getting darker and darker. I try to go faster without tripping, but my clothes start getting heavier and heavier as the rain gets harder and harder. I tripped again, and as I was trying to get up, I hear a branch break next to me. I freeze and take small shallow breaths as I slowly lay down on the floor to blend in as much as possible with the ground.

“Y/n?” I plop open to see Paul. He was a grade older than me, but we shared history and gym together. I usually see him around Jared and Embry at school. What the hell is he doing here?

“Paul?!” I say, trying to get up. Without asking, he lifts me up with ease and carries me out of the woods.

“What the hell are you doing all the way out here? You could’ve gotten yourself killed! Don’t you know how dangerous the woods are? There was a band from coming in here for a reason.” He says in a low, angry voice. I roll my eyes and grab onto him tighter when he jumps down from a small step.

“I didn’t intentionally get lost in here. I…saw something, and I was trying to get away from it. I got lost along the way on accident.” I said in a low, quiet voice. He stops to look at me and signs.

“Okay. I’m taking you to a friend of mine house where you can get cleaned up. Then, you’re calling your parents and telling me what happened.” I nodded my head and laid my head on his shoulder. I didn’t realize how scared and tired I was until Paul stopped again and held me closer to him.

“Hey, it's okay. There’s no need to cry, my love. You’re okay now, I promise. Nothing or no one is going to hurt you again. I promise.” Paul says calmly in my ear. I didn’t realize that I was crying. With it raining and his body warm enough to dry my clothes, I’m shocked I didn’t acknowledge it. I just nodded my head, and I couldn’t stop myself.

“I caught them,” I said quietly.

“I know I saw it.” I look up at him.

“What?”

“I saw. I saw you run out of that bastard's place crying, and I saw them run after you with barely anything on. it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.” I hid my face even more and cried. This is fucking embarrassing. To not only have someone witness this shit but to witness it and then tell you they did was worse.

“I should have listened to the note. Someone put a note in my locker, telling me to leave them alone. I should’ve listened! Had I listened, I wouldn’t be lost in the woods crying and wouldn’t need anyone to save me.” I look at him. “You know, whoever put that note in my locker, I should say I’m sorry for not listening, and thank you for warning me. Hell, I might even bake them something!” I leaned more against Paul’s shoulder. He shrugs and says,

“No need for apologies, beautiful. You’re very much welcome, and I like peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and banana nut muffins the most. Better yet, can I have both?” He asked, nonchalant. I turn to look at him.

“What did you just say?” Making sure I heard right.

“I said, you don’t need to apologize; I’m happy that I can help, and I like peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and banana nut muffins.” He says, looking at me. I snap out of it when I hear the loud thunder, and Paul gets back to moving.

“YOU sent me that note? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Would you have listened?”

“Yes.” He gives me a look that said, ‘we both know you’re lying.’ “Okay, I see your point. But why? Why did you warn me?” he didn’t say anything. He looked ahead and ignored me.

“We’re here. Emily and Sam know you’re here. And by the way, don’t stare at Emily. Sam hates that.” he said in a monotone voice. I looked towards where he was staring and saw a small house with windchimes and plants. We step inside, and I am immediately consumed with warmth and the smell of banana nut muffins. A woman, who I assume is Emily, rushes over with towels to lay on the floor and wrap me up.

“Oh, thank god you found her. Come on, Y/n, let's get you cleaned up.” I take off my muddy shoes and follow Emily into the bathroom.

“Sorry for the weird introduction, but I’m Emily. Here are some clothes to change into. Just put your clothes in this bag and come on out.” I nod and smile, and she closes the door. I look at myself in the mirror and shake my head. My eyes are puffy, and my mascara is running. I grab the washcloth and wash my makeup off and try to get it off her towel. I strip my clothes and place them in the bag. I take down my hair and scrunch it up gently with the towel to get the excess water out of it, then proceed to dry my body off. I put on the oversized sweater and sweats, and some socks that I can tell were new. I place everything in the bag and double-check myself. I look decent enough, and I head outside.

