#since there's you know actual fic in here

[rcmclachlan]

The Least Vulnerable Spot 8x16 spec fic

In which I ask the ultimate questions: under what circumstances would Tommy not attend the memorial procession for Bobby? Also, how silly can I make this?

+

Buck has never considered himself to be that guy, but when a man hands you the viral antidote he stole for you, kisses you on a rooftop backlit by the sunset while a couple of Sikorsky UH-60s hover threateningly, and whispers "Here's looking at you, kid" before ushering you through the rooftop door so you can save your family while a bunch of stone-faced Army guys advance, you tend to have an expectation or two. Like, that he'll pick up his fucking phone when you call. 

He's left so many voicemails and sent so many texts to Tommy's phone over the last four days that he's pretty sure Verizon has his account flagged, but he thinks Petrea, his account rep, would understand if he explained that his ex-but-maybe-not-ex-boyfriend flew in like a superhero and then ghosted him when Buck needed him the most. She might even dig up a Jilted Before Your Father Figure's Funeral discount for his troubles. 

It's been a week since they held the procession for Bobby, and not even Buck showing up at Tommy's house the night before and pounding on the door for an hour while shouting that he was yellow-bellied (partly true), a traitor to the 118 name (mostly true), and a lousy lay (bold-faced lie) could make the little coward show his face. 

So he's done. He is finished with Tommy Kinard and his massive amounts of baggage that would make even Briggs & Riley close up shop, and he's proving it by leaving one final voicemail that isn't influenced by his sadness over Bobby's death, the stress of the last couple of weeks, or by how much Tommy's abandonment has hurt him. He's going to be a rational adult about this. He's going to be the bigger person.

".... This is all to say that I hope you have an amazing life, Tommy," he says into his phone speaker. "I hope it's filled with love and support, and it's meaningful and fulfills your soul. And I hope you fall in love with a beautiful, kind man who treats you right, and I hope you get married and stay together for fifty blissful years, and then I hope you wake up from the coma to realize it was all a dream and you're all alone, because apparently that's what you really want! And I know you were quoting a movie on the rooftop, and you know what? I'm not going to even look up which movie it was! Look at me, kid, or whatever it was you said!"

Buck misses the days when he could snap his phone shut to hang up, because stabbing end call twenty times until his finger actually taps the button just doesn't give him the same kind of satisfaction. 

Panting for a moment, he pushes all his anger and pain into a little lockbox in the back of his mind, shuts the lid, and takes a breath. Then he pockets his phone and looks up to find everyone in the station frozen, staring at him like he just performed a magic trick or saw a bug on the wall and didn't identify it out loud.

"What?!" he snaps at all of their slack-jawed faces. "Never seen a rational adult before?"

Out of nowhere, a hand lands on his shoulder like a jump scare, and he startles back so hard he almost throws an elbow into Acting Captain Henrietta Wilson's wrinkled nose.

"Hey, Buckaroo," Hen coos. The expression on her face would be more at home on someone who's been tasked with single handedly cleaning up a nuclear meltdown. "Maybe we should put our phones in our lockers so we're not distracted by our very confusing situationships. At least until lunch time when I can escape to Rosetti's to get a break from it."

Buck doesn't whine and he definitely doesn't stamp his feet. "Yeah, but what if he calls?" 

"You know, he probably would just to tell you the quote is actually Here's looking at you, kid," Hen admits. 

"I don't get it. Who's looking at me?" Buck mutters, giving his phone the stink eye before looking up. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were doing paperwork."

Hen shrugs with her entire face. "Well, I was, but when you started wailing I thought another raccoon got caught in the vent fan again, so."

For someone who got the job under the worst set of circumstances imaginable, she looks completely at home in the role, the way she always does. Buck's trying like hell to be happy for her, and he is, deep deep deep down, but he'll be the first to admit he hasn't been handling it well. Yesterday she'd brought in a tiny potted succulent and put it in the upper left corner of what was now her desk where a framed photo of Athena, May, and Harry once sat, and Buck accidentally knocked it onto the floor. And accidentally stepped on it. Twice. Accidentally.

She'd stared at him until he started to sweat, then said flatly, "You're buying me two more."

"Yep," he'd agreed. There's now a bigger succulent on the desk and a bushy lemon lime maranta on the windowsill. 

Whatever she sees on his face makes her roll her eyes, but she puts her hand on his shoulder again and says, "Okay. You get thirty seconds. Lay it on me."

Buck blinks. "Really?"

"Twenty-nine now," Hen says.

Damn, that's generous. Eddie only gave him ten before he tapped out. 

Squaring his shoulders, Buck lets it all come tumbling out: "I thought this meant something! He threw in with us again and kissed me on the roof and said whatever he said and it was supposed to mean something! You don't just bail after that! He was supposed to be here! He was supposed to support me at the funeral! He was supposed to be there for me at the procession and then fuck the sadness out of me afterward! I had a plug in and everything!"

"Time's up," Hen breaks in, a look of abject horror on her face. 

Buck throws his hands up. "That had to only be twenty seconds at most."

Hen's eyes dart down to his hips, then back up to his face. Her glasses magnify them, so they look bigger and wider than usual. She looks like one of those Precious Moments figurines his mom used to collect. "You had a—Buck, that procession went for a full mile."

"Believe me," Buck grumbles, shifting to try and escape the chafed ache that refuses to go away. "I'm well aware. Serves me right for going with the biggest one I own, but, like, I thought Tommy was gonna—"

"Aaaand we're done." Hen executes a perfect about-face and marches in the direction of the admin offices. 

Buck calls after her, "Bobby would've heard me out!"

"Bobby would've jammed pencils in his ears!" Hen shouts over her shoulder. "Which is exactly what I'm about to do!"

This is exactly what he means when he tells Dr. Copeland that no one ever listens to him. 

He's about to go see if he can corner Chimney somewhere with limited escape routes when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. His heart gets caught up in a dizzying storm of excitement, dread, and grim satisfaction, because he knew Tommy wouldn't be able to deal with the idea of Buck not looking the quote up.

But when he takes his phone out of his pocket, the incoming call isn't from Jaw of Gibraltar ❤️, but Lucy Donato.

Sighing, he takes the call. "Uh, h-hey Lucy—"

She cuts him off immediately with a curt, "Look, don't think I'm not grateful or anything. We all are. Not being forced to listen to sad James Ingram songs day in and day out has been wonderful, but it's been two weeks already and we need our lead pilot back."

"I—what? Lucy, I hate to tell you, but—"

"Tell me precisely zero details about how dick drunk you are, Buckley," Lucy says flatly. "Just tell me when you're letting him go. Cap's getting antsy and Baxter's been on call for so long that his wife is ready to kill him and turn his body into mulch."

Buck stares at Engine 2 until it blurs. "You... are talking about Tommy, right?"

"No, I'm talking about the other dipshit I work with who committed domestic terrorism because your asshole is a Disneyland attraction." Buck makes a face but doesn't correct her. Tommy once likened sex with Buck to riding Big Thunder Mountain for the first time. "He's missed like four shifts. Any more and Cap is gonna have to, like, make some calls. Where the fuck's our pilot, Buckley?"

"He hasn't been in at all?" He echoes faintly, a sinkhole opening in his gut. 

Lucy makes a sound of disgust. "Frankly, I can't believe they dropped your charges. You're way too dangerous to be allowed among the general populace."

The Army colonel who swanned into Chim's hospital room like he expected them to scatter like roaches had taken one look at all of them and scoffed. "Every fiber of my being hates what I'm about to say, but I can't handle another phone call from Sergeant Grant, so: on behalf of the United States government, we're dropping all federal charges for everyone in this room. If I see any of you ever again, I will throw you into a hole so deep it'll make the Kola Borehole look like something a kid dug at the beach."

Except not everyone was in the hospital room that day.

Buck squeezes his eyes shut. "Hey, so I need to call you back."

"Wait, Dana wants to talk to you."

With a yelp of pure terror, Buck stabs his phone until the call ends, then immediately calls Jaw of Gibraltar ❤️. It goes right to voicemail, like it's been doing, and now Buck is pretty sure he knows why.

"Heeeeeeeey," he says through a grimace. "So, uh, I need you to ignore all the other voicemails and texts I sent you. Um, it's entirely possible the reason you haven't been picking up my calls might be, uh, sort of my fault, but just think: someday when we've been married for fifty years, we'll probably still be laughing about this whole thing."

Inbox full, the automated voice cheerfully tells him.

Cringing, he calls Athena.

+

Buck has never actually seen a federal prison—Jamestown was a regular prison, and he didn't have enough time to stop and take it all in—so he's not sure what to expect, but when they fly over Victorville Medium-Security Federal Correctional Institute, he's surprised to see it looks more like an army base than anything. 

The pilot who picked him, Athena, and LAFD union lawyer Bernadette Kaine up from Harbor One—and that had sucked, because the entire Harbor crew was standing on the tarmac giving him the evil eye as he boarded, and while Dana didn't physically drag her thumb across her throat he could see the same sentiment in her blank expression—didn't actually introduce himself, but his name was embroidered on the arm of his flight suit. 

"Your last name is 'Goodenough'?" Buck had asked, grinning. "'Pilot Goodenough'? Hopefully your flying is a lot better than your name suggests!"

Pilot Goodenough stared stone-faced out the windshield and said, "We might hit turbulence during the flight."

And they did, but oddly only whenever Buck unbuckled his belt. The last time Buck went to get up, Athena threatened to shoot him.

When they land, Colonel Whatshisname is there to greet them, and he looks both exhausted and furious to see him and Athena again. 

"Sergeant Grant," the colonel acknowledges through gritted teeth, ignoring Buck entirely. "It's such a pleasure to see you again."  

Athena simply crosses her arms and stares him down, which is impressive to watch, considering the guy's like 6'7". He's shriveling under her scrutiny before Buck's very eyes. 

"Colonel, it appears you forgot something," Athena says, lightly and terrifyingly.

"Someone," Buck interjects, with nowhere near the same impact.

Colonel Whatshisname sighs, looks heavenward at the departing helicopter as though he'd like nothing more than to flag Pilot Goodenough back down to take him away, then beckons them all inside.

When they get to whoever's office the colonel commandeered, Buck is almost completely distracted from why they're there by the sheer amount of rubber ducks that clutter up every flat surface in the room. No two are the same. There's even a little viking duck, complete with a mace. 

"Can I—" Buck starts slowly, inching his hand toward a duck that looks like a firefighter.

Colonel Whatshisname sits down at the desk, hard. "No."

"That's fair."

"Colonel Spade," Bernadette begins, opening her worryingly bulging briefcase. "I'd like to begin by thanking you for your ti—"

"Colonel, you know why we're here," Athena cuts in, taking the seat on the other side of the colonel's desk. She has to clear a path through all the ducks lined up at the edge so she can rest her clasped hands there. "When the charges were dropped for the members of the 118 involved in the incident, LAFD pilot Thomas Kinard's charges should have been included."

At that, Buck moves to stand menacingly at her shoulder like an attack dog, although the colonel doesn't look all that impressed at the display. If anything, he gets a look on his face like he'd just swallowed an assassin bug. Specifically a North American wheel bug. 

"Normally, I would agree with you, but Thomas Kinard abused his military rank and previous clearance to gain access to a secure government building, steal proprietary assets from a lab that could have caused great harm to the population of Los Angeles, and physically assaulted personnel on his way out," Colonel Spade snaps at her. "There was no way we were letting any of that go."

"Assaulted?" Athena lifts a brow. 

"That's awful," Buck rasps, pressing his thighs together. "Like, how many people and what did he do to them? Like, were there concussions? Broken bones? You can go into detail, I'm not squeamish."

The thought of Tommy fighting his way to get to Buck is so disgustingly hot that he might pop a woody in front of Athena, their lawyer lady, a visibly upset military man, and three thousand ducks. Still not the worst place he's ever been turned on.

"Without Kinard, we never would've gotten the antidote in time to save all those people," Athena says, and yanks her chair forward a little, away from Buck. "The people you deemed collateral damage in the fallout of the release of the CCHF virus."

"No one could have predicted Dr. Blake would go rogue," Colonel Spade says easily, with hate in his eyes. "This is hardly the fault of the—"

Suddenly, Bernadette sits up, and it feels like someone's put a spotlight on her. Buck kind of expects her to break into song or something, but what happens is actually so much better.

"The day Dr. Blake stole the virus, her employment was terminated, effective immediately, and yet security didn't walk her out of the building, which goes against all federal mandated safety protocols," Bernadette says, all smiles, practically glowing. "The lab—property of the U.S. government, if I remember correctly—was entirely unsupervised, which gave Dr. Blake the unfettered opportunity to tamper with the virus, speeding up its incubation period without authorization. Or, perhaps she did have authorization and the government failed to disclose this. Tell me, what else is going on under our noses that the government isn't telling us?"

"Try to disappear the brave people who risk their lives to do the right thing, apparently," Athena answers pointedly. 

"I thought you were a union lawyer," Colonel Spade says through a visibly clenched jaw. "What do you know about federal pharmaceutical law?"

Bernadette's smile goes sharp. "I dabble."

Colonel Spade looks, for lack of a better word, murderous. He's probably one smarmy comment from grabbing the nearest rubber duck and bludgeoning Bernadette to death with it.

But Buck has never been able to help himself. "Is this a bad time to mention my ex-girlfriend is an investigative reporter?"

Athena drops her head into her hand. "Buck."

"I'm just saying!" He crosses his arms, trying to puff himself up the way some animals do when they're faced with a predator. "It sure would be a shame if an anonymous tip about all this landed in her lap."

Colonel Spade squints at him. "Are you threatening me, Firefighter Buckley?"

"You're trying to bury Tommy to save your own ass," Buck growls. "Yes, I'm threatening you."

Wordlessly, Bernadette reaches into her briefcase, which looks like it's seriously ready to bust open at the seams, and slides over a packet of paper to Colonel Spade. The colonel snatches it up and starts reading, and the longer he does, the paler he gets.

Finally, he lowers the packet and stabs Bernadette with his eyes. "Where did you get this?"

"I play mahjong with your ex-wife every Sunday," Bernadette says, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "She sends her regards. Well, she actually sent the tip of her blackmail iceberg. How is your new wife, by the way? She graduate from college yet?"

Eyes wide, Buck looks at the colonel, who's got the swallowing wheel bugs look on his face again.

After the most awkward ten seconds that Buck's had to endure since Eddie crashed his and Tommy's pizza date, the colonel folds like a bad row of mahjong tiles.

"Fine," he says with a sigh, then glares at Bernadette. "And no, she's a junior."

Buck picks up a rubber duck with sharp teeth like a vampire. "Gross."

+

The colonel washes his hands of them by pushing them onto two enormous guards named Weekes and Kluger, who are basically human trees. 

When Kluger gets his orders to take them to cell 58, he droops like a wilting plant. "Hey, you're not here to, like, take Kinard to Gitmo, right? It's just—he's really cool. He's got the wildest stories."

"Dude figured out what was wrong with my car just from listening to a video on my phone." Weekes grins, then leans in to whisper conspiratorially to Buck, "it was the alternator."

"I offered to introduce him to my sister," Kluger says as they board the elevator, and he's either oblivious to Buck's glare searing a hole in his head or is just flat-out ignoring it, because he continues blithely, "but he said he doesn't like girls. Which is cool. I'm down with the rainbow, you know? So I told him about my cousin, Martin."

Buck makes a politely interested noise, but it mostly sounds like he's biting straight through his tongue. Athena elbows him hard enough to bruise his spleen.

"And what did he have to say about Martin?" Buck asks. Meanwhile, every bone in his body is vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear.

Kluger doesn't seem to be aware that the head is going to burst into flames any second now. "He said he was flattered and that Martin was hot, but he's already got his heart pinned on someone on the outside."

Buck relaxes with a pleased smile.

"Yeah, except whoever it is left him in here to rot," Weekes adds.

"T-That's unnecessary and completely untrue," Buck lies, trying to sink into the floor so he won't drown in shame right in front of them. 

Thankfully, the elevator comes to a stop at the 5th floor, and Buck pushes his way out to gulp some fresh air. 

He's not sure if being on the 5th floor is a good or bad thing. Tommy was charged with domestic terrorism; what if this is the domestic terrorism floor? What if he's neighbors with neo-nazis? What if he'd been jumped by a faction in the shower and took a beating and has spent the last few days pissing blood and breathing through broken ribs and cursing the day he ever picked up Chimney's call about needing a pilot for an unauthorized rescue? 

What if he regrets ever meeting Buck?

But before Buck can ask Kluger for a bucket to throw up in, they come to a stop in front of a cell marked with the number 58, and Buck forces himself to look inside.

Apparently the question Buck should've been asking was what if Tommy's lying on his bed playing paddle ball while he mouths along to whatever 80s hip-hop song is playing on a little radio? Because that's exactly what Tommy's doing.

"I gave him the radio," Weekes says proudly, reaching out to knock on the glass door. Tommy looks up without pausing his game. The ball keeps thwacking against the wood.

"He's so good at that," Kluger says, starry-eyed. "He beat Officer Amino last week and that guy's won tournaments."

"Is it Girl Scout cookie season already?" Tommy asks cheerfully, then effortlessly twists the paddle so the cord wraps around it. He tucks the ball in. "Sorry, I don't have my wallet on me."

Buck shoves Kluger aside to practically press his nose to the glass. "We take IOUs."

As soon as he sees Buck, Tommy brightens, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stands, stretching with a groan, and then walks over to the door. Even in the bland blue jumpsuit, he's stupid hot. Helplessly, Buck puts his palm against the glass.

"Nice of you to stop by," Tommy says with a teasing lilt, pressing his own palm to Buck's, and Buck swears he can feel the heat of it through the pane. 

"I was in the neighborhood," Buck teases back. "Figured I'd pop in."

"I won't lie, I've been dreaming about you showing up for a conjugal visit." Tommy looks away from Buck's face to squint at everyone else. "Although you guys weren't there."

At that, Athena cracks a smile and says in an odd voice, almost twangy, "You stupid mullet head, he beat you with nothin'."

Tommy perks up and doesn't miss a bit, drawling, "Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand."

Before Buck can ask what the hell they're talking about, someone shoves him aside with surprising strength. He's a little surprised to see it's Bernadette, who he kind of forgot about, but she's clearly the only one who remembers why they're here because she raps on the glass and says, "Mr. Kinard, my name is Bernadette Kaine and I'm here to take you home."

"We're here to take you home," Buck amends. 

Tommy looks at Bernadette for a long moment, head tilting like a puppy hearing a noise for the first time and gaze narrowed, and then snaps his fingers. "Hey, I know you! I sent my paperwork to you the last time I stole a helicopter."

Sighing, Bernadette nods. "If you do it a third time, I get a free sundae."

"What do I get?" Tommy asks.

"Permanent incarceration and possibly the death penalty."

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Tommy mulls that one over, then gives a decisive nod. "Sounds about right."

+

The helicopter ride home is spent mostly with Buck plastered to Tommy's side while he fills him in on everything he missed. Tommy's devastated to hear about Bobby. He offers Athena his condolences over the open mic, then curls his hand around his headset speaker to murmur apologies into Buck's ear. 

"I wish I'd been there for you," Tommy says, and the words ease some kinked cable inside Buck he hadn't known was there. "I'm sorry I wasn't."

"I'm sorry I forgot there were consequences to your actions and left you to the mercy of the Army," Buck says, pressing his forehead to the jut of Tommy's jaw. "I just assumed everything was taken care of, and I… kind of thought you were ghosting me."

At that, Tommy snorts, wrapping an arm around Buck to hold him impossibly closer. "Evan, come on. You don't kiss a man like that and quote Humphrey Bogart and then ghost him. I'm an asshole and a coward, but I'm not a monster."

Buck winces. "Uh, yeah, when you have a second, can I see your phone?"

"What for?"

"It's better if you don't know," Buck says. "Completely unrelated, but you don't have a code for your voicemail, do you, and if so, can I have it?"

Tommy snickers and presses a kiss to Buck's temple. "How bad did it get?"

"Well, I taught Chim the word 'motherfuckface', so you tell me," Buck admits, cracking a grin when Tommy laughs out loud, but he has a hell of a time trying to keep it up. Finally, he gives up the ghost and tucks his face against Tommy's, eyes prickling hot with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I should've known. I should've known. Never in a million years would you have bailed on the funeral. It should've been my first clue that something was wrong."

Tommy snugs him in close and says quietly, barely audible over the rotors, "To quote an incredible man who drives me up the wall: 'it seems there's a lot we don't know about each other.' I'm glad you know I wouldn't have left you in the lurch like that, but there's a lot more… there's a lot more about me that you should know. That I… well, not exactly want you to know, but that I will tell you. Willingly. Well, not exactly willingly, but—"

"Y-Yeah?" Sniffling a little, Buck pulls away just enough to be able to look up at him. "What are you doing Saturday?"

It wins him a smile. "Vivisecting myself for you, apparently. And maybe burgers afterwards?"

Grinning, Buck snuggles shamelessly back in. "Actually, I wanted to make Bobby's famous lasagna for you. I think I've finally nailed it down. Then you can nail me down."

But before Tommy can respond, Athena breaks in over the line and takes a baseball bat to the moment. "Change the subject. Now."

Swallowing hard, Buck nods and pastes on a smile that doesn't scream 'I'm chubbed up a little in my jeans and I'm trying not to make it everyone's problem.' He coughs a little. "So, uh, who's Humphrey Bogart? Does he have a podcast or something?"

Tommy turns to Athena. "Actually, thanks, but no thanks. Take me back to prison."

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── AND YET... ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka the one where...just because!

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 1k ⌗ fluff, crack, kissing

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── this one is cute bc if you've read no doubt it's a little iykyk moment...warning: this is so sweet all your teeth might rot after this. and i will not be responsible for your dentist appointment sorry not sorry ^_^ mwah. also this is dedicated to lilly my luv since she loved the flower scene in no doubt <3 @puma-riki

There’s a knock at your door.

Three quick taps. A pause.

Then one more for good measure.

You blink.

You glance at the clock.

It’s late—well, not late late, but late enough where you already retired yourself to a night of takeout and movies, fully committed to not speaking to another human being until tomorrow. Late enough for you to question if you’re about to get murdered, or worse, get a surprise visit from your landlord.

And yet. You peel yourself off the couch, shuffle to the door, accepting whatever fate the universe is about to present you, swing open the door and—

Jake.

Jake, standing there, slightly out of breath like he ran here, with his hair all over the place, and your eyes flicker down to his hands and—

Oh god.

His hands are full.

With flowers.

An entire bouquet, actually.

A chaotic mess of colors, all wrapped in crinkled plastic, looking like the sort of thing a rushed florist would shove at a panicked man five minutes before the store closes.

“Hi,” Jake breathes, a little too eager, a little too quickly.

You just stare at him.

Then at the flowers. Then back at him.

“…It’s not my birthday is it?”

Jake blinks.

“What? No, of course not.”

Then, a pause. He shifts. His eyes widen.

“Wait. Is it actually your birthday? Because—”

“No, Jake,” you smile, letting out a small giggle. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Oh,” he exhales. “Okay, good.”

He thrusts the flowers towards you, “These are for you.”

You try your best to fight the growing smile on your face as you look from the bouquet back to him, “And these are for me…because…”

Jake short-circuits—his hands just hanging there, holding out the bouquet awkwardly. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

“…Because?”

“Because…?”

“Because…I like you?” He almost sounds unsure, like he’s only just now realizing how absurdly pathetic he might just be.

He rubs the back of his neck, “And I just—I don’t know, I saw them and thought of you and then I thought, well, she likes flowers, right? and I like her, so she should have flowers and then next thing I knew I was at the checkout counter.”

You stare at him.

Jake stares back, looking like he’s about two seconds away from either passing out or bolting.

You can’t believe he’s real.

Because this is Jake—Jake, who is effortlessly charming in literally every other setting except when it comes to you.

Jake—who fumbles through flower shops and stumbles over his own words, who’s so incredibly earnest over you.

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

Slowly, you reach out and take the flowers from his hands, and you swear you can physically see the way his shoulders drop in relief.

“You do know I’ve told you before to stop getting me flowers, right?”

Jake stiffens, looking completely clueless. “What? No, you haven’t.”

“I literally have,” you smirk, your fingers plucking one of the petals as your eyes flick over to him. “You’re allergic, remember?”

His face falls.

“Oh.”

He blinks.

“Wait—no. No, I remember now. You have said that. Multiple times.”

Your lips twitch, “Yep.”

“And yet,” he gestures vaguely at the bouquet in your hands, his eyes still trained on you.

“And yet,” you nod, amused.

Jake lets out a dramatic sigh, as if he’s just now realizing his own idiocy, “I think I black out every time I buy you flowers. Like, my brain just stops working.”

You snort, leaning against the doorframe, “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

Looking a little hesitant, a little hopeful, Jake takes a small step closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip.

“So…do you like them?”

Your eyes glance back down.

It’s chaotic. A mess of colors and clashing textures. But at the same time—it’s kind of perfect.

Just like him.

And you soften.

“Yeah, Jake—” you look back up at him, the warmth in your voice washing over him. “I love them.”

And Jake absolutely beams. He thinks he’s won in life. Like you’ve just handed him the world instead of a simple yes, I love them.

You smile to yourself, watching him have his little victory moment in the way he lets out a very obvious breath of relief before wiping his palms on his jeans.

And suddenly, you don’t want him to leave.

“Hey,” you say, pushing off the doorway, taking a step closer. “I was gonna order takeout and watch a movie.”

Jake’s eyes widen.

You tilt your head, lips curling into a soft smile, “Wanna join?”

And this—this is when Jake completely malfunctions.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

He’s a fish.

A completely smitten, malfunctioning fish.

“Oh.” A pause. “Oh thank god— I mean, yes. Yes. I would love to stay. Because I definitely did not already bring my comfy movie night clothes hoping you’d say that.”

You pause.

Then—your gaze drops to the tote bag hanging off his shoulder.

Jake follows your eyes.

Then, as if he just realized his own self-betrayal, he immediately slaps a hand over the bag as if that will somehow hide it.

You raise an eyebrow, fighting back a laugh, “Jake.”

