#sometimes it is vaguely on topic although still fucking stupid

[jakeperalta]

men in instagram comments will be like "is anyone going to take this random content of a woman doing literally anything and make it an opportunity to share my hatred of women" and not wait for an answer

[booksandpaperss]

A Look Inside Max Mayfield’s “last word” letters to the party: El

…

Hey El,

Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve written those two words. Too long, really.

How are you? Are you.. are you doing okay? I know that’s a silly question considering the shitty circumstances of this letter but I hope you are, you deserve every good thing that happens to you. Even if that was me… leaving. Or, pulling away, I guess.

This vecna asshole better leave you alone. Tell him he better not mess with you. It doesn’t matter that I probably won’t be here soon, he better leave you alone. I’ll make sure he does. Somehow.

Shit, I’m so fucking sorry for not writing to you. I miss you so much, you have no idea. And now you’re not even going to see this until after… well. I’m not stupid, I know you miss me too, or… at least that you care, even though I tried to convince myself you didn’t. I got your letters, I read all of them. You’re too good for me El, way more than you even know. I know we technically haven’t known each other for that long but, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. I really wish I did, honestly. My life is better with you in it… it still is.

Lucas and Dustin and Steve, they’re all set on saving me, but this vecna guy… he’s really strong. He’s like you, with powers, but like, way less awesome of a person. I don’t think I’m going to make it. Is it selfish of me to wish you weren’t in California? Just so I could see you before I.. go? I’m glad you’re safe though. I just miss you, is all.

I have a bit of a confession. Multiple confessions, technically. And since this is like… my dramatic last words or whatever I should probably tell you. You’re my best friend, so if anyone should know, it’s you.

I’ve never really felt totally in with the party, you know? It was nothing they did, they’re great, really, even Mike. Don’t tell him I said this but I kinda get why you like him, under all his shit, sometimes he’s kinda sweet. Seriously please don’t tell him I said that, if I actually manage to live he’d never let me hear the end of it. Not that… well if you’re reading this that means I wouldn’t really, well. Be here.

Anyway, I got off topic, it’s so easy to do with you though and I wish we could talk more, and I miss you so much and I but anyway my point was, Mike and Lucas and Dustin and Will, they’ve all known each other for so long. They’re all so close and I’m just… I’m just here yknow? I’m just me.

But then I met you. Like, really met you. And I don’t mean when I just vaguely heard about you from Lucas and Dustin who talked about you like you were some otherworldly mystical sorcerer, and then saw you once right before you had to go off again to close a massive supernatural gate. I mean when I met you. And really… you were “just you” too. Just like me.

And El, you is so much. I don’t mean your powers, I just mean you, who you are. You got me, in a way no one else has, not even Lucas sometimes and that’s what and you didnt even have to say it, you just understood. We’re both outsiders, even with the party sometimes, but… never with each other.

El, you’re so fucking special to me. I hope you know that. Please know that. You’re more than your powers, than what you can do for other people, you’re just… so amazing, and supportive, and kind, and beautiful just as you.

Although, I guess if you’re reading this that means I’m not here so… you deserve to know. I think you’re beautiful, El. This is going to sound so cheesy but I really think you’re so beautiful, inside and out. Even when I’m not here, you can’t let anyone make you think otherwise okay? I know you won’t, you’re strong, without anyone else.

I wish I could say more but if I let this keep going I’ll be here all day, and I won’t get to our other friends letters, and then of course Mike would whine to you and Will about it, so I gotta save you guys from that. You’re just… I feel safe with you. Talking with you. Even if you’re not really here.

I’m sorry El. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll try to fight him okay? I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t, because you don’t deserve this shitty letter as my last words to you. You don’t deserve any of this. Or me. I’m sorry.

Love,

Max

[fictionalurl]

reproduced here is the "review" of gideon the ninth that I wrote on my phone one night, with zero editing:

you know what I think is actually most striking about gtn? it's that it's impossible to succinctly describe, but only due to a lack of terminology, and not at all because it's difficult to grok. it should be very easy to describe, but we just don't have the norms that novels are any of the things that it is.

because like. sometimes you hear people say lesbian space necromancers, or scifi, which is just spectacularly misleading, because:

 - not a lesbian story, given that there's no romance. there are a vast quantity of truly unhinged forms of interpersonal relationship in this thing, and not a single one would be summarized as "a romance." asterisk, the few that might show up for like twelve seconds as background for unhinged bullshit. yes many of the important characters are she/her, and yes they have interpersonal relationships, but it's not what you'd think of if you were just like wlw rep yes good, love story.

 - not a space story. sure it's not set on earth, but neither is lord of the rings. yes a shuttle is involved in passing occasionally, but star wars this is extremely not. and it's not like we're on a planet full of inhuman aliens.

 - not what you probably think of when you hear "necromancy." funnily enough I think either direction one would guess they'd be off in is also wrong.

 - not really what you probably think of when you hear sci-fi... although this one's weaker; I do think some plausible guesses at what "sci-fi necromancy" would describe come sort of close to what we're talking about here. still, though. there's a real mundanity to the elements that are in focus, which I think goes against the vibe you imagine for sci-fi. 

okay, complete change of topic, this is stream of consciousness and I do what I want: when you imagine scifi do you imagine doctor who? I don't; nothing like it. but that's an interesting comparison. many who episodes have the fantastical elements flying around in the periphery just to make shit happen, while the camera is actually focused on something that's actually very true to life, where the people in the thick of it feel much like the real people you actually know just making the best of an absurd situation, whether they're canonically humans from the normal timestream getting isekai'd into time lord bullshit world or are purple headed whatever aliens. you aren't getting transported to a galaxy far, far away; it's this one, is the point, both canonically and in how the show is supposed to feel.

and that's the funny thing about it. if you think too hard about what the main gtn characters' backstories should make them think like and behave like, what you come to is something incomprehensible to the reader. but the book doesn't care about that kind of realism; it cares about fidelity. the distinctions that make the gtn characters so impactful are visceral because they're on top of a base layer of "these could plausibly have been regular people if it wasn't for *gestures vaguely*." they're pre-isekaied. does that make sense in canon? no, but who fucking cares, says the book; get a load of this shit! it's a good bit of sleight of hand. it's like if bbc sherlock had the exact opposite of its obsession with its own intelligence. no, this book says, obviously this is both cool and stupid; do you see how cool and how stupid it is, keep looking at it while I tie some critical knots here, here and here. my rube goldberg machine works exactly well enough to hit you with a chair if I cheat. but  that was the point of this exercise, anyway; why optimize for anything else? we want payoff; let's start paying shit off. yes there are subtle clues all over the place that do things later, but the point is to do things with them. it's the opposite of hard scifi in the literal sense, but in the metaphorical sense that adjective is pointing in the wrong direction; it's "softer" scifi because it is swinging as hard as is humanly possible.

which leads to the one thing I though was weak about the whole endeavor, of course: there are a few parts of the book that are set up a little too much like it actually is a mystery in genre, and they mostly don't really go anywhere. I think that's fine, ultimately (you can't just escalate all the time; there would be nothing to contrast it with), but I've always felt that the slight of hand around those would be slightly better in a perfect world. the way I put it when I first read it was that it felt like a debut novel, like if it'd been the second go around some incidental bits could have had additional trickery added to them. but I'd much rather have the full force of ambition than any less than that, because in the end we read these things for the good bits, y'know? and that book does quite the unparalleled job setting them up and knocking them down. check out what I can do, it says, and does that.

what genre is that? eh, I dunno. but there's an energy to it, a visceralness, that if we had words to categorize would serve as a much better indicator of whether it's the kind of book you're looking for or not than whether it's, you know, about swordfigting (yes!) or beautiful women (I would argue pretty much exclusively no!). more than anything, I guess, its a book about performatively not giving a shit and then giving it all. also bones. there are rather a lot of bones. you could call the genre "bones moving much more quickly than you would think bones ought, and only having a vague idea why." does that answer your unasked question at all? no? I thought not.

[aforrestofstuff]

Been a hot minute since I did one of these. A good friend of mine gave me a suggestion on my discord:

So yeah this required a lot of research because I only eat like 3 things lol. Obligatory crack warning.

Tornado of Terror: Ice cream because A: it’s good practice for her esper powers to control a semi-liquidous substance and B: her constant rage has actually raised her default body temperature an additional ten degrees, so eating ice cream is a good way to cool off. 

Silverfang: Oatmeal raisin cookies because he’s an old fuck. He likes chewy things because his teeth are held together by sheer force of will but also indulges in that extra crunch of the oatmeal to remind everyone in the old folk’s home just who the fuck they’re messing with. 

Atomic Samurai: Any dessert-flavored cocktail that is made up of around 90% alcohol and 5% violence. 

Child Emperor: Kid eats sweets for breakfast lunch and dinner, dessert to him would probably be a head of broccoli drizzled with a light yet flavorful dressing. Either that or milkshakes, because I get the feeling he doesn’t get to enjoy them too often... and of course they remind him of the good times with Zombieman. 

Metal Knight: Only eats pre-packaged nutrient bricks and has not tasted anything sweet nor enjoyed a food morsel in at least 17 years. 

King: I headcanon King as a huge momma’s boy who doesn’t get to eat a lot of homemade food because he fucking sucks at cooking and makes enough money to eat out all the time anyway, so his favorite dessert would probably be every and any home-cooked treat his mom makes for him. 

Zombieman: I’ll be honest, I thought this dude hated sweet things but after reading that manga extra of him drinking sugar with a side of coffee, my opinion has switched. His favorite dessert would probably be something extremely decadent and sweet, like one of those 1000-calorie Dairy Queen sundae-shakes jam packed with chocolate and cookie crumbs. Or an entire fucking lava cake because this dude’s metabolism is faster than the speed of light and he’d probably stomach something like that just to see if he can, since apparently he’s all about breaking his own limiters. A friend of mine once ate three-dozen pot brownies in one sitting while speedrunning Mario 64 and I think Zombieman would be able to do that without the aid of the munchies. I know Zman internally insulted Pig God one time for well, eating like a pig but give the dude some alone time and an all you can eat buffet of sweets and he’d find himself in the same situation. 

Drive Knight: Does not have a favorite food in general due to this motherfucker not installing tastebuds on account of them not being necessary to commit all degrees of murder. 

Pig God: Oh my god. More like what isn’t this dude’s favorite dessert? Pig God has lost the ability to dislike anything he puts in his mouth because eating has pretty much become his main source of income, so it’s safe to say that if he can swallow it, it’s his favorite food. That includes desserts, but I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t partial to pudding. Just pudding. Bread pudding, chocolate pudding, strawberry pudding. Pudding. 

Superalloy Darkshine: I’ve said this before but my boy Darkshine only eats the most obnoxiously healthy foods out there, sometimes over health-ifying those foods himself in his kitchen/protein meth lab. His favorite dessert would probably be one of those ancient bread seed logs and only because he’s allowed to put .2 ounces of stevia in it.  Either that or literally just any fruit ever.

Watchdog Man: Those pumpkin-flavored dog treats because my man gets paid 2 cents an hour at the Hero Association and the poor mf in charge of payroll has forgotten he exists so he’s grown accustomed to eating only the dog-related foods people leave to him as offerings on his weird pedestal thing in City Q. 