When I step out into the main area, Emily, Paul, and I assume Sam, were waiting for me. Emily comes towards me, grabs my hand, and leads me to the kitchen where she laid vegetable soup and a roll for me.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” She looked at me and smile,

“It is no problem, Y/n. How are you feeling?” she asked; I smiled.

“I’m okay. Nothing I can get through.” She gives me a sad smile and nods her head. I feel a rush of heat next to me and look over to see Paul. He rests his arm around the back of my chair and plays with my hair.

“You have dirt in your hair.” Emily throws a bun at him.

“Really, Paul?” he shrugs his shoulders and smiles slightly, making Y/n smile back. Emily walks out of the room, shaking her head.

“Thank you for saving me out there. Probably would’ve still been stuck out there too.” I said, playing with my untouched soup. He shrugs again and continues playing with my hair.

“I’d do it every day if I have to. Just don’t make me, deal?” he says, looking at her with a grin. She nods her head and smiles. Then ask,

“You never answered my question.” He stops twirling my hair and looks at me, takes a deep breath, and shrugs his shoulders again,

“Eat.” I proceeded to do so, “I didn’t want to see someone as sweet as you get hurt by a bastard like Daniel. You don’t deserve to be with someone who would hurt you. You deserve a man who would take your feelings into consideration, love you unconditionally, and be by your side. Someone who will always look at you,  go to you, and never give anyone else the time of day. You deserve love and constant assurance that you guys are okay to lessen your anxiety. To brighten up your hard days. To make you happy, smile, and laugh all the time.” He hesitates and looks at me while I wait for him to finish. I give him a smile of encouragement, and he continues with less skepticism and more confidence. “I can promise that I would be there 99% of the time, but give 100% of me to you.”

“Really? Me?” I whisper with a smile. I think back on the first time I saw Paul. It was my first day last year, and I was lost. I looked for someone to help me find my way, and I tapped on the friendliest face I could see.

One year ago: The first day of Sophomore year

“Excuse me, do you know where room 1135 is at?” I say to one of the tall men of the group.

“Oh yeah! It's right around the corner on the left, three doors down, and it’s going to be on the left. You’re the new girl, right?” The guys say in which another responded.

“No shit Embry. Why else would she be asking for direction?”

“You never know. She could’ve been a regular student here and has amnesia.”

“I have to agree with Quil on that one,” Embry said.

“How are we related?”

“Ask Jacob, Jared. It was his great-great-whatever grandfather's seed.”

“And on that note, I’m going to leave. Thanks, Embry?” he nods, and as I turn to leave, I run into an even larger man.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I say as he catches me. I look up, and I see who I now know is Paul. I look up at him, and he seems pissed, but before he could say anything, he looked at me and stopped before anything could come out of his mouth.

“Oh shit!” laughs, Jared.

“No fucking way.” –Quil

“You owe me $20.”—Embry.

“Fuck!” –Quil and Jared say together. I turn to look at them and step away from a shocked Paul.

“Um, thanks for the directions and catching me. Sorry for running into you. Bye, guys.” I said, walking around Paul to hurry and get to class.

Present-day: Emily’s house.

“Yes, you.” He smiles and continues, “how about this? I know it might feel too soon for you, but what if I take you out on a date. A real date. I know you just broke up with-”

“Yes,” I say without a problem. He looks at me, surprised.

“Yes?”

“Yes. Daniel and I were ending after that note. I started to put away the rose-colored glasses and see what was going on. I just needed proof of everything, and, well, I saw it.” I said. Thinking back on it but clearing it out my head to look at Paul. He had the cheekiest smile, his smile that shows his tiny dimples.

“Well, if that’s the case, I definitely deserve those treats.”

“Oh my god.” I laughed and tossed a piece of my bread at him, which he easily caught in his mouth. Now, this relationship is something I could count on being real and true

MasterList 

[cockasinthebird]

Stuck? Stuck.