“…Yes?”

“Did you actually bring a change of clothes?”

A beat of silence.

“No.”

You stare at him. He blinks.

“…Yes.”

And then—you burst out laughing. You double over, practically losing your mind.

“Stop,” Jake groans, covering his face with both hands. “This is humiliating.”

“No—”you grin, “this is so cute.”

Jake peeks at you between his fingers, fully pouting, “Do you want me to stay or not?”

You step even closer and gently pry his hands away, smile still tugging at your lips, “Of course I do, Jakey.”

And before he can say anything else—before his brain can spiral any further in agony—you’re leaning up, and—you press a kiss to his lips.

It’s soft. Gentle. Light. And it absolutely ruins him.

Jake freezes, his breath catching as your lips linger just long enough to melt his remaining one (1) brain cell away. 

Because although it’s simple—barely a brush—it feels like a promise.

Like warmth. 

Like coming home.

You pull back slightly, barely whispering against his lips, “Now get in before I change my mind.

You back up, swinging the door open wider.

And Jake?

Jake grins like an idiot, practically sprinting inside.

And as you close the door behind you, watching him kick off his shoes and immediately settling in like he’s always belonged here, you feel it—warm, sure, and terrifyingly true:

You really like him.

Maybe even more than flowers.

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[chococolte]

WAIT! ONE MORE REQUEST AND I'M DONE I PROMISE-

So how about Sagau Zhongli, Venti, and Childe be like when their god, who has been known to be a single pringle ever since they came into existence, is suddenly announcing they are finding a consort among their acolytes?

word count. 2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i had to go back and reread my childe fic to remember how i characterized him fuck my baka chungus life. anyway im sorry it's been a while but as it turns out if you sit down to write something you'll actually write, so here's this!!

zhongli

Despite himself, Zhongli is unable to quell the dim light of hope that swells in his chest.

It's one he's instantly ashamed of. Zhongli is, as one so aged and so familiar with you, intrinsically aware of how little he compares. Where you step, he follows; his mind beckons even if his body resists. To think of himself as somehow worthy of you would be his greatest folly.

Yet he does so anyway, no matter how desperately he tries to kill his arrogance.

The fear is overwhelming, but the acerbic aftertaste at the thought of you with anyone else is worse.

The shame at his own hubris gnaws away at him, but Zhongli can't find it in himself to entirely let it go, to better himself as he should. If bettering himself comes at the cost of losing the opportunity to be entirely yours, he would rather be consumed by his pride.

He knows he should be disgusted by himself. To want is a terrible sin. It's one thing to worship you, and another to see himself kissing your skin every time he closes his eyes.

When Zhongli is beside himself, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company, he wonders what it would be like to be yours. His mind supplies every possibility with no incentive. He aches, and wants, and feels so vividly and impudently that he thinks his thoughts must be some kind of punishment.

You're everything, he thinks. There is nothing in this world that is comparable to you.

What would it be like, to feel you? Would you give him that honor? Has he done enough to deserve it? Or do you torture him so, filling his mind with images— things he should never think, things he should never imagine— because he dares to think himself worthy of calling himself yours, in a manner no one else has before?

Zhongli's greatest failure is that he's unable to stop himself from wanting.

He's ached before. He ached for the thousands of years he spent without you. He ached when he saw you for the first time, enraptured, unable to understand how a form could be so perfect. He ached when he let his fingers linger on your skin for longer than he should at every opportunity, he ached when he wondered if you found his achievements worthy of praise, and he aches every time he has to leave your side.

This hurts more, somehow. To want for something he knows he could never receive. To want for something he knows he isn’t worthy of. But knowing doesn’t ease it, when he follows after you every day like an old, obedient dog; when your back is as familiar as the sky overhead, as commonplace a view; when he imagines what it must feel like to have your fingers run along his skin, touching and prodding, pressing long enough against his skin to leave imprints in their wake.

He wonders how heavenly it would be, to be yours. He imagines it so frequently it begins to become difficult to differentiate reality and fantasy. Your skin, his skin. His warmth, your warmth. Your touch, your touch, your touch.

You.

Zhongli doesn’t realize that he’s said anything at all until you’re staring at him, a certain look on your face that makes him stammer. It’s only the two of you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller than it is; every uniform pattern underfoot suddenly holding him still, the air suddenly dry, and his body suddenly tense and taut.

Zhongli wonders if this is fear. He wonders why it feels so cold. Why suddenly all he can see is you— why suddenly, nothing else matters.

His heart is tumultuous in his chest, aching and creaking and so, so loud. He can feel it in a way he’s never felt it before, and he wonders if this is how every mortal who’s ever knelt before him felt. Did they, too, feel their throat tighten by a phantasmal hand? Did they, too, feel so tiny and insignificant; like their lives were in the center of another’s palm, to be lauded or ignored?

Did they, too, wonder if they were enough?

You’re smiling, he realizes, but he doesn’t know if you’re smiling because you find it all amusing, or because you wish to comfort him.

Your smile is a thing of wonder. He finds it doesn’t matter if you’re doing so because you find him funny or pathetic; his fingers tremble either way.

“I was waiting for you,” you say, and you speak the words so softly he wonders if he misheard.

venti

Venti is aware he's too selfish for his own good.

He knows he shouldn't be as needy as he is. Ideally, he would rise at your call and simper at your demand; and he does, except he does it even when you haven't spoken a word.

Watching you with others feels like a brand on his skin. A strange, terrible emotion that he knows must be some sort of blasphemy. Venti washes it down with whiskey and wine and tries his best to mask it with mirth. You wouldn't like him if he was anything but the blithe bard who worships you.

He worships you. That's the problem, he thinks.

You don't even have to do anything specific for his skin to feel like it's not his own. You glanced away from him. You smiled at someone else. You laughed at something that wasn't him. You exchanged this look with someone else and it almost felt like there was something there in your eyes, something he could never have—

Venti stops the thoughts there. It's always been like this. He's demanding when he shouldn't be.

He's not ungrateful. He chokes on how intensely he loves you. It's so suffocating it hurts.

Venti wishes he could worship you properly.

He wishes he could have you all to himself. He wishes you'd never look at anyone else. He wishes he could have some sort of assurance that you love him past your words. He wishes he could stay by your side always, that he could stick himself to you, that he could intertwine your nerves and bodies until everything he is becomes all of you.

Selfish.

What you give him should be enough. But it's not.

You say you're looking for a consort. Venti's heart twists with a sickening flutter.

He imagines it so sweetly it's painful. He dreams of loving you purely. He writhes with restless agony every night. He wants to hold your hand and feel your warm palm against his. He wants to rest his head on your shoulder. He wants to touch you, delicately and softly, until he knows every part of you. He wants to know you, enough that it's a semblance of how much you know him.

That sort of intimacy is something he doesn't deserve. He wants it anyway.

Venti knows his thoughts are some sort of sacrilege. He doesn't care. All he wants is for you to hold him closer than you have before.

You'd be warm, he thinks, and his fingers twitch imagining it. He'd be safe with you.

He would be yours.

Selfish to want and arrogant to believe he has any place so close to you. Neither matter.

Venti lies his head on your lap, trying to appear as small as possible. Love me, he wants to whisper. Love me.

He doesn't. Instead, he says: "choose me."

Venti doesn't look at you. He tries to project confidence in his voice, but all that comes out is a weak tremble. It's still a plea, after all. He's still only begging you, even if he tries to paint it as something else.

You card your fingers through his hair, pinning his hair behind his ear. The softness hurts. It hurts more than the fact you haven't said anything yet.

He braces himself, hugging his arms to his chest.

"Okay," you say, voice warm and so, so soft.

Venti's chest heaves.

childe

Childe knows his thoughts are wrong.

His desires aren't what they should be. He should be happy you glanced at him at all, and for the brief, blissful moment where everything is you and you're all he knows, he is.

You look at him, and the world is right. The euphoria feels like it might break him each time, but he somehow manages to stay standing. A testament to his worship, he thinks, that he can hold on just long enough for you to look at him some more.

Then you look away, and suddenly it feels like you've just gouged out his heart and gutted him.

It's not your fault. You breathed life into his body, but you can't shoulder each of his mistakes.

A mistake, he tells himself. Something he needs to fix. You wouldn't like him if he showed you that part of himself.

It becomes harder to fix when you announce you're looking for a consort.

Suddenly, everyone looks more disgusting than they did before. They're not just people who are demented enough to believe they have any right to your time or attention. They're people who now believe they're worthy of you, and it's that thought that makes him sick.

There is nothing in this world that comes close to you. There is nobody in this world that could hope to be truly worthy of sitting by your side.

He feels his stomach twist because of the hope that dwells within it.

Childe remembers when you were all he had. Your whispers were his only company in the abyss. When he's with you, he's reminded of it, and every time you look away from him, he's reminded of how many times he called for you and was met with dead air.

People think he was saved when he was ripped from the abyss. Childe thinks anyone who believes that are fools. The day he was ripped from you felt more like a death than a miracle.

He doesn't blame you. You saved him and that should be enough. You look at him and that should be enough. You breathe in his presence and he should be euphoric to share your air. And he is, but so neatly tucked along the inseams of his soul are thoughts of how much better it would be if he didn't have to share you at all.

Childe tells himself the thoughts aren't his. The dreams aren't his. The will to make them into reality isn't his own. The urge and the turmoil aren't of his own making.

You're not his. Your gaze isn't his. Your attention doesn't belong to him. Your love is not uniquely his own. It can't be, he tells himself, but then you smile so sweetly in his direction, and he wonders if it could.

He knows he's pathetic and needy and sick. He knows the burning in the back of his eyelids every time he sees you with another is far from holy and far from what you deserve.

Childe's disgusted by the fervor and desperation of those around him. He's disgusted far more by his own desires. He's disgusted that he begins to lean into them as time goes on.

You smile, and he buzzes. You laugh, and his world tips. You look at him and he wonders if the affection he sees in your gaze could be anything more.

"Ajax," you murmur, petting his hair.

Childe kneels before you like a loyal hound. He doesn't move, hunching his shoulders. He wishes he could make himself smaller. Maybe he'd be more palatable. Maybe you'd like him more like that.

"Pick me," he says.

He doesn't realize he's spoken until your fingers stop threading through his hair.

Childe freezes, an apology on his lips, but he can't bring himself to speak. He can't bring himself to look up at you, either, his copper lashes trembling.

"I have," you say, your fingers resuming their ministrations as if you'd said the most obvious thing in the world.

Childe shivers, nestling closer, hiding his face so you don't see him break. You rub his trembling back despite it, shushing him gently as his tears wet your clothes.

[gotta-winwin]

i (almost) do | s.c

⭐ starring: choi seungcheol 💌 genre: angst | wc: 1.5k 💬 preview: at 12 years old on the playground, you traded plastic wedding rings with Choi Seungcheol, the boy who sat in front of you in class. he slid the ring onto your ring finger, a teasing smile on his face. 15 years later, you watch as he slides a real wedding band on her finger. 

cw/tw: angst, marriage, being the other woman (kinda?), seungcheol being an impatient lil fucker, childhood lovers to strangers, multiple proposals.

🪽fic rating: pg ☁️ masterlist & a/n: here’s the promised fic from our svt x what could’ve been poll! couprangs, you guys are insane (mwah ily) this idea was first born in the depth of my chats with @gyubakeries and @studioeisa…this is for you, choi seungcheol, and your immensely sufferable face :3 (and the biggest thanks to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for the banner!)

now playing: i (almost) do by taylor swift 

this is a special from the svt x what could’ve been event -> click here to read svt x what was (@studioeisa) and svt x what is (@gyubakeries) :) 

Choi Seungcheol’s fiance looked suspiciously similar to you. 

Perhaps it was just your delusion talking, but the similarities were simply too difficult to ignore. 

The way she always sat with her right leg propped up on her left. The way her lips curled into a smile, hiding the insecurity of her teeth she had carried with her since childhood. Even her hair fell the same over her shoulders, the strap of her bra never sitting properly on the crook. She ran her hands across Seungcheol’s arms in a beat that matched how yours once did. 

“It’s uncanny.” Joshua murmured into your ear at the wedding rehearsal. “It’s like he ordered her from the y/n factory because he knew he couldn’t have you.”

You fake a smile. You feel bad for her. After all, if everyone could see the resemblance she could too. Yet you couldn’t help but resent her anyway. Because even if you had been here first, it was still her at the altar. Her in his sweatshirt. Her in his bed. Her as the mother of his children. 

She looks and acts exactly like you. The only difference is the wedding band that sits nicely on her ring finger and the aching void that is on yours. 

”Choi Seungcheol!” 

He runs past you towards the open field, a soccer ball in his arms.  The smile he looks back at you with is full of warmth and open admiration. 

You forget how long you sit on the wet grass to watch him play. 

His sweaty arms envelope you in a hug. You are both far too young to understand love, yet it surrounds the two of you anyways. The teachers see it and they smile with understanding. Your classmates see it even if they don’t know what it is yet. 

“Let’s get slurpees from the gas station after school.” Seungcheol walks you back to class. “My mom gave me ten bucks today.” 

You nod. You know you’re staring at him with the sappiest look on your face. You can feel the awkward stares of others in the hallway. But love doesn’t feel embarrassing when you’re being loved by Seungcheol. 

”You’re embarrassing me!” His fiance chides him through laughter. 

He has his hands on her waist, spinning her across the dance floor. 

You look at his face and watches as his eyes fucking glow. They glow in a way that never happened when he looked at you. It stings. Joshua brings you another drink and you swallow it down. 

The wedding photos are sent to your group chat a week after the actual event. You open them first thing in the morning and nearly choke on your own spit. Without your glasses on, the image is blurry and she looks just like you. 

You hate it. 

If Seungcheol had married a girl the complete opposite of you, you could’ve chalked it up to the fact that you just weren’t his type. But the fact that she was you— the only acceptable conclusion was that Seungcheol loved you, he did. He just didn’t want to choose you. Not in any way that actually counted. 

You stare at your ring finger and pretend you don’t feel the urge to chop that shit off. 

He proposes for the first time in the middle of July at six years old. 

“Let’s get married when we’re 30.” 

You frown, because the age 30 seems eons away. “Why 30?”

”My parents got married at 30.” He pauses. “I think?” 

“30 is old.” You counter, swinging your legs in boredom. “Why can’t we get married now?”

”Well, you need to be much taller to get married. I think. All married people are much taller.” Seungcheol had always been much smarter than you. 

“How tall do you need to be?” You think about how tall your parents are and your frown grows. “What if you’re old and not tall enough?”

The question stumps Seungcheol. “I don’t know.” 

You stand up and press your back against the wall of your bedroom. “Measure me. How tall do I have to be?”

He presses his hand against the wall, on top of your head.  “Much taller.” Picking up a piece of chalk, he climbs onto your bed and draws a straight line a couple feet above you. “This tall.” 

You stare at the line on the wall of your childhood bedroom, now faded and barely visible. You let out a wet laugh because Seungcheol had drawn the line impossibly tall and you were still nowhere near the line. 

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name is familiar, easy. A tongue that had spent years perfecting a few syllables that made up a cherished noun. 

“Seungcheol.” 

The way you say his name is hesitant, as if your brain had short circuited trying to pronounce it. You pretend not to see the flinch at his own name coming from your lips. 

“You know I hate when people use my government name.” 

It’s true. His friends call him S.Coups. His parents call him son. “It’s your name isn’t it?” You say. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

”You used to call me Cheol.” 

“Your fiance calls you that.” 

He winces and you let out a quiet, defeated sigh. 

The both of you had learned in fourth grade that names had power. It was in some stupid English novel your teacher had forced you to read in class— entirely boring and useless, yet the sentiment had always stayed. 

“Goodbye, Seungcheol.” 

He watches as you leave. 

You take the power he holds over you away. You revoke his claim on your heart. You refuse to call him anything other than his government name ever again. 

He proposes the second time over winter break at 15 years old. 

“Our parents think we’re going to get married when we’re older.” 

You laugh because you’ve heard it from your parents multiple times over the course of the last six years. ”I know.”

”Do you think we will?” Seungcheol no longer looked like the little boy you had grown up with since kindergarten. He looks different and so do you. 

“If you don’t make me mad before we’re 30, yes.” 

He looks offended. “I would never.”

Seungcheol could never imagine making you mad or being the reason for your tears. 

“I want one of those fancy weddings.” He comments, picturing the scene. “With all our friends— somewhere in the middle of August. Right after my birthday.” 

“Me too.” You lay next to him, looking up at the ceiling of his room. His ceilings are still decorated with the solar system from his youth. “With a big cake, big decorations, a DJ, and I want my veil to reach the floor.” 

You can see the wedding day so perfectly in your mind, and when you turn to look at him looking at you— you know he can see it so clearly too. 

Seungcheol gets married on a farm at 27 because his fiance wanted to. There were no elaborate cakes, big decorations or a DJ. Her veil was modest and fell neatly on her shoulders. It lacked most of his high school friends. It was in February. 

You return to your empty apartment after a long day of work and you can almost see the visible trails of energy Seungcheol had left behind. 

Perhaps you were slowly going insane from the loneliness, but your apartment carried wisps of gold, flowing through the air and gathering dust on your couch. 

You feel the sudden urge to run to him. You almost do. 

Instead, you pour yourself a cup of warm tea and curl up on your one seater couch. You welcome the loneliness in and invite it to stay for a while. 

Joshua tells you Seungcheol and his fiance had just moved into their marital home. You imagine it’s homey and illuminated with a thousand warm lights. You imagine she cooks for him in their giant kitchen and he hugs her coming home from work. You imagine they sleep on the same side of the bed. 

You fight each wave of yearning towards him, each urge to knock on his door begging for answers. For another chance. For him to leave the carbon copy of you. You want to run to him. You almost do, but you don’t.

He proposes for the last time in the middle of a snowstorm at 25.  

“Let’s get married.” It’s less of a proposal and more of a beg. “Fuck the idea of 30. I want you to be my wife now.” 

Yet you know you’re not ready. Deep down he knows it too. “I can’t.” 

“Why not?” He’s angry, frustrated. You can tell. You always do.

You look away. “I want to finish my degree before I get married, Cheol. You know this. You know what they say about women who get married and still try to pursue law.” 

You look back and he’s on his knees. “Marry me.” He says again. “You can do both.” 

“You know I can’t. We said 30, Cheol. Please.” It’s your turn to beg, as you sink down to meet him at his level, your knees scraping the wooden floor of your shared apartment. “Wait for me. Please.” You hold his face in the palms of your hands.

He nods, but you can tell from the way he gets up silently that you’ve betrayed him. That somehow putting you first had burned him. 

So Cheol gets married at 27 with you in the audience. He doesn’t wait for you. You get your degree a year later.

[agustdtown1]

CLOSER TO YOU [TEASER]

PAIRING: nerdy!roommate!jungkook x OF!reader.

SUMMARY: After getting various comments about your poor filming skills for your OF page, you finally decided to give in and reach out to the one person that could help you with your problem. However, what started as your roommate just helping you to film your video turned into you begging him to fuck you.

How long would it take for Jungkook to finally give in? After all, all he ever wanted was to be closer to you.

WC (teaser): 615, final work is almost 10k

WARNINGS (teaser): swearing, sexual themes, allusion to masturbation, it’s not explicitly stated but reader is fully naked, reader being a little menace and jk being completely whipped for her. The rest of the warnings will be added to the final fic.

A/N: not me coming back here after almost a year of not writing anything. I don’t have any further explanation aside from the fact that my life changed a lot and I got way busier than I thought I would, I also kinda lost inspiration and motivation to write so… there’s that, hopefully with this new fic I’ll be back to writing more often and being active. n e way, enjoy your reading and lmk if u wanna be tagged for the final fic! <3

masterlist

“Kook…” You breathed out, “I need you.”

It was so subtle, so fleeting the smugness that covered his face for a brief instant that you barely noticed. His eyes widened and his lips moved like that of a fish trying to survive out of the water, he didn’t know what to do, much less what to say. 

“Me?” He whispered, completely clueless of the effect he was having on you in that moment. You nodded, fingers stilling in between your legs. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You sat up, stopping the filming once again. “Exactly what I said, I need you… I-I need your help with something else. You can say no, but… I would be forever grateful to you if you said yes.”

Jungkook was putting to use his 128 IQ score to try and understand what you were hinting at, but none the wiser, he needed the words spelled out to him to get your idea. And so, as softly as possible, you explained what your need was actually about. You noticed the way his body reacted to you and the show you were putting on for your viewers but more specifically for him; it was painfully obvious how much he desired you, and in all honesty, you weren’t any better. 

Ever since you two started living together, you swore that you wouldn’t act on the small and silly crush you developed for him after meeting for the first time. It was just a silly attraction that wasn’t worth the hassle of getting involved with your roommate; his built body and big biceps drove you crazy, and you couldn’t turn a blind eye to the intricate tattoos adorning his arm, which was such a stark contrast to the type of man he made himself out to be; the lip ring shining from his mouth was so painfully enticing, and more often than not, you found yourself wondering what it would feel like against your lips while kissing the life out of him. And God bless the person that gets you started on how much you loved those black rimmed glasses that adorned his eyes almost 24/7, giving him a geeky look that would never fail to make you weak in the knees. But all of those features, as well as the lewd scenarios conquering your mind minutes before going to sleep, had made it difficult for you to stay in your lane all this time. Tonight, however, might be your one and only chance to turn your dirty dreams into reality, only and only if Jungkook agreed to your idea.

“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.” He murmured, looking down at the floor and avoiding your hopeful eyes glaring at him. You reached out for him, your soft hands coming in contact with his covered thighs while you kneeled in front of him. “Y/n… don’t do this to me.” His whole body stiffened, fighting the urge to jump your bones and turn you into a crying mess just like he always imagined.

“You don’t want me like that, Kookie?” You so innocently asked, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Is that the real problem, hm?” Your hands were sliding up and down his thighs, teasing him.

“God, no.” He answered breathlessly, “You have no fucking idea how bad I want you…”  

“Then why don’t you show me? What’s stopping you, hm?” Your cheek resting on his jean-covered thigh elicited a soft gasp from your roommate. “It's just a small favor.” 

“I… fuck, you’re driving me crazy right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends while letting out a frustrated groan. Jungkook took off his glasses while rubbing his eyes before looking at you again. “You have to promise… you really have to promise that it will be a one-time thing. No more favors after this, at least not of this caliber.” 

You nodded eagerly, looking at him with a spark in your eyes. “I promise, just this time.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook nodded, “I’ll help you with anything you need.”

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 V Part I Part II Part III Part IV Mmm, 5-ish months and I finally finished. I was really on a roll with these stories but work really took a bunch of time out of my schedule. It did get to the point that I didn't really want to finish this. But I can't have another story that was scraped right before the end again XD (I'll finish that UA fic at some point--) Also, this isn't a bunch of bullet notes for once. Wowie. Another thing, there'll be a part VI focused on Bruce. I was gonna merge him with Damian but I realized it just wouldn't work. I wanted to sort of wrap this story up so I can move on to my other interests. But I got back into reading other people's yandere batfam stories and got me interested again. Hopefully this keeps me motivated to finish this story. And who knows, maybe I'll go back and update the last few parts Tag: @redkarmakai @erikasurfer @szapizzapanda @kore-of-the-underworld @imhere2dosomething @pastel-mouse @cooki3dough @naina326 @peptox @ladylupuscrow @confused-they @megasweetbones @1-800-crazy @lillian-morningstar @butterflycardigann @senhoritaapple @lunayaps @sirenetheblogger @ferchu0406 @caged-birdies-blog

CW: Mention of past kidnapping, bar fight, blood, and lab testing. "Death"(Impaled). Fighting. Explosions.  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

It’s been a few days since you’ve decided to return to the manor. You were sort of numb for the first few days, not entirely sure if you made the right choice. Being used in a lab doesn't sound appealing, but who says your “family” isn't going to do the same thing? It's scary how they know how your body works better than you do. But how do they even know all this? 

Yes, you were “friends” with Dick for a while but you don't think you were ever injured around him. Probably a small paper cut or scraped knee but that’s it. You’ve only met Jason once and it was during that bar fight. That whole thing was quite violent, you ended up dead in an alleyway. Maybe that's how they studied your “powers”.

Honestly, the biggest reason you decided to return to the manor is for the chance to see your mom. If Tim was telling the truth, your mom is still out there. Suffering. This is your chance to save and be with her again. There may be some questions on why your “family” is suddenly interested in you and wants you back at the manor, but you don’t think too much about it. You just want your mom.

Plus, if you’re gonna be tested on, at least you're treated decently here. Dick gives you full range of his apartment, Jason delivers whatever food you’re craving and Tim gives you space.

Speaking of which, you haven't actually been taken to the manor yet. Your “brothers” won't give you the details but they just tell you to wait a bit. You can’t decide if it’s a blessing to not go to that dreaded place or a curse. That manor will undoubtedly bring the loneliest memories but this apartment is filled with the people that made those memories.

Not only that, but Dick apparently had a pet dog. Of course, no hate to the sweet puppy, but you did not want to be anywhere near her. You thought you’d be okay with the small pitbull but the memories of Damian using his pets to attack you just came flooding in. Curse him for ruining your love for animals. At least you don’t mind watching Haley when she’s on the other side of the room. Though, you end up not seeing her at all since you primarily lock yourself in the bedroom.

While waiting to go back to Gotham, your “brothers” took turns staying at the apartment with you. Dick is fairly respectful of your need for space. He stays outside of the bedroom but he acts like a dog pawing and sitting at the door until it gets open. Constantly rambling and talking, trying to hold a conversation while you tune him out. Sometimes you can hear him commentating while playing with Haley. Just the thought of the dog happily chasing a ball warms your heart while also making you shiver at the thought of her chasing you. She may not be as big as Titus but your brain apparently can’t tell the difference. Unlike your other two “brothers”,  you let Dick in the room at times. It is his after all and he usually just grabs whatever before leaving.