Flashy Flash: Doesn’t really have an affinity for sweet things on account of how fucking awful life in the Ninja Village was. He never got the opportunity to develop a sweet tooth because of all the basic ass food he’d be eating. Almost all desserts listed here would give him a heart attack, like making a Victorian era child drink McDonald’s sprite. It will not sit right with his spirit. His favorite dessert would he any vaguely sweet fruit with wine, or a coffee that is 90% creamer.

Genos: Something in my spirit is telling me he’d enjoy anything strawberry-related, although Saitama doesn’t like them. This leads to them falling out while a shortcake bakes in the background. Im kidding, obviously. But seeing as how ONE has a very “go stupid aaaaaaaa” attitude towards writing, it would be a very tame end to their relationship (assuming there’s gonna be an end) compared to all the other shitdick stuff happening in this series. Zombieman’s ass has been out for like 8 chapters, you can’t tell me shit.

Metal Bat: Kiddo snorts protein powder for breakfast, probably. He’s ripped as hell and his diet reflects that sorta, with a hint of seventeen year-old craziness thrown in there. Bitch eats like a violent stoner sometimes because he knows his metabolism can handle it and he won’t die from food poisoning nor food coma. However, his favorite dessert would be creme brûlée because it’s the only food you’re required to beat the shit out of before eating, and we all know he loves bonking stuff.

Tanktop Master: Over health-ifys shit like Darkshine, just to a lesser degree. However I also HC him as a huge momma’s boy, and if said mother is supportive in his endeavors to become the world’s swolest man, she’d definitely make him something both sweet and healthy. However, I’d doubt he care about slipping up on his diet every once and a while. He’d probably enjoy a soft serve here and there.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: his palate is very limited on account of being in literal prison. However, he doesn’t really hate it there for some reason, and I’ve even stated in a previous hc that he sometimes gets specialized meals in the cafeteria due to his status as a hero. His favorite dessert would probably be whatever chocolate-flavored sweet brick they can shit out. Like, motherfuckers get really creative with their ingredients while locked up and there’s a bomb ass recipe for chocolate cake floating around that I’ve tried and can confirm it’s 10/10 not bad. I’m getting off-topic. His favorite dessert is whatever asshole he’ll be eating out of that night.

Saitama: Even though he’s poorer than.... fuck, I don’t know. He’s broke but he still indulges in the prestige shit here and there. He’s got a massive sweet tooth even though he’s ripped as hell, hence why he eats so much fruit because it’s the only sweet thing he can afford to ingest without losing his gains. His favorite dessert would be anything banana-related, but nothing as decadent as say, dark chocolate. Probably banana foster waffles. I don’t know why that popped into my head, I just know Saitama would like them.

Garou: motherfucker could shit on a rock with sprinkles on it and call it dessert. His favorite, though? Sweet, sweet victory. And candy bars.

[sloppy-butcher]

Dare You

The Legion (Joey) x Survivor!Reader

//edit// this was orginally an ask from, if i remember correctly, Apex-star requesting something like,

"Joey's first encounter with his furture survivor S/O"

but being the complete fool i am i lost the ask and am left with only the answer and a vague memory of it. i am very professional. //

so i kinda turned this into a lil fic thing. a crack-fic if i may be so bold. i also moved this to do it first cause i’m sad and i wanted to write this.

joey gang rise up

TW: none

Eternal damnation gets boring after a while. Torture becomes mundane and the hollowed promises of death ebb-off into incoherent background noise. Seeking some new excitement you and a couple of other survivors devise a new game. A game of chicken.

Working away on yet another generator, you find yourself in the company of Meg and Dwight. Meg was notorious for giving the most difficult and challenging dares while poor Dwight was always the sore receiver. You found yourself already sending prayers for the shy man, hoping that Meg would find it in her heart to be somewhat merciful on Dwight. However, when Meg’s eyes turned to you, you suddenly wished you had kept those prayers for yourself.

“Hey~” Meg’s voice, although a breathy whisper, was bursting with giddiness and sly cunning. Oh she had something evil hidden up her sleeve. “Remember when we had that conversation a while ago. About who had the best ass to slap?” Images of past campfire banters flash through your mind until finally landing on the one Meg was referring to. Discussing the asses of the killers was a fine topic, raising spirits and getting everyone engaged as they defending their choices. Nea proclaiming that the new killer, Pyramid head, had the fattest ass she had ever seen. Ace objecting, standing up and defending The Trapper - a.k.a the OG thick brick (his words not yours). Bill and Tapp, not really understanding the concept of ass-slapping, both agreeing that The Clown, although rightfully disgusting, was the winning contender in the ‘junk in the truck’ department. Everyone quickly disagreed with their outrageous statement. When the flow of conversation turned to you, you blurted out the only ass that came to mind.

Reality hit you like a freight train, nearly making you short-circuit the generator. Meg’s grin widened. “Well, my friend. Now’s your chance.” As if on que, a killer appeared in the distance. A young man dressed in all black and painted in white approached the gen, knife in hand and murder on his mind. The Legion. The very killer you had brought up in the ass competition. “You know the rules,” Meg warned releasing her hands from her work and preparing to run, “No chickening out.” And with that she fled, Dwight not far behind her. Now you were left alone with no one but yourself and the man intent on killing you.

It wasn’t much of a chase. You were preoccupied, your mind unfocused and elsewhere. How were you going to smack his ass? Try run past him? Maybe sneak up from behind? Nothing ultimately mattered because before too long you were downed, groaning from your wounds. The Legion easily lumped you onto his shoulder and suddenly your opportunity presented itself. Looking down you saw the curvature of his butt and, raising a hand, you smacked it hard. 

In the most unexpected turn of events, The Legion dropped you with a surprised yelp. Landing on your feet you wasted no time in running away, leaving the scene of your crime. Joey stood there for a moment, a hand unconsciously sliding to where he got slapped. What the fuck had just happened? Not only had he been violated in such a childish and undignified manner, but he also lost his kill. Never before had he been touched this way both outside the Fog and in. Even though he was initially shocked, outraged even, at your actions Joey couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of respect blossom in his mind. You had guts kid, he’ll give you that. 

The trial continued on with no more altercations save for the fact that Joey avoided you like the plague. If he would catch you working on a gen he’d pretend to look away. If he found you healing a teammate he would ignore you and tunnel the other. In the end, with both exits powered and most survivors alive and waiting, Joey had to accept defeat. Meg however was still injured and tried desperately to make a wild dash for safety. The Legion, hot on her heels, knocked her to the floor and graciously took her as his only kill of the game. In his desperation to not return empty handed, Joey failed to notice a small figure darted behind him. Once Meg rested on his shoulder Joey turned to a hook. His victory was short-lived however, as a hand came into contact with his ass yet again. A loud and good whack echoed through the arena, with Meg gratefully jumping to her feet and speeding off. 

With your friends all safe, you follow her to the exit where you see her and the others off. A heartbeat throbs behind you. Swallowing your fear you turn to see a fuming Legion. His fists were clenched, shoulders shaking from pure rage and annoyance and although he wanted to attack you, he kept his respectful distance.

“You can’t do that!” A gruff voice shouted. Blinking the confusion out of your eyes you realize that it was the killer who spoke. His voice was equally fueled with anger as his posture but there was something else to it - maybe disgust? Or maybe he was impressed?  

“There’s no rule against it.” You retort, finding the whole situation too wild and bizarre to be real. Perhaps you were dreaming this. The Legion shook his head.

“No way. You can’t just slap my ass like that! It’s wrong!” You found his reasoning ironic. Raising an eyebrow you fully turn your attention to the killer.

“Oh yeah? Like you have the authority to tell me what is right and wrong?” Joey couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You were so cocky, leaning on one leg with your arms crossed defiantly over your chest. You were a character, playful and teasing and Joey realized that he liked it. When you spoke you produced a smile, a face etched into the blank-slate he had hidden you under. No more a soulless vessel but now a person. You were a person to him. One who looked like trouble and fun. 

The tension drained from his shoulders as he finally allowed himself to accept the growing feeling in his chest. “Alright.” He calmly spoke, his voice now smooth like sweet butter, slippery and drowning. “But at least take me on a date first.” No reason to hide it anymore, the cat was out of the bag. He wanted to see you more. 

“I’ll consider it,” was your reply before you slipped past the boundary and to the campfire. To think this all stemmed from some stupid dare. First you had stunned the killer, then he spoke to you AND then he asked you see you sometime. It was all too wild to believe. But as you walked away you couldn't help but cup your right hand, fingers tracing the soft parts of your palm. He really did have a nice ass though. 

[consultingsister-aa]

Seb and Cee for the ship thing!