This year for the senior weekend trip, Hawkins High students gets to enjoy a lovely stay at a hotel so cheap it's a risky gamble to even set foot there, and a Saturday trip to the Indianapolis Museum of Art, to which absolutely everyone is equally excited about.

Which is not at all.

Steve groans and sits up in the hard bed he has to sleep in for two whole nights, sharing his room with three other guys from his year that he swears he has never ever seen before, despite them all knowing his name and history quite well.

The drive here hadn't been that long, although it felt like hours, nerve ridden and anxious to not sleep in the safety of his own haunted mansion. Sure it's nice to be surrounded by people on all sides if he were to tell the truth, but...

Billy fucking Hargrove had been staring at him all day, sat two rows behind on the bus, and whenever Steve turned to look, he was met with an icy stare and suspicious grin. Billy had even actively gone out of his way to bump into Steve, push him around and kick his bags away, to which Tommy had laughed and patted Billy on the back, that fucking traitor. Sure they hadn't talked since after the fight with Jonathan, but Steve didn't know their friendship had been so fragile.

With an exhausted sigh and jittery hands, Steve carefully closes the door to his room, then heads down the hallway to find the elevator. He can never sleep when he's away from home, yet Dustin had convinced him that this is a great idea! Get out and have some fun! People always hook up on those senior trips! And then he did that Chewbacca wanna purr of a sound, prompting Steve to push his cap down his face.

The elevator climbs slowly up to his floor as he thumbs his lighter, on and off, on and off. Who here would he even hook up with that he hasn't already before he got together with Nancy? And now that they're over and Billy is running the school instead, Steve's odds had fallen even farther into the pits of hell.

He just needs to get out for a smoke, and maybe flirt his way to a drink or two at the sleazy bar; this place doesn't look like it cares about serving minors alcohol, what with the water stained ceiling and floor, the peeling tape, and the creaky as shit elevator, as it barely can manage a ding once it reaches the 4th level.

It whines just the same as he steps inside and feels it bounce dangerously underneath his weight. It requires several attempts and hard jabs from Steve before the ground floor button registers his attempts, and starts closing.

When just in the last second, strong fingers curl around the rusty metal and pries open the doors again.

That grin, those curls, the sun-kissed skin.

Billy fucking Hargrove.

“Where you off to, Harrington?” he asks with a flash of predatory teeth and steps into the limited space.

Suddenly Steve is feeling hot and claustrophobic, heart racing both from the presence of his enemy, and from the fear that the elevator might not be able to support both their weights.

“Why the fuck should I tell you?” he snaps and does his best not to meet those blue skies that just won't give him the same courtesy of pretending the other doesn't exist.

“Could be you wanted some company,” Billy says with a low tone that hints at something secret and suggestive.

“And why are you up?” Steve doesn't really care to know, but thoughts of why Billy might be up and about this late flows freely. There would only be one reason, and maybe it's the second floor where all the girls are located.

But he doesn't press the 2nd floor button. Simply puts his hands in his denim jacket and leans with his back against the wall.

“Oh you know exactly why I'm awake this late, princess,” Billy drawls out and licks his lips.

Which Steve doesn't notice, if anyone were to ask. He pulls up a cigarette from the back he has stashed in his back pocket, and slips it between his lips to save time once they're able to get away from each other again.

Yet it's gone just as quick, as Billy reaches out and snags it away, just to place it beneath his mustache. And Steve stares daggers at him, all too quickly he's angry, but really it takes no time with Hargrove around, as his mere presence in Steve's life in a constant source of pain and fury.

“What the fuck you asshole, give it back!” Steve frowns and clenches his fist with a strong urge to punch. It's been too long since he's felt the bliss of nicotine, and he can feel it in his blood. “Get your own shitty cigarettes.”