Jason is a little more tolerable. You don't know how but he always finds a way into the room even though you were sure that the door was locked. No matter where you look, you can’t find out how he’s able to get in the room. He just pops in and jumpscares you every time. Jason mainly comes inside to give you food or some book to entertain yourself. You’ve asked for your laptop a few times but Jason wouldn’t hand it over. To avoid the constant surprise visits, you told him that you’d open the door for him if he was only delivering food or a book. Guess who still refuses to use the door.

Tim…You refuse to even acknowledge him. It’s possible that the rest of your “family” is just as, if not more, crazy than him, but Tim was the first to show his true colors. Immediately making him drop on your list of trusted individuals. Even though he wasn’t that high to begin with. Just that he was willing to sell you out to some lab for a power you didn’t know you even had until recently! It’s just unnerving to be anywhere near him and Tim, you think, knows this. While Dick and Jason are always talking or interacting with you, Tim hasn’t bothered you too much. It makes you wonder why he went through all the trouble of cornering you like this if he doesn’t even seem to care.

— ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

You lay diagonally on the large, blue and black bed. Your head closest to the lamp on its nightstand with a book at arm's length. Honest, you’ve lost the motivation to continue reading for a while now but also don’t have anything else better to do. Reading just gets boring when that’s all you can do all day. Can’t believe it’s only been about a week and you’re already getting Cabin Fever. You glance out the window and release a tired sigh. The sun is only just going down. While you could sleep the days away, you got a bad headache once from constantly sleeping so you tried to stay awake in the morning. 

You asked Dick about going out at one point and he said it was too dangerous. Or just rambled about how happy he was that you actually said something to him…After staring at the window for a couple more seconds, you slowly pulled yourself up and made your way to the over. Your hands reach for the window’s lift but hesitate with opening it. There’s a high chance that the lab group hunting you down is still out there. Just the thought of getting found out just because you wanted fresh air sent a shiver down your spine. Plus, you were still being watched by your “brothers”. Dick and Jason would definitely notice if you opened the window. Maybe Tim wouldn’t mind…right?

While they never told you this specifically, there was definitely an order your “brothers” took for who watched over you for the day. It was Dick, Jason, Tim, then repeat. You did your best to remember this because you didn’t want to get caught opening the window. You may not have completely wrapped your head around why your “family" is suddenly interested in you but don’t want to get on their bad side. Not when you know they’re capable of sending you to that lab group. Dick says how the family wants to fix their errors and to make amends with you. But how could you ever trust them? How can you trust your “family” that left you to die all that time ago and then threaten your life? What could you have done to make them do this to you…

The moment you were sure that it was only Tim and you in the apartment, you carefully opened the window and allowed the sun in. Feeling the warm light touch your skin almost made you melt and take a nap. Which you did. You even took one of the books Jason gave you and sat on the windowsill. There wasn’t really a way to get completely comfortable but the outdoor air was enough for you to give you the energy to read your book. When it started getting late, you dropped your book on a nearby surface in the room before turning your body to face outside. You swing your legs lazily while staring at the few stars that peek out of the sky. Even as the cold air makes you shiver, you don’t want to go back into the apartment. No way are you going to cut your time short when you barely get to go outside. 

Well, it seems it’s gonna be cut short anyways because a sudden creaking sound reached your ear. Jumping in surprise, you quickly grab the edge of the window to stop yourself from falling several floors. You may not die but it’d still hurt. Your eyes do a quick scan around you for the source of the sound before landing on a nearby fire escape. Just a window away, Tim stands there with two steaming mugs. Weak eyes looking directly at you with a blank expression. You can feel your heart sink as you debate on explaining yourself or being annoyed. While you’ve made plans to let Tim know how much hate you have for him, it was all in your head. Seeing him now after so long and being the one in a bad position, you didn’t have the confidence to start an argument. 

Before you can even think of what to say, Tim casually steps forward and holds one mug out to you. You hesitate but carefully take the mug. When you accept the mug, a smile suddenly spreads across Tim’s face but remains silent. Just taking a sip of his mug while waiting for you to do the same. It takes you a moment to register what exactly Tim put in your cup. You considered throwing the cup at him but you’re still a little frazzled and his staring doesn’t help. You eventually take a sip, allowing the warm and sweet flavor of chocolate to make you relax. Hot chocolate is always nice when it’s cold out. 

“...You know you shouldn’t be out here” His words immediately replace the warmth your body just had from the hot chocolate with a cold chill. Without meeting his eyes, you try to appear unphased. Just swirling the liquid in your mug while letting it keep your hands warm. “So? It’s not like I actually left. Plus, I’ve kept an eye out. I don’t always need you and your brothers watching over me” You keep your head high, wanting to make it clear that you still have no interest in being involved in this family.

A small laugh escapes the other party before a soft thud. When you steal a glance, Tim has an elbow resting on the railing of the fire escape and his head in his palm. “If Dick found you out here, he’d board up all the windows” Hearing this instantly makes you look at Tim in confusion. Would Dick actually do that? Tim’s smile doesn’t fade as he continues while bringing his mug to his lips. “Jason may chain your ankle to the bed frame” What the heck is with this family?? For several years, you’ve wished to learn about your “family” so you can bond with them. But this is too much

“And do you know what I’d do?” The question catches you off guard. A part of you just wants to throw a snarky remark but another part is still baffled by the possibility of having a barred window or a chain to your bed. You aren’t even sure if you’re supposed to answer the question until Tim speaks up. “I’d get you a cup of hot chocolate and tell you to come back inside. It is getting late, don’t want to Dick or Jason to find you when they return.” With that, Tim lifts himself from the railing and steps back inside the apartment. You remain seated while trying to process what Tim said. So, you weren’t gonna get in trouble? Your thoughts get caught off by the sound of a door opening behind you. When you turn around, you see Tim in the doorway and motioning you into the living area. 

You carefully get off the windowsill, not wanting to spill your hot chocolate, before stepping back into the warm apartment. Tim holds the door open for you and whispers as you cautiously pass him “I also won’t tell your brothers if you play some games with me” This immediately makes you turn around and glare at Tim. Of course there was a catch to his “kindness”. Maybe that is why you were so willing to listen to him. Tim may act normal but he’s from a family that doesn’t know what’s normal.

Reluctantly, you play a few games with Tim in the living room. Luckily Haley’s out with Dick or you would have been really distracted while playing. You loved any ranking game so you could beat Tim, so it was great not being paranoid about being jumped by the small dog. Though, you don’t feel as victorious when he seems just as happy as you are with your wins. You’d dump your hot chocolate on him but you ran out. Also Dick and Jason had returned. When Dick saw you out of the bedroom, he nearly broke your eardrums as he hugged you like a favorite plushie. You worried that Haley would come over to you since her owner was holding you, but Tim picked her up before she got too close. Also Jason made dinner.

 — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

Today is the day. Finally taking the dreadful ride back to Gotham. It literally is only around a 30 minute drive but you couldn’t help but feel like it’d be hours. Dick tried to cheer you up by saying what a fun family road trip this’ll be. As if you hadn’t been stuck with these three idiots for several days already. With Jason’s and Tim’s help, your stuff from your apartment are put in the car and it’s time to get on the road. Dick gets into the driver seat, Jason in the passenger seat, and you and Tim sit in the back. Ever since Tim found you sitting on the windowsill, you’ve slowly become more tolerant. You probably just feel a little obligated to spend a little time with him since he didn’t tell Dick or Jason about what happened. Or the other times that you opened the window again. Tim also helps get Haley tired so she sleeps while you go into the living room to play another game. 

Your gaze is focused on the window as the car starts up and begins moving. There’s some chatter between Dick, Jason and Tim but you don’t bother with listening. That is until Tim gets your attention with an open bag of chips. You all share the large bag while bantering with one another. Every time the opportunity arises, you make sure to tell them all the things you hate about them. It makes you happy to see them grimace but they always try to turn things around. Dick and Tim waves off your words, telling you to look to the future where you’ll be happier and safer now with your “family”. Jason would only scoff and redirect the conversation.

Arriving into Gotham, it’s as depressing as ever. Feels like it was only yesterday that you were on a bus to escape this city. Now you’re back for reasons you still aren’t completely sure about. When you looked at the time at the front of the car, you were surprised to see that a whole hour had passed. “What the hell?? It is not that long of a drive to get from Blüdhaven to Gotham” You look to Dick for an answer as he just releases a small laugh. Before he can answer, however, his phone rings. Jason picks up the device before you can see who the caller is and brings it to his ear. “What?” You and Tim watch Jason until he ends the call with a groan. He massages his forehead before finally speaking up. “There’s an outbreak”

This news immediately frightens you but Dick and Tim appear to be ready. The car is pulled over and hidden near an abandoned building. As they gear up, they formulate a plan to handle the situation and get you to safety. You honestly get a little distracted as you remember that your “family” are a bunch of vigilantes that fight crime. Wait, what if you’re being brought back to become one too? Before you can ponder on the thought though, Nightwing grabs your attention. “Okay, so I’m going to take you to the closest safehouse. You’ll stay with the other civilians until this all settles down. At the same time, Red Hood and Red Robin are going to their posts and handle the situation. Once I drop you off, I’ll be doing the same. Do not leave that safehouse.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard Nightwing so serious. Just as you all are about to split, however, a voice is heard from overhead

“I’ll take them back” It takes your brain a bit to process what is happening as a figure jumps down from a high ledge. Robin stands in front of you all before immediately walking towards you. “I can get them back to the manor if you three idiots can hold your ground” Without another word, he grabs your arm and quickly pulls you with him. You can hear Nightwing call out to you both but it quickly fades away.

You’re basically being dragged around like a ragdoll as Robin takes you through various turns. Trying not to trip and fall on your face, you still don’t have time to figure out that this Robin was Damian. That sick kid who had no problem with physically and mentally harming you. He definitely has the same arrogant attitude and him not properly worrying about how you’re tripping over yourself from how fast he was going checks out. At least he hasn’t forced you to climb buildings or do some impossible jump. 

So far, no trouble crossed your path as Robin continued to pull you behind him. Not once does he let go of your arm. It’s honestly hard to run when he’s holding you like this, but at least you won’t fall behind. Of course, all good things come to an end in Gotham. Robin and you are just about to cross a street when a loud explosion is heard a couple of blocks away from you two. He leads you to hide behind a flipped car to get away from flying debris. Your senses are suddenly overwhelmed with the sound of more explosions and the smell of smoke and metal. In your confused state, Robin takes off his cap and lets you use it as a mask of sorts. Trying to stop any more fumes from your system. You aren’t able to fully comprehend what he is saying if he suddenly stands up and leaves.

Obviously confused, your eyes follow Robin as you continue to hold his cap to your face. Your vision takes a moment to focus on the path ahead of him to see a group of villains creating havoc. You can’t quite see what or hear what is happening but you hope that everything is okay. As you sit behind a car and slowly clear your head, you piecing things together. Such as how much younger Robin is to you and how you just watched him get up and go fight those villains with explosives. You may hate Damian but he’s still a kid, right? You’ve wished plenty of misfortunes on him but you didn’t want it to be like this. It could be that you're actually still hazy from the smoke but you force yourself to figure out how to help Robin. 

You peek over the car again to look for something helpful but immediately find the opposite. There’s another villain nearby that is tearing down buildings and cars. There’s still time before they reach you so you try figuring out a plan. Looking inside the car next to you, you find a toolbox. You rummage inside of it until you find a decently sized hammer. This won’t be of any use against that broad villain that is destroying the city, but it could possibly be useful for Robin in his fight. As carefully as you can, you hide behind large debris as you step closer to where Robin was fighting. He’s doing well but by the time he’s done, the next villain will be here. You watch for an opening before throwing your hammer as hard as you can. It doesn’t do as much damage as you hoped but it gives Robin a chance to quickly knock the villain down.

Once the villain is taken care of, Robin yells and scolds you for getting involved. “I told you to say where you were! What could have possibly happened to give you the idea that I was in need of any help? I am fully capable and trained to handle these enemies while you can’t even follow simple instructions! Are you asking to die out here?!” Hearing his harsh words after so long almost makes you fall back. But no, you refuse to let this kid look down on you “I literally can’t die! Don’t fucking act like you I need your protection when I am capable of handling myself! Plus, there’s another monster thing coming this way. We need to get out of here before—” Your words get cut off as a loud roar is heard and more debris is being thrown around.

Robin quickly grabs your arm and begins pulling you both away. There’s no time to pick up the hammer you threw and you accidentally drop Robin’s cape. You stumble behind him while turning your head behind you, looking towards the large monster that appears to have just noticed you two. The villain easily pulls a lamppost up from the ground and throws it, with the top of the post pointing directly at Robin and you. The sight of the metal beam causes you to quickly grab onto Robin’s wrist and force him to let you go. Once he releases his grip, he turns to scold you again but you quickly shove him to the side. You’re suddenly launched forward a few feet as a sharp pain pierces through your body. The point of a lamppost suddenly appears at your front as your body quickly registers this new wound. The pain is so overwhelming that your brain doesn’t register the sound of someone calling your name. Eventually it all becomes too much and everything goes black.

— ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

Great. Just great. You were just speared right before Robin’s eyes. From the extensive research made by Bruce and Tim, you should still be alive. But this sight of you dying was still an unpleasant sight. It fills him with an unfathomable amount of rage at you, himself, and the villain that was after you both. Robin uses a great amount of force to defeat the monster as soon as possible. Wanting to get this over with so he can take your body back to the manor.

Once the final guy has fallen, Robin slowly approaches your body that still hangs limb on the lamppost. He picks up his cape on the way, seeing as you dropped it when you two were making your escape. Robin cleans as much of the dirt off before finding himself faced with your body. With careful hands, he pulls your body off and gently lays you on the ground. He lifts up his cap and immediately wraps it around your torso, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. Robin then carefully picks you and continues the journey to the manor. Being extra sure to avoid any more casualties so you can receive medical assistance sooner.

[strawlessandbraless]

Since this worked so well last time do you have any fic recs where Dean and Cas watch movies together?

Anon I’ve been reading fic for this ask for nearly two weeks and I still feel like I’m missing some obvious choices. But this is what I got:

there is rest for the wicked by fleeceframe

knowing is the easy part by gothyringwald

Movie Night by thalius

Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall

Talk Some Sense To Me (Kenopsia) by ImYourHoneyBee — I find a way to put this fic in every fic list but there is actually a very comical scene where Dean and Cas watched legally blonde with Claire

Of Future Plans & Paradoxes by destielfluffnstuff

Cas and Chill by xylodemon

This Isn't Where We Intended to Be by PorcupineGirl

Our Old Heroes by AdelaClancy

Whoa There Cowboy by almaasi

As always please feel free to add your own fic recs or even your own fics, we love self promotion here!!

[cece693]

Hannibal x male reader who is seemingly not that bright been getting away with murder for a LONG time (primary targets r pedos) and 1 night when Hannibal is disposing a body he sees reader doing the same by making it seem like the most recent victim simply died in a cave system?

Thanks for the ask! I changed your request slightly since I thought of ideas for a 'himbo' reader. In this fic, the reader is smart but acts dumb to stray people from looking into his murders. Kinda like Hannibal, but the reader knows if he acts clueless, people would overlook him. It isn't what you asked for, but I think it came out alright. Hope you enjoy!

The Unlikely Confluence

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: you're a murderer, duh, dinner invitations, I changed your ask to have the reader be bright but act like a dummy in the presence of others, I want to write for himbo readers separately, I actually have a lot of ideas and would like to flesh them out in another post :)

You hum softly to yourself, the quiet of the night pressing around you like a heavy blanket. The noises that do manage to break into your concentration—a cricket’s chirp, the low hoot of an owl—seem distant, as though you’ve chosen to exist in a dimension occupied solely by you and your current task. The flashlight between your teeth flickers, illuminating the dripping limestone walls. You pause and delicately shift it in your mouth to bite down on a less chewed groove. It’s easy to lose track of the right angle when you’re elbow-deep in mud and rock, but you can’t afford to drop your only source of light down here.

You’ve never been one to study complicated subjects or chase lofty degrees. People say you’re not that bright, and, in some ways, you agree. Patience has never been your strong suit either; you prefer the direct route in life. You don’t need fancy words to let you know how the world works. If anything, your unassuming nature has become a perfect cloak, allowing you to slip under the radar. And that small oversight on people’s part has kept you alive—and, more importantly, uncaught—for years.

Tonight, you’re making it look like yet another unseemly accident. There’s a labyrinthine network of caves beyond city limits—poorly marked and rarely frequented except by adventurous spelunkers who think they can handle nature’s darkest corners. It’s the ideal place to ensure a body won’t be found, at least not until time and moisture have had their way with it. The person you’re disposing of isn’t exactly a pillar of the community—like most of your targets, he wouldn’t have garnered pity if the world discovered his predilections. You’ve done the world a favor, or at least that’s how you justify it.

You straighten, wiping your brow, and set the flashlight on a jagged rock shelf so you can wrestle the limp body deeper into the shadows. The entire place smells like damp earth and stale air, with the faint metallic bite of blood that you’ve tried hard to rinse away. Suddenly, the small hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

You still.

It’s that primal warning that tells you something is there—someone is there—watching. Standing absolutely still, you pull in a breath, then slowly edge one hand into your jacket pocket. The blade there is a last resort; you’re not used to being caught off-guard. So you wait, quietly, mentally cursing yourself for letting your guard down.

A voice curls through the darkness like a silky cat: “I do hope I’m not interrupting.”

You would know that cultured lilt anywhere—on the news, from that one time you met him in person and swore you’d never get close again. Hannibal Lecter steps forward with the elegance of a well-groomed feline, eyes bright with a curiosity that you can’t fully parse. He carries a bundle wrapped in dark cloth—about the size of a human torso.

His eyes roam the scene, taking in the soaked cuffs of your pants, the wet stains on your jacket, the fresh scuff marks in the mud. You feel suddenly self-conscious, though you can’t quite place why. You’re covered in dirt, blood spatter, and your hair is plastered flat on your forehead. He, by contrast, remains immaculate even in this dank space, as though filth simply doesn’t dare cling to him.

“And who, might I ask, is your unfortunate friend?”

You let out a laugh that comes out more as a short bark. “Somebody who deserved it. I…I only go after certain sorts.” You’re not sure why you choose to disclose that, but something about him invites honesty. Maybe it’s the way he stares like he can peel your mind open on a cutting board.

“Do you?” he prompts, voice curiously gentle.

You nod, a tension flooding out of your shoulders. “Pedophiles,” you say, near-spitting the word. “World won’t miss him.”

There's a flicker in his gaze, surprise and something else—approval, maybe. “I see.”

It strikes you that you might not be the only one in the world who carefully selects their victims. And you can’t help but wonder what draws his lines, what cause Hannibal Lecter finds worthy of a final punishment.

“So, what now?” you ask, looking him in the eye, though you can’t hold that intense gaze for long. “We pretend we didn't see each other and go our merry way or...?"

He seems slightly amused by your directness. “It would be prudent for us both to complete our business and leave no trace.” His gaze shifts to the body behind you, then to the corpse-shaped object wrapped at his feet. “I won’t stand in your way, and I ask for the same courtesy. Mutual benefit.”

You look him over. His posture is relaxed, but you sense the tension in the lines of his shoulders—he’s coiled, ready to spring if he has to. You’re not naive enough to think you have any upper hand. Although some might say you’re a bit slow on the uptake, you’ve got an instinct for trouble. And Hannibal Lecter practically vibrates with it. Yet, he hasn't pounced. There's something else: curiosity in his eyes, a calm, amused interest that doesn't read as immediate hostility. For a man with his intellect, maybe you spark some sense of fascination, an aberration from the norm.

“Guess there's enough space for the two of us.”

An understanding passes between you in the stale, humid air. Neither of you voices the obvious: if one betrays the other, you risk your own exposure. Returning to your tasks, you awkwardly step aside to let him pass. He does so, a soft swirl of expensive fabric brushing past your jacket. Together—but not quite side by side—you maneuver deeper into the winding tunnels. The hush of dripping water and your own carefully measured footsteps become a strange rhythm, punctuated only by Hannibal’s occasional murmur of observation:

“Mind the uneven rock there.” “You seem well-practiced in this.” “Let’s ensure we depart long before dawn.”

He never says your name; you never give it. For the next hour, you’re simply two men working in tandem—clearing away mud, setting remains in places that will be submerged by the rising water, carefully packing out anything that could link either of you to the scene. “Thanks,” you said quietly, hardly believing your own luck. “Never worked with someone before.”

“Nor I. Typically I work in solitude.” He stepped aside, letting you get your footing. The both of you stared at the bodies—yours tucked cleverly against a rocky pool, his still in the tarpaulin. With the ground mostly rid of footprints, Hannibal jerked his chin toward the cave’s deeper passages. “I’ll finish up in another chamber,” he said. “And you…?”

You stuffed your hands in your pockets, trying to feign a clueless shrug, but you felt a twitch of excitement. This man—this gentleman in fine suits, who carried bodies around like an art piece—was oddly magnetic. “Think I’ll head home,” you said. “Probably break up the night with a snack.”

Hannibal stepped closer, just enough that you caught the scent of his cologne—something subtle, refined. “A snack,” he echoed. “That reminds me: might I invite you to my home for dinner sometime?”

You blinked, processing the abrupt invitation. “Dinner?”

His lips curved. “Yes. Given that we share such distinctive interests, I’d like to hear your stories. You have an unexpectedly clever mind, and I have quite the appetite for intriguing conversation.”

You considered it, but were uncertain. “I’m not exactly the fancy type.”

His voice went low, confident. “I can assure you, I welcome many sorts at my table. Even those who might appear less worldly than they truly are.”

Before your mind could protest, you found yourself giving him a slow nod. The quiet quake of adrenaline that had thrummed through your body for the past half hour melted away into a cautious, enthralled acceptance. “Sure,” you muttered at last. “I…That’d be nice.”

Hannibal’s smile deepened by a fraction, as though you’d passed some unspoken test. “I’ll find a way to contact you,” he said, sounding reassuringly certain. Then he inclined his head. “Best not to dally. We both have details to complete before the sun’s up.”

With that, he turned, footsteps echoing into the far recesses of the cavern, dragging the tarpaulin-wrapped body behind him with a grace that belonged nowhere near such a macabre chore. You stood motionless, watching until the darkness swallowed him whole. A shaky exhale left your lungs. You felt like you’d just survived a near-death encounter, yet emerged with an odd sense of possibility. You didn’t know whether Hannibal Lecter was a man to be feared or revered—maybe both. Whatever lay ahead, dinner with Dr. Hannibal Lecter would be anything but ordinary.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Hey here's a part 2. Shout out to all the unanswered comments on my fics, I promise I see them and will respond! Life gets busy sometimes.

"Fishing." Stan said again, looking over to give Fiddleford a pitying look, "see you take the pole in your hands and cast it out, then-"

"I know what fishing is!" Fiddleford snapped, hands tightening around his pole, "I meant why are we doing it in my-our? Dreams? How are we doing it in our dreams?!"

"I told you," Stan said, sighing and shaking his head, frills dragging with the motion, "I haven't done it in ages. Thought it'd be fun."

With that he went back to looking out at the endless night sea, legs back to kicking as he reeled in his line.

"Don't bother trying to question him," Ford said, picking up his rod and casting it out, "he doesn't really know what's happening or how he does this. All he's been able to tell me is that a big lizard said he could, and ever since then hes visited whenever he wants. So this just happens randomly. I think the longest I've gone without him popping up is a three days."

Fiddleford seemed to process the words, looking out at the sea, then over at Ford.

"How do I stop this from happening," he said, eyeing Stan, "I don't want some critter swimming around my mind."

"You can't as far as I can tell" Ford replied, not that he'd really tried, then reeling faster when he felt a bite, "and its just Stanley. The most he'll do is give commentary on whatever you're already dreaming about or do some kind of activity that he actually wants to do awake but is too nervous to ask."

"Still don't like it." Fiddleford muttered hunching over and glaring at Stan.

Ford opened his mouth to respond, then jerked back when his pole jerked in his hands. He reeled harder, arms straining to keep the pole in his hands, when he finally managed to reel in whatever was on the end of his line.

Then he glared at the tiny Stan, glancing over to see his larger form had disappeared.

"Stanley, what are you doing." He said, as he pulled his brother from the end of the hook. Thankfully the dream hook came out without a problem, and his brother swam through the air and plopped into the bucket in the center, twirling around with the comet.

"It looked tasty," Stan said, doing a spin, "and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

"What kind of bait are we using anyhow." Fiddleford grumbled, reeling in his line quickly. Then they both stared at the pancake that dangled from the end, dripping dark water and glittering slightly with starlight.

"Did you want pancakes for breakfast?" Ford asked, looking down at his brother. Then he sighed when he realized he'd disappeared again. Stan really did have an amazing ability to manipulate the mindscape, but in times like these it was more annoying than anything.

"You're far too calm about all this." Fiddleford said, unhooking the pancake. They both stared at it, then his friend glared and took an angry bite, chewing aggressively.

"How does-"

"It tastes like hope's and dreams," Fiddleford snapped, wiping at his eyes, "and long forgotten childhood memories."

His friend shoved the rest in his mouth before Ford could ask for a bite, silent tears trailing down his face.

The need to create is killing me, so here's something I wrote on my phone during my lunch break

Ford muttered as he worked, holding a piece of chalk firmly in his hand as he wrote out a string of numbers and symbols on the chalk board. He'd been at it for what felt like hours, writing and erasing and rewriting as he realized the numbers didn't make sense and the answer kept changing and-

Between one blink and the next the board was clear of everything. His chalk hit it where he'd been about to write.... something, and he stared with growing horror as he realized he'd have to redo it all. The horror turned to confusion as a shaky S started to appear, as if drawn by an invisible hand. It was followed by another, then another, until the whole board was filled with S's.

With a sigh he dropped the chalk, letting it disappear as he looked up at the smiling axolotl peering down at him from over the edge of the chalk board.

"Stanley," he said, glaring at his brother, "we talked about this."

"Did we?" Stan asked, swimming down through the air to twist around him. "What did we say?"

"That there are better ways to make yourself known then giving me a heart attack."

"Hmmm. OK." Stan swam until he was in front of Ford, then stuck out his tongue and tilted his head, "Hey! It's me!"