A SHIPPY THING ... ACCEPTING 

1) did your muse fall in love with mine quickly, or was it a long process? Early on in the dating process, Cee knew she wanted to be with Seb for a while. She possibly thought she was in love before she actually was, but the more Seb opened up, the more she loved him.  2) have they ever asked my muse to dance? do they even dance with my muse at all? Only every single day of her life.   3) are they the type to steal food from my muse’s plate? Cee will usually steal chips from Seb, a classic theft. Only he has started combating this by order her fries even when she doesn’t want them. She continues to steal from him however; they taste better when they’re off his plate.  4) does your muse ever cook for mine? if so, is it good – or does it suck ass? No. Staight up no. She tried once because Seb cooks a lot and she wanted to thank him but it was terrible. They both tried to tough it out but Seb couldn’t manage a third mouthful and Celia had to spit it into the sink. She is the wine tester most evenings.  5) what’s something they do when my muse is down? It depends on how Seb is down. Usually, he’ll pick a fight. Cee tries her best not to engage with it, but sometimes she wants a fight too and then it’s a three hour yelling match. They’re cruel but it gets out the frustration. If it’s more of a blue mood than a fighty mood, beers in front of the telly, a hand in his hair, a quiet nudge to talk about if he wants to. Just be with him as he rides it out.  6) what’s a topic they’re scared of talking about with my muse? For a long time, it’s family and the past to a certain extent. Things are kept vague; need to know. After Jim comes along and fucks it up though, they sort of realise there does need to be a basic level of understanding and honesty if they don’t want to die. Only takes them five years.  7) are they the type who’s affectionate? if so - how do they show their affection? if not, is there a reason they’re not affectionate? When drunk especially, Celia will cling to Seb and tell him over and over how much she loves him, how pretty he is, how nice his hair is. They’re not super into PDA, an arm around the shoulder usually keeps them bot happy.  8) are they the type to go on dates? if so, to where? Cee likes dates. She likes fake dates too. Pretending not to know each other in a bar? Very hot. It’s like cheating but you’re cheating on your husband with your husband. Bar dates and dinner dates are fun and she’s not against a good old fashioned movie but she likes dumb kid dates too; laser tag, paint ball, crazy golf. She knows how to keep things dumb and fun.  9) would they stay in bed with mine all day? if so, doing what? Sex, movies, talking. If she can get a good long day in bed at least twice a month, she’s pretty happy. Usually it’s after one of them have been on a work trip for a while. Phones off, lights low, just them.  10) what’s a typical night between our muses look like? Cee has a pretty strict no phones or laptops at the dinner table rule, mostly for herself or she’ll never stop. So Seb will cook, she’ll sit on the counter, drink and gossip, then they sit down to have dinner. Often they’ll go off to do some more work, or maybe Seb will head out for a job or to plan a job. If he’s out, Cee will work in front of the TV until about eleven, although won’t sleep until he gets home. It’s a bad habit. If he’s not out, she’ll still go to bed about eleven but she can sleep if he’s there.  11) do they read together? if so, what? Not really, sometimes Cee will read out passages of the book she’s reading if she think Seb will like it or find it funny. However their genres don’t really cross because Cee has little to no interest in Russian sci-fi.  12) who washes the other’s hair in the shower? Not in the shower but Seb washes Cee’s hair in the bath. It sort of started as a bit of a joke, like Cee leaning back and demanding he wahes her hair, him saying no, it becoming a THING but over time it’s just something he does now, without really being asked; it runs shivers down Cee’s spine and she loves it.  13) who is the driver? or do they switch places? or do none of them drive? Usually Seb, although they don’t drive that much.  14) who likes to smack who’s ass for no reason other than laughs? or are they both well-behaved? Both. It can sometimes become a thing of who can slap the other harder but then Seb does it too hard and Cee gets upset and he has to be very sorry.  15) do they like movies? if so what movies would they watch with mine? Cee watches a lot of classic black and white films, although often ones than she’s already seen so she doesn’t really watch them, she likes them on a back ground noise. They tried to keep up a movie night where they weren’t allowed to check their phones and they would watch all the Best Film Oscar nominations but they kept getting fidgety or falling asleep.  16) do they communicate their problems or are they the type to hold everything in until someone becomes upset? Seb and Cee communicating issues of a pretty major issue in their relationship. Seb will just start fights instead of telling her he’s not doing great and Cee tends to keep it inside and taking it out on him with snarky little remarks. She reads a lot of self-help books on how to have good communications in a marriage but it’s not much use. 17) do you see them as the marrying type? It takes killing a guy but sure. And as much as Celia likes to tell Seb she’s going to divorce him, it’s not happened yet. Actually, she’s a big fan of being married to Seb.  18) if they had kids, who would be the fun parent? Probably Seb. But the danger is that they’re both the fun parent and there are no rules, which is why they don’t have kids. Instead, they are the fun uncle and aunt and that works for them.  19) do they get along with my muse’s parents? Cee did get along with Kat until she told Seb to kill her rabbit over his stupid name. She likes Thomas just fine. 

[cinnaminsvga]

La Douleur Exquise Pt 6 | Incubus!Yoongi AU

➵ summary: in which you accidentally summon an incubus in the middle of your shitty apartment and he won’t leave until you agree to have sex with him. until then, min yoongi, incubus extraordinaire, is now your sexually promiscuous and grumpy roommate. aka, the incubus au no one fucking asked for. ➵ warnings: some blood/gore but no actual violence ➵ genre: angst, humor adjacent ➵ words: 8.2K ➵ a/n: HAPPY 6TH ANNIVERSARY BANGTAN!! zee?? writing lde?? sometimes miracles do happen 😌🤟(one more chapter to go let’s get it)

➵  part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7

The sound of birds chirping outside your window are what rouses you from your slumber. You don’t quite remember falling asleep, but you do recall the events of last night despite the fog currently residing in your sleep-addled brain. With your eyes still closed, you hesitantly pat the empty space beside you––a pillow meets your palm instead of the warm body you had foolishly hoped would still find there. You clench your fist around the offending fabric, incredibly saddened by its coldness.

Even though you had expected it, you can’t help but be heartbroken to discover that Yoongi has long since gone. He must have left sometime in the night, maybe even minutes after your breathing had settled for sleep. Despite the ache that you feel, you know that it is for the best that he had left sooner than later. After all, his safety and happiness are what matter in the end, and you are assured that after fulfilling his end of the bargain, he is now free of his contract––

––and free to seek other people to make him happier than you ever could.

There is a bitterness on your tongue that you can’t quite remove, even after you had brushed your teeth for the third time. When you head to class that morning, you know that the bitterness has nothing to do with your dental hygiene.

Your professor drones on about a topic you had long since lost interest in, his sonorous voice filling the large auditorium and lulling his students to sleep. Your pen scratches indecipherable phrases on your notebook, neither taking notes nor writing anything in particular. Occasionally, something that looks awfully a lot like “Yoongi” finds its way into your scribbles, but no one is watching hard enough to verify if this is true.

No one ever needs to know, anyway.

There are only ten minutes left before the lecture ends, and you already have half a mind to start packing up when a knock is heard from the front of the hall. Your elderly professor stops, mid-phrase, hands still up in the air in the middle of wildly gesticulating about some obscure ancient scientist. Everyone’s heads turn to watch as your professor starts mumbling profanity under his breath, probably unaware that his mic was still on. He slams open the door, ready to give the poor student who decided to arrive just before the class was about to end when the intruder pops his head in, ignoring your professor entirely.

The bespectacled young boy glances around the auditorium, scanning the room until they land plainly on you. You squint back; why do his dimples look incredibly familiar?

“Y/N? I need to speak with you right now,” the boy says, before slinking out of the room just as quickly as he had entered.

Everyone switches their attention to you, your mouth agape in confusion. Who was that boy? You are sure you had never met him before, so perhaps he was just a messenger from someone else? Were you in trouble? Was someone hurt? (You hate that your stupid brain immediately goes to an image of an injured Yoongi, but it’s ridiculous to think that, right? After all, no one else knows about him existing in the first place.)

It feels like an eternity by the time you had stuffed all your things into your backpack and made your way outside the lecture hall. You pointedly disregard the stares of your professor and classmates as you quietly close the door. You feel like you should apologize, but you’re sure a remorsefully worded e-mail at the end of the day should suffice.

Exiting the lecture hall, you find that the boy is no longer in the hallway. Instead, a gentleman in a nice crisp suit wearing the same glasses as the young boy stands there, waiting patiently for you. The dimples make a lot more sense now.

Your eyes widen in recognition. “Namjoon?” you ask, confused. Your gaze darts all around the hallway, afraid that someone will catch you speaking with the right-hand man of Satan himself. Although, he does look fairly human, so you suppose everyone would be none the wiser anyway.

Namjoon seems to have caught on to your apprehension. “Sorry for pulling you out of class. And don’t worry, no one will disturb us. We need to hurry now, actually.” His voice sounds controlled and collected, but his body language said otherwise. His hands are picking at his pant seams like they’re unsure of what to do, and there are droplets of sweat dripping down the sides of his temples. He appears as if he had rushed all the way here, even though you know he could have easily transported himself.

“Why? Is something wrong? Is Yoongi okay?” The words slip out of your mouth easily, the worry that had unknowingly been building up in your system suddenly bursting at the sight of his boss. You are not stupid enough to hope that Namjoon’s reappearance was just a matter of simply catching up with the powerful demon.

Namjoon’s lips purse uncomfortably, his figure hunched like he’s holding up an invisible weight on his shoulders. He starts walking out of the building, and you instantly hurry to follow after him. “He’s not dead, but I need you to come with me right now. His trial is about to start, and we need you to stand as his witness.”

Not dead. The “yet” hangs in the air, waiting for its turn.

You try to swallow down the fear, but all the saliva in your mouth has dried up and you find yourself shaking a little. The anxiety builds up to its climax as an image of Yoongi being punished and tortured fills your mind’s eye. It isn’t possible for that to happen, right? Everything should have been sorted out the moment you had sex with one another. That had been the whole point of baring yourself to him––what else could you have done? An echo of his words from that argument you had days ago suddenly flits through your head, and you remember him saying something about sabotaging his mission.

Sabotage… what on earth would cause them to accuse him of sabotage? Why would he purposefully botch his mission? Unless...

You remember the way he had run away the moment you told him you wanted him. You remember how hard he had tried to stay away, right up until the moment you had pretended to be at the edge of danger. He had risked safety for you, you realize. He had risked a lot of things, that night. All because he lo––

You shake your head of those thoughts. No––it’s too dangerous to even think about. If what you’re thinking is correct, then you can’t allow anyone to know about it. Not even Namjoon, despite his obvious care for Yoongi.

“The trial… It should be fine, right? He fulfilled his contract with me, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, but…” Namjoon hesitates, scratching the back of his head as if he isn’t sure on what to say. His trepidation only causes your own to increase tenfold, and you have to stop yourself from grabbing the man by the lapels to demand him to tell you everything he knows.

“Well? Spit it out!”

“I… think it’s better for you to see for yourself. Hurry, take my hand. We might not have much time.”

Just as he is about to place his hand in yours, a flash of light from out of nowhere blinds you momentarily. You yelp, shielding yourself against the dazzling gleam. Beside you, you vaguely register Namjoon crying out as well. The light dissipates, and once the stars have left your vision, you find that the angel who had been supposedly “protecting” you has suddenly manifested by your side.

Seokjin wraps a protective arm around you, and in your dazed state, you are frozen under his hold. When you squint to look at him properly, you are surprised to find that his gaze is cold and unwelcoming––entirely different from the easy-going and senseless demeanor that he usually has. Coupled with the fact that Namjoon is wincing at his brother’s arrival, everything that has happened from the last ten minutes has given you a serious migraine.

“Namjoon-ah, I am not allowing you to bring my charge to hell.” Seokjin cocks a hip, tilting his nose up at his brother. Namjoon snorts at his dramatics, as always.

“I was unable to interfere when she was still bound by your people’s contract, but that is no longer the case. She is staying here, where she belongs,” Seokjin announces, his tone edged with finality. It allows you to snap out of your trance just enough to squirm under his weight.

“Seokjin, let me go!” Despite his lanky body, his grasp on you was stronger than you expected. It is only when he notices that you are having trouble maneuvering yourself in an upright position does he loosen his hold, if only slightly. He still keeps a firm hand on yours, unwilling for you to touch Namjoon in any way.

“Y/N, don’t argue with me on this. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he says, forcing you to make eye contact with him. Petulantly, you slant your gaze towards Namjoon instead, who is looking more and more anxious by the second. He fretfully looks at the watch on his wrist, and you know that there must not be a lot of time left to lose. For all you know, Yoongi could be sentenced to whatever punishment they dole out to demons in hell. What types of punishment do the citizens of hell give to their own kind, you wonder? Nothing you would like Yoongi to experience, no doubt.

“Hyung, I won’t allow any harm to befall Y/N. I swear on my own blood,” Namjoon says, taking the courage to step tentatively towards Seokjin. In an instant, Seokjin releases his brilliant light once more, and while it only blinded you momentarily, it seems to be agonizing for Namjoon, who lets out another blood-curdling scream. You paw at Seokjin’s arm blindly, begging him to stop.

“Seokjin! Please let me go! I need to save Yoongi,” you cry out, tears from both the pain of his angelic light and worry for your beloved incubi start to flow down your cheeks. Hearing your anguished tone, Seokjin stops, wiping your tears away with concern.