“Why don't you come over here and take it, then?” Billy muses with a cocky grin that goes from ear to ear.

“Yeah yeah, very mature, give me my fucking cigarette back, Hargrove. I'm almost out of smokes and patience with you.” Steve turns to stare at him now, a few feet apart filled with air so tense you could cut it with a fucking butter knife.

“Well that was quick,” comes the response as a mean spirited chuckle.

“Oh don't be like that; you've been harassing me all fucking day you shit!” And Steve steps closer, up to where he can feel Hargrove's breathing. “What is your deal with me?”

Billy lifts up his chin, looking all brash and smug. “Do I have to one?”

“Why else would you be making my life a living hell?” Steve's fists clench tighter. “Isn't it bad enough you stole my best friend and 'knocked me off my throne'?” he says with possibly the most infuriated air-quotes anyone could ever manage.

“Nope.” Short and crude, the p popping loudly despite the cigarette caught between teeth.

“Then what the fuck do you want?!”

And as Billy's grin somehow grows more sinister, he doesn't get to answer before there's an abrupt jump of the elevator and a nerve wrecking screech.

The loud whir of cogs and mechanics silent. The elevator has stopped.

“Are... are we...” Steve dares not say, as if that would make it real and not just his imagination.

Billy shoves Steve away and steps over to press a button, any button, and when there's no response, tries a second button, then a third, then every other option there. Punches the keys over and over and over-

“Fucking stop that! You're just making it all worse!” Steve shouts and grabs on to Billy's sleeve to tear him away.

“Oh like you know how a fucking elevator works!” Billy snarls back and pushes Steve hard for having even dared to touch him. “I know your grades, I've heard the questions you ask in class, I bet even Max could answer half the shit you can't!”

Steve doesn't even have time to think before he flings his fist after Billy, who catches it perfectly on the nose. Cigarette flies from his mouth, blood drips onto the sticky floor, onto Billy's dirty boots and his clean, white tee. And he continues being unable to think, as Billy fucking laughs.

“God damn Harrington, I can't believe you had the guts to do that,” he sounds near insane as he talks, swipes his tongue up to lick his upper lip clean of dark red. “You know you're gonna regret that now, right?”

“According to you I don't know shit.” Steve stands with his feet too far apart, shoulders raised and fists aching for more. As much as he would prefer not to fight, since he always gets his ass kicked, the rush of seeing blood flow from Billy's nose is invigorating.

No matter how prepared he thinks he is, Billy's fist still feels like a goddamn boulder against his eye, and barely has Steve staggered backwards at the brute force, before Billy grabs him by the collar of his striped polo and shoves him into a corner; caging him there with his own broad, muscular shape.

“You punch like a girl, Stevie,” his voice low and... oddly sensuous?

He reeks of cologne, teeth sharp and perfect like a wolf, body sturdy and thick, pressed into Steve with such intent that he can feel every inch of power.

“What are you gonna do now, Harrington?” Billy's chuckles like thunder in his chest as they stay flush together.

Steve feels his heart beat in his swelling eye, lumping in his throat, beating against his ribs like xylophones, and somewhere between his legs. Red really is a great color on Billy's lips.

“What are my options?” he groans out and wants to move away from the insufferable heat that's gathering too far down.

Eyes jump around every one of Billy's strong features, looking like a damn model from afar and up close like this. Jaw square and stubbly, an ocean's view in his eyes, a thousand eyelashes that he doesn't deserve to have, freckles like a starry night that he didn't even know existed on Billy's perfect skin, lips so hopelessly inviting despite the wicked grin.

And maybe Billy catches how he's being admired right now, because his smile falters to a slightly slack jaw. “Doesn't seem like you have any,” he mumbles out, tone uncertain of something.

“I fucking hate you, Billy.” Steve can't move his head away, can't tear his gaze from where that tongue peeks out to lick his lips clean once more.

With a timid whisper, barely more than a breath, Billy utters out, “I hate me, too.”