He did a flip, then swam around Ford again, not a care in the world. It would have infuriated Ford, if he didn't already know Stan couldn't help it. While Ford was now very much aware of his dreaming state and himself, they'd found that Stan seemed to forget everything about himself when he did this, only vaguely aware that he was dreaming at all.

"Hello Stanley," Ford said, bringing up his hands to cup the axolotl and hold him closer, "Did you want something?"

"Oh yeah! I did!"

Between one blink and the next Ford found himself sitting in a fishing boat, wearing fishing gear and a hat, pole already in his hands. Above was a pinkish orangish sky, full of puffy blue clouds, and a pitch black sea of distant twinkling stars below. Across from him was Stan, now the same size as him and wearing a vest and bucket hat with a line of S's sewn in, holding a similar pole and tail wiggling happily.

Fiddleford was also here, wearing a black bucket hat with a jumbled rubiks cube sewn on. He looked very confused.

"Let's go fishing," Stan said, reeling in his line, "it's been ages since I've been fishing."

"I'll see of we can rent out a boat when the weather gets warmer." Ford promised, pulling his hat down to see what Stan had given him. A sun looked back, wearing sunglasses. Not scientifically accurate but it was a dream, so he put it back on without fuss.

"Whats happening." Fiddleford said, looking around in terror. Ford frowned, then squinted at him. He thought that perhaps Stan had pulled his image from Fords subconscious, but maybe not.

"We're fishing," Stan said unhelpfully, reeling his line in all the way to reveal an asteroid on the end. Stan pulled it loose and dropped it into a bucket in the middle of the boat, then cast his line again, whistling happily.

"Stanley, is this the real Fiddleford?" Ford asked, setting his pole down and leaning forwards, "because if so, then-"

"Of course I'm real!" Fiddleford interrupted, looking offended, "this is my dream, why wouldn't I be!"

"Because this is my dream. Or at least it was." Ford frowned at Fiddleford as his friend opened and closed his mouth, then turned to Stan, who had caught an icy comet and dropped it into the bucket, "Stanley, who's dream is this?"

"Hmm? Uh," Stan tilted his head, making the frills on each side flop charmingly, then shrugged "its a dream. Hey do you know how to do color puzzles? I tried to do this one, but it just hurt my head."

Stan gestured to Fiddleford, then recast his line, kicking his little feet and going back to humming, as unhelpful as ever.

"There you go," Ford said, turning back to Fiddleford, "it's a dream. Possibly Stanley's, that he's pulled us into. To go fishing."

"I like fishing, nice and relaxing."

"It can be," Ford frowned at the endless night sea, leaning over and frowing at the lack of reflection, "although I'm far to intrigued to be relaxed. I wasn't aware you could visit others like this. Have you been visiting Fiddleford the last week? Is that why I haven't seen you?"

"What?" Fiddleford asked, still looking confused and slightly outraged, "what's going on."

[aayakashii]

(maybe) distance makes the heart grow fonder

Part 1, part 2

Author's note: as someone mentioned, it's been 8 months since the last update 💀 but I said I wasn't going to abandon it and I was serious! Either way, sorry for making everyone who likes this story wait so long. I'll try not to have the next chapter take too long but I have like 3 or 4 other fics I wanna write so they'll come first. The next chapter is already outlined though! Soon you'll have the other ghouls suffering from your absence >:3c aaanyway this one is a long one! I hope you like it and I hope it was worth the wait too. Let me know what you think!!!!!!

Warnings: angst, nightmares, blood, depictions of a panic attack

Ren was in a pickle.

He had called your name out a lot of times, but you were fast asleep on his bed and barely even stirred. He placed his hand in front of your nose more than once, in order to confirm you were breathing, each time getting more and more annoyed at the fact that, yes, you were breathing and still wouldn't budge.

That's what he gets for being nice once. Some annoying ass senior that slept like the dead hogging his bed.

Ren stood next to you, burning a hole into your forehead as he chewed anxiously on his thumb, wincing and hissing when he pulled a bit more than just dead skin. He sighed, looking at the red gash on the corner of his finger.

“This is so fucking annoying.” He muttered, rubbing his face with his hands.

What was the game plan here? Was he going to give up and just let you sleep on his bed all day? But what about him? He needed sleep as well.

Well, what was his other obvious option?

Ren grimaced at the thought of having to carry you on his arms, shuddering at the idea of being called out for sexual harassment after only trying to help. No, he did his good deed for the day already, and look where that got him.

As he pulled his hair in frustration, he heard the familiar sounds of things falling down all over the place downstairs. Great. That fucking weirdo was back. Awesome timing, in fact. He could deal with this issue then.

Ren turned on his heel, opening and closing the door to his bedroom quietly, in order to keep you from awakening, despite himself. Downstairs, Haru was sweeping an unknown pink powder while Towa watched with uncontained amusement. The pink dust sparkled and made strange, tingling sounds, like tiny little bells, as the broom’s bristles swooped them to a corner of the room. Haru mumbled to himself, eyebrows scrunched tight etching deep lines onto his forehead.

Ren lingered on the last step of the stairway, hesitant on asking Haru, of all people, for a favor. But desperate times call for desperate measures and Ren didn’t see any other way to (gently) remove you out of his room without getting in trouble for that - in his mind, the only options were being accused of sexual harassment or just straight up being scolded by you. And he didnt know which option sounded scarier.

“Hey.” he called out to the red-haired man quietly, scratching his cheek.

“Oh? Ren!” Haru looked up, face immediately brightening despite Ren’s permanent scowl. A hand flew to support his own lower back, which popped audibly as he turned around. “Think you can help me clean these things here? Towa bumped on the shelf and now we have this, uh. Little mess to clean up.”

Ren frowned in disgust and shook his head.

“Nah, actually… I’m the one needing some help right now to be honest.”

Haru’s face immediately fell.

“What’s wrong?” He stepped closer, eyeing Ren intently as he searched for anything out of the ordinary. “Did you get hurt somehow? Are you okay?”

“Ugh… Yeah, yeah, just come here in my room” he rolled his eyes, climbing up the stairs back towards his room without checking whether or not Haru would follow. After a few mumbles, the sound of a broom loudly falling down and some muttered curses, Ren heard footsteps quickly trailing right behind.

Ren put a finger in front of his lips, shushing Haru right before entering his room. A gust of cold air blew past them as he opened the door, goosebumps prickling their skin and Haru had to suppress a shiver. Right before he was about to scold Ren for racking up their electric bill with how long he kept the air conditioner on, his mouth shut immediately, teeth clacking audibly.

Right under the navy-colored duvet, you were fast asleep - chest rising and falling with every breath, almost peaceful-looking, if it weren't for the puffiness of your eyes and the redness of your nose.

“Oh…”

Ren sighed loudly.

“Yeah. Can you get them outta here? I wanna, you know. Have my bed back so I can sleep.”

Haru tilted his head.

“Can’t you carry them, though? You’re strong enough.”

“No way.” he shook his head vehemently. “What if they sue me for sexual harrassment?”

Haru scoffed in disbelief.

“They would never do that, and you know it. You’re their friend after all.”

“We’re not friends.” he mumbled.

Haru forcefully rubbed his nose that still had a bit of pink powder dust.

“Okay.” he said, sniffling, eyeing his hands that were now a bit pink as well. “I guess I can take them to Obscuary.”

Ren raised an eyebrow.

“Obscuary? Why don't you take them to their dorm?”

Haru tiptoed towards the bed, gently removing the duvet from your body, a guilty expression on his face as he noticed how you shivered under the cold air.

“They’re gonna spend a little time there.” He mumbled as he crouched and pulled you into his arms with ease. “Oh, that reminds me…” he turned to Ren, expression unusually severe. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone that they were here. If anyone asks you if you know where they are, lie.”

“What? Why?” Ren asked as Haru maneuvered his way out of his room.

“Ah, it’s a bit of a long story, and it’s best if they tell you themself, but they asked Towa and I to do that. You have to do the same. That’s a Captain’s order, in fact.”

Ren scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

“You can't tell that Sinostra friend of yours, no matter what.” Haru added, going down the stairs as Ren trailed behind.

“Ritsu? He’s not my friend.”

“Can’t tell those 1st years from Vagastrom either.” Haru scowled as he looked once again the pink dust that still covered a good chunk of the room. Towa was nowhere to be seen.

“None of those guys are my friends! I won't tell anyone, I got it, ugh.”

“Okay. good. While I'm out, you clean up the living room then.” Haru concluded as he opened the door to the dorm and stepped out.

“What? Wait, hold on! I didn’t say I would do that!” Ren replied, exasperation in his features as he immediately tried running towards the entrance as well.

“Counting on you! Be right back! Bahnti!”

As soon as Ren arrived at the door, Haru was already nowhere to be seen, his stigma immediately taking him far and away from Jabberwock, leaving the whole living room mess in Ren’s hands.

“Fuck!” he slapped the wall, wincing at the instant pain on his palm. “He’s so fucking annoying!”

Haru opened the door to Obscuary’s main entrance with ease, despite holding you in his arms, and sauntered towards the bar.

The bell chimed softly as he opened the heavy mahogany door and entered the dim lit recint and soft, jazzy music echoed through the place accompanied by the clinking of glasses.

“Sorry, the bar’s not open yet!” Rui announced cheerily, his back towards the door as he dried one of his many crystal cups. “I'm still organizing everything so please come in a few hours from now!”

Haru grunted, adjusting you in his arms before getting closer to the counter.

“Hey, Rui.” He said with a sigh, resting his hip against the sturdy wood.

“Oh! Harurin!” Rui took a quick glance over his shoulder before placing the cup down and turning around. “What’s u–” he paused with a gasp, eyes widening, as soon as he was faced with Haru's sheepish smile and your form, bundled in his arms.

“Uh…” Rui cleared his throat, eyes glued to the way you seemed to be holding on to Haru's vest for dear life. “What's going on?” he laughed anxiously as he rounded the counter to get closer.

“Aw, will you look at that. They look like that silly little princess from the fairytales.” Ed’s sultry voice resounded from a corner of the bar, his tall and languid form coming out of the shadows with a smirk on his face.

“Are they okay?” Rui asked, completely ignoring Ed's comment, although his grimace was fairly obvious.

“Well…” Haru shrugged, looking at you with a frown. “Physically, I guess they’re fine. They were going to come here to Obscuary and ask to stay a little while, but they passed out back in Jabberwock. Probably of exhaustion.”

“Exhaustion?”

The bar’s door slammed open and both men jumped, startled by the loud noise. You, however, remained trapped in a deep slumber, despite the ruckus caused by Lyca as he barreled through the bar with excitement.

“Is the honor student here?! I smell their-” Lyca’s expression fell as soon as he saw you bundled up in Haru’s arms, eyes still puffy, with a frown as you dreamed unpleasant dreams.

Lyca’s ears and tail popped out, an angry rumble reverberating in his chest while he approached Haru, slowly.

“Harurin…” he growled the nickname, an odd contrast to his demeanor. “What did you do?!”

“Lyca, calm down.” Rui stepped in front of Haru before the werewolf could come any closer.

Haru gulped, voice trembling as he backed away from Lyca’s very prominent canine features and tried to keep his fear of dogs at bay.

“Hey, I just brought them here as they were already planning to do, big guy. No need to get aggressive!”

“I’m not aggressive!”

“You sure do look aggressive...” Haru murmured.

“Lyca, don't worry that much. Harurin is a friend, remember? He wouldn't do anything to harm anyone, much less the honor student. Chill out.” Rui said with a warning glare.

“Ye-yeah! I would never hurt them! Please don't bite me!”

Lyca's ears and tail disappeared and he looked to the side, crossing his arms and sulking.

“I wasn't gonna bite” he pouted.

“What happened to them, though?” Rui pointed at you, trying to address the elephant the in the room once again. “They look absolutely wrecked.”

“I think… the pressure of everything and especially of all the other ghouls has finally got to them. You know how some of us can be.” he shrugged.

Rui sighed, a pitying look on his face as he clenched and unclenched his fists, keeping himself from reaching out and petting your tousled hair.

“They do look exhausted.”

Haru nodded.

“They cried a lot today.”

“They cried?!” Lyca’s eyes were wide, as if you crying was something unimaginable.

“Yeah and… They probably need to talk to you guys once they wake up, so keep watch, maybe.”

“Can't we wake them up then? So they tell us what's going on?” Lyca reached his hands towards you, but Rui shook his head.

“No Lyca, let them sleep. They probably need it. Harurin, can you take them to a room upstairs? It can be the one you use when you stay over.”

“No problem!”

“I’m gonna go with you.” Lyca grumbled, following Haru’s footsteps as he swiftly made way towards the mansion's second story.

“And you.” Rui turned on his heels to face Ed and pointed at him, accusative. “You just stay here and drink your wine while I fetch some stuff for them. Don't even think about messing with them while they're sleeping.”

Ed put a hand on his chest, feigning hurt.

“You wound me, Rui. I wouldn't dare kick a poor dog that's already down.”

Rui made a disgusted sound and walked away, to the sound of Ed’s amused chuckle.

Through the thick fog that encompassed your whole being, you saw a dog.

It felt like a lifetime since you’ve last seen one. A real one. Darkwick clearly had a preference for unnaturally skilled cats (demons? You weren't sure at that point), so you never saw dogs – at least not ones with a normal snout and little beaded, bright eyes.

Maybe they weren't as dextrous? It didn't matter.

But still, you saw a dog. And it was wagging its long, fluffy tail and panting happily, as if it was overjoyed to see you, an old friend you were supposed to recognize.

You didn't see your blurred, foggy surroundings, you just saw the dog – its dark, greyish coat and bright yellow eyes, the size of a labrador. It trotted towards you, head bowed down as it showed you it meant no harm. As it got right beside your feet, it laid down and showed its belly, begging for pets.

You smiled. The dog was so happy to see you. You wonder when was the last time anyone was this happy to see you.

You crouched down in order to pet it, and it wiggled gleefully under your hands, one paw shaking as you scratched a particularly good spot. Despite yourself, you cooed, telling him how he was so cute, such a good boy, so adorable. And it loved your praise, tail wagging a mile an hour.

After a few peaceful minutes, however, it started whining. It flopped down onto its side and got up quickly, startling you out of your happy daze.

"Hey, what's wrong?" You asked, but it whimpered and curled into itself, ears flat against its head and tail tucked between its legs. It was looking over your shoulder.

Without a second thought, you twisted your torso to see what was scaring it.

All you registered is a tall, woman-like figure with limbs bent unnaturally, one huge eye surrounded by purple, blue, red and white flowers; and a mouth slit into a wide, bloody smile.

Your mind screamed for you to leave, to run, to hide. No, no, not again, not again, not again.

But you were glued in place, breath hitched inside your throat as you can't do much but take it all in all over again.

There was something different in the scenario, though.

Right in front of the woman, there was a red headed man. He turned around slowly, as if he could sense your gaze fixed upon him. His toxic green eyes lock onto your figure, disdain and anger threatening to melt your bone like acid. Copious amounts of blood soaked his face, neck and white shirt.

You finally noticed how red your surroundings looked, out of nowhere.

The dog was long gone. You were alone again.

Taiga slowly placed the barrel of his golden, glittering gun onto your forehead with a blank expression. You tried to open your mouth and yell in a desperate attempt to have him recognize you, but your whole body felt heavy like lead.

All you could feel was the cold metal of his gun touch your forehead.

The piercing pain came right after the loud gunshot.

You screamed and flailed wildly on the bed, accidentally pushing Lyca, who napped peacefully on your belly. His body flipped to the side and he fell down with a yelp, but you didn’t even register his presence. Your eyes were still sealed shut, as if the nightmare had an unyielding grasp on your conscience, dragging your body back into its torturous depths as you left claw marks on the way.

You screamed and screamed. This seems to be your thing now, apparently.

"What's wrong? Hey!” Lyca jumped up to his feet in a rush, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you with little restraint on his strength. You kept on moaning in what sounded like incredible pain, still unaware of him

“Hey! What's wrong?" he gave tiny slaps on your cheeks, hoping to bring you back to consciousness. When that didn’t work, he settled for holding your arms down in order to keep you from getting hurt, since your arms were dangerously close from knocking everything that surrounded you and the bed.

Lyca’s eyes were brimmed with tears and he looked terrified once Rui entered the room.

“They- they won’t wake up” he stuttered, voice wavering as he looked at Rui for answers “What do I do?”

Rui breathed deeply, eyes fluttering as he tried to think of a solution. You were clearly still stuck in your sleep, unable to escape whatever seemed to be haunting you in your mind.

But what could he even do? It’s not like he could come near you and try to talk you out of your stupor, when you flailed wildly, almost as if convulsing – he couldn’t risk having you accidentally touch him, no matter what.

In the blink of an eye, however, Ed appeared on your bedside, an amused smile on his face as he flicked your forehead, huffing out a laugh.

“Come back here, you silly human.” he murmured, voice laced with a mischief that was unsuitable for the situation.

With a gasp, you resurfaced - your eyes finally opened and your body relaxed under Lyca’s arms. Your eyelids fluttered and you heaved, coughing as you took in your surroundings and, especially, Lyca’s pained expression hovering over you.

“Ly…ca?” you rasped and he immediately sat back on his heels, rubbing unshed tears away from his eyes and snot from his nose.

“You scared me.” he sniffed, looking away as you massaged your temples, a throbbing headache making itself known in your skull.

“What happened? What did I do?” you frown.

“You didn’t do anything, doll.” Rui chimed in, sitting on the foot of the bed with a meek smile “You were just having a really bad nightmare and it made you thrash in your sleep. It was a bit scary to see, but it wasn’t your fault. Can’t control that type of thing.” he explained, while smoothing non-existent wrinkles on the duvet.

“Oh, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I… This type of thing never happened before.” you tried sitting up, looking at Lyca apologetically.

“The blond gigolo already said it. It wasn’t your fault.” he huffed.

You remembered bits and pieces of the nightmare, but mostly, how it made you feel - all the helplessness, the pain and the terror that had slowly built up inside you ever since you arrived at Darkwick crashed upon you like a tidal wave, leaving you no space to breathe. It felt like being pushed over the precipice of death time and time again, and revived only to suffer the same pain once more - a Promethean torture that only allowed you to think what the hell could you have done to deserve that much hurt; which god could have possibly angered so badly to deserve their rage in such a way.

You sighed, still rubbing your temples.

“I'm sorry for scaring you either way… When- when did I arrive here?”

“Harurin brought you. You were fast asleep in his arms. He mentioned you said you'd apparently come here? Is that so?”

“Oh… Yeah… Yeah, it is.” gratitude washed over your body for a moment. Haru already did so much to help you. You promised yourself you'd find a way to express your thankfulness once things went back to normal – or as normal as they could be.

“What happened, doll?” Rui snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked into his eyes, an unusual seriousness in his expression. “He told us you kinda crashed out, but said you were planning something. What is it?”

You gulped, casting down your eyes and fiddling with the fabric of your blazer, mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words to explain the mess that was your mind.

“I… I found a way to look at some of my old social media.” You muttered, finally.

Lyca scrunched his eyebrows, shaking his head in confusion.

“What does this have to do with what's going on?”

“I didnt know I was gonna be so affected by my memories.” You shrugged. “I suddenly remembered how I had a life out there. Outside of Darkwick. I don't know… I don't how I even forgot about it. I had friends, family. People who cared about me, people I don't know if I'll ever see again.” You murmured, looking everywhere but the pity in Rui's eyes. You were so, so fucking tired of crying. Your limbs felt like they weighed a million tons.

“And it made me think.” You continued, after trying to clear your throat from the knot that seemed to be permanently there. “How badly people treat me here. You guys are the exception, obviously, and a few others but…” you shook your head “I don't know what I did to deserve being humiliated on a daily basis. I'm– I'm threatened, yelled at, insulted, hurt time and time again by people who barely act as if I'm human. I think some of them might see me as lesser than that.”

Rui opened his mouth to speak, but the words were flowing freely from your lips – sorrow finally seemed to have given away to anger and you needed to air out your grievances before they dragged you down again.

“And some of them see me as a school project. Means to an end, you know? Cure that stupid human and get this cool prize. I'm not a fucking project. I had my life. My dreams. They all act as if they're doing me a favor when all I wanted was to never have met them at all; never been through this at all.”

A beat passed, heavy in its silence.

“You regret meeting us?” Lyca's voice cut through the rage that covered your vision, and you paused.

He had his eyes downcast, a pout on his lips and a line between his eyebrows. He poked the bed, trying his best not to give in to the frown that tried to tug his lips down.

You hurt him. How great.

“No, Lyca. I'd never regret meeting you, nor many of the friends I made here.” You reached out to grab his hand, quieting his fidgeting as you squeezed it reassuringly. Lyca side eyed you with barely concealed upset. “It's true, I– I promise you. I swear. I love you guys and it's the only thing that has kept me alive so far.”

At the mention of the word “love”, Lyca's cheeks turned pink and he squirmed his hand out of your hold, embarrassed.

“You don't- don't need to exaggerate.” He murmured, scratching his cheek.

“It's true.” You smiled, before turning serious once again. “But I would be glad if I could never see some people ever again.”

“Okay, so… what is this plan Harurin mentioned then?” Rui chimed in, once again bringing back the focus.

You breathed deeply.

“I wanna give myself a break. I wanna spend some time away from them, from the people that have been hurting me. I asked Haru to bring me here because I wanted to ask if I could spend some time here in Obscuary, hidden from some of the ghouls.”

“Of course you can!” Lyca immediately jumped at your words, straightening his back. When he didn't get confirmation right away, he looked at Rui. “Right?”

“I mean… You can, but, uh. I'm not sure how it'd change anything…?”

“Change?” You tilted your head.

“Rui means: What is your goal with this?” Ed suddenly spoke. He had seated himself in a nearby armchair, quietly watching the exchange. You had basically forgotten he was there.

“What?”

“What do you plan on getting from this disappearing stunt? Apologies? Penitence? A sudden revelation from them that they love you and can't live without you?”

You scoffed.

“Have you been watching romcoms lately?”

Ed chuckled, amused.

“How do you know that? I found this website called Netflix and it's been a delight.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I could tell. No, I dont expect any of them to miss me or whatever.”

“Then…?”

“I'm just tired. I’m so tired, Rui. I wanna rest. I want some peace and quiet, without someone searching for me and dragging me to do whatever stupid task they think I gotta do. I wanna sleep in without the threat of being yelled at by some asshole that's barely older than me. I need a timeout.”

Rui pursed his lips and hummed in thought with a finger tapping his chin.

“But I bet some of them will look for you. You know how they are.”

“Just pretend you don't know anything. You haven't seen me at all. I hardly doubt anyone wants to walk through Obscuary’s forest anyway.”

“Ouch!” Rui laughed with a hand on his heart. “But well, yeah. You aren't wrong.”

“So… Can I stay? For a little while? I promise I'll help out to pay back for my stay.”

Rui was already nodding, but before he could open his mouth to agree, Ed interrupted, a lascivious smile on his lips:

“You know all your troubles would be solved if you just accepted what I offered to you back in that one mission, don't you my dear?”

A hazy, pink hued memory of Ed's whispers flashed behind your eyes: a hypnotizing hum vibrating in your bones, egging you to allow him to sink his teeth on your throat and exchange your deadly curse for his own. You shivered.

“No offense, but being tied to you for an eternity is a torture of its own. I don’t wanna exchange one torture for another.”

Ed's smile faltered for a moment, but you catched it regardless.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Rui asked, eyes wide and hypervigilant of whatever insanity Ed was referring to.

“Nothing. Your captain is just being unreasonable again.” you shook your head.

“So? Will you stay in Obscuary for real?” Lyca asked, ignoring the exchange entirely.

You looked at Rui for confirmation. He put his hands on his hips with a defeated sigh.

“Oh, honey. You know I have a weak spot for you, don't you?” he winked, back on his best host demeanor once again.

You breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping.

“Thank you, Rui. Thank you so much. I promise I won't give you trouble and will help out here as much as I can.”

Lyca suddenly grabbed your hands and leaned forward, clearly on a quest to hog all of your attention.

“Now that you're staying, come here with me. I gotta show you my new drawings!” he immediately jumped out of the bed and pulled you by your hand, taking you outside the bedroom and towards his own room.

“Lyca, they barely woke up! Be careful! And reasonable! Geez!” Rui trailed behind you, exasperation clear in his voice.

You didn't miss how Ed stayed back, still in the armchair. And a weird glint in his gaze, firmly locked onto you, is the last thing you see as you leave the room.

Comments or reblogs with tags are appreciated! Please let me know what you think of this so far

[love-quinn]

THE GOOD WITCH

[coming soon!]

featuring . . . ! patrick zweig, art donaldson, remus lupin, rafe cameron, steve harrington, spencer reid, aaron hotchner, tasm!peter parker, dodge mason, dave lizewski

─── hello hello how are we ??? i’ve been a huge maisie peters fan for a few years now, and since she’s been teasing her next album i thought i’d do something fun to kind of commemorate the good witch before we move on to MP3. i’ve also been experiencing some major writers block :/// so! to combat that, here are some fics that are VERY VERY loosely inspired by some of the songs from the album <333 i hope you enjoy !!

TRACK ONE : THE GOOD WITCH [patrick zweig x reader]

when all i do is think about the past, create a universe that you can live in

you’ve done a lot of growing in the 4 years you and patrick have been broken up. you’re hoping he has as well because you’re still desperately in love with him.

TRACK TWO : COMING OF AGE [dave lizewski x reader]

baby i am the iliad, of course you couldn’t read me. so i’ll leave you behind but that don’t mean it’s easy

dave’s had a crush on you since he could remember, but he’d driven you away with his superhero duties. you’re the TA of his class and he’s determined to get it right this time.

TRACK THREE : WATCH [spencer reid x reader]

nobody actually happy and healthy has ever felt so desperate to prove it

you’re trying to show the team that you’re fine after spencer’s return from prison. if you were coping well, you probably wouldn’t have to try so hard.

TRACK FOUR : BODY BETTER [art donaldson x reader]

i can’t help thinking has she got a better body? has she got a body better than mine?

your boyfriend patrick is convinced that you have a thing for tennis players. you say the same about him. it doesn’t help that you’re both sleeping with one.