“Oh, I forgot. My holy light must hurt you slightly because you had intercourse with that wretched demon,” he mutters, caressing your face gently. It takes seconds for his touch to sooth the pain under your eyelids. Blinking rapidly and squinting around at your surroundings, you are surprised that Namjoon had mysteriously disappeared.

“Wait, where’s Namjoon––” you start, but the angel starts pulling you away, deaf to your loud protests. Students from the previous class start piling out of the lecture hall, but none of them seem to notice that there was a suspiciously handsome and tall man with an unearthly glow around his body. When the two you reach the outside of the building, he finally lets you wrench yourself out of his hold.

“Didn’t I fucking tell you to stop interfering? Of all the times you could have butted in, why must you be a hindrance at the exact moment I did not need you?” You seethe, jabbing a finger at his chest. His face hardens, and if your insides had not been coiling with worry and anger, you might have flinched under his judgment.

“This isn’t like the other times, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re going to get yourself into. Going to hell isn’t just like walking inside your local supermarket,” he says, voice dark. He heaves a sigh, collecting himself as he tries to explain the danger you’d be putting yourself in. “Hell… Isn’t for people like you, Y/N. I was basically born to protect you from ever setting foot in that place, do you understand? Being locked in that covenant with Yoongi was bad enough––why must you constantly put yourself in danger for him?”

Of course you know the reason. Hell, Seokjin probably knows the reason as well. The pain of the words that you cannot speak are lodged inside your throat, suffocating you with the truth of why you cared so much for him.

Yoongi was supposed to just be a demon––a demon you had no intention of ever worrying for. He was never supposed to be an important person in your life. He was never supposed to take so much damn space in your heart.

But most of all, he was never supposed to have been yours to call your own.

“Tell me this, then,” you whisper, lips wobbling already. You might have imagined it, but Seokjin’s stare softens, if only infinitesimally. “Remember when you said you couldn’t deal with my internal problems? Well, Yoongi is my problem now. He’s been my problem for a long time now,” you finish, breathing shallow as the weight of your confession lies heavily in your stomach.

Seokjin stands still as he appraises you, his lips pursing but giving nothing away as you wait for him to say something. When you feel like the silence has stretched on long enough, you give him one last pleading look.

“Please. I’ll stay away from all things damned after this. Just… let me save him, and I’ll do whatever you say.” You ignore the way your voice breaks at the end, and you ignore the way your eyes burn as more tears already start to well up.

There isn’t any reason for Seokjin to agree with you. After all, he is only doing his job, and despite what you might think of the angel, he is only doing what he thinks is best for you. You are at his complete mercy, and the realization hits you like freight train––he’ll never let you save Yoongi. Your beloved is out there, left under the judgment of his peers for a crime that he did not commit alone. Your own guilt consumes you, but there is nothing you can do.

Except.

Except Seokjin’s face has softened. His lips have unpursed, and there is a glint of something residing in his eyes that you immediately latch onto, hope surging through your veins. You clasp his hands, squeezing it so you can show just how much it would mean to you, if he would just let you go.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. A lifetime. His irises jump as he calculates the odds of you getting hurt. Of him getting in trouble. You dare not breathe, not even for a moment.

And then, his warm hands squeeze back. He groans loudly, tipping his head forward as if in prayer. For all you know, he could very well be apologizing to his Boss already.

“Fine. Let’s go. But I’m coming with you,” Seokjin murmurs, a defeated look on his face. Somewhere along the annoyed lines along his brow, you can see a speck of endearment floating there. You send him a wry smile, nodding in agreement.

“Thank you. I owe you one,” you whisper. He just snorts, rolling his eyes with a grimace.

“Oh, you owe me more than you can imagine. Well, let’s get going then before that stupid incubus gets his ass served,” Seokjin says. He grasps your hand in his, but pauses just as he’s about to transport the two of you. “I forgot. We have to find Namjoon first. I might have accidentally banished him to a parallel dimension a while ago, and I don’t know where the trial is being held, so…”

You give him an exasperated glare. “That’s a bit extra, isn’t it? He hadn’t even been hurting me when you got here!”

“Yeah, but. He’s annoying and he’s my brother. Sue me,” he smirks, and the two of you disappear from your university, as if you had never been there at all.

xxx

After you had located Namjoon floating around in a dimension comprised completely only with lesbians (“Wow, hyung. You really shouldn’t even have bothered picking me up––it’s wonderful here!” he exclaims, before promptly being whacked in the head by Seokjin), the three of you finally make your way to hell.

When you had agreed to coming there, you did not know what exactly to expect. All the imagery you had of hell were from shitty teen angst tv shows and paintings made by horny Italian dudes. You could have at least expected some hellfire, right? Maybe some demons fucking in a corner? Or perhaps there would be some screaming mortals begging for salvation?

You really had not been expecting a dull office building with interns scuttling around cubicles and a broken water cooler beside a wilted potted plant. Well, maybe you expected the wilted potted plant, but everything else?

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” you question, staring incredulously as a (hu?)man in chunky black glasses clacked monotonously on a keyboard. When you try to take a peek at what he was typing, you are surprised to see that he is actually playing a video game with the volume turned down. “These people look to be very… human, if I do say so myself.”

“What?” Seokjin scoffs, pulling you along despite wanting to observe the office workers a little bit longer. Namjoon has already walked ahead of the two of you, but it seems like Seokjin knew his way around the place just as well as he did. Strange, you think. Then again, when has that so-called angel seemed anything but?

“When I imagined hell, I was thinking more… uhh…”

“Hellfire? Destruction? Suffering? Please,” Seokjin laughs, gesturing towards the dead-eyed crowd of white collars. “Does this not seem like suffering to you? That dude over there is fucking playing Fortnite to try and soften the boredom of doing a desk job for all eternity. How much more sadistic can you get?”

“The air-conditioner is broken too,” Namjoon calls out from up ahead, turning to smirk smugly at the cubicle rats. The office workers groan in unison at his blatant violation of human rights, but none of them seem to be bothered enough to protest or something. Then again, you can imagine what type of punishments that Namjoon can come up with if pushed––after all, he is Seokjin’s brother.

Another thing you never thought to consider is how large Hell is. You can only remember so many twists and turns before everything starts to blur together; the dark grey walls run endlessly around you, with smatterings of dark mahogany doors that look almost as if they were only painted on. The two brothers do not pause at all in their journey, however, and all you can do is try your best to keep up with their long-legged strides.

Finally, the corridor widens into a full-fledged room, with a ceiling so tall that you can’t even begin to see the end of it. There seems to be more doorways just ahead of you, towards another hallway where no ends seem to be in sight, but the two men stop in front of the double doors to the right before you could go any further. Unlike the other doors, this one is painted pure white, almost illuminant among the drab grey walls. Namjoon and Seokjin stare ahead at the door, neither one of them going to turn the knob just yet.

“Well. This is it,” Namjoon murmurs, his quiet voice sounding loud amidst the silence. He casts a sidelong glance at Seokjin, who swallows thickly as he makes a point to look away from his brother. He fidgets beside you, shoulders rolling back as if he feels something crawling up his spine. You should know; you can feel the anxiety begin to make its way up to your throat.

“It’s the same courtroom…” Seokjin mutters. You want to ask what he means, but there are other things to worry about.

“Has the trial already begun?” you ask, though you already know the answer. It’s more to stall for time, afraid of what is to come. You try to think back about every single thing you did with Yoongi, what sort of conversations and interactions you had with him that might incriminate him. The steady throb of fear reminds you of the three words you had spoken aloud that fated night, and though Yoongi had not said it back, you wonder if your foolishness is what brought him to this predicament in the first place.

Namjoon watches you, sees the way your hands are clenched by your sides, dots of sweat lining your neck, and yet he does not mention your state of mind. Instead, he answers, “It started just a while ago. They’ve kept him in a holding cell while they waited for me to fetch you. We must hurry, or else…” Namjoon trails off, biting his lip. If you knew him better, you might hazard a guess and say that he was scared, too.

A demon who was afraid… You don’t know what that could mean.

“Wait, Namjoon. I have a question.” You have to make sure that this isn’t a lost cause. If what you were guessing is true, then…

For whatever reason, Namjoon doesn’t need you to state it explicitly. He sends you a weak smirk, head shaking as he goes to turn the doorknob. “No need to worry, Y/N. They can’t hear conversations when incubi are on missions. You’re safe.”

You flinch, foot melded to the floor. “H-how did you..?”

“Y/N, let’s hurry.” Seokjin interrupts, his sudden comment making you unfreeze long enough to allow him to tug you through the door. He had been so still and so quiet that you had almost forgotten that he was there. His grip on your arm is tight, unbelievably so, and you can feel it shaking slightly.

You glance at him, his usual expressive face empty of all emotion. He stares resolutely ahead of him, and when you follow his line of sight, you see that he is looking right at the imposing man behind the judge’s podium.

The judge is a slim man with dark red irises that seem to follow you wherever you go. His face is smooth like ivory, clear of any indication as to what age he may be. His black hair is slicked back neatly, showcasing his stiff widow’s peak like an arrow pointing straight towards his angular nose. Everything about him screams sharp. Impenetrable. What surprises you the most, however, are the deep set dimples permanently etched onto his cheeks even though he does not smile.

���Nice of you to finally join us, Kim Namjoon.” The man says, the timbre of his voice almost edging towards a growl. At his greeting, the quiet chatter around the room reaches a standstill as hundreds of eyes lock onto you and your angelic companion.

The courtroom is large, far larger than any you’ve ever seen in the surface. The circular shape of it makes you feel confined, like you’re trapped inside a toddler’s goldfish bowl. There are hundreds of rows filled with demons of all shapes and sizes, though most appeared quite humanoid. To your far right, you notice a crowd of winged women with unhinged jaws, their talons long enough that they graze the floor. Right beside the judge, there are a group of the most beautiful looking men that you have ever seen, their dark horns the only indication that they aren’t as human as they seem. One of them waves shyly at you, a small smile gracing his heart shaped lips. For whatever reason, you feel compelled to return the gesture.

“I am terribly sorry for the wait, your Honor. I had a bit of a misunderstanding on the way here,” Namjoon says. He bows deeply, his forehead almost reaching his knees with how low he goes.

The judge peers at Seokjin, brows raised with amusement. “I’m guessing it has something to do with our little guest, is it not?”

“Judge Kim.” Seokjin says, brittle. His ears have turned pink, though his expression is as blank as ever.

Judge Kim tuts, breaking the eye contact when he shuffles a pile of papers together. He flips through them, his smirk never faltering. “Is that how you treat your father after all this time? Surely they teach you better manners up there.”

You gasp, mouth dropping down in shock as you try and comprehend what the judge had just said. “Your father?” you whisper, trying to catch Seokjin’s gaze.

“I have no father,” Seokjin replies, jaw clenched. His lips tremble. “The only Father that I know is the one that I serve up above.”

The judge snorts, leaning casually back into his seat. “I believe we all had to serve the same Father, once upon a time. It seems like you’re the only one who hasn’t gotten the memo yet.”