Lips meet with obscene force, Billy pushing against Steve's mouth as if it's his only source of life, and immediately Steve opens up; tastes the metallic blood that still drips slowly down from Billy's wounded nose, and feels that captivating tongue intrude deep as it urgently memorizes every inch of wet heat.

It's as if they've both been starving for years, and now they're all too worried it'll end in the blink of an eye.

Billy bites and pulls at Steve's lower lip with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, Billy-” Steve nearly moans out and tries to buck out his hips.

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington, or I'll punch you again,” Billy growls and dives back in to lick where his teeth had just tortured sensitive skin.

“Mmh- ah-” and Steve pulls away to say, “Do it.”

“What?” Billy has never looked more dumbfounded.

“Fucking hit me again.” Steve licks his lips clean of Billy's blood and stares intensely down at him. “Slap me in the face.”

And Billy grins like the devil, bites down on his tongue, breathing staggered as he contemplates on whether or not Steve is serious. Then brings a flat hand across a pale cheek.

It stings and burns throughout his entire body, anger and lust confusingly mixing and making his blood pump faster, his cock growing harder. He pokes at the inside of that cheek where he can practically feel the red hand print form.

“God you're a freak, pretty boy.” Billy wags his tongue and stares with a confident brow. “This why Nancy Wheeler left you, huh? She couldn't keep up with your perverted desires.”

Steve doesn't speak, simply digs a hand in between them, and oh what an exciting bulge he finds there, one that forces out an “Arrh,” from stained lips and feels the hips below urge closer.

“Like you're one to talk.” Now Steve is the one to smirk, crooked and looking like the cat that got the cream.

Which Billy fucking hates. All he can do is press their lips together again and grind his full dick against Steve's hand caught between them. His movement irrepressible as he rolls his hips and swallows every single moan that spills from Steve's puffy lips, pleased and turned on by every syllable, irritated that Harrington can't just shut the fuck up.

It would be all too easy to get caught like this. But isn't that just exciting?

That thought strikes both of them at the same time it seems, because just as Steve moves his hand out of the way, Billy's flies down tear away at their belts, all the while maintaining the rhythmic dance of their ever so insatiable tongues.

Neither dares to utter a single word, because the wrong one could stop it all too soon, so they settle on hushed grunts and groans, barely a cursed word till Billy's hand shoves into Steve's trunks once his fly is down.

“A-ah- shit, Billy-” Steve moans out and closes both his hands in the denim jacket.

“Be fucking quiet, Harrington, I swear to God,” Billy hisses out with his gaze low.

Attention caught on how fucking long and hairy Steve is, the head of his flushed cock wet with pre. He doesn't waste any time with getting himself out as well, his own leaking erection girthy with clear veins snaking around. Not as long as King Steve's magnificent dick, but definitely wider.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out hard at the sight of them both out in the open like that, shiny and standing at full size.

A moan cuts through him as Billy brings his free hand up to muffle every sound, with such force that it knocks Steve's head into the wall. The pure display of dominance that that move is, makes Steve leak even worse and struggles to keep his eyes open.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Billy's voice deep and threatening.

Steve feels as if he's staring death in the eyes, and all he can do is whine and thrust his hips into the iron grip around both their throbbing cocks. It's dry and uncomfortable, but fuck if it doesn't get him to where he needs to go.

And once again their minds must be in perfect sync, because Billy brings up his hand, and Steve watches intently as Billy spits into his palm, clear blue eyes never looking up to catch how burning amber stares.

Finally he gives in, when that slick hand twists around the two of them, and Steve's eyes roll back between fluttering lids as his mind goes blank with searing pleasure. A calloused hand, thick veins, hoarse groans, all of it the only things to matter in his world now, as every practiced jerk of his all too hard prick tears away at his self control and shoves him into the deep end of urges he never realized he had.

Urges he doesn't care to ignore.