TRACK FIVE : WANT YOU BACK [remus lupin x reader]

and what was cheap to you, to me was all i had. the issue is i know all of this and i still want you back

remus was punishing you for something that wasn’t your fault. you should hate him. unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to.

TRACK SIX : THE BAND AND I [dodge mason x reader]

told her you were just a friend, told her i was homesick. i hadn’t thought of home twice

after moving across the country to go live with your aunt and participate in panic, you’re wary of the boy who works at the diner she owns. he’s wary of you too.

TRACK SEVEN : YOU’RE JUST A BOY (AIKTM) [aaron hotchner x reader]

don't you see what i'm giving up and you can't even text? don't be surprised now i'm giving up, god, what did you expect?

aaron isn't a bad boyfriend, he just tends to get caught up in his job. you wouldn't mind his constant abandonment so much if he didn't always forget to tell you.

TRACK EIGHT : LOST THE BREAKUP [tasm!peter parker x reader]

so, i'm feeling and i'm dealing with the heart you broke, while you do press-ups and repress us and take off her clothes.

for peter parker, you're it: the one that got away, the best thing that ever happened to him. now that you're broken up, he expects that you hate him. he could be right; you can hate someone and still need them to save your life.

TRACK NINE : WENDY [rafe cameron x reader]

then you're evasive on the phone until you're sorry on the floor. so i'm throwing you a bone cause you want me and you're sure. if i'm not careful i'll wake up and we'll be married and i'll still flinch at the sound of a door.

it's been unspoken and set in stone for as long as you'd known each other: you and rafe were in it for the long haul. you've loved rafe since you were young. now that you've grown up, your feelings haven't changed, you're just waiting for him to grow up as well.

TRACK TEN : BSC [steve harrington x reader]

i'm gonna throw you down the river, your mom can watch it over dinner, golden boy you've dropped the ball. i am annie fucking hall. if you don't love me, what was april?

steve thought breaking up with you after his experience with the upside down would be his best bet of keeping you safe. unfortunately for him, you don't know how to keep your nose out of his business.

these will come out every so often depending on how well they do lmao i hope u like them ik this is different than the stuff i’ve done so far :]]] ty to @robinsgrl and @xxepherr for letting me yap abt these as much as i like :]

[five-rivers]

providence 1

[You might have noticed my absence from the phic phight up until now, but I've been working on this all month! This is the first chapter of a completed fic that is 9 chapters long. The prompts used are from @alexapiper @ash-rabbit @kinglazrus, with special thanks to @jackdaw-sprite @datawyrms and Lexie for beta and encouragement. Also tagging @kawaiijohn because although I didn't quite hit your prompt it's in very close proximity and it helped inspire me.]

[CW: Later chapters have some dissec.]

“Clockwork?” called Danny, softly, standing on the ground just outside the wide open doors. It felt more polite, somehow, to walk in, rather than flying. Normally, he might not care so much about being polite, but… He looked around the entrance of the tower, spotting lingering evidence of the fight with, well. With the other Danny. Phantom. Evil future Danny.

Danny hoped he picked a name soon. Figuring out what to call him when he hadn’t was annoying at best and terminally confusing at worst. He at least needed a distinct nickname or something. Because Formerly Evil Danny just wasn’t cutting it.

(Tucker was calling him Shadow the Hedgehog, and Danny hadn’t played enough Sonic the Hedgehog to know if that was a valid reference or not.)

He shifted the weight of the bag in his hands, debating just… dropping it off. That felt rude, but after everything, barging into Clockwork’s home would be extra rude. Especially since it would be him doing the barging. Him, Danny, aka an alternate version of the person that had wrecked Clockwork’s home, merged with him, and broke the timeline to the point of weakening his powers indefinitely.

Then again, the doors were open, he had a strong sense of being watched, and despite visiting before, Danny was always curious about the inside of the tower. Time and space were, after all, sort of the same thing, and it seemed like he noticed something new and interesting every time he was there.

And he was worried about Clockwork.

Being forcibly merged with another ghost couldn’t be healthy, not to mention the damage to the timeline.

Maybe he’d just–

“Hello, Daniel,” said Clockwork from the depths of a shadow.

Danny jumped into the air, startled, then, sheepishly, set himself back down on the floor. Clockwork could time jumpscares perfectly, and the way only his outline and the glow of his eyes were visible only added to the effect.

“Hi,” he said. Then he held up the bag. “I brought–”

“Apology fudge, several types of tea, and a thumb drive with an almost certainly unnecessary security update for my time medallions.”

“Tucker wanted to contribute, and he didn’t have enough time to finish the scarf,” explained Danny, lingering on the threshold.

“Naturally,” said Clockwork. “Do come in, Daniel.” Clockwork faded back into the shadows and Danny followed.

“So,” said Danny, trailing after Clockwork, “how is cleaning up going? The, um, repairs?”

From what Danny could see, they weren’t going anywhere. Or, at least, they hadn’t progressed past the point of pushing rubble to the sides and making the walls whole. This was only the entryway.

(The view of the tower from the distance hadn’t been great, either, though. Cracks big and small ran through the whole structure, giving it a ruined and abandoned appearance. Glimpses of things inside the tower through cracked walls and shattered glass didn’t help. At one point, Danny had mistaken a shiny silver gear for the white of an enormous eye. At least, he hoped that it was actually a gear.)

Clockwork cast a glance back over his shoulder, the dim lighting leaving the left side of his face in shadow. “Well enough. It is the damage to time that I am focused on, rather than the damage to my dwelling.”

“Is there anything I could help with?” offered Danny, uncertainly. “Or– You probably don’t want me here.” Which was painful enough on its own. “I could just drop these off–”

He tripped over a loose stone in the floor.

“Flying wouldn’t be rude,” continued Clockwork, apparently choosing to ignore Danny’s rambling. “We are both ghosts.”

“Right,” said Danny, lifting off and flying after Clockwork. “Where are we going?”

“My workshop,” said Clockwork. “There is something I want to show you.”

Despite his general (and possibly misplaced) guilt, Danny perked up. Despite scattered visits to Clockwork (mostly for apologies regarding various temporal misadventures or attempts at paying Clockwork back), he’d never seen Clockwork’s workshop.

They traveled through a short passageway, full of all sorts of wall clocks, from old-fashioned pendulum and weight clocks to cuckoo clocks to cat-shaped clocks with swinging tails to clocks that could have come from a Casper High classroom to utilitarian digital clocks. Some of the clocks were whole and functional. Many more were broken and still. The edges of the hall, the corners where the walls met the floor, were covered with broken glass.

At the end of the passageway was a set of cracked-glass doors. In the cracked glass, Danny saw reflections. But not reflections of the hallway as it was. There were flashes of purple, of white fire, of impossibly huge, bloodshot eyes. Danny spun, reflexively trying to see what was behind them.

“The doors–”

“An unfortunate side-effect,” said Clockwork.

“Of what?” asked Danny, turning back to the door. The eyes were gone, at least, but, as a matter of personal preference, the Nasty Burger mid-explosion wasn’t much better.

Clockwork just held open the door, head still tilted slightly away from Danny. Keeping one eye on Clockwork (he was acting weird, even for him), Danny slid into the room.

Oddly, the first impression Danny had was of the basement lab back home in Fentonworks. The colors were different - stone and brass with highlights of blue and purple, as opposed to plastic and chrome with highlights of green and red - but the workbenches had the same feeling of cluttered organization, of chaos with bubbles of order around ongoing projects.

But those projects weren't like anything Danny had seen in the lab.

There was one of the time viewers, the image in it glitching and blurring around the edges, a set of candles full of nails in strange patterns, something like a pair of glasses with over a dozen lenses held onto it with spidery arms, a small wall clock casing full of what appeared to be an ocean, a detailed map of a galaxy, stuck with pins, an exquisitely detailed orrery with dozens of planets–

Danny pulled himself away from the orrery (the model of Jupiter had over a dozen moons!), then a grandfather clock that included the phases of the moon, then the pieces of a tiny and absolutely precious pocket watch, laid out on a piece of black velvet, and, then, finally, he was able to return his attention to Clockwork, who, thankfully, didn’t seem upset. Much.

He still wasn’t looking directly at Danny, instead studying something on a nearby table. Danny couldn’t tell what, exactly, with Clockwork’s solid-color eyes.

“What did you want to show me?” Danny asked.

Clockwork picked one clock - a small, old-fashioned alarm clock - up from a teetering stack of books on the table and handed it to Danny, taking the bag of fudge, tea, and tech from him and putting it on an empty stool. “Wait a minute.”

There was a ratcheting sound, and, all at once, the bells of the tower began to toll, from the enormous, booming bell at the very top of the tower, to the shrill alarm clock in his hands. Danny startled at the sudden noise, inadvertently throwing the alarm clock into the air. He lunged for it, trying to catch it before it could knock into something important or delicate. He did, but then he knocked into something important: the time viewer.

Or, he thought he’d knock into it. Instead, he slipped into its surface, like it was a portal, before Clockwork caught him by the elbow.

“Careful,” he said, almost teasingly. He tapped the top of the still-ringing alarm clock with his staff, silencing it.

Danny blinked, frowned, then wriggled, pulling himself out of the viewer. Clockwork let go of his arm and drifted backward, holding his staff with both hands and morphing into his oldest, most wizened form. Only his mouth and red eyes were visible beneath the shadow of his hood.

“What was that?” asked Danny. “I thought that you needed one of your medallions to go through one of those.”

“Perhaps,” said Clockwork. “But if that is the case, then how has this occurred?”

“Are you… asking me?”

“That is generally what is implied, with a question,” said Clockwork.

“Um,” said Danny. He looked down at the alarm clock. “Is this a time medallion, somehow? Like, not the shape, obviously, but…”

“And how would you test that hypothesis?” asked Clockwork.

Danny looked back up at Clockwork, then at the clock again. He put it back on the table, then, hesitantly, touched the time viewer. His hand went right through it, up to the wrist, before he snatched it away. He looked down at it with consternation.

“So, I guess that isn’t it,” he said.

Clockwork hummed noncommittally.

“You’re going to have to give me a hint, here,” said Danny.

“Consider: do you have what is, perhaps, an unusual relationship with time?” asked Clockwork.

Danny stared at him blankly, and Clockwork sighed.

“Have you had any uncommon interactions with the timeline in your past? Have you done things with time that wouldn’t be possible for a normal person?”

A blush rose in Danny’s cheeks. Yes, he knew he had an ‘unusual relationship’ with time. He’d time traveled more often than Marty McFly (probably, he hadn’t counted). Normal people didn’t do that. But the way that Clockwork asked had made it seem like there was some other meaning.

“Well, yeah. But when I asked you to send me back to Vlad’s accident I still had to use…” He trailed off. “That was before, um, Phantom, um.” Danny sucked his lips in, unsure of how to phrase what had happened delicately, much less clearly. “The weird time slips, those were all centered on me. Everyone else who noticed them was close to me.”

“In more ways than one,” agreed Clockwork.

Danny looked back at the glitching time viewer and made a face at it. The image was of a distant forest fire, smoke billowing up from the side of a hill. It hadn’t seemed particularly threatening before, but now that he knew he could fall in by mistake, he wondered if he shouldn’t edge away from it.

He looked back at Clockwork, meeting both red eyes for a split second. “Is that the only…” He trailed off, surprised.

Clockwork turned away again, swiftly. “Unfortunately, the nature of these effects makes it difficult for me to see with any clarity.”

Danny shook his head, forcibly reorienting himself on the conversation. He could process what he’d seen later. Hopefully. “You were still able to do the mind-reading trick pretty well.”

The corner of Clockwork’s lip that Danny could see twitched upward. “As I have told you before, I cannot read minds. I can only see timelines where you say what you are thinking.”

“Which is basically the same as reading minds,” replied Danny, thankful that they’d had this exchange so many times that his response was automatic. His thoughts were spinning, and stopping himself from blurting them out was close to impossible, so it probably was a good thing Clockwork couldn’t read minds.

“It is significantly more prone to error,” said Clockwork, with a shrug. “In any case, now you are aware of this phenomenon.”

“Right,” said Danny. He nodded to himself, as if the gesture would magically grant him the ability to know what he was doing. “Now I know. Your–” He cut himself off and chewed on his bottom lip. “Is there anything I can do to help you fix things? Or even just clean up?”

“I was under the impression that you were spending most of your time trying to learn how to be a bridge between humans and ghosts,” said Clockwork, rearranging tools on one of the workbenches.

“Well, yes,” said Danny, “but helping out is part of that, right? And this is, you know, sort of my fault, so…”

Clockwork paused, put down the tool he was holding, then looked directly at Danny. Which meant that Danny saw Clockwork’s scar again, and the way it had changed.

He swallowed.

“The events that led to this damage were not your fault, Daniel.”

“They kind of were, though,” said Danny, his shoulders rising. “I mean, it’s my fault that the other me exists, so, this is, too.”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer that the other Phantom not exist?”

“No,” said Danny, hurriedly. “At the beginning, but– But not now.” After separating from Clockwork and being stabilized by the clone, future Danny was much less murdery.

“He is his own person, separate from you, and has been so for some time. His actions are not yours, and your actions are not his.”

Danny licked his lips, wanting to protest, but nodded. Then, unable to stop himself, blurted, “Clockwork, your scar–”

“And that is certainly not your fault,” said Clockwork, covering the eye and turning away again.

Danny felt his heart drop. He wanted to believe that, but with how Clockwork was acting, he couldn’t. The last time he’d seen Clockwork’s scar–

When was the last time he’d seen Clockwork’s scar? Had it been right after the fight with the fused Phantom-and-Clockwork? Or had Clockwork been hiding it then? Had it been before? Danny couldn’t remember.

Either way, the last time he’d seen Clockwork’s scar, it had been a simple, healed-over gash, dark against ghostly flesh, rather than pale the way a human scar would be, thin and straight, almost the platonic ideal of a scar. Now, it was a twisting, branching thing, with burnt edges. Danny knew that shape. He knew it intimately.

He raised his hand to touch his chest, just below his heart.

“You will need to leave now, if you are to return before your parents miss you,” said Clockwork. “Remember that they no longer are aware of your secret.”

Danny nodded, and while he didn’t flee the tower, he left at a far greater speed than he’d entered. As he flew back to the portal, two, no, three thoughts ran through his mind over and over again.

Why did Clockwork’s scar now look like a Lichtenberg figure? What had done that to him?

What could Danny do to help?

[etclouie]

Home Is With You — Prologue

ᡣ𐭩 — summary; sorting through your aunts affairs and getting your car fixed ends with you sleeping with a biker which leads to a fresh start and a new opportunity (Chibs Telford x Glaswegian!reader)

ᡣ𐭩 — warnings; jax is a flirt really, reader sleeps with jax (not described explicitly), meet cute, reader being glaswegian can be glossed over!!!, split pov, jax is a wingman, they plan a first date(ish), this is literally the build up to meeting chibs, big talk with one of my oc’s before reader meets jax and he plays matchmaker, but that’s it i think?

ᡣ𐭩 — word count; 3,104

ᡣ𐭩 — authors note; hii!! i’ve been working and nursing this fic since august 2024 and i’ve finally worked out a timeline and plan, so i’m very very excited to write this fic and post it for others to read — feedback is highly appreciated!! (i’m actually super nervous to post this). also a big thank you to @transparentbouquetturtle for beta reading <33

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sitting at your desk in the office, Elle stood by the backdoor. a light breeze flowing as she took a drag of her cigarette, exhaling the smoke outside as your conversation continued.

“there’s a garage not far, run by some bikers but they’re cute”

she told, a smirk on her face as you glanced towards her again. 

one thing about Elle was she always had a different motive to her words, and you knew that this was exactly where her words were going.

“i’m not trying to get laid”

you told, pointing a finger in her direction as her smirk widened. she laughed at your reaction, taking another drag from her cigarette.

“oh yeah?”

she quirked, exhaling the smoke with another laugh as you sat upright in your seat. the papers scattered across your desk momentarily forgotton as your car problems grew overbearing.

the thought pulled a sigh from you, sure it was your car but it’s only yours beacuse your aunt died.

“i just need my car fixed up Elle”

you told with another sigh, the only thing you managed to do when it came to thinking of your aunt.

according to Elle, the garage she was recommending was the one your aunt went to to get the car fixed up. the boys loving every time she came in because they got to see the classic, something different to the traditional cars they always got in.

Elle’s hum pulled you from your thoughts, rolling your eyes at her as she continued to tease.

she took a final drag from the cigarette before dropping it to the ground, stubbing it out under the toe of her boot as she exhaled softly.

leaving the door open, she moved across the small office space to sit on the edge of your desk.

“you’ve been here what? a week already? and you haven’t been laid yet”

she continued on, lifting a paper from your desk and flicking through the words across it.

“i’m looking for a fresh start, not a quick fuck”

you retorted, grabbing the piece of paper back and organising the scattered sheets into a neater pile.

your eyes flicking between the various post it notes stuck across the desk with scribbled notes across them, things to be done for the restaurant.

“you never know”

Elle hummed, smirk still on her face.

“oh no, i know”

you told while Elle pulled herself to sit properly on the desk, the wood creaking slightly as she began to swing her legs.

“there’s one guy at the garage, real cute—Jax Teller”

a laugh pushed past your lips before you could stop it, covering your mouth with both hands as she quirked a brow at you.

another thing about Elle was her eye for finding men attractive.

“if he’s so cute why don’t you go for it?”

you asked while leaning back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest.

“not my type, but his Puerto Rican friend is cute”

she shrugged, continuing to swing her legs as you laughed again. 

“besides, Birdie taught me to stay away from them”

Birdie. you hadn’t heard your aunt be called that in years, not since the last time you visited a couple years ago.

she never told you about the bikers Elle happened to be so infatuated with, but if Elle was saying Birdie told her to stay away you knew it was the truth.

“but you want me to go jumping in head first?”

“your fresh start and all”

“but if my aunt told you not to—“

you started but she cut you off, pressing a manicured finger to your lips. 

“baby, she’s not here anymore and she only told me and Mack that lesson”

you shook your head, of course Birdie told Mackenzie too—she’d always wanted to be a doctor, and Birdie pushed her in the right direction. 

but you couldn’t help but sigh again, the garage Elle was so insistent on you visiting again was the only one you’d heard of and in good distance to your house.

“i’m only getting my car seen to”

you told while standing from your seat, the old wheels rattling as the chair scooted back. 

reaching for your keys that lay on your desk, and then for your bag. Elle watching your every move with a smirk on her face, legs still swinging below her. 

“yeah whatever you say”

“i’m serious”

you tried, only for Elle to laugh again.

“just—if you end up in one of their beds, don’t say i never told you so”

you flipped her off as Cooper, one of the cooks, knocked on your open office door. he stayed a moment, asking about the upcoming shifts this week before dipping out the door again. 

“i’ll call the garage for you, seen as i’ve lived here longer and i’ll get them to see to you”

Elle told, reaching for her phone from her bag that sat idly on your desk. her fingers moving across the keypad before the sound of a womans voice sounded as she answered.

you watched as she spoke, flashing you a thumbs up as the woman on the other end agreed to get your car seen to.

driving into the garage, the first thing that caught your eyes was the row of bikes parked up, a couple missing from the otherwise full row. and then on the blonde mechanic working under the hood of a car in the garage. 

walking towards him, his attention drifted towards you and a smirk worked its way onto his face. his eyes trailing you from head to toe, an appreciative look dancing in his eyes.

“was wondering if you could maybe see to my car? my friend called a little bit ago and whoever answered said to drop by whenever”

if his attention wasn’t on you before, it sure was now.

you watched as he cleaned his hands on a rag, tossing it aside as he met you halfway. his eyes drifted down your body again, before they slowly found your eyes again.

your closeness allowing you to read the name on his coveralls, ‘Jax’ printed on the chest. the same guy Elle had mentioned you assumed.

“yeah what’s up with it?”

he asked, voice a low drawl.

“was my aunts, just moved here so i’m taking over her affairs and stuff”

he nodded at your words, gesturing for you to lead him back to your car.

you could feel the way his eyes fell to the sway of your hips, watching entranced with every step you took until coming to a stop at your car.

his eyes reluctantly pulling away from you to check out your car, while you opened the drivers door to grab your purse and keys.

“she died and left her stuff to me, but never said what’s wrong with the thing”

you turned as his eyebrows raised, one of his hands running down his face.

“so just routine checks then?”

you nodded as he asked. 

“yeah, but the engine was making a weird noise first time i started it up”

“no problem darlin’, we’ll get it seen to”

he told, voice still low and holding a twinge of intrigue. your eyes mirrored the same intrigue back at him, though yours more subtle.

standing face to face, smirk still on his face as he held his hand out for your keys. dropping them into his palm as he spoke again.

“was gonna say haven’t seen you around before but you just answered that for me—would’ve remembered a pretty face”

you laughed at his words, your fingers brushing against his as he enclosed his fist around your keys.

“i’m from Glasgow, yeah”

you could see the intrigue deepening at that, his free hand scratching at his chin again.

“one of our guys is from there”

that piqued your interest.

slowly, you casted a glance around the lot before Jax spoke again.

“he’s not here, just missed him actually”

you assumed he was one of the missing bikes from the row of parked ones.

“least there’s one person here that sounds like home then, huh?”

you joked, lips curling into a smile as Jax laughed. 

one of the other men in the garage called out to him, nodding towards your car as Jax held your keys out to him.

his other hand guiding you into the small office to the side, reaching for a clipboard with contact questions across it. 

you watched your car be driven into the garage, peeking through the open blinds as Jax spoke once more.

“it’s gonna take a little while darlin’, sorry”

“no that’s okay, thank you for actually seeing to it on such short notice”

you thanked while turning back to him, taking the clipboard and pen to jot down your information.

“we’re always willing to help out the pretty girls around town”

you laughed, shaking your head at him.

“even the ones new to town?”

“especially the new ones”

you watched as his tongue poked out to wet his lips, before they curved into another smirk.

you couldn’t help but be transfixed by him, your conversation with Elle playing in your head, but he had you captivated. something about those blue eyes were easy to get lost in, and you found yourself drowning in them.

“you got anywhere to be?”

he asked, the innuendo apparent in his words.

“nope”

his smirk widened ever so slightly, shaking it off as you glanced back out to your car. the hood popped and one of the guys working underneath it.

“so how much do i owe you?”

“depends on the work needing done”

you nodded, handing him the fully filled out form.

“think we can work something out though”

the sound of the shower filled the otherwise quiet room, leaving you to your thoughts and the aftermath of what had just happened between you and Jax. 

carefully, you reached for one of his t-shirts while you waited for him to get done in the shower. 

as the time ticked on, your thirst became overbearing, slowly deciding on grabbing a drink from the small kitchen you passed on the way in. 

you ducked out of the dorm, wearing one of Jax’s reaper shirts as you made your way to the small kitchenette. 

a case of water bottles on the floor, grabbing one and stopping in your tracks as you twisted open the lid.

listening to a voice in the main area of the clubhouse, his words fading in your head as you got stuck on the accent.

your accent.

the other Glaswegian Jax had mentioned.

to say you weren’t intrigued would be an understatement, you knew nothing about him but felt a longing to.

you couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of his face, but the warmth and familiarity that his voice gave was enough to keep you intrigued. 

carefully, you ducked back into Jax’s dorm. shutting the door over as the bathroom one opened, Jax stepping out with a towel drawn around his hips.

water trickled down the hard planes of his chest, but your attention was on the Glaswegian you’d yet to meet.

“see that Glaswegian guy you mentioned, reckon i could get his number?”

you asked Jax, watching his lips twitch into a smirk.

“was i not good enough for you?”

he was teasing, you knew he was—you laughed at his words before shaking your head.

“never said that, was good—really good”

his smirk deepened as you took a pause, before he spoke again.

“but you went out there and seen him?”

“yeah, i’m sorry”

he shook his head, waving off your apologies.

“don’t worry darlin’, i get it”

you hummed, maybe in relief, you weren’t quite sure. 

you watched as Jax ruffled another towel over his hair, the damp blond stands framing his face as his eyes stayed on yours.

“you want me to put in a good word?”

he asked, tossing the towel aside while the one around his waist hugged him tightly. 

“could you?”

you chewed at your bottom lip, something akin to anxiety bubbling inside you for the first time all day.

were you being too forward?

“yeah, know he’d like you”

that eased your nerves.

a pleased smile on your face, while Jax chuckled.

you couldn’t help it, so far away from home yet finding someone so familiar—and that he’d like you? it felt like a dream come true.

Jax reached for his phone, flipping it open and thumbing through his contacts.

he’d found a scrap of paper and a pen, jotting down the number and name before handing it to you.

“Chibs?”

you asked, raising an eyebrow at him while he nodded. 

“yeah”

“do i want to know?”

Jax shook his head, pulling open the top drawer of his dresser.

“let him tell you”

he called out over his shoulder, earning a hum from you as he began to pull a clean t-shirt from the dresser.

“do i get a real name? or is it just Chibs?”

you asked, looking away as Jax pulled on his underwear and then his jeans.

“Filip, his names Filip but everyone calls him Chibs”

“okay”

you nodded, standing from your place on the bed and setting the piece of paper in your bag.

whispering a thanks to Jax before disappearing into the bathroom, turning on the shower as Jax pulled on his kutte to head out the room. 

“hey man”

Jax greeted, squeezing Chibs’ shoulders as he settled beside him at the bar. earning a hum in response as the older of the two glanced towards him.

“what’s up?”

he asked, a smirk across Jax’s face. 

“might’ve found a girl for you?”

“for me?”

the surprise audible as he spoke, though the intrigue he felt was palpable. 

“spent the day with her, but she’s all about you”

Chibs chuckled.

“yeah?”

“yeah, promise brother”

he nodded this time.

sure it might not be convenient, but who was he to pass on a girl that was apparently all about him?

“she’s all about you, she’s in the dorms now”

Jax told, squeezing at Chibs’ shoulder again as he nodded.

“do i want to know?”

he asked, tilting his head to meet the blond’s eyes. 