Seokjin takes a step forward, urging you to do the same. You stumble after him, but not before turning inquisitively back at Namjoon. He smiles sadly, shaking his head and mouthing ‘later’ before heading to sit directly beside the judge––no, his father. The demon who had waved to you scoots over, patting Namjoon on the shoulder before hurriedly whispering something into his ear.

There is a podium right in the middle of courtroom. Seokjin leads you to it, never once letting go of you. When you stand before the court, you shoot him a frightened look, begging him to stay. He nods silently, standing firmly beside you with a hand placed warmly against the small of your back.

For the first time in your life, you feel grateful to this annoying yet kind angel, who chose to stay by your side despite having to go against every rule in his book just to keep your reckless self safe. Not for the first time, however, do you feel the guilt begin to eat you whole, at how your selfishness has once again brought pain to someone you cared about. Shithead angel or not.

Judge Kim slams the gavel, the echo especially loud in the hauntingly silent courtroom. He clears his throat, curling his finger at two impossibly large demons standing guard in front of another door closer to the judge. Without another word, they exit the room, the squeaking door frame resounding like a gunshot.

He clears his throat, his pupils blown unnervingly. “Miss… Y/N, is it not?”

You turn to Seokjin helplessly. He nods his head, quietly encouraging you. You turn back to the judge, a frog in your throat. “Y-yes. That’s my name.”

“You are the one who called upon Min Yoongi’s services on the 12th of August, did you not?”

“Yes. That is correct.”

“You, with your full consent, were locked in a covenant with Min Yoongi, an incubus who was bound to pleasure you in any way that might fulfill your desires, correct?”

You take a shaky breath. “Yes.”

“Miss Y/N,” Judge Kim peers at his documents, tongue darting to lick his fingers as he flips to the next page. His tongue is forked like a snake. “It says here in our contracts that if the conjurer, which is you in this scenario, is not sufficiently pleasured by the incubus within a given time limit, then he will be put under trial in the event that he has sabotaged his own mission. Are you aware of this?”

“Yes, your Honor.” You pause, unsure whether its your place to question him back. Seokjin notices your hesitation, so he pokes your back softly, giving you the courage you need to say your piece. You reach behind your back, finding his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks.

“Your Honor, may I ask why this trial is being held in the first place? Min Yoongi has sufficiently, uh, pleasured me to the best of his ability the night before. If my math is correct, then I know for certain that he has made his deadline. As his client, I can say that his services were more than outstanding.”

Judge Kim sneers at that, fanning himself with the documents smugly. “Although that might be so, there are other… circumstances that warrant prosecution. For example––”

Before he can finish, the doors reopen once more with a bang, drowning him out. The two guards return, hauling a mangled corpse to the front of the stands. They dump him unceremoniously to the ground, right at the foot Judge Kim’s podium. One of the guards forces the man to tilt his head up, grabbing fistfuls of his hair to reveal his bloodied face. It’s––

“Yoongi!” You cry out, nearly jumping out of your stand to reach him, but Seokjin pulls you back down. You sob in despair, trying desperately to get Seokjin to let go, but all he does is shake his head sadly. You claw the wooden podium in front of you, tears blurring your vision as you call hoarsely for Yoongi.

Yoongi lets out a low groan, eyes clenched shut. He slumps against the wall, head lolling to his shoulders as his shallow inhales fill the courtroom. His slacks are torn apart, leaving his bruised and slashed legs for you to see. His bare chest is littered with numerous small cuts, with one particularly deep gash lying dangerously close to his heart. His face is similarly decorated, with bloody rivers dripping down from his forehead and cheeks.

You can feel your heart beating outside of your chest. You want nothing more than to rush over to him, though you don’t know what you would have done if you could. He looks to be at the brink of death, as he struggled to even find the energy to take another breath. Fear rattles its claws up and down your insides, making you feel nauseous. The world begins to sway at your feet, and Seokjin has to prop you up to keep your knees from buckling under you.

“Miss Y/N, will you please explain to the court why we have testimonies from a multitude of other incubi that Min Yoongi has fallen in love with you?” Judge Kim booms, scattering all of his documents with a flourish. Dozens, if not hundreds of papers flutter above you, all of them affidavits of demons claiming that Yoongi loved you. Seokjin snatches one out of the air, scanning the document in bemusement.

“Your Honor, this is simply preposterous. Y/N and Yoongi have only known each other for less than three months! What makes you think that they could even fall in love in such a small amount of time?” Seokjin contends, shaking his head in bewilderment. “And what is this even about? How could anyone claim to be a witness to someone falling in love? What does that even entail?”

“We have eyes everywhere, Seokjin. You might have forgotten, but no demon is safe from being monitored.” The judge’s mouth curls up, smiling disparagingly at his exiled son. “It’s part of our… customer satisfaction program.”

“Bullshit,” Seokjin hisses, slamming his fist down on the podium. You startle at the pure hatred dripping from every inch of his body, his angelic glow slowly leaking out of his skin. A few of the demons closest to the two of you start shrieking in pain, crouching down to avoid his heavenly power. Judge Kim appears unaffected, however, as he slams his own gavel down to bring order back to the court.

“Silence, everyone!” he barks. He then points a finger at your companion. “As for you, Kim Seokjin... I would advise that you bring your temper down a notch. We wouldn’t want more nasty proceedings to happen while you’re here trespassing.”

“I am not trespassing––”

“Don’t think I don’t know that you still like to visit him during your downtime, my son.” Judge Kim chuckles, enjoying the shocked look on Seokjin’s face. “Why, you should know better than to try and get away without me noticing. You should be more careful. After all, I doubt you’d want Jeon Jungkook to––”

“Don’t you dare say his name!” Seokjin growls, taking a staggered step forward. Now it is your turn to hold him back, grabbing him by the sleeve to halt his advances. He doesn’t seem like he’ll go much further, but you don’t risk letting go just yet.

“Seokjin, please calm down. We have to save Yoongi.”

Seokjin glances back at you. His breathing is still harsh, but the glow around his body has subsided at least. “Okay. Okay. I––I’m sorry,” he mutters, stepping back to stand beside you.

You fix your attention back to Judge Kim. “Continuing with what Seokjin said earlier… D-don’t you think it’s ridiculous for people to claim that we have fallen in l-love, like you suggested?” You stammer a bunch in your speech, probably to your detriment. You scold yourself internally as you wait for the demon to respond.

He purses his lips, shrugging nonchalantly. “We have ways of knowing, Miss Y/N. We wouldn’t have this type of rule if we haven’t seen it happen in the past. Trust me, we always know.”

“What do you know, then?”

“We have witnesses say that when you and Min Yoongi… fulfilled your contract the other night, there was a slight difference in the way he moved. As you may or may not know, Min Yoongi is a highly trained professional. He knows better than to implicate other emotions into his job.”

“What are you implying?” You ask, though you already know what he means. In front of you, Yoongi’s chin lifts up imperceptibly.

“I am implying that Min Yoongi has fallen in love with you.”

The courtroom is once again filled with chatter. Hisses and jeers fly left and right, and even a wad of paper is thrown right at Yoongi’s immobile form. The winged ladies crow in unison, chanting “Foolish, foolish…” repeatedly as they strike their talons against the floor.

There is a yell from the upper stands. “Love has tarnished the infallible Min Yoongi!”

“Kill him! He is useless to us now!”

“What is an incubus if he is not blinded by lust? How will he ever be whole again if he is to share his heart with someone else?”

The uproar does not cease until the judge raises a hand. He affixes you with a gaze, prompting you to respond to their accusations. The crowd surveys you, like vultures waiting for you to take your last breath. You gulp, skin prickling with nerves.

“And who is to say that these accusations are even credible?”

“Oh?” The judge perks at that, leaning closely as he appraises you. You shrink back, unnerved by his sudden change in demeanor.

“Miss Y/N, did you come here to defend Min Yoongi? Or to stand as a witness? Why do you feel so… inclined to save some lowly incubus such as he? Surely, you have other things worth doing with your time right now.”

Murmurs. Nails and tongues click impatiently all around you. Your mouth goes dry as the demons start to openly stare at you, picking you apart. Trying to elicit the truth out of you.

“Or perhaps, Miss Y/N…” Judge Kim stands now, opening his arms to address the entire crowd. Everyone cheers as he pauses for theatrical effect. “You are also… inflicted with the same malady as our dear Min Yoongi is?”

The whispers grow louder. Cold terror paralyzes. You take a shaky inhale.

“I…”

“Y/N,” Seokjin warns, grasping your arm. He looks gaunt, like the soul has been sucked out of him. “The moment I sense that your life is in danger, I’m getting you out of here, understand?”

A warning. If you don’t say the right thing now, you’ll never be able to save Yoongi. You can’t blame Seokjin for wanting to get out of there either. This may be your last chance to see Yoongi, but you only hope that at the very least, it won’t be his last chance at life. You have to think fast.

You chance a look around the room. You see Namjoon sitting stock still beside his father, gaze unreadable. He is looking at neither you nor Seokjin, but somewhere over your shoulder. It is clear that he will not be of help this time. On the other hand…

The demon with the heart shaped smile beside him gesticulates wildly back at you, mouthing something that you can’t quite make sense of. You watch confusedly, as he appears to be asking you to keep talking, judging by the way he’s opening his mouth as wide as he can.

“Are you sure?” you mouth back, still feeling afraid. He gives you a thumbs up, nodding enthusiastically that you think his head might fly off.

“Miss Y/N? What do you have to say?” Judge Kim snaps you out of your trance, you cheeks burning after being called out once more.

“I… have a confession to make.” You hear Seokjin stifle a gasp. Yoongi is as motionless as ever, the wound on his chest steadily dripping with scarlet. It has started to pool on the floor, painting the tiles like molten tar. You almost miss it, but his hand twitches by his side.

“When I asked Yoongi to… have sex with me, I asked him to do it in a way where I could pretend that we…”

“Pretend?” Judge Kim repeats.

Your heart pulsates to a crescendo. “Pretend that we… were in love. It was all a farce.”

The crowd erupts.

“Liar!”

“A fucking stupid story, I bet!”

“Dumb whore!”

“Miss Y/N, I’m going to need for you to explain. Properly.” He glares at you harshly, slamming a gavel when the audience wails back in defiance. “Silence! We will listen to her testimony!”

Focus, Y/N. Think fast. This is the only way you can save him. It will hurt, but it will have been for good. It is worth it.

(Or so, you hope.)

“I… I have never been in love. I never knew what that type of emotion felt, and I craved it more than anything. So, when he asked me what I wanted from him, I told him that… I wanted to pretend like we were together. It’s a stupid type of roleplay that others might not have asked for from an incubus, but I did.” Your words sound pathetic in your ears, but in a way, they are nothing if not the truth. Despite what the other demons might say, you know deep in your soul that Min Yoongi could not be in love with you.

The two of you might have shared a connection, possibly even as close acquaintances, but love? It’s a long shot. Hell, you’re not sure if you love him either. (A lie, but you won’t admit it.) Everything about this trial is making your head swim, confusing you as terror and anguish become all you can perceive.

Yes, that’s right...