Never before has he heard Billy go this long without insulting him, and he kinda misses it. He fights to open his eyes again, and catches how Billy's brows are raised high up and pinched together, his mouth wide as he barely manages to choke his own moans before they grow too loud, stare locked down where he's fisting them together with such fervor he could light a fire with it.

Steve is aching to hear Billy call him names, throw around abuse like it's nothing and shame him for something, anything. Perhaps tonight will give him new material finally, call him a queer or gay, just to then overpower him as he always does when they fight, now maybe followed by... a handjob? A blowjob? As long as his hands are on him, Steve won't complain anymore.

Can't complain when he's so close. He hadn't realized how badly he needed release at all till Billy had started pushing into him just minutes ago. Had their constant struggle just been pent up sexual tensions? Was this what it was all leading up to? An inevitability? Billy pumping his closed hand around them in a gross as all hell elevator, feeling every single inch of Steve's painfully intense erection?

“Fuck, ah shit, lift up your shirt,” Billy's quick to groan out with labored breathing that stutters as he speeds up his hand as fast as he can go.

And Steve doesn't hesitate to do as told, brings both hands from Billy's jean jacket to his own striped polo and lifts it up as high as he can, what with the way they're crammed together in a corner.

Feels the heat gather, the coil in his gut tightening till it's seconds away from springing, the vice grip around him doing wonders in pulling him to the edge, then shoves him off as he cums, hips shoving into Billy's rough hand with short bursts as he moans against the one stealing away his air, feels how he ejects wet heat all over his abs in a toe-curling feat.

Shortly followed by Billy as he empties all he's worth onto Steve's stomach, forehead pressed on top of the hand covering Steve's mouth, eyes still unblinking as he watches what a gorgeous mess they're making. He squeezes their spent dicks till the last drop drips down his broad fingers, and then lifts up his hand.

Ensures that Steve is watching, as Billy sticks out his whole tongue and licks his hand clean, sucking on the digits till there's not a trace left.

Steve moans into his hand at that, and despite the fact that he's been depleted of all his energy, still feels it jolt through him and burn into his memory for forever.

Finally Billy pulls his hand from Steve's mouth, and wipes the spit off in his jeans as he steps away.

And Steve nearly collapses without the support of thick muscles to keep him up, boneless in the afterglow of the best orgasm he's had in months. But... what's he going to do with the way they've painted his abdomen? There's no fucking towels or paper here, and he can't just take off his expensive polo shit and use that! He stares down in slight panic and gestures with his hands as if he's just going to, what, wipe it off?

When his sight gets blinded by something soft that reeks of musky sweat, and he catches Billy's shirt before it would fall to the floor. He looks up to see Billy put his jacket on again.

“Use that to uh...” He points to the cum that slowly runs down Steve's exposed skin.

Although hesitant for very good reasons, Steve does eventually wipe himself dry with Billy's tee, and awkwardly hands it back, as if he can really use it for anything now.

And a prolonged silence fills the air between them, as Steve remains in the corner and Billy struggles a bit with the doors; no clue what floor they're on anymore, and the counter above probably hasn't worked in years.

“What happens now?” Steve asks cautiously from where he's sitting in the same corner, a spot that he dares not leave.

Billy groans out a complaint and shakes his head at the immovable steel doors. Then goes to sit next to Steve with only slight space between their bodies.

“You mean if we make it out of here alive?” he laughs, and hears Steve give a tired chuckle as well. “That depends...” his tone grows wary and serious. “Harrington... if you tell anyone about this, I will fucking kill you, you understand?”

Their eyes meet, and in Billy's there's a storm of mixed feelings. Fear of getting hurt, premature anger of being found out about, and maybe hope? But that could just be Steve projecting his own thoughts and feelings onto the other.

“And what if I don't?” Steve swallows hard around the anxiety that clumps together in his throat. “What if I don't tell anyone about... us?”

One corner of Billy's rather stern grimace quirks up. “Then I'll see you tomorrow night.”