“look all i’m saying is she came out here and heard you, came back to me asking ‘bout you—c’mon man, if it doesn’t work it doesn’t work”

that made him sigh. 

he shook his head, taking another sip of his drink before he responded. 

“aye and i’ll never know if i don’t see to it”

“that’s the spirit”

Jax nudged him with his elbow, earning a mumbled ‘yeah yeah’ before he finished off his drink and setting the empty glass down on the bar, the woman behind the bar setting it aside as Chibs made his way towards the dorms.

you had just gotten out the shower, the bathroom steamy and flowing slightly into the main room as you got dressed.

sitting on the edge of the bed, there was a knock at the door. calling out to the person on the other side, the door opened to reveal a man you hadn’t seen before.

your heart silently hoping it was Chibs.

“Jackie said you were all about me”

there it was.

the same voice as before.

a shiver ran down your spine as heat spread throughout your body, something akin to embarrassment bubbling within.

“shit i’m sorry”

that wasn’t what he was expecting.

the accent, his accent.

a key detail Jax so happened to leave out.

the interest he already had for you doubling by the second, being from the same country as him a bonus.

“no you’re good, first time i’ve seen another Glaswegian out here”

he told, standing in the doorway as you remained sitting on the edge of the bed.

all of your talk with Elle earlier was flying back to you, and you knew she’d never let you live this one down if she found out. 

“yeah?”

“aye, Jackie never told me you were this pretty either”

that made heat rise to your cheeks, having to look away from him to hide your smile.

god, you were done for.

you could just hear Elle boasting about how she told you so already.

“oh yeah?”

you mustered, trying to hide your internal giddiness as you met his eyes again.

“aye sweetheart”

if you weren’t done for fully before, you were now.

he hadn’t even caught your name yet, but was already sending a flurry of butterflies swarming your belly.

your eyes flicked away from him for a minute, trying to compose yourself before letting your gaze find his face.

something so boyish yet rougish about him was pulling you in.

if he was from Glasgow how come you never found anyone nearly half as good looking as him before?

it didn’t seem fair you had to come all this way to find him, but you were sure you weren’t letting him go now.

“sorry about this”

you apologised after a minute, gesturing to the room around you only for him to wave you off.

“when Jax mentioned you, didn’t think we’d meet—never mind like this”

“yeah?”

you nodded, sighing softly as you looked away from him again.

the current situation of you meeting playing a thousand different ways in your head.

“also know it’s not.. you know conventional ‘cause i slept with Jax”

he waved you off again.

“ah don’t worry about that”

Chibs was soft with you, softer than you’d expected, but it was slowly easing away the worries that had built up.

“you don’t mind?”

you asked, watching his lips curve into a smirk and a dimple appear on his scarred cheek.

curiosity bubbling about the scar, but his intrigue in you won you over for the time being.

“nah, something about you”

“and what would that be?”

you tried to match his allure, but he outmatched you.

“that’s telling, no?”

you laughed, tongue poking out to wet your lips. something he caught, his eyes focused intently on your lips as you spoke again.

“maybe tell me tonight? i own that restaurant off interstate five, just me and you”

it was his time to laugh, though he was impressed.

he hadn’t met a girl who had him as captivated as you before.

but god he was loving every second of this, every second of being with you. 

the way your eyes stayed on him, hanging on for his response made something warm spread through his chest. you really were that missing piece he never knew he needed. 

“sounds good love”

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if you want tagged for this fic, the taglist form is here

[irondadfics]

Any good fics where other avengers find out about Peter? Just them seeing Tony interact with him and be surprised at how parental he is.

here are some

Cyanide? In My Shawarma? by losingmymindtonight

Pepper convinces Tony to bring Peter along on his first dinner with the Rogue Avengers since their pardoning. Poor Tony had thought the whole thing was a recipe for disaster before someone decided to shove some cyanide in his food.

He Was Actually Really Being Truthful (For Once) by orphan_account

Natasha looked more closely. She first saw hints of a second person in the sock poking out of the blanket at a strange angle, and the pale hand with curled-up fingers resting on Tony’s chest. Then she found a head of what looked like brown curls, tucked snugly under Tony’s arm. And eventually, a second set of sleeping breaths, slow and light.  OR The Avengers return from months of missions to find a child fast asleep on the lounge, with Tony snoring beside him. A mystery ensues. Is Tony Stark a father? (It looks like it!) How have they never discovered the kid until now? I mean, Iron Man has always been good at keeping secrets, but a whole CHILD?

It's a Secret to Everybody by Snapdragon_in_the_Snow

“I have kids," Clint said. "I know dad behavior when I see it.” Tony blinked multiple consecutive times, processing the statement. “Excuse me?” “Tony,” Steve said now, “how long have you had a son? And how come we’ve never known about him?” “Yeah,” Clint spoke again, “I thought I was the only one with a secret family. Turns out you’ve had one longer than me!” ------- Peter gets to spend all summer living in Avengers Tower with Tony. When the Rogue Avengers get pardoned and come back to live at the Tower too, they're confused as to who Peter is. However, once they see how Tony acts around Peter, that confusion goes away, as they know for certain who Peter must be - Tony's secret son. Tony and Peter decide to make the most of the situation, and play along. They hope they can keep up the act all summer. But they soon learn that they barely have to act at all.

The black pieces by Bergen

Peter moves in. And the Avengers all agree: He's a precious little puppy. Tony gets hurt. And the Avengers all agree: It was Spiderman’s fault.

[the-kr8tor]

16?!! I'VE WRITTEN THAT MUCH SINCE THE LAST BESTIE THOUGHT?! Lol i can just imagine you sighing and adding a fic to the tabs whenever i upload a new one 🤣

Yeah same but the longer it does that i just wanna get out of there and go home lol

Oh i feel that through my bones 🥲 for me I'd have fun for like an hour or two but after my social battery runs out i just wanna go home

HAHAHAHHA i just realized that 😂 they'd be surprised that the footage ends up like a garbled mess

Hmmm definitely both!! Those were really good points

Oh god imagine that 😬

Aww the image of the doggo with earmuffs got me all 🥺

Hell yea treat them like paparazzi!

LMAOOOO IMAGINE THAT 😂

It's definitely flash/eugene! Who's the new guy?

Social anxiety is scared of james fr

I was thinking that he just started college a bit later on! Him and Hobie are def the same age tho

HAHAHHAHA that's so true!! He's always looking for his wifey

I'd like to say that it's both. Like MJ knows that r doesn't like that stuff but under that she doesn't share the same feelings as r in that department 😔 like for r, mj is it, that's her best friend her ride of die and for mj that feeling dwindled through the years and she has gotten used to r and kind of placed her in the back of her mind and r definitely feels it too since they spend a lot of time together at home. As for MJ's band, they see her as just her roommate and friend nothing else

🤣 they will! Maybe

We're r in this situation lol

Same and i only like them if they're softer than a regular corduroy

True same thoughts here!!

I actually deleted a line that described the handkerchiefs! If i remember correctly it was a patterned one with a simple h.b stitched at the hem. I should've added that hmm 🤔 i think it got lost while i was editing it and i just forgot to add it again lol

HAHHAHAHA there she is officer! The one who pushed them! 😂

YESS EXACTLY THAT I LOVE U!!! This will definitely be tackled in the next chapter!!

HELL YEA R DESERVES TO BREAK SOME PLATES!!

Oh harry def goes to those usual hunts wink wink nudge nudge r was suspicious too but it'll be revealed soon hehe

The rolodex killed me 🤣 the only thing I'll say is that--- *gets shot*

Right?! Like they literally went there together! She should notice!!

Yeah :(

Imma say it, r should've hit the camera man

Lmaoooo who are u harry Osborne and what do u want 😂 i need r to say that to his face *writes that down* 😂

I would've chased them with a broom

Their relationship is messyyyy

HAHAHHAHAHAHA BESTIE 😂

R had the same thoughts like "did they date????"

Hehehe thank u!! I was giggling while writing that part

R should have gayatri as her best friend instead of mj

LMAOOO That took me awhile to get 😂

HAHAHHAHAHAHGA Me when Peter b showed up in atsv

Yesss it fits him! Poor miguel ppl don't understand that he doesn't own the company 😂

HELL YEA SOMEONE FINALLY NOTICED!!

LOL he's crushing so hard!! R gives him a bottle of water-- gasp you remembered i like water! 😍

Their relationship is a cup of milk left out in the counter overnight 😂

Do I Wanna Know?

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Synopsis: Hobie invites you to a gig and it doesn't end well.

Word count: 14.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, co-worker AU, part 2, mockumentary AU, slow burn, co-worker! Hobie, CW alcohol, CW anxiety, a bit of loser! Hobie.

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Part 2 >>> Part 3

The music booms around the bar, bass reverberating against the sticky walls whilst the boom mics had to be toned down unless it'll break from the sheer volume. The glasses on the tables shake from the loud music, it's all felt through your chest. You stand near the bar, draped in black and a clearly borrowed leather jacket that still bears the initials of its owner right on the lapel— MJ.

Spotlights flicker in and out in the darkened room as the cameras hone in on your bobbing head and shining eyes. Your face says you're having fun, but from how you hug yourself and how you make your presence smaller by hiding behind the cheering crowd— you look uncomfortable to say the least. The music is nice while you tap your foot to the rhythm, but the new place and unfamiliar faces meld together in harmony to make you feel as out of place as possible.

Pursing your lips together as your gaze falls on Hobie's bare arms down to his lithe fingers playing the guitar expertly, you feel like a creep at your obvious ogling of your co-worker. Your hand feels frozen around your drink, as you take a sip, expecting the warm concoction to ebb through you, there's nothing left but a drop of it. You frown, eyes roaming around the noisy venue, trying to look for MJ until it stops at the out of place camera crew all huddled around in the corner.

Blinking, you narrow your eyes at them, realization flits across your face and morphs into shock and disgust.

“Fuckers.” You say, muffled and quiet enough to not be picked up by the boom mic as you place your glass on the table with a thud.

The documentary crew dodges the dancing crowd and elbows flying around as they get to you. All the while you try to escape from them by weaving through the crowd.

“Is that a dog?” Your eyes catch a four legged friend. You pause in the thick of it, pointing at an actual dog being carried around on someone's shoulders. It's meant to be a distraction for the camera crew, but it has you stopping by to look at the very happy dog getting pet by everyone.

The crew doesn't believe it at first while they're still a few steps behind you, but as you continue to point at the dog, they wrench the cameras away from you to film the dancing dog in the crowd. When they look back at you, you're already gone.

The numerous sweaty limbs uncomfortably brushing along your arms as you dodge people has your skin crawling. The cameras still follow you around like paparazzi as Hobie's band continues to play, adrenaline flowing through the lunch club as they play and sing their hearts out. You almost make it out towards the bathroom, but you're stopped by the owner of the jacket you're currently wearing.

“Woah, where are you heading out to? I got your refill.” The redhead shows you a half empty glass of your preferred drink as she places a hand on your shoulder. You sigh and look behind you, finding that they're now filming you and hounding you. MJ notices them, and tries to shoo them away with a sharp glare. They take a step back, and only that.

You fully face the camera and get hit straight on by the bright light held by a crew member. Shielding yourself with your hand over your eyes, you look like you're about to hit them.

“Why are you all even here? It's Saturday!” You yell above the loud music, peripheral picking up Hobie looking at you, or behind you as MJ steps in between you and the camera.

“C’mon, guys, leave the girl alone.” Her words are slightly slurred around, clearly tipsy from drinking.

The producer tries to say something, and you only pick up the words, ‘contract’, and ‘obligated’ above the sound of the raging crowd and the guitar riff on stage. You take a glimpse at the show and you almost fall backwards from how Hobie's making his guitar sing with his expert movements.

“Obligated for what?” MJ asks for you, body nudging your own when her balance fails her.

“To film some drama!” This time, the producer yells above the sound.

“Drama? There's no drama here! It's just us hanging around!” The audience's clapping falls in your deaf ears. “Go away, we're not at work!”

Just as you say it, Hobie jumps off the stage, instruments and all. Even the cameraman has a shocked look on his face. Before you could react, ears still ringing from the prolonged loud sound banging around in your eardrums, and the shining light blaring in your eyes, you're overwhelmed by everything. The alcohol in your system doesn't help. Hobie siddles up next to you, an after show musk coupled up with burgundy wafts on your nose. His elbow perches on your shoulder, eyeing the lenses that stare back at him.

“Hobie—”

“Y’know, ‘m not one to complain ‘bout shit like this but,” he pokes the lense, smudging it with his index finger. “Stay the fuck away, yeah? Or I'll get your little show cancelled before it premieres on shitty cable.”

The producer grumbles and glares at Hobie before leading the rest towards the far end of the bar. After a quick wipe on the lense, they continue to film your group from a distance. At least they're not in your space anymore.

“Thank you, Hobie—”

“Hobie, our knight in shining armor!” MJ exclaims, warm breath fanning across your cheek as the cold drink spills all over your front.

“Shit, MJ!” You flinch away, frantically wiping at your blouse that now smells of alcohol and regrets.

“Fuck, I'm sorry!” She grabs a napkin from the nearby table to the dismay of its occupants. Fruitlessly dabbing on your blouse and smudging the wetness even more.

Hobie takes a handkerchief from his pocket and gives it to you. “I think your friend ‘ere has had too much to drink, love.”

“Thank you.” You give him an apologetic look as you desperately try to dry yourself off.

You wince at how you probably look like in front of him and his band right now. Hobie looks handsome in his leather and metal getup complete with mascara running down his cheeks. You never thought that running mascara would look good on anyone, but here's Hobie proving you wrong once again just like the fishnets decorating his arms that are in full display from his sleeveless shirt. A sleeveless shirt is a generous way to call it as it's ripped from his armpit down to his lean stomach. You feel lightheaded.

To add insult to injury, the rest of his band appears from the stage. Sweat clinging on their brows, instruments still in their hands as they look at you with unfamiliarity.

“Yeah, sorry, h–hi.” You laugh nervously, eyes roaming around the familiar faces and new ones that accompany him. “I made it— we made it.” MJ is still trying to wipe at your probably see through blouse right now. But Hobie's eyes are staying right on your face, you can't say the same thing to one of his blond mates though. Grabbing the edges of the leather jacket, you close it around yourself and make your roommate stop fussing around you.

“Hey!” MJ stumbles backwards but Hobie catches her with a firm hand around her wrist. “Thanks, dude.” She clumsily winks, and you regret letting her out of your sight for five minutes when she went to the bathroom.

“Sure,” Hobie smiles just as a pink spotlight illuminates his face. You're sure the camera crew are having a field day, and you're definitely going to complain to O’Hara when you get back to work. Clearing his throat, he sidles up next to you once again, palm placed on your shoulder and nudging you in place. “Meet the band, this ‘ere is Yuri.” He points towards a woman with slicked back hair and dark shadow around her brown eyes.

“Hey,” she nods at you, spiked earrings moving around. “I met your friend in the bathroom before we played, I had to stop her from calling her ex.”

“Thanks?” You eye MJ, and she cowers away from you teasingly as she hides behind Yuri, who only chuckles at her. “I—I mean, nice to meet you Yuri.”

Hobie grins as he continues to introduce you to his friends, including the blond aka James, who's six foot two and looks like he came out of a magazine catalogue. Giving a spare glance at MJ, whose head is lolling back, but with Yuri's help, she's kept upright. “This one's Ned, my roommate, who's leavin’ me for some fancy school.”

Ned rolls his dark eyes at Hobie, keyboard placed next to him as he gives you a hand to shake. “He's overdramatic,” you take it with a smile and let go not a moment longer. “I'm just moving to a dorm.” Hobie dramatically pouts, chin placed on your shoulder that he immediately moves away after what his adrenaline made him do. Ned gives him a knowing smile, one that the camera didn't miss out on. “Still going to be in the same city, I might add.”

“Nice to meet you, Ned. And I'm getting used to his overdramatic self.” You say, and Hobie nudges your side with feigned offense.

“You better get used to it, I think you two will hangout more.” Ned raises his brow at Hobie with a snicker.

“‘course they will.” Gwen clicks her tongue, arm looped over Miles’ shoulder, who doesn't seem like he minds it very much as he holds onto her hand gingerly.

Hobie gives her his middle finger as he leans against you. “You're jus’ jealous that I let her in the mailroom, Gwendy—”

A loud gasp and then a squeal can be heard from MJ, eyes wide as she gazes behind you. The whole group turns towards the bar where a familiar set of faces sits and waves her down.

“Mary Janes!” MJ bolts towards them, arms flailing around excitedly while her band meets her halfway.

You wince, thinking that your friend has ruined her first impression, and in turn yours.

As you turn towards Hobie, there's a smile on his face and eyes twinkling in the light as he watches MJ and her band embrace and jump for joy at the reunion. He notices your eyes on him, and as he meets with yours, his smile turns into a grin, piercings shimmering and hand splayed over your back. You're entranced by him, lips smiling bashfully as you feel your heartbeat quickening the longer he gazes upon you.

“They seem excited.” Yuri's voice smacks you out of your stupor.

Hobie looks away, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows down thickly. He coughs on his fist, hand falling away from your back to your slight disappointment. He still stays in place, elbow to elbow and shoulder to shoulder right next to you.

“Y–Yeah, they're always like that even though they see eachother everyday.” You manage to let out despite your wobbly legs.

“We should introduce ourselves.” James says as he combs his hair with his fingers and fixes his shirt.

Ned raises a brow at James as he saunters over to the all girl group. “I gotta make sure he doesn't get punched this time.” With a sigh, he follows his bandmate.

“I think I know the purple haired one.” Yuri murmurs, and slowly walks over to the bar with her eyes straining to have a look. “Oh shit, I definitely do.” She quickly walks towards them, even overtaking James and Ned.

You see MJ mouth something to her bass player, and the band's eyes collectively move towards the man standing next to you. They smile and beckon him and the rest of the band over.

“Good thing we have to leave before we have to socialise.” Gwen says, looping her arm around Miles’ shoulder. “Study at my place again, Miles?”

Miles visibly stiffens, mouth in a straight line. You swear you can see a bead of sweat dribble off his temple. “S–Sure.”

“You guys are leaving already?” You ask, smiling as Gwen holds out her fist to you. Awkwardly fist bumping her, Miles nods at you. An attempt to make a coherent farewell while Gwen still has her arm around him.

“Yeah, homework. College sucks, man.” She clasps Hobie's shoulder. “Take care of her, wanker.” She chuckles out, copying his accent.

“Sure, knobhead.” Hobie waves them off, watching as the pair walks out of the bar with Gwen's drum sticks sticking out of her back pocket and Miles lugging his guitar case. “Those two better have real homework for bailin’ on us. Did you like the show?” He asks, biting his lip.

“They're driving home?” You ask, worried about them. Your eyes glance over to his lips before flicking back to his brown eyes. “Yeah, I loved it. You were great— and the band too.”

“Don't worry about them, they're sober.” Hobie lingers next to you. “And thanks, love. I thought you wouldn't show up.”

“I couldn't miss it.”

“Too bad Pav ain't ‘ere, he fancies meetin’ other bands.”

“Oh, what happened to him?”

“Got himself sick after takin’ care of Gayatri.” He sighs as he leans against the wall casually with his hands tucked inside his pockets.

“That's too bad.” Glancing at the bar, you see them making introductions and it looks like they're all hitting it off. “Aren't you going to join them?” You nudge his boot with your own.

“Aren't you?” He raises a pierced brow, the corner of his lip tugging into a subtle smile as red lights flicker in and out of his face.

“I have to clean myself up before I make a fool out of myself even more.” You chuckle nervously, the lack of humour from your tone has Hobie standing up straight.

“You didn't do anythin’ foolish, love.”

“I smell like beer, and I'm not in my own clothes. I feel and smell silly.”

He twists in place, head laying against the wall as he turns his full attention on you. “You do smell like a pub right now.”

You groan, eyes closing briefly like you're in pain. “More reason to head to the bathroom and clean myself up.” Turning around to head towards the restrooms, Hobie reaches for your wrist, tugging you back in place.

“I like pubs.” He says a bit sheepishly as his hand remains braceleted around your wrist.

You feel like you're about to choke on your own breath. And the two of you haven't realized that the cameras are now situated right next to you and Hobie, a lot more sneaky this time as they use the darkness of the bar to their advantage.

“But why aren't you in your own clothes?” Hobie asks, genuinely concerned for you.

“I—” the cameras capture your wobbling lips and blown out irises. “I just thought I'd stick out like a sore thumb if I went in wearing my regular clothes.”

Hobie smiles, a softness etched in his smile lines and eyes slowly blinking at you. All the while the documentary crew records the whole thing with bated breath.

“Yeah, but you'll be yourself. That's better than tryin’ to blend in with the rest of the crowd.”

You inhale shakily, insecurity gnawing at the back of your neck. “Who would want that?” It's meant as a joke, a self deprecating one that's only targeted to yourself but a joke nonetheless.

“I would.” Hobie says matter-of-factly. “I might've seen you sooner while I was on stage. If you're uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else. Bail on these arseholes.”

“I'm not uncomfortable— well, not because I don't want to be here. I do want to be here.” You ramble on and he listens wholeheartedly. “It's just…I get nervous around new people, and being at a new place…it's just I don't know.”

“Nah, I do know.” He pats your bicep, palm warm as he lingers there for a second. “If it gets too much, tell me, and I'll drive you home or somewhere quieter.”

Biting your lip, you take a leap and take one step closer to him. You think he's about to move away from you, but he adjusts his position so you're perfectly in place in front of him; so that he can see your eyes illuminated by the spotlights. Your knee brushes along his own, and his hand grows closer to your hand, fingers dangling on the jacket's sleeve, mere inches from the back of your hand. A comfortable silence wafts over the two of you. After a beat, you finally talk.

“The coolest thing I have in my closet is a brown corduroy jacket and these boots.” You gesture by lifting your foot up to show him your high heeled boots with dangling stars on the laces. “And maybe a pair of spiky earrings that I bought when I was in highschool.” Chuckling, you try not to let your shyness ebb out ever since MJ managed to persuade you to get out of your well worn shell.

Hobie smiles with every word you uttered. “That sounds like a bloody good outfit, love. It suits you.”

“Maybe I'll wear that next time— I mean— if there's another show?” Your brave face falters.

He can't help but be endeared by your flusteredness. “We have another one if you're free on December twenty four, only if you can make it. It's a long shot, ‘m sure you have plans with mates and family.”

You nod a bit too enthusiastically, so you try to act more smooth by slowing your nodding. You have no idea if you look as suave as you think you are when you're probably smiling at him like you've won a car. Then it hits you, he's a colleague.

The fact that he's your co-worker at your very new job, a job that's still teetering you on the edge of unemployment whether you do good in the next six months or not. Maybe it's better if you just stay professional with him. Or at least just be friends, and you can't bring yourself to ruin what you currently have with Hobie so you'll keep talking to him. But if it's heading in the direction towards what you think it's going, you have to rein it in before you end up in the streets. Or worse, back in your parents house. It's just a well meaning crush anyway.

The cameras zoomed in on your face has a front row seat to your internal dilemma through your micro expressions that Hobie isn't privy to.

“I’ll see, I–I have to check first, it's the holidays after all.”

“Yeah, ‘course, love. No pressure.” Hobie beams, as if the prospect of your maybe was just as good as a yes.

“Do I have to bring a gift?” You joke, poking his stomach that you immediately regret after feeling the lean muscle underneath. If HR was here, you'd be in trouble.

Chuckling, Hobie shakes his head, trying to ignore the calling of his name from the other side of the bar. “Nah, but I won't say no to a present from you though.”

You snort, nodding awkwardly as your bout of bravery wavers away into the sounds of the bar. “Okay.”

“Hobie! Bruv!” James yells for him so loudly that half of the dancefloor looks towards the source.

Hobie groans, head falling down to his clavicle before turning towards him and flipping the bird. “Right, ‘m comin’” You smile as he cranes his head back to you. “C’mon then, they're an impatient lot.” He tugs you by your sleeve, but you stay in place.

You look between the waiting group then to Hobie. “I need to get cleaned up first, it's starting to get sticky.”

“Right, I forgot, go ahead I'll wait for you outside.” He lets your sleeve go, hands placed back inside his pockets as he gestures towards the bathroom right next to the stage.

“Oh no, it's fine. Go to them, I'll survive being alone for a few minutes.”

“You sure?” You nod as his face flickers with concern. “D’you have the handkerchief I gave you?”

“Yeah,” you take the said hanky out of your pocket. “Here, thanks again.”

“Keep it, love.” He laughs as the backdrop of dancing and wild lights frame around him.

“Shit, right, sorry, I need to wash it first.” Shoving the cloth down, you internally curse yourself.

“Nah, I meant that you should keep it.” Hobie starts walking backwards casually as the yelling of his name gets louder and louder that he's sure that they're gonna kick his band and the Mary Janes out of the pub.

“Wait, are you sure?” You ask him again just to be sure that he truly meant that he's giving it to you, but his figure is already retreating away with a smirk on his lips.

Watching him and the band together with your roommate and mutual friends brings a smile to your face. Even the smell of alcohol clinging to your front and your botched attempt at trying to act cool in front of your handsome co-worker couldn't ruin your night. Now all you have to do is clean yourself up and prepare your social battery for all the talking you're about to do. Going out of your shell might not be so bad after all.

Until you notice the sneaky cameras that is.

—

After much scrubbing and awkwardly drying your blouse under the bathroom’s hand dryer, you come out of it like a new woman who only faintly smells like booze.

The bar is still alive and in full swing just as you left it. An unfamiliar band plays on stage, hyping up the dancers. Spotlights flicker in and out to the beat, multicoloured lights illuminating your way towards the bar.

As you walk by a table, you notice the camera crew still inconspicuously (or trying to be) recording you.

“Really? Do you guys have nothing better to do?” You give up and decide to just ignore them from now on.

Dodging bodies and trays of drinks, you finally make it to the bar where your friends are. The place has gotten rowdier and nosier as more patrons filter through the doors. You smile as the bar is busier than ever, serving more people than when you left it. You look over to where you last saw them, only to find that strangers are now occupying the seats.