There is nothing about you to love. You have been nothing but a menace to him, an inconvenience. It’s your fault that he is hurting right now, your fault for being incapable of having the most basic of human desires. If you just had been a normal human being and just fucked him on the first day, then none of this would have happened. You’ve grappled with this guilt for years, and now you have proof that what you’ve always feared is true: you’re different, and you will be punished for it.

“She’s lying!” A demon with electric blue hair and pale skin screeches, standing up with a finger pointed at you. He bears his numerous teeth, a wolfish smile tugging upwards.  

Others begin to say the same, a chorus of dissent starting to rise. Judge Kim looks down to where Yoongi sits, who still refuses to open his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, Judge Kim forces the guards to lift Yoongi to his feet. They do as he asks, and you’re left helpless as Yoongi staggers upwards, coughing up globs of blood like a morbid fountain.

“Yoongi. Is what this human saying true?”

Yoongi wheezes once, twice. He warbles something unintelligible, too soft for anyone to understand.

“Speak louder or risk your life being shortened to its last inch,” the judge sneers. The guards’ grips tighten on his torso, causing him to choke for air.

“Stop it! You’re gonna kill him!” You turn to Namjoon, wrecked sobs all you can manage at this point. “Namjoon! Make them stop!”

Judge Kim guffaws, as do the jury beside him. “Human, you really are as shameless as you say you are. However, we cannot just let him go. Your claims are baseless unless the incubus himself swears that what you say is true.”

“Y/N, we have to go now.” Seokjin fidgets beside you, shoulders hunched as if he’s ready for flight. You plead weakly with him, but he shakes his head. “No. There’s nothing else you can do.”

“Listen to Seokjin, mortal. He is right; there is no saving those lost to love.” Judge Kim says. He motions for the guards to shackle Yoongi once more, the clinking metal loud in the spacious hall. But then––

“Wait just a moment, your Honor.”

Confusion breaks out as the demon beside Namjoon stands up, his purple horns making him appear taller than he is. Even when he seems serious, his mouth still appears as heart shaped as they always do.

The judge looks surprised as everyone else. “Jung Hoseok?”

“Yes, your Honor. I am terribly sorry for interrupting you, but I’d like to question Miss Y/N some more.” He swallows heavily, jumping from foot to foot in anticipation. The atmosphere stills.

Judge Kim hums. “Well, I can certainly say that I am intrigued. Jung Hoseok, you’ve never once spoken during a trial.”

“I… believe there is something worth looking into with what Miss Y/N had said, that’s all.” He faces you, his determination blazing forth. He risks a small grin at you, making the all-consuming panic inside of you abate for a moment.

There is a pause as the judge appraises both you and Hoseok. A minute passes, but it feels like a millennia. Eventually, he sighs, waving for Hoseok to start. “Hmm. Alright, Jung Hoseok. You may proceed.”

His grin is charismatic, shedding a glow that you might even call heavenly. “Right. All I wanted to point out was that we should really consider who we’re dealing with right now. Like, come on guys!” He has the audacity to chuckle sarcastically, peering at his colleagues with contempt. “This is Min Yoongi we’re talking about! Hate him or love him, we all know that he’s one of the best in the business. Would he really risk his life for some filthy human?” He laughs, louder than before, so much so that the demons near him start giggling as well.

His amusement is contagious. Soon, the court shakes with laughter––even the blue-haired demon who had shouted a while ago has begun to snicker in earnest. Your ears redden as embarrassment fills you, defenseless against their cruelty.

Even the judge manages to let out a chuckle. “That’s true. What type of idiot would he be?”

Hoseok nods, enthusiastic. “Precisely. This is all just a misunderstanding. After all, humans are such fickle creatures… They want so endlessly, and yet at their core, they are nothing more than toys for us to discard.”

You can tell that the other demons have started to become swayed by Hoseok’s statement. A few nod their heads, and the ones closer to him even nudge him in a show of blatant camaraderie. Whoever this Hoseok was, he is certainly well-liked among the citizens of hell. Well-liked enough to be believed in an instant, it seems.

But to you, his words leave a sting that you aren’t sure you’ll forget. After all, Yoongi must see you like Hoseok described: nothing more than a foul, pathetic human. How foolish of you to think he could ever see you as an equal, much less a lover. He never once said he loved you, and he never will. Even now, as the proceedings reach its end, he has yet to look at you once.

The guards lift Yoongi up again, one of them grasping his chin so that he may face Judge Kim. You cannot see him except for his back, where his fists are folded behind him. Judge Kim leans over his podium, close enough to Yoongi that he could probably see through him if he so desired.

“Min Yoongi. I will ask you one last time and you shall speak clearly, lest you suffer the consequences. Did you or did you not fall in love with Miss Y/N?”

From your perch, you see his hands move. They tighten for a moment, fingernails digging so deeply into his palms that it is sure to draw blood, but it hardly makes a difference with how bloodied they already are. And then, they relax, just like that. Yoongi’s arms give out like a ragdoll.

You listen to his voice, for the first time that day. Like nails driven into a coffin. In just a few words, he buries you.

He says, “Yes. It’s true. Everything has been a charade.”

But the judge is not appeased. He needs to make sure that the nails won’t give out––that you’ve truly been buried under soil and heartbreak. He makes the guards turn him around, and you are faced again with Yoongi.

“If what you say is true, then say it once more. Look her in the eyes and tell her she is nothing to you. Go on.”

Yoongi refuses to open them, but he does as the judge asks. He repeats them, slowly, as if savoring them. You had hoped that it would hurt less this time, but it seems that the nails have reached deeper than you had imagined. It takes a century’s worth of effort to keep your sobs at bay.

Appeased, the judge allows the jury to convene. When they finish, Kim Namjoon is the one who stands to his feet, poised primly like he has been during the entire hearing. He is quick to dab a bead of sweat that trails down towards his chin.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous decision?” Judge Kim asks. Everyone waits for the jury to settle, watching with bated breath for the outcome of the trial.

Namjoon nods. “After heavy consideration, we, the jury, find the defendant to be... not guilty.”

Beside you, Seokjin releases a sigh of relief, head bowing in exhaustion. He laughs, disbelieving. “By God, he did it.”

The moment Namjoon finishes his statement, the guards immediately release Yoongi, leaving him to curl up to the floor in pain. He wheezes loudly at your feet, cradling his bloody torso. Instinctively, you jump over your podium, kneeling over his shivering form. Your hands float above him, afraid of hurting him further.

Seokjin is quick to pull you up, holding you tight when you struggle to reach for Yoongi. “Y/N, this is more than enough. We’ve done you needed to do, and we are going back now.”

“Fuck off,” you cry hoarsely, unwilling to leave him just yet. You need to know that he will be okay, that everything will have been worth it.

To your right, you hear footsteps hurriedly approaching you. Namjoon and Hoseok appear, a small vial of something clutched tightly in Hoseok’s hand. He is quick to feed the liquid to Yoongi, who begins coughing harshly when it hits his tongue. To your amazement, the medicine gives Yoongi enough strength to roll over on his back, broken gulps of air leaving his split lips.

“Y/N.”

Alive. Alive. He’s going to be alright.

“Yoongi, you’re going to be ok––” No. NONONONONO.

A scream rips out of your throat as you gaze at him, terrified, as he looks back at you. You are frozen, unable to tear yourself away from the frightening sight of the mangled remains of a demon who was once whole.

It can’t be real. They can’t have done this…

But they have.

...

His eyes are gone. Black holes where soft irises once called home.

“Go back home, Y/N. You’ve done more than enough.” Yoongi’s words would’ve hurt less had he shouted, but his voice is devoid of emotion. He stands up unsteadily, and you can only watch as Namjoon and Hoseok help him to his feet. They sling his arms around their shoulders, carrying him gently across the large courtroom. His feet drag listlessly behind him, his head bowed in silent defeat. They leave the room quickly, and you wouldn’t be able to follow even if you tried.

There is a warm hand pressed against your back. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” Seokjin whispers, his thumb rubbing circles across your shoulder blades, “There’s nothing else we can do.”

A wave of fatigue suddenly washes over you, your eyelids growing immensely heavy. You think your knees might have collapsed, Seokjin’s strong arms catching you before you hit the ground. You hardly hear him whisper another apology before your mind shuts off, allowing you to be sleep’s mistress for the night.

It is an entirely dreamless sleep––the eyes of your beloved incubus absent for the first time in weeks.

[klaushargreevesofficial]

call my bluff, call you “babe”

steve harrington x robin’s best friend!reader

requests: heeey could you write steve harrington x fem! reader where she is robin’s best friend and she had a crush on steve during high school but he never notified her but one day she went visiting robin during her work and steve falls in love with at first sight (like she has a different personality from robin, she has like a bubbly personality) ijkohghjjkk thank you so much !!

Steve falling for robin’s best friend and her being skeptical bc she liked Steve in high school

title from taylor swift’s “it’s nice to have a friend”

word count: 4,381 (!!)

warning for cursing because i have the vocabulary of a 12 year old boy

“so you don’t care about me, is what I'm hearing.”

“god, you’re dramatic, y/n,” robin laughed, trying to pull on her shoes while navigating around her room. she was failing to maintain her balance, and every clumsy hop around her room served as punctuation of your premature loneliness. Robin was heading to work, an early morning after your late night sleepover. curled up to your ears in her sheets, your eyes followed her around the room. 

“I can't believe you’re leaving me to go hang out with steve harrington.” you punctuated your statement with a faux gag. Robin replied with a noncommittal hum and leveled her eyes with yours, serving to agitate you more. 

“I'm not hanging out with him. I'm trying to make money so I can afford all of the expensive candy you like for movie nights.” finally dressed and ready for work, robin sat on the edge of her bed. “and you,” she poked your head, “would like him, he’s not that bad anymore! annoying? yes! but an asshole? not at all.” 

listening to her lift steve up made you uneasy. all through high school, steve had been your dream boy. hadn’t he been everyone’s? with the hair, the eyes, the swagger in his step as he walked past you in the hallway...you just about died thinking about it. how embarrassing, you thought. having a crush on steve, the untouchable asshole of your formative years, was about as out of character and cringey as you could have gotten. he never spoke a word to you except to ask to copy off of your homework, and even then, he called you by the wrong name. but god, that boy was pretty. 

after graduation, you did your best to avoid steve at all costs. not that he would notice or care, but rather for your sake. it was embarrassing to recall the amount of times you had imagined him choosing staying at your house over a party, or fantasized about running your fingers through his hair. it was your character flaw that you decided to ignore and actively suppress. steve was an asshole, and you recognized that. thus, the active forgetting of steve harrington.

 the plan to gradually forget about your schoolgirl feelings for steve had been working, working really well. you’d stopped obsessing over that one time he had accidentally bumped your shoulder in the hallway (and walked away without apologizing, thank you very much), and you couldn’t even remember what color his eyes were. then robin sauntered into your house with her spare key and an unperturbed way about her, proclaiming she landed the mall job and “y/n, you’d never believe who my co-worker is.” and then the humiliation that came with liking steve came rushing back.

 did you resent steve? not at all. but at certain points, when you were at your lowest, you wished he could feel as lowly and unimportant as him and his adolescent goons had made you feel. sometimes, though you would never admit it, you wished steve harrington would pine after you, simply so you could brush him off and crush his pretty boy heart as he had crushed yours in high school. but thoughts like that made you feel bad, and were definitely not feasible. the only time nowadays that you had a vague hatred towards steve was when robin went to work. screw him for winning over your best friend too. 