“Oh.” Your heart plummets down to your stomach, but you go on, roaming around the whole bar and doing laps to look at every table and every seat to find them. After going around the whole place three times, you end up back at the bar with a worried frown.

With the documentary crew still following you, you refuse to ask them for help when you've decided to ignore them.

“What's your poison?” The bartender asks you above the booming house music.

“Uh,” your hands involuntarily shakes. “Have you seen a red head with the band that played here?”

“That's not a drink order.” He says with a heavy tone.

“Please?”

You ask nicely, and his tough guy persona crumbles with a sigh. “Impossible to not notice them with a whole ass crew following right behind them.” He rolls his eyes, he's even annoyed at the cameras. “They went out for a smoke, but that was a long time ago. Paid their tab though.”

Relief washes over you as your stiff shoulders sag. “Thank you.” Quickly going outside, the cold hits your face like a train. “F–Fuck.”

It wasn't this cold when you got here, the freezing breeze nips at your cheeks, blowing at your lashes harshly and making you squint. The overcast sky greets you as you look up, grey clouds floating above. It looks like it's about to rain.

You hug your jacket tighter around yourself as you step fully outside into the street. Your jeans don't help much in protecting you from the cold, and your borrowed leather jacket feels like a denim jacket in a blizzard. At least it's not raining or worse, snowing. Your heeled boots would make you slip and crack your skull if there's sleet on the concrete.

“O–Okay.” You make your way towards an alleyway next to the bar where you surmise where people smoke. As you go around the building, you see a few people there but none of them have familiar faces. “Shit.” Your teeth start to chatter as you turn back around only to find the camera pointing right at you. You still refuse to even acknowledge them when you return towards the bar doors.

“Sorry, we're full.” The bouncer bars you from entering with a muscular arm stopping you. There's now a line around the building that you just notice through your slight panic.

“What?”

“We're full, sorry.”

“You just interchanged the words.” You huff, brows knitted together in worry. “Please, it's cold out here.”

“Go someplace else, kid.” He says gruffly, shooing you away before shutting the door right on your face. “There's a line, wait like the others.”

“What the fuck?” You've had enough and you grab your phone from your pocket. As you click it open, the screen doesn't wake and you're met with a black screen with your reflection staring back at you. You keep pressing the screen in hopes that it'll open, but to no avail. “F–Fuck.” You shiver in place, remembering that you forgot to charge it this morning.

The producer taps your shoulder and tries to hand you her phone.

“No, thank you.” With a frown, you put your foot down, shove your phone back in your pocket and continue walking towards the direction of the bus stop or what you think is where the nearest bus stop is.

“Other direction—” the man behind the camera says and you huff and turn the other way with your hands shoved in your pockets.

Your heels click against the pavement, body shivering as you feel like a walking popsicle. The sadness hasn't reached you yet, not when your fury keeps you warm. How could they just up and leave you like that? How could they even forget you? A whole ass person, and their friend? Especially MJ, whom you share a half of a locket with.

As you stop your marching, the camera pauses right with you as they stay further back. Your lip wobbles, sniffing and hands feeling numb. They forgot you, just when you finally feel like you're seen. Hobie forgot you.

Chest aching, and with a sob threatening to claw up and escape, you bite your lip that you almost draw blood. The fists hidden inside your pockets shakes, nails digging into your palms harshly and leaving crescent shapes on your skin. The producer pleads with you to ride in their van so you don't have to tread the cold but you insist with a glare and continue to ignore them.

“Y–You should go.” Your teeth clack against each other, while the soles of your feet now feel numb. The October weather isn't agreeing with you right now. “I can go on my o–own.”

“You'll freeze, and it looks like it's going to rain.” The cameraman says with frustration, “we can call you a cab.”

“I’m close to the stop, you don't—” you chase your breath. “You don't have to.” But you're starting to feel that walking to the bus stop might not have been the best idea. Maybe if you just admit defeat to the crew you'll be warm and cozy at home in no time.

You're so cold that you don't notice the car following right behind you.

“Let's at least go someplace—”

“Y/N?” A familiar voice calls out.

You stop, face lighting up with hope, only to find the source of the voice as someone you never thought you'd see outside of work. “Harry?”

He parks his car, leaning over the empty passenger seat to look at your shaking form. “What're you doing out here? You'll freeze to death.” He glances at the crew following right behind you. “Christ, they got you too, huh?” With a roll of the window on the backseat, he shows another set of camera and crew sitting behind him. “O’Hara's new memorandum is bullshit by the way.”

You could only shiver in place, not having enough warmth left to ask what he's talking about.

“Shit, you'll get frostbite. Get in.” Harry opens the door for you, and you shake your head. “I don't want to be responsible for Layla’s favourite dying on my watch. Please.”

“I–I can just go to the bus stop.” Your lips feel like icicles. And it's not even snowing.

“That's miles away from here.” His voice is laced with genuine concern.

“I don't— don't want to intrude.” There's clouds of smoke billowing out of your lips now that the cold has picked up. Maybe it's about to snow. “And I don't know you, you might be a murderer or something.”

Harry laughs, the least you expect from someone as straight faced as him. “There's literally cameras following us.”

“That's— that's still a no on the murderer part t–though.”

“If you don't get in and I let you stay out there then I'll definitely be a murderer.” His nose scrunches up, smiling at you. “And I really don't want to get fired.”

You look straight towards the cameras, before you could refuse again, raindrops drip down from the sky and towards the tip of your nose. That decides it for you. With a few steps, you enter Harry's car. The warm seats immediately make you melt into the leather chair. You put on your seatbelt and close the door to let the warmth stay as you sigh in your seat.

“You get in too.” Harry tells the camera crew that was following you to get in after you. “It'll be a tight squeeze but I'm sure you'll make do.”

You don't even realize that the car is now moving when you feel your tired and cold bones melting into the seat and your heavy lidded eyes overtake you.

“Hey don't fall asleep or you might not wake up.” Harry nudges your shoulder.

That has you immediately opening your eyes. “What?”

“You might have hypothermia.”

You scoff, “I don't have hypothermia.”

“Sure,” Harry smiles. “Show me your fingers, they might be purple.”

“I'm not showing you my fingers, Harry.” You hide your frozen hands inside your coat.

“You weren't saying that when you cut your hand with the stapler.” He says with a lilt, camera lenses moving in on his expression and your embarrassed ones. “Seriously, we should give you safety staplers instead.”

“You had the first aid kit!” You nervously laugh as he mirrors your smile, remembering how gentle he was while dabbing antiseptic to your ‘grievous’ wound. “I had to show you.”

“And thanks to my medical skills you still have your hand.” He jokes, emerald eyes shining in the rearview mirror.

“I already said thank you for the band-aid, Harry.” You roll your eyes, sniffing as you can finally feel your toes. “Are safety staplers even a thing?”

He makes a face, shrugging as he waits for the stoplight to turn green. “I dunno, maybe. So where am I dropping you?”

“So you're not going to ask?” You awkwardly shift in your seat.

“No, it's none of my business. Unless you're in trouble or hurt. Are you either of those?” He says with concern, eyes flicking over to your shivering form.

“No.”

“Then it's not my business to ask. So where to, ice princess?”

You scoff at the nickname, the sound akin to a flustered giggle. “Just the nearest bus stop is fine.”

“We passed that a long time ago, newbie. You're clearly not from around here.” The car idles in place, engine whirring in your ears.

“I'm not. And fine, just don't tell anyone else where I live—” you suddenly remember the cameras behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you narrow your eyes at them. “I want my street to be blurred out.”

The producer sighs but nods in agreement. Harry snickers with amusement.

“If you're not from here, where are you from exactly?”

“I'm not doing the whole…” you gesture around you, “...thing with you.”

“You don't like me very much, do you?” Harry raises a brow, briefly glancing at you. He doesn't sound hurt from your words, just genuine curiosity.

“I like you enough, you're my co-worker and I literally just met you. Would you tell someone you just met your life story?” You can definitely see Harry being a friend and not just a co-worker in the future, but you're still getting used to this life and making friends seems harder now that you're older. He's friendly to you at work and he once walked you to the bus stop and waited for you to get on when you both had to work late. He's kind at least, a good criteria to have as a friend.

“I do actually, that's how first dates usually go.”

“Well, this isn't a date so.” You say, immediately regretting being rude. “I—”

“You never know. Maybe next time it'll be one.” Harry says it so casually that it has you gawping at him for a second before looking back at the road. In the corner of your eye, you see him clenching his teeth, probably cringing and regretting his comment. The car starts again, and the silence hovers above you. “Address then? Unless you want me to keep driving around blindly.”

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. From embarrassment? Maybe. But definitely not from an uncomfortable feeling. You can't deny that his brown locks and green eyes aren't pretty. Well, not Hobie pretty, but still, handsome enough that has you flicking your eyes at his side profile. Hobie seems to hate the guy, but you still don't know why he could hate him when he's decent and seems to be nice enough to you. Perhaps there's something going on between them. A tiff or even something more? The thought provokes you as you hatch a plan to know the reason why Hobie glares at the man during meetings and when he's doing his rounds. Meanwhile Harry isn't phased by it, not ignoring him per se, indifferent more like.

As the camera crew stops filming due to the lull in conversation, you guide Harry to your place. Would it hurt to give your saviour a cup of tea before he heads in his way?

—

“Shit!” Hobie honks the van’s horn loudly, the camera behind him shakes from the sudden stop. “C’mon pick up the bloody phone!” Your caller ID blinks out as the call drops after a few rings. “Damn it.” He shakes his head at the traffic while the rain is finally rolling to a stop, now a slight drizzle.

Being the designated driver for tonight did not give him any favours. At least he saw you in all your glory without the haze of alcohol in his veins. But with him being the only sober one in the group, he had to drive everyone else to James' lest something unsavoury happens to them.

The scene shifts to back at the bar, the bass hitting him right in the chest as he glances at the bathroom door to check in on you from time to time. Hobie catches the cameras doing the same thing, filming the door and Hobie's face as he waits and sighs in his seat while everyone else were having shots and laughing.

“Fuck off.” He mouths, flipping the bird at the cameras. It's blurred but still recognizable thanks to the crappy blur. The other half of the crew are nowhere to be seen, maybe out for a smoke break.

A shrill gasp can be heard, and the camera hones in on MJ, who's bouncing on her feet.

“We should all go!”

That doesn't bode well in Hobie's ears as he tries to pry Yuri's twelfth shot from her hands. “Go where?”

“To James'!” James himself slurs, raising his glass as everyone else is cheering for him.

The thing with bands drinking together is that within fifteen to twenty minutes the drinking could put a sailor to shame. But with Hobie's band and MJ's band combined together, it only took ten minutes for them to get the bartender's signature disappointed shake of his head.

“Wait—!” Before Hobie could voice out his protest for you, who's still missing out on the fun, the rest are already drunkenly putting on their jackets as James wobbles on his feet and closes the tab. He sees that James definitely overpaid as the rest head out. With the van keys dangling in between Ned’s not-so-sober fingers, he groans and briefly glances at the door in hopes to see you coming out. Still no you though.

“Shit.” He panics, grabbing a napkin on the counter and plucking a pen from the bar that he had to go over the counter in an awkward way to fetch it. He side-eyes the camera on him, grimacing that they captured the scene in 4k. With a hasty scrawl of explanation of where they went, he writes that he'll come back for you. After a quick look, he calls the bartender. “Oi, mate,” the man shifts his gaze at the note with a bored gaze. “Can you give this to someone for me?”

“Depends, what's in it for me?”

“‘m with the group that just tipped you a fifty, bruv.”

He rolls his eyes and opens his palm begrudgingly. “Fine.”

“Thanks, she's wearin’ a leather jacket and is probably followed by a camera crew, yeah?” Hobie hurries, walking backwards until the man nods. The docu crew follows behind him, adding to his annoyance.

He only hopes that the bartender gave you the message, he'd hate it if you thought that they abandoned you. Well, the rest did, even your own roomate did, but not him as he races down the street to get to the same pub.

Finding a parking spot was a horror show, with desperation, he parks the car next to another on the street, turning on the hazard lights. The car door slams, not missing another minute of leaving you alone. The crew had to quickly run after him, camera shaking in place as they sprint after him.

There's a long line outside the bar that wasn't there before, and now he knows why they got the time slot in the hip bar.

Hobie heaves, a dried leaf crunches under his boots as he calls for the bouncer. “Mate, can you let me in, ‘m jus’ gonna pick up a friend.”

“I've heard that before, dude, no chance in hell.” He gets barred by the security guard with a burly hand on his chest.

Hobie curses internally as a car honks for him to get the van off the street. “Listen, ‘m just gonna do a quick run around to see if she's there. C’mon, bruv, she's alone in there.” He gestures towards the door, voice rising an octave as he worries about you.

“Well, shouldn't have left her all alone in there then.”

He can't even argue with that when he did exactly that. The car honks again, looking over his shoulder to see a few more cars lining up to get around the van. “Fuck.” At least this makes compelling TV as the crew doesn't even move to help him.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he races off towards the sides of the place, looking around the building for you, hoping that you're waiting outside. But hopefully not with the freezing cold nipping at his cheeks. To his dismay and increasing worry, he only finds unfamiliar faces.

His hands reach to the back of his neck, anxiety crawling up his spine. Patting his pockets, he feels for his phone until he realizes that he left it inside the van. Leaves crunches underfoot as he makes his way towards it, grumbling, shoulders hunched with a whole film crew following behind.

“Wait!” The bouncer's gruff voice calls him back. “Did your friend have a camera guy with her too?”

Hobie immediately runs to him. “You've seen her?”

“Yeah, she left an hour ago, man. Probably grabbed a cab or walked.”

“Walked?” He says, eyes widening. The first words flying over his head. “Which direction?”

“I don't fucking know, I closed the door behind her.”

“You—” Hobie points accusingly at the man but reins his frustration in, pinching the bridge of his nose. Instead of cursing the guy out after helping him, he returns back to the van with his brows furrowed deeply.

The crew doesn't look worried for you, not even a bit. Hobie knows that you have at least two people with you since the documentary crew split up, but he can't help but be concerned when he's the one who invited you and left you behind. You probably think of him as a bad friend.

“You're welcome!” The bouncer shakes his head, pushing a guy away from him when they try to sneak past him.

He fishes for his phone, dialing MJ’s number. The ringing sound has him clenching his teeth as he drives away.

—

It took a while to get coherent words from MJ as he tries to decipher the address she's giving on the phone. If the loud music booming from his speakers were any indication, the party's just getting started. Hobie doesn't care enough to listen to their drunken chanting of his name when he’s out here looking for you. He's thinking about giving them a wakeup call and telling them that they left you at the bar all alone. Especially to your roommate. But he has to find you safe and sound first.

“What if she's at the hospital?” The cameraman asks him, lenses roaming around the sticker filled van.

“You're not helpin’, Jericho.” Hobie huffs, not an ounce of humour in his tone.

“I'm just saying that she has two people with her, she's probably fine—”

“Shut it, we're ‘ere.” He parks the car right in front of the red bricked flat. The place is a classic house that was turned into an apartment sometime in the early 2000s. He can tell that it has three floors for each tenant and by how there's three mailboxes by the main door.

Hobie doesn't waste time in bracing the cold again to check on you. The camera follows behind, red light blinking as he resists the urge to punch its lights out.

Climbing the steps, he looks for the doorbell with yours or MJ’s name on it. Weirdly enough, he doesn't see either one. Jericho, the camera man taps his shoulder, using the camera to point towards the basement where stairs lead down to the side of the house.

He glances at the man then over to the steps as he grumbles a thanks. Making quick work of the stairs by climbing down two steps at the time, Jericho hurries along to catch up to him.

Hobie pauses in front of the window, chest heaving from the exercise and eyes staring through the glass. The lenses follow his line of sight, seeing his co-worker, Harry, sitting comfortably in the small sofa with you appearing from the side with a smile to hand him a steaming mug.

Hobie sighs in relief when he sees you, but with Harry in your flat, in your living room no less, has him turning around and climbing up the stairs.

The camera tries to follow him, but Hobie stops on the last step, back turned away from the camera. For a moment, he stands there, staying still.

With a clench of his fists, he runs back down to the landing, knocking on your door.

The camera captures Hobie's clenched jaw, and your surprised expression when you heard the sharp knock. You tell Harry to wait, and he smiles softly at you as you leave. Your footsteps hurry towards the door, cracking it open to see Hobie's strained smile.

“Hobie—! How— Hi?” You glance at the cameraman next to him, filming you two and not giving you two some privacy.

“Hi.” Hobie could only say as Harry leans on the armrest to look at who's at the door. He gives Harry an acknowledging nod, curt enough to be polite, not friendly though as his lips are stretched into a line as he stares coldly. “I went back to pick you up.”

“Oh.” You play with the string of your hoodie, “You guys kind of left so I–I just walked home. Harry saw me and drove me home though, so that's…good.”

Hobie winces, face deeply apologetic. “Fuck, ‘m sorry, everyone else were drinkin’ and they wanted to leave and I couldn't just let them drive off.” His eyes drift down to your fluffy indoor shoes, and he realises that it's the first time that he has seen you in comfy clothes, looking more relaxed unlike your office outfits and the borrowed clothing. You looked more relaxed with Harry.

“I understand, Hobie, I—” you glance behind you at Harry, who looks away immediately, sipping casually at his drink. “Can you move away for a bit?” You ask the cameraman. To your surprise, he actually walks up the stairs and gives you space. After a few moments, you gaze at Hobie as he looks like he's about to kneel down for your forgiveness. You go outside completely, shutting the door behind you. With an inhale, you reassure him. “It's really okay, Hobie, I took a long time in the bathroom—”

“It's not,” he curses himself for stopping you mid sentence. “Shit, sorry. It's jus’ it's not alright, we did leave you.”

Your eyes glissens in the moonlight that bounces off the wet pavement. “You did, and it— to be honest, it really hurt, Hobie.” You finally confess, unbeknownst to you, the mic picks up your broken tone, every word of it. “I thought you really wanted me there.” Jericho can practically hear your shattered heart from where he stands.

“I did.” He tries to reach for you but retracts his hand away. “I do, and I left a message to the bartender to tell you that I'll be back for you. I didn't mean to fuckin' leave you out there alone, love.”

You chuckle without humour. “The guy didn't say anything to me when I asked about you.”

“Fuck.” He rubs a hand over his tired face. “He must've forgotten. ‘m really sorry. I called a hundred bloody times. You didn't answer— and I don't blame you.”

“My phone ran out of battery, I'm sorry.” Hobie shakes his head subtly at your unnecessary apology. You give him a tight smile. “Well, apology accepted.”

Hobie sighs, brows knitted together, frown deeply set in place. He says your name softly, hand cupping at your wringing hands. “Are we really alright?”

You nod, staring at your joined hands before meeting with his eyes. “Yeah, don't worry, shit happens and you gotta have your priorities straight.”

You're my priority too. “Alright, good.” Is all he could say. “The next one I invite you to would be more fun, I promise.”

“Yeah,” you smile, exhaling out a cloud of smoke. “Sure, maybe.” Moving away your hand from his own, you clear your throat. “They're probably looking for you. Take care of MJ for me, she gets very kicky when she's drunk.”

Hobie chuckles, a genuine one. “Thanks for the tip. Will you be alright? Where's the camera crew?”

“I'll be fine, don't worry about me.” You nudge his bicep. “And they left a while ago, said something about us being too boring so they went out to go find you.”

“Harry?” He gestures towards the door with his chin.

“He's just about to leave, he saw my broken record player and asked to fix it for me. Don't be jealous.” You joke to help lighten the tension, hugging yourself as the cold goes through your hoodie.

“I'll try not to be.”

Heat rises to your cheeks despite the cold and your lingering sadness. “It's going to be hard, but I know you'll rise above the green monster.”

“That's true, but I can't promise to wait outside just to check if he leaves with a body bag in the shape of you.”

You finally laugh, shaking your head at him. “A charmer *and a stalker, this is why you're my favourite co-worker.” You reach to poke him jokingly, but you put your hand away to his dismay. “Seriously, I'll be fine, I have pepper spray in my pocket to ease your worries.”

“Right.” He sees you grasp the doorknob, a clear sign that you're done with the conversation. “Aim for the eyes, yeah?”

“Taking note of that. Thanks.” With your laughter lingering, he stands there in front of your door a bit too long before he remembers to walk away.

Hobie is greeted by Jericho waiting for him near the top of steps. Great, the disaster of a night you two had are recorded in the annals of history.

—

“Here's mine,” Harry hands you back your phone after he typed his number in your contacts. “If you need any help, work related or not, don't hesitate to call me, okay?”

“Okay,” you say with a shy smile as you hand his own phone back. “Thank you again, Harry. I'll pay you back for the gas—”

“Don't, I'm just glad I ran into you. I would hate for you to turn into an icicle in the downpour.” He glances at his screen and laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sorry, the snowflake emoji right next to your name got me.”

“I have a sense of humour too, y’know.” You hug the coat tighter around you as small raindrops continue to drizzle down on you and Harry, painting him in fallen dew drops while the streetlight above shines down on the two of you. The camera crew in the corner under the tree ruins it though.

“It’s not a competition but mine’s better.” He gestures towards your phone with his chin, green eyes alight.

You take a peek at your contacts, finding that he has named himself ‘free uber’ in it. With a giggle, the sound echoing in the night, you look back at the smiling Harry. “Yeah, you're right, yours is better. I'll change it to your name by the way.”

He groans dramatically as he walks backwards towards his car. “C’mon, that took a lot of time for me to think of.” Unlocking his car, he enters and waves at you after putting on his seatbelt. “I'll see you back at the office, ice princess.”

“Ice princess, really?”

“You survived the cold, so I say it fits you.” Grinning, he starts the car.

You pat your head to wipe away the dew. Skin aflame despite the weather, you tuck the coat tighter around yourself. “Take care, Harry.”

“You too. Stay warm.” With one last smile, he rolls the windows up and drives away.

The smoke from the car's exhaust hasn't fully dispersed when the cameraman is already up in your face, asking for an interview.

You sigh, “fine, I'll do this quick. Today was… complicated. I was uncomfortable, then comfortable. Then left behind and then perfectly fine right after.” The blinking red light still flashes as the man behind the camera isn't satisfied by your answer. “I'm fine.” You say with emphasis. “Don't you have a family to go home to?”

Huffing, smoke puffing out of your cold lips, you walk back towards your apartment while you walk carefully on wet pavement. Leaving the camera and the crew behind as you shut the door closed. And yet, the microphone still picks up the quiet sobs from behind the old door.

—

You stare at the scruff of your work shoes, the scratches glaring right at you. Your leather heels are a direct contrast to the white tiled floors that try to mimic expensive marble. But the indents and subtle square lines around it indicates that it's just regular tiles. The office lobby is quiet this early in the morning, the security guard munches on his breakfast burrito as he watches the news on his tiny TV. And the place hums with electricity, lights too bright against your exhausted eyes.

MJ came home in the early morning of Sunday, you woke up to the smell of sick and the sound of her hurling her entire stomach down the toilet’s drain. You couldn't just leave her be when you're afraid that she'd choke on her own vomit. So you stayed up when you should be sleeping in just to watch over her. When afternoon came, you thought that you finally had time to relax or do some chores, but with a very hangover MJ clinging to you as apologies spilled from her lips— you had to stay to comfort and reassure her. Of course that came with making food, mixing in the regular concoction for a hangover cure, and everything else that she needed. If it was anyone else, you wouldn't do that much, but MJ has been your friend since middle school. And without her you'd literally be homeless, she's a good friend. But sometimes you just wish your only problem with her was pushing her away from her toxic ex like back in highschool.

Your exhaustion can be read on your face, and as the camera crew arrives, and their bright lights hit your tired skin, you feel more fatigued than ever. Sighing, you don't even acknowledge them while you wait for the elevator doors to open. Your index presses the button three more times impatiently. The annoying twinkling elevator music seems a lot better compared to the glare of the camera lenses.

“Hey, morning, ice princess.” Harry comes into view, giving you a brief smile while he holds onto a cup of coffee. “You okay?”

“Morning.” You almost scoffed at his well meaning question. “Yeah, couldn't sleep last night.”

“That sucks,” he says as he sips his drink. You stare heavily at the cup, wishing you should've stopped by the coffee shop near your place before heading to work instead of braving the sleepiness. “I should've gotten you one.” Harry notices, winching at his own actions. “I'll get you a cup next time. A cappuccino with an extra shot, right?”

Your heavy eyes widen briefly, the lights making your expression more prominent. “You don't have to, really— wait, you know my coffee order?”

He chuckles, cheeks a bit flushed. “Of course, we're desk neighbours, and you always order the same thing whenever Miles asks for our coffee order.”

“I'll keep it down next time then.” You chuckle.

“Not what I meant, but you do type a little too loudly.” He nudges you playfully.

“Type louder you say? Sure, Harry.” Your joke earns a laugh from the brunette.

The elevator pings and the doors open to reveal the empty space. The walls are covered in reflective glass, it seems that you can't hide from your exhausted face as you step inside. Not even concealer or a blush could hide it.

You're joined by Harry and the documentary crew. Harry stands beside you, back straight as he glances at you for a second. You miss the look he has, but the cameras don't as they stand in front of the doors, facing you and Harry in a perfect frame.

“Oi, hold the door!” The familiar voice has your sleep fogged mind waking up that no amount of coffee could.

Shit. You look like shit and you're staring a bit too much at Hobie, whose lithe hand is holding onto the door. He's back in his office appropriate attire, still no tie though but at least it's a button up that's perfectly ironed that Miguel himself wouldn't even bat an eye at.

He mirrors your expression as he pants by the doorway. The black coat he has on fits him well, really well as it cinches his waist, and the long length of it seems to make him look taller even though he doesn't need the added height.

The cameras has the full view of you, Hobie and a very curious Harry, who looks at you then over to Hobie.

“Good morning, Hobie.” You say, slightly in a higher pitch than you thought it would be.

“Mornin’, love.” His expression softens, but returns to the nonchalant and unbothered look when he glances at Harry beside you. “Osborne.”

The lenses shift from Hobie's strained greeting to Harry's tight lipped smile.

“Brown.” Harry says with a flat tone. “Your shoes are untied.”

Hobie doesn't even glance down at his feet to check. You do, and it is indeed untied. “It’s called fashion, Osborne.” He replies with the same tone as he pushes through the crew to stand on your other side. The cold still clings to his shoulders, and his lashes flutter as he gazes at you gently. “Have you had breakfast yet, love?”

You shake your head while you feel both of their warmths encapsulate you. Cageing you in between them. “Not yet, but I'll probably just grab something from the vending machine.”

“The sandwiches there are shite.” Hobie nudges you as the doors close. “How about I order us a bagel from the deli across the street?”

“I can get us a coffee.” Harry adds, or interrupts more like. Hobie raises his chin, chest puffing up as they stare at each other while you're acting like their barrier. “How's that sound?”

“Or that tea you fancy.” Hobie tilts his head, eyes boring into Harry's skull.

You stare at Hobie then over to Harry, you feel like a referee. You might not be good at reading cues, or feeling the vibes of the room, but you're not an idiot, there's definitely something going on with the two. Looking into the camera, you see yourself in the lenses as you clutch your work bag tightly, and you see the crew's subtle grins behind their equipment.

You have to answer them or else they'll start offering you more food and drinks.

“Thanks, but I have a lot of work to do today, so maybe next time.” It's best that you decline both, you don't want to start something that you have no idea will end. Especially if your job could be on the line. And yet, they still stare at you, waiting on who's the lucky winner. “For— for both offers. I had a big dinner last night, and coffee makes me jittery this early in the morning.” A big fat lie on both statements.

“Right, next time then.” Harry takes it in stride, smiling softly at you.

“Of course, love, you know where to find me.” Hobie does too as he tugs gently at your coat sleeve. You give them both a friendly smile, tamping down any embers that might be setting fire under them.

The three of you realize that neither of you have pressed a button.

The crew's producer takes initiative, and the three of you give her an apologetic yet embarrassed smile.

The elevator shifts slightly before it starts to move. The whirr of the cables cut through the thick tension in the air.

“So, what did you do this weekend?” Harry asks, seemingly a taunt at Hobie that you can't confirm.

“Nothing much, just did some laundry. Boring stuff.” You answer, staring at the numbers atop the doors as it goes further up. You were supposed to do laundry, but they wouldn't want you to talk about how you had to scrub the bathroom clean of vomit.

“Well, I had a show with my band. Meal prepped for this week and visited a friend.” Hobie glances at you briefly with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Harry's jaw clenches at Hobie's reply. “I thought you were askin’ me too.”

“Oh, I was.” Harry smiles at Hobie but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I also visited a friend, picked her up from walking in the cold.” Your face falls at the memory, you didn't expect to be used as something to taunt and provoke someone, but here you are— shoulders slumped and frowning deeply. “Thanks for the hot chocolate by the way—”

The doors ding open and you don't waste time in leaving the elevator with a downturned head as you look at the scruff of your shoes once again.

“Shit.” They both say, and again, the cameras capture their faces as the door closes on them, not giving the two enough time to get off.

The camera gets a glimpse of them trying to get out before the doors shut.

—

You stare at your computer screen like you want it to spontaneously combust right in front of you. The sounds of keyboards clacking and the whirr of the building’s vents has you more than irked, especially at what transpired this morning. The bullpen is quiet, the air smelling of carpet conditioner and printer ink that someone spilled a few hours ago. Your nose itches, tinnitus acting up as you heavily gaze on the excel and blinking lines.

The muscles in your fingers are stiff against the keyboard, face unreadable while the stress of work and you being caught in the crossfire has your eye twitching against the harsh lights. You have no idea what's going on between the two, but you know what happened in the elevator was unnecessarily uneasy for you. Awkward is an understatement.

Lunch has passed by, and you stayed at your desk throughout it without a single glance at the cafeteria in your peripheral. Opting to eat a pack of biscuit that was just intended for a snack. Your stomach keeps reminding you that you have missed breakfast and lunch. You can't wait for the day to be over.

The sound of the familiar clanking wheels of the mailcart doesn't even have you lifting up your head from your report. To the disappointment of Hobie and to Harry's glaring satisfaction.

You've seen Hobie and Gwen doing their rounds with the mailcart, Hobie gave you his usual smile when he handed you your package for the day. And Gwen came to apologize for what happened last weekend even though it was unnecessary. They were both met with your customer service smile and tone of voice. Partly because you're still frustrated at what happened, and because of the elevator when the two men used you as a way to get back at each other— for whatever they're dealing with. Whatever it is, you've decided to stay away from it. Or until you can't ignore Harry's guilty eyes, Hobie's strained face, and the trio's puppy dog expression whenever they pass by your side of the bullpen.

You really don't mean to be an ass to them, but the ridiculous amount of work you have and your tiredness, coupled up with your grumbling stomach, anyone would be behaving like you.

To you it's literal torture to ignore your friends the whole day, for the documentary crew— it makes good TV.

The sound of crinkling paper and the scent of spice has you looking up from your computer. You see the green wrapping of a sub teetering dangerously on top of the divider. The packaging almost bursting at the seams from the hearty sandwich.

Harry's green eyes peek over the wall, hand inching towards the sandwich as he places a bundle of napkins on it like he's about to steal a diamond from its laser protected case.

“Don't mind me, just delivering you lunch.”

“Harry,” you can't help the smile appearing on your lips. “What are you doing?”

“I hope you like cold cuts and cheese.” His voice is slightly muffled by the divider, eyebrows raised as his eyes smile. You blink at him, head tilted. “I noticed that you haven't had lunch yet, so I bought you a sandwich.”

“Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you.” You reach for the sub, standing up from the chair for the first time in hours. It has the shape of you indented on the plush seat. You meet with Harry's eyes, lighting up as he gazes at you. “How much do I owe you, Harry?”

His head leans back, like he's taken aback by your statement. “One penny.”

“I have to pay you back, y’know.” You glance to your left, finding that the camera has you and Harry in its sights.

“Says who?”

“I do.” You chuckle at his feigned innocence.

“How about you pay it forward next time? Just not to me.” His index taps at the top of the divider as he smiles sweetly at you.

“Fine, but I still owe you for the gas—”

“Sorry, busy busy busy.” He sits back down, hands dramatically typing randomly on his keyboard.

“Harry.”

He picks up the silent phone, “Hello, Harry Osborne here, yes, absolutely.” His eyes look up to you with a subtle smile, placing his index right on his lips, shushing you, and then pointing at the phone's receiver.

With a roll of your eyes, you return to your seat, hands immediately unwrapping the sandwich.

The camera zooms out and moves over to the doorway where Hobie stands there with a brown paper bag while looking in the direction of your desk.

His eyes flick over to the camera, jaw tightening and eyes hardening as he stares right into the lenses. “What of it?” Tossing the paper bag into the trash, he walks away only to immediately double back and fish it out and grumble back towards the mailroom with a huff.

—

The clock finally ticks to five, and you release a sigh of relief the second you send the very last report you needed to finish for today. Without sparing another second wallowing in your seat, you stand up and collect your things.

“Hey, Y/N.” Pavitr’s voice makes you look towards the side, where the trio and an unfamiliar face joins them. His hands are on top of Gwen and Miles’ shoulders, pushing them towards you. “We just want to say sorry about what happened.”

“That's okay, Pav, I already forgave them. And again, it's not really their fault.” You chuckle nervously at the small crowd gathering around you.

“But I haven't.” He says sternly, pushing Gwen and Miles towards you further. “Apologize to Y/N.”

“I already did, Pav—” Gwen squeaks out but Pav nudges her. “Okay, I'm sorry. I feel like shit that the band left you. And since the band isn't here, we're apologizing for them. That was a shitty thing to do.”

“It's really okay—”

“I'm sorry too.” Miles interrupts, frowning deeply, brows knitted together out of guilt. He looks like he's going through it, and probably doesn't need the coaxing from Pavitr. “I heard you had to walk out in the rain.”

“Apology accepted, for both of you— you really don't need to. Hobie and I already talked about it and it's fine.” You hold your hands out to them in a way to calm, and Gwen guiltily takes your hand briefly. “I'm fine, you guys weren't even there.”

“Still, we feel guilty and responsible for it.” Miles mumbles out and Gwen nods along. “If we were there, we would have reminded them.”

“It doesn't seem fine.” The unfamiliar co-worker adds beside Pav. “I'd be livid. I'm Gayatri by the way.” She holds out her hand in greeting, smiling gently at you.

“Hi, it's nice to finally meet you.” You take her hand and shake it, mirroring her smile. “I've heard a lot about you through Pavitr.”

“And I heard a lot about you, through Hobie mostly.” She shrugs with a chuckle. Pav gives her a look, and she takes his hands off of the two and intertwines her fingers with his own. “Anyway, you're cool, because obviously I'd be livid.”

“Oh, I was, for a bit. But it's really alright, alcohol was the real culprit.” It's a half truth, you're still bummed about it, but you'll get over it eventually. For now, you just want to lie down on your bed and sleep.

As you gather your things, the interns still seem to doubt you. You're about to put on your coat but Miguel's voice rings out into the bullpen.

“Meeting now.”

“Now?” Lyla’s head pops out from the doorway, already halfway out of the office.

“Yes, now.” With every footstep from Miguel, the almost hidden groans of your co-workers echo around the office. Including yours.

“I have homework, man.” Miles stomps over to the conference room, while Gwen verbally protests by loudly putting on her backpack with all the charms clinking on it.

“This is why I got a B in advanced chem.” Pavitr grumbles but follows the two, he looks over to his girlfriend when she doesn't follow. With a simple look, he continues to cross the distance and waits by the doorway for Gayatri as she pokes at your bag.

“Are you really okay?” Her eyes are soft, you can feel that her concern for you is genuine. She has that air around you that helps you feel at ease with just a look. “I was going off in our group chat after I learned about it. Ned, Yuri and James have a week until they apologize to you or I'll give them shit during band practice.”

“Yeah, I'm over it.” A half lie. “And they barely know me, it's really okay.” Another lie. It wouldn't hurt for them to apologize. Is it mean for you to want them to apologize?

“Yeah, that's why they need to say sorry because they barely know you.” You open your mouth but she immediately shuts you down. “And don't say that it's fine, or okay. That was horrible, you were alone at a shady bar during happy hour. If the cameras weren't there… I don't know, I think you and your roommate need to talk. I wouldn't forget a friend like that, even if booze was involved.”

You blink at her, nodding in agreement. “I think you're right. I can see why Pav loves you so much. You lay it on thick.”

She pats your arm, chuckling. “I'm always right.”

“I’ll talk to her when I get home.” You sigh, fists tightening as you enter the conference room.

“Well, if you need anything, I'm always in accounting.” She taps your back as Pavitr wraps an arm over her shoulder, letting you inside first as they follow behind.

“She likes to take strays, don't mind her.” Hobie suddenly sidles up to you, hands tucked inside his pockets as he whispers to you. “I blame the saviour complex.”

Gayatri heard his comment as she whacks him over the head. “Shut it, Hobie.”

He holds onto the back of his head, chuckling while Pavitr laughs along. “‘m jus’ sayin'”

“Are you calling me a stray, Hobie?” Your words make him falter, stammering out but no coherent words come out. It was a joke on your end, but you can't hide the amusement from his reaction.

“Now you've done it.” Pav smacks Hobie's chest while Gayatri pulls you away from the punk and towards the seats in the back of the room.

“I didn't mean it that way.” Hobie's voice is a tone higher, wincing at his previous words. “I jus’ meant—”

A loud clearing of throat takes his attention, and Miguel sends him a glare as a warning. Hobie huffs, surprisingly not saying any rhetoric as he sits down wordlessly beside you with the rest of the interns on your right.

“It was a joke by the way.” You whisper to him, side glancing at Miguel, who stands at the helm of the room.

Hobie pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hide his smile. “You got me there, love.”

“Seriously, we're okay, Hobie. I hate that we're being awkward now.”

“I missed you at lunch today. I thought, y’know...” He shrugs, whispering back to you as more people filter inside the room. The cameras stand by the sidelines, bright lights and lenses roaming around the different faces. You're just glad you're not the only one they're focusing on right now.

“I had a ton of work so I couldn't join the lunch club today. Sorry for making you feel horrid.” You say genuinely, hoping to put a close on what happened last weekend. As much as you disdain what happened, you can't lose a friend because of it.

Hobie turns his head towards you, smiling fondly as his hand pat the back of yours. “You can never make me feel horrid, love.”

Your heart leaps in your chest from the close proximity. “We'll s–see. I mean, we're still new friends.”

“I hope we never get to see it then. You might break my tiny heart.”

“Your heart is far from tiny, Hobie Brown.” You nudge him with your shoulder, smiling as you return your attention towards Miguel, who's looking more tired than ever. “So far I've seen nothing but kindness from you.”

“Fuckin' hell.” He mutters under his breath, eyes refraining from looking into your own. “Go easy on me.” He holds onto his chest, head thumping on the wall.

You chuckle at his dramatics. “What does that mean?”

Before he could answer, Harry slides on the seat in front of you. “Hey, princess.” He says with the same demeanor he sported when he picked you from the curb.

“Hi, Harry.” You smile back at him as he side glances Hobie. He turns his back from you, still smiling.

“Princess?” Hobie says with an irked and disgusted tone. The interns turn to him, all sharing the same look that you're not privy to.

“It’s better than newbie, I guess. It's just a nickname.”

“...Sure.” Hobie eyes the lunch club, then over to the cameras with the same uneasy look.

“So, is everyone finally here?” Miguel gruffly days from the front. “I know you all want to go home, but today has been too busy to sneak this meeting in. So Jess and I will make this quick—”

“Holy shit, you two are dating!” Peter says from his seat, gasping in surprise.

“What, ew, no. I'm married, Parker.” Jessica shows her ring, rolling her eyes at Peter. “You knew that. You were at my wedding, idiot.”

“Right, I forgot.” He chuckles, scratching his head. Meanwhile Miguel is mouthing the word ‘ew’ with a questioning look.

“Anyway, Jess is here to talk to you about the company holiday party.” Miguel side steps and gives Jessica the floor.

“As always, I'm the unfortunate soul who has to organise it.” She sighs, “For the new employees, we always have a little party before the holiday break starts. There's gonna be a secret Santa, we'll pick names tomorrow since it's already late. And it'll be a potluck so I'll be assigning what you need to bring to prevent people from just bringing drinks.” She looks towards Lyla.

“That was one time! And everyone was well hydrated!” Lyla defends herself while Peter shakes his head. Jess calls out names and what they would bring.

Hobie snickers next to you, and you whisper to him. “What did you bring that year?”

“Punch.” He says with a chuckle. “There was a line in the loo the whole bloody time.”

“That's a terrible party.”

“We were all starvin’, in the end Miguel got us a dozen pizzas or else people would riot. Which ‘m not opposed to.”

“I would join in, honestly.” You tap his hand, and he returns the gesture with another tap on your pinky. Jessica calls your name, and you almost jump in your seat. “Y–Yes?”

“Do you mind bringing in some holiday cookies or cupcakes?”

“Oh, I don't mind. Are sugar cookies alright?” You unconsciously play with the frayed edges of your sleeve.

“Fine by me, just no nuts, Miguel's allergic.” Jessica continues to call out names and food while reading her list. “Hobie and Harry— H and H, can you two bring some drinks in?”

The two glance at each other pointedly. “Sure.” They both say with clenched teeth.

“Good,” she nods and closes her notes. “Oh and Y/N,” your heart stops. “Can you help me with the decorations on the day?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod enthusiastically, relieved that it wasn't a reprimand, making Hobie beam at you.

Unbeknownst to you, Gwen looks behind the rest and over to you just to give Hobie a teasing gaze. The cameras capture it all perfectly while Jess gives the floor back to Miguel.

“Right, thanks Jessica.” Everyone begins to stand up even before Miguel could even end his sentence. “We're not done yet,” he points at Hobie, and at first you thought he was pointing at you, making your eyes widen. “You wanted to say something quick, Hobie?”

The room groans in disappointment as they sit back down with a resounding squeak from the chairs.

“Right, the lot of you want to go home, I'll make this quick.” He stays standing up, casually speaking to the whole room with nonchalance that passes off as confidence. “There's a few of you ‘ere who haven't signed yet with the union. As your rep, I have to make sure that you all know that we exist.” His eyes glance over to Lyla, and everyone follows his line of sight.

“Don't look at me! I'm a union girlie but the big man says I can't explicitly say it.” She accusingly points at Miguel, and everyone turns to him.

“Not me, the other big man.” He sighs tiredly.

The scene shifts to him giving an interview near the elevators. “I’m vice president of the union. Everyone keeps forgetting that.” He says with disdain.

The clip comes back to the conference room in the present with everyone listening in on Hobie.

“—the new hires are ‘encouraged’—” he almost rolls his eyes at the company friendly word. “to join the union so you have protection jus’ like the rest of us, yeah?” Hobie clasps your shoulder, smiling at you. “That's it, the lot of you go home.” With Hobie's closing remarks, people leave their seats without another grumble.

“Wait— I haven't said anything yet—!” Miguel tries to say something but everyone leaves the conference room.

Hobie turns to you, hand cupping your elbow as he helps you off your seat. “That includes you, princess.” He says the nickname with a slight scoff.

“I didn't know you're our union rep.” You say as he guides you out of the room. “That's really cool.”

“I did it for the birds.” He walks backwards towards the mailroom to probably grab his things and to quickly rejoin you in the elevator.

“The birds?” You chortle out

Hobie bites his lip, hands placed inside his pockets as his back hits the wall. “The ladies.”

“Ah.” You nod with an amused smile. “Of course, that usually makes us all weak in the knees.”

“Right?” With a smirk, he turns back around to prevent himself from smacking to another wall or worse, a window.

“I thought it'll never end.” Harry appears next to you, already in his coat and messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, thanks for the sandwich again.” You smile as he shrugs.

“Just like I said, no problem. You need to remember to eat sometimes or you'll get sick. We can't afford to lose our best quality assurance agent, hm?” He nudges you, palm lingering on your bicep for a second longer.

“I'll remember next time, don't worry.” You give him a wobbly smile.

“D’you need a ride home?” He glances at the elevators. “I heard it's gonna rain again.”

You shake your head with a polite smile. “No need, I'll be fine. Thank you though.”

“Sure, take care.” With a grin and another pat on your shoulder, he leaves.

“Y–You too!” You call back, and he turns to you, giving you a two finger salute while walking away.

“Boo!”

“Fuck!” You shriek, hand on your chest while Lyla snorts next to you.

“Sorry, I didn't know you were such a scaredy cat.” She tilts her head playfully. “Anyway, how are you doing so far?”

“Uh, good.” You swallow down your thumping heart. “Workload is tough but I'll survive.”

She hums, nodding along. “Yeah, good. Also what do I hear about you and…” she pauses, looking around the near empty office, and you think she's gonna say Hobie as you bite down your anxiety. “Harry.”

“H–Harry?”

“Yeah, I heard from the interns that he gave you a ride home from the bar? Sounds serious and definitely something that the HR should know.” Lyla fist bumps your shoulder awkwardly. “Y’know, just in case there's a conflict with your relationship with him and work.” You try to get a word in but she continues. “I'm not against it, oh no not me, and he's kinda cute so good on you. I'm just warning you that you two need to tell me and sign a little something, something. Nothing major, just a contract telling us that your relationship won't hinder you from doing work and we're not liable for any heartbreak that could occur—” she grabs your elbow like she's already reassuring you for the inevitable. “— not like there would be any heartbreak in your future with him.” She chuckles a bit nervously.

“We're not together.” You say matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” she blows a raspberry. “Right, well, mystery solved!” With a pat on your arm, she leaves you be. “Have a good night!”

You huff, going back to your desk to retrieve your things and go towards the elevators only to find Hobie waiting there for you.

“Thought I lost you to the ghost janitor.” He smiles, leaning against the doors as he smirks at you.

You sigh while your hands grow clammy. “I'm not scared of that anymore— watch out!”

The elevator doors suddenly open and he falls right through it with a groan.

“‘m alright!”

—

A baseball hat is shoved right on top of your keyboard while you work on a spreadsheet. Your watery eyes gawk at the slips of paper all folded inside the hat. The scene reminds you of secret santas and white elephant parties back in school.

“It's not gonna pick itself.” Jessica leans against the table, neat brows raised up in question.

“Right, sorry, you just caught me off guard.” You chuckle nervously, intimidated by your boss as you dip your hand inside the hat. Feeling for a random one, you fish it out of the hat. You don't read it just yet.

“I see you're working hard.” She smiles, nodding at your screen. “Good job on the Metropolis report by the way, keep it up.”

A sigh escapes you as your eyes twinkle at Jessica. “T–Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“‘Course, just don't work too hard, you're making the rest of us look bad.” With a chuckle and a shake of the hat, she leaves. “Oh, wait.” Turning back around, you pause from unfolding the slip of paper. “Don't forget, we have a maximum price for the gift.”

“Okay, thanks for the reminder.” You awkwardly wave her off as her heels clack on the floor.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, eyes peeking over the cubicle dividers as he knocks rhymically, one that you're familiar with but can't quite put your finger on. “Who’d you get?”

“I don't think we're supposed to say.” You whisper back with an amused smile.

“I didn't take you for a rule follower, princess.” He smiles, now standing up to look at you fully. “Please?”

You shake your head with a quiet chuckle. “No.”

He sucks in his teeth, but his smile stays. “You're no fun.”

“I haven't even read it yet.” With a playful roll of your eyes, you unfurl the paper, expression suddenly falling flat as you read the big printed letters— Hobie Brown. “Oh.”

“Is that ‘oh’ good or not? Shit, did you get Miguel?”

His voice falls on deaf ears as you feel your nerves rushing in, blood filling your ears like you're about to skydive. It seems that Hobie has had that effect on you recently. With an exhale, you pocket the slip of paper inside your blazer pocket.

“I think it's the former.” You smile up at Harry, looking curiously at you. “I'm not gonna tell you my secret Santa, Harry.”

He dramatically deflates to show you his disappointment as you grin at him. “Fine, well I'm not going to show you mine.”

“I don't even want to know yours.”

“Ouch, okay, mean.” He holds his chest like he's been shot through the heart. “Oh, yeah, good on you with that report. You even got Jessica's approval.” With a thumbs up, he slowly slinks back to his seat.

“Thanks, Harry.” Your words waver as you take the paper from your pocket and read it again as if you hallucinated the name on it.

The familiar whirr of the camera lenses enter your space, zooming in on the print. You immediately turn towards it, glaring and frowning. “Really? Even that?”

Jericho the cameraman nods, giving you an apologetic tight lipped smile. You're starting to really hate cameras right now. If it didn't cost you your job, you would've yanked the microphone in your shirt already. But you've got a bigger problem— what to give Hobie that he will surely like.

[curly-fry-3]

Hey pookie I’m here to annoy you again😛 do you think you could write a dad!dean fic where his girls getting bullied at school and how he would react to that? No pressure at all!!🫶

𖦹Highschool Fucking Bullies𖦹

summary𖦹 Your dad finds you that you're being picked on at school

pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Daughter!Reader

word count𖦹 663

notes𖦹wait why am I low-key grinding right now. hope you love this pookie. I get made fun of at school pretty regularly but I haven't been like actually bullied since middle school so this was a blast to the past. also if you get the reference in the title I love you

Dean was waiting for you to get out of school, lazily scrolling on his phone in the car. He was starting to get impatient, you were taking longer than usual. He had noticed you had been acting a little off recently, trying to skip school or leave early. He was hoping you were just having mood swings or something but he knew the possibility of it being something worse.

He looks up from his phone and into the rearview mirror and spots you talking to some other kids. He furrows his brows in confusion, trying to get a better look at them. You only had a couple close friends and you've had them over at the bunker a handful of times. He remembers what your friends look like and these kids were not familiar. One thing he could recognize was the uncomfortable look on your face.

Dean could immediately tell that something was off. These other kids were laughing and you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else but there. You quickly turn towards him and put your head down, hiding your face as you walk to the car. You didn't move quick enough for him to miss your teary eyes and quivering lip. Oh, shit, these kids were picking on you.

Before Dean could think of what to do next, you were slamming the passenger door shut. He turned to you and was met with the back of your head as you sat silently staring out the window. 

He stayed parked and stared at you. He wanted to give you a chance to tell him before he would confront you. “How was your day?”

“Fine” you respond quietly

Dean taps his fingers on the wheel and waits to see if you'll say anything else “so…who were those kids”

You tense slightly “Just some friends”

He lets out a sigh “bullshit. Sweetheart, I have eyes, I could kinda tell what was going on”

You finally turn towards him, meeting his gaze with your tear stained face “is not that big of a deal”

His heart breaks when he sees your miserable expression “not that big of a deal? Sweetheart, they made you cry. Do you want me to go kick their asses, I would happily do it”

You shake your head “God, no. That's more embarrassing than anything they already pick on me for”

“They shouldn't be picking on you at all, what are they even saying?”He says, exasperated. 

You look down at your nads in your lap, lightly picking at your nails “I'm not the most normal kid. I have no mom, people think it's weird that I live with three grown men. They also noticed that you're not always around.”

Dean rolls his eyes “So they make fun of you because you don't have a traditional family? That's stupid, I thought that kids would be more accepting, it's 2025.”

You shrug “It's not like we live in california, people still suck”

“People do suck, and you shouldn't listen to them. Youre amazing, sweetheart, and anyone who thinks different can fucking fight me.” He replies passionately 

You chuckle lightly and look up at him in amusement.

He tilts his head downward till he can meet your gaze “I'm serious.”

You make eye contact and nod “I know you are. I usually don't get to me, I guess I was just already having a bad day.”

He reaches out, putting a hand on your shoulder “You shouldn't have to deal with it by yourself. This ever gets too much for you, you know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know. Can we just talk about something else, I don't wanna think about them right now” You respond

He grips you a little tighter “Promise that you'll come to me”

“I promise” You confirm

“Good” He lets go of you and turns back towards the wheel, starting the car and driving off, “Now, would you rather have Wing Stop or Crumbl?”

sorry for any typos

@areswasneverhere @mfstargirlsworld @childofjove