“go to work, buckley. when you come home, i’ll be here, in this spot, borderline comatose. wake me up then.” you turned to your side and closed your eyes.

“maybe you could come see me at work, y/n! i’m sure my parents would much prefer that, rather than you lounging in my house all day.”

 “mmm, they love me,” you replied, already slipping back into a half-asleep state.

 ------------------------

“y/n!” robin exclaimed. “wait, is that my shirt?” you stalked into scoops ahoy, dark circles under your eyes. you had awoken after another 3 hours of sleep, and after 30 another minutes of being alone in robin’s house, you decided to finally bite the bullet and visit her at work. there was no motivation besides boredom, loneliness, and the hope that robin’s offers of free ice cream when trying to coax you to come still stood. 

“i’m exhausted. can i get a vanilla cone?”

 “i don’t see you opening your wallet to pay, y/n,” she said, her motions towards the freezer contradicting her words. she scooped a cone for you and one for herself, and you guys chuckled at how quick robin was to shell out ice cream that would probably come from her paycheck. leaning against the counter, you reveled in the silence that settled as you ate your ice cream. you cherished these moments with robin, where you guys could just enjoy each other’s presence, words unnecessary. for as much as the two of you talked, they didn’t occur often, but when they did, they were peaceful. 

robin and you both were enjoying the serenity of the moment, and then there was steve. loud, doors swinging, calling (or shouting, rather) for robin. instantly, you were on edge, and robin sensed it. she was aware of your past feelings towards steve, but unaware of how vast and intensely they spread. she was there when you’d comment quietly to her how nice he looked in his jeans, but absent for the doodling of “harrington” in hearts on the margins of your papers. 

seeing steve was a gust of wind in your hair and a suckerpunch to your gut, simultaneously. rigid, ice cream dripping down your hand, you turned to robin, who, despite being engaged in a conversation with steve about their break schedules, was subtly keeping an eye on you, making sure you were okay. “uh, robin?” both heads turned towards you, the first time steve had acknowledged you. the “ahoy” on their sailor hats was so aggressively there and ugly, it only served to make you more anxious. 

“is this…?” steve gave robin a look as if to communicate something to her, something secret, and you knew immediately what---or who, rather---he was referencing. stacey.  he thought you were stacey. stacey was robin’s beau, who you had listened robin talk about, cry about, gush about, for weeks. you felt blessed, as robin’s best friend, to be able to coach her through her first relationship, which you understood must be extra difficult as a closeted gay woman. robin never had any shortage of stacey related topics to talk about, and you were glad to serve as a sounding board. you’d always just assumed you were the only one robin could bounce her thoughts off of, especially because of her sexuality.

 steve thought you were stacey. which means...steve knew robin’s best kept secret. of course steve knew. robin had been preaching about how great and un-assholey he’d become since graduation, something that would only be tested and tried by robin’s candid confession of who she loved. you felt stupid for not having figured it out earlier. steve knew.

 “no, harrington,” you piped up, finally regaining your ability to speak for the first time since steve had kicked open the door to the Scoops backroom. “my name’s y/n, and we actually went to high school together. i’d say i’m surprised you don’t remember me, but you were an asshole back then, so….” you let your voice trail off, expecting a snarky remark back from the boy in front of you. steve knew. 

the only person behind the counter to pipe up was robin. “steve, this is y/n, my best friend, who is acting, surprisingly, much like one of those assholes she constantly proclaims to hate.” although she was addressing steve, her eyes were locked with yours. there was a jovial tone to her voice, she was clearly not upset with you, but you tilted your chin out in defiance, and tossed the remainder of the ice cream cone away. steve knew. he was quiet. “y/n,” robin began, her voice calm, “i’ll meet you at the Gap on my break. 2:45. go cool off, please?” you took a peek at your casio calculator watch. you had 45 minutes to kill. you gave her a curt nod, and completely disregarded silent steve as you walked out of the ice cream parlor. what had just happened? 

no, you didn’t mean to completely be a dick. it was hard to dissect your feelings. it certainly wasn’t fair for you to be upset that robin told steve her secret. you were proud she felt safe enough to share that important part of herself with him. if anything, you were more upset that of all the people in Hawkins, she chose your self-proclaimed, one-sided enemy.  but still, unfair. and...you sighed. steve hadn’t even said anything to you. could you blame him? he didn’t remember you, y/n, get over it, you thought. how long were you going to let your internal struggle with steve dictate your actions? especially now that there was a chance at a...mutual friendship of sorts, through robin. had you not fucked that up by the scene you’d just caused.

 seeing steve dredged up a lot of negative emotions, you realized. it was embarrassing, especially because everything you and steve “had” was fabricated in your brain. one sided, imaginary, call it what you want. and yet, here you were, harboring real, genuine hurt. at what point does an adult let go of these childish fantasies and quit playing the victim? had you only hurt steve’s feelings (which you weren’t entirely sure you did, seeing as he was just so quiet), maybe you wouldn’t have had the mindset shift, but you could tell robin was upset with your petulant behavior. and quite frankly, you were tired of holding on to high school. you turned on your heel, chuck taylors squeaking against the shiny mall floor, and walked back to scoops ahoy.

 the parlor was empty. no one lounging at the tables, cheerily eating a sundae. you assumed this was why steve and robin were huddled in the back room, having a hushed conversation that you could only hear remnants of. you chose to ignore steve yet again, but this time simply to give you the guts to ring the service bell repeatedly. if you pretended only robin could answer, it was easier to be annoying. she was used to you. so, with a heavy hand, you rang the bell. ding. ding. ding. ding. as you poised to ring it once more, steve opened the backroom door, scooper in hand.

 he let out a breath of what you marked as relief. maybe he’s just glad you wouldn’t actually be ordering ice cream, you thought, until he said, “i was hoping it was you.” 

“oh?” you spluttered, forgetting your whole purpose for returning to the ice cream shoppe. 

“yeah, y/n, i just,” he sighed as if to organize his thoughts. “you were right when you said that i didn’t remember you from high school because i was a pompous dick.” 

“i didn’t say those words!” you defended, then gestured for him to continue. 

“well, you might as well have. i just wanted to apologize, because i really sucked back then. i’m working on it.”

 were you ever expecting an apology from steve? no. maybe a few months ago you would have revelled in this, would have eaten it up and made him beg for forgiveness. but at this point, you had changed, and you felt that he didn’t even have to apologize. well, for much, at least.

 “you’re good, steve. i’m sorry for caring so much about social hierarchy. it probably isn’t even fair for you to apologize to me.” you shrugged.

steve leaned his elbows on the counter, next to the register, and thought for a moment. “fairness is subjective though, isn’t it? like, what’s fair to you might not be fair to me, or vice versa.” 

--------------

after you and steve had apologized to each other in the parlor of Scoops Ahoy, you, him, and robin had been inseparable. no outsiders would ever be able to tell that there was ever a time when you and steve weren’t on good terms...or on any terms for that matter.  as time progressed, you’d now easily call steve one of your best friends. you rarely were not at scoops ahoy, hanging out in the backroom and avoiding their managers. steve had an open invitation to your movie nights, now, although he wasn’t yet granted key privileges like robin was. (you were sure your parents would kill you if you ever gave steve harrington a key to your house.) you’d sat backseat in steve’s car as he and robin scream-sang songs you didn’t know the words to. steve and robin had a bond that you could never begin to understand, and you and robin had one steve could never understand.

 where did that leave you and steve? working on it, for sure. he was funny, intelligent, and quite personable. he was a great friend to robin, and a great friend to you. you felt bad for writing him off so soon. nothing was difficult with steve. you guys had split and shared plenty of burgers at the local diners, and often the two of you would go to the video store, where you educated steve about movies and their importance. steve was clingy, more so onto you than robin. he always wanted to come over, or wanted you to come hang out, or begged for you to tag along when him and robin went on an adventure. 

once, steve had sat you down with a very serious look in his eye, visibly nervous, and declared that you were his best friend. he didn’t know what a best friend felt like, he said, but since you were the person he liked to spend time with the most, it must be you. before you could reply with a similar sentiment, he had added “and robin. but she knew that.” 

so, yeah, things were good. and they remained good for months.

and then the switch flipped, and steve started skipping trio adventures, and calling off of work on days robin worked. calls were fielded, and whenever you caught him in the streets, he brushed you off with a “hey y/n” and a “gotta go.” you were worried, because he was isolating himself with no explanation. there was hardly a ghost of him in the spots the three of you frequented “what’s wrong with steve?” you had asked robin when you first noticed his prolonged absence. robin hadn’t brought steve up for a week, which was odd. normally conversations were peppered with his name, although you and robin had always tried your hardest to pass the in real life bechdel test. 

robin’s response of “i don’t want to talk about him,” confirmed your sneaking suspicion that something had occurred for steve to become so cold. robin and steve were two of the most easy going people you had ever met, so for them to have had an argument seemed far fetched. robin’s stoney features after you had mentioned his name, however, made it obvious to you that an altercation had happened. 

----------------

“what are you doing here?” steve stood behind his door, keeping it open only a hair so you couldn’t wedge yourself inside. 

“what is going on with you?” you asked coldly. the time for reaching out gently had passed.  “you’ve been absolutely ignoring robin & i, and for what, you asshole?”

 “oh shit, is she here?” his eyes scanned his front lawn frantically, in search for robin. “you shouldn’t be here, y/n.”

 “good thing you aren’t in charge of telling me what i should and shouldn’t do, dad. if you don’t talk to me...i’ll..i’ll scream!” 

“go away.” he motioned to shut the door. 

surprising him by how compliant you were, you turned on your heel and trotted down off of his front porch into the lawn. pleased with himself for getting you away so easily, he closed the door and turned the lock. as soon as you heard the lock click, and watched steve skate away through the window, you planted your feet and took a deep breath. 

and then you were screaming. god, you hoped his parents and neighbors weren’t home, because here you were, in steve harrington’s front yard, wailing. you were screaming bloody murder, pausing to catch your breath with all of the cadence of a baby’s cry. you started from a yell and transitioned into a scream. you screamed in every musical scale known to man. you screamed loudly, and you screamed even louder than loudly. your voice box was your portable “ring for service” bell. so, you exercised it.

it felt like years, although it was only 30 seconds of sound until steve came running out into his front yard. he was trying his best to be angry, asking you “what the actual fuck, y/n,” but he was stifling laughter. 

“i told you i would, steve.”“you’re so infuriating!” he let out a frustrated chuckle, and carded his hands through his hair, tugging. “and i’m,” he sighed, facing you with a hollow look in his eye. “i’m in love with you. god, i’m in love with you, and robin’s pissed. so i took a step away for her to cool off, and for me to,” he shrugged,”i don’t know, for me to get over it i guess.” 

for all of that screaming you had done earlier, you were now speechless. moments and moments, it felt like a million moments passed and there was nothing but silence. what were you to say? how do you respond to such a candid confession? finally, after what felt like three years of silence, steve cut his sad and unwavering eye contact and headed back into his house, leaving you there, feet planted, stunned into silence and stagnance.

 you waited a beat in his lawn, processing. then the only thing on your mind was robin. you made a mad dash to your car, shaking your key ring in an effort to start the engine faster. after speeding an ungodly amount, you reached robin’s house. you parked haphazardly in her driveway, shifting into park before you even braked to a stop.

 as you unlocked robin’s door, with your key labeled “robin’s” in big bold letters, she heard the lock jingling and came to the door. “y/n, i was just about to leave and come to your house! i want to go to a movie, is there anything good out?” 

“steve’s in love with me?” you spoke silently, feeling small, the gravity of the confession finally hitting you.

 “well, that’s not exactly a movie,” she tried to joke, but noticing the sullen look in your eyes, she sighed and took a seat on the couch. “yeah, he is.” 

“what the hell, robin?”  you took your usual seat to the left of her, sprawling your limbs out. “he told me you were pissed off.” 

“well, yeah! you broke your own heart in high school over him, and you were sick for years. imagine if he actually broke your heart? you’d be inconsolable.”

 “for him to break my heart, i’d have to feel the same way, dingus.” you poked her arm. 

“are you stupid?” she deadpanned, causing you to let out a shocked laugh and sit up straight.

 “robin!” you gaped. “i am not in love with steve!” 

“okay, you’re stupid,” robin said again, sending the two of you into a fit of giggles. you loved robin so much, that sitting there, laughing and talking about boys was enjoyable, and you almost forgot the two of you were talking about steve. your best friend steve. robin always knew you better than yourself, though, so her implications about your feelings for steve made you think. were you in love with steve? every memory the two of you had shared flashed through your brain like a movie montage. you and steve ordering two different entrees, and then splitting them. steve sneaking you into his house, past his parents, so you could lay in bed and read comics. steve letting you cling onto him during scary movie night, robin calling the both of you pansies in the background. that one time steve called himself daddy and your stomach did a little flip. 

“oh fuck, robin, i think i’m in love with steve,” you groaned, burying her head into her shoulder. everything was made complicated by this realization, you knew. robin and steve weren’t even on speaking terms because of this, and you hadn’t even been involved at that point. and you didn’t even respond to steve when he told you. he was probably so upset. further than that, what would robin think if you and steve were to like...try and get together? would she be mad? what would that mean for the three of you as a unit?

you relayed all of these feelings, thoughts, and questions to robin. although she was close to the situation and probably biased, you still trusted her the most to give you accurate and smart advice. her answers always were right, because she knew you better than you knew yourself. robin assured you that her and steve hadn’t explicitly fought, per se, but she had let him know how she felt about the situation and advised him to step away and sort himself out. but no argument had occurred, contrary to your imagined idea. there were no “bad terms” between the two of them, and robin said she felt like if she saw steve this weekend, they’d fall back into their normal relationship and banter. this soothed you. 

“but if...if steve doesn’t hate me, and something like, happens, how would you feel?” 

“first of all, y/n, you’re dramatic,” you nod in agreement. “as long as he’s not an idiot, and you’re not an idiot...i suppose i will be okay. as long as you’re not, like, gross or anything. but i trust both of you.” 

and that, honestly, was all you needed to hear. after pinky promising you would come back to robin’s house later and tell her everything, you left as quickly as you had come, whipping out of the driveway and going back to where your day’s adventure had first started: steve’s place.

 you felt like you were walking on eggshells around steve, and although you were so excited you wanted to scream (again) and bang on his door, you channeled all of your nervous energy into a doorbell ring and rocking back and forth on your heels. when steve came to the door, he looked sadder than you left him. his hair was wild, his eyes red.

“i love you,” you stated simply, but you felt like your words fell short. how do you put so much emotion into 3 words? there was no way that this could encompass what you felt for steve. you paused. “there’s no way that those words can encompass what i feel for you.”

 ------------

“you’re fucking annoying, steve,” robin stated, tossing a piece of popcorn at him as she stood up to leave. it was movie night at his house, and although he wasn’t really doing anything, him and robin were engaged in some playful banter. steve had made some comments about the poor cinematography of the movie robin had chosen, and she was displeased. you were situated snugly in steve’s lap, his arms wrapped around your waist. you vocally agreed with robin because, yeah, steve was annoying, and he gave your hip a pinch, making you jump.

 “asshole!” you yelped, peeling yourself off of him. 

“you love me,” he commented, not incorrect. 

“yeah, but you’re annoying.” you and robin were a united front, always, despite what you and steve’s relationship status was. you wrapped your arms around her tightly. “drive home safely, please.” she nodded and tipped an invisible hat. 

“i always do, y/n. you two lovebirds have fun, but not too much fun, because we have work tomorrow morning, steve!” she made a hand motion indicating that she was watching him, moving two fingers from her eyes to point at him. 

“aye aye, captain! get some rest, you’ve got a lot of ice cream slinging to do tomorrow. i’m thinking i’m going to hang in the backroom for a little bit.” he grinned as robin groaned, letting herself out of the front door with a sing-songy “goodbye.” 

“c’mere, love,” steve said, looking up at you from the couch. you gave him a big smile and returned to your seat in his lap, straddling him. 

this was the only thing that was different about movie nights now. you and steve would spend the night together afterwards. steve was your boyfriend now. could high school you believe it? you ran your fingers through his hair, giving him a soft kiss on his forehead. “i know you have work tomorrow, and i wanna spend as much time as possible with you, but i’m really tired,” you mumbled, laying your head on his shoulder.

 he nodded with a smile. “that’s okay, baby. let’s lay in bed, we’ll kiss a little, and i’ll let you sleep.” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

 as soon as the two of you were situated, face washed, pajamas on, covers pulled up to your chins, steve turned to you and pushed a piece of hair out of your face. “i can’t believe i have the coolest girlfriend ever.” “i can’t believe you’re this cheesy, harrington,” you replied, but his words made your chest warm. you were the farthest thing from cool, and all you had ever wanted was steve to think you were cool. although he was, at this point, not a very good judge of being “cool,” because he had evolved into less of a high school king and more of a loveable dork, you were still elated to hear this from him. steve thought you were cool. and you weren’t, clearly, but he wasn’t either. you pressed a kiss to his lips gently, a smile permanently etched onto your face. “i love you, dingus.” 

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

y’know i think the main reason that i believed that i couldn’t possibly have adhd (before it became a topic on here) is because some of the people i knew who definitely have it or possibly had it/have it are guys.

the first person i met with adhd was one of my guy friends in my group at public school, who had to give his meds to the office and go there at certain times during school to take them to help him focus throughout the day. he was the hyperactive type.

there was another guy friend in that group who had adhd as well, who always said his constant interrupting of our ancient history class and his needing the social worker who would come to class with him some days was because his having adhd. now if this friend talks to me he blames his adhd on why he hates everything in life and “why just why did i never try in school and you have to fix that for me” basically becomes the main gist of every convo with him.

also i think maybe a couple of guys at catholic school in high school had it too, but the school was much better at hiding it because we had a semi well supported special ed department; so sometimes those boys would head down there and not be in a mainstream class. but if they were in a mainstream class a lot of the time they weren’t in my classes (especially in english) but instead in the bottom class. but they were defs in my maths class because two guys (one of which i thought had absolutely nothing wrong with him but now i think he could’ve actually had adhd- but if i’d thought that in school i thought he was “faking it” somehow so he could be with his friend so he didn’t feel alone in class with a special ed teachers aide).

but somehow i managed to get through high school and uni... albeit falling out of postgrad. although i don’t exactly help pay bills at home (because my dad excuses me from doing it by saying to “save your money” even though i feel like i should be paying at least some form of rent or helping with the bills) i still do buy my own groceries and stuff at the chemist. but sometimes i go overboard with buying shit on afterpay, mostly in the form of impulse buying clothes.... and i was doing this frequently during undergrad uni and postgrad... as if the clothes would fill a hole in me or something and especially after turning in an assignment and when i’d received the assignment back. it got pretty out of control. like once i spent $150 on a vibrator and during on campus uni i was spending like $150 some pay weeks on clothes i didn’t really need except to show off on campus. and this was BEFORE afterpay and other “buy now, pay later” programs were a thing. like wtf did i need to spend $150 on a fucking asos brand trench coat???? ridiculous.

it was the same with tumblr. i remember once throwing a fit because the internet wasn’t working or some shit so i couldn’t use tumblr for a few days. like how stupid is that??? i was even using tumblr during classes in uni, and that creative writing professor i had in 2017 called me out on that during one lesson... being all like “why on earth are you on social media during my class, gwladys?” and i glared at him bc tumblr was basically my entire social life. and i’ve written before about how engrossed i’d get in clearing out my blog archive and likes archive on here, that is do it until 3am without realising how time had really gone by. and it got to the point that i was doing this during my classes (both lectures and tutes) and in my breaks at uni. like it was BAD. that i couldn’t not think about it. i’d also obsess over notes as well, if i made my own posts (and i admit that i still do that).

there was also further back in 2012 and 2013 where i was so stupid jealous at the people who i considered to be “popular” at school would get 50 likes on just one status about something as pointless as “i’m making toast 🍞” or something as equally banal and pointless. so instead i got bitter and started “an experiment” where i’d study who was online and how many people were online at a certain time of day (like 8am before school, 1pm while we were at school, 6pm at dinner and then like 10pm at night before bed) and post my statuses then to see how likes i’d yield on those posts and if it got close to 20-50 likes over the multiple posts. sometimes i was lucky to get to like 10-15 likes on one status at once, and those posts made me feels vaguely successful. finally, sometimes i’d post the same status posts on here to see which social media platform would give me better results. like it was super weird.

then even further back in year 10 i got fixated on getting over the “liked pages limit” on facebook which was somewhere around like 5,000 or something. so i’d spend hours upon hours on end liking pages.... some of which i deeply regret liking when they pop up in my feed for the first time in like 10 years 😂😂😂 then sometimes my friends would post on my wall to be like “DUDE HOW THE HELL DID YOU LIKE *enter stupid fb page title here* AND 645 OTHER PAGES????!!!!” THEN as far back as year 8, i obsessed over the word count (until i finally found it was about maybe 1200 words??) on one of my best friends myspace forum pages where i’d post really fucking weird messages to her sometimes about my week and stuff, when she went overseas for 5months.... and then i turned the word count cut off thing into a competition with my other best friend bc she couldn’t figure it out and i refused to tell her the word limit 😂.

i also did the above with texts on my phone as well, and especially with my web slider phone; because that would constantly conk out when i’d write like 20page messages to my friends. i’d throw it against my bedroom wall and cry when it decided to conk our during those absolutely stupidly long messages. looking back, i don’t blame it for doing that when the phones memory was literally only like 2gb (😂😂) and i’m sure a 20page message would take up like 645 megabytes of that lmao (ok probs not but you get my point lmao). like i basically had zero filter and would write novel length messages to people.... which i still do tbh based on who i’m talking to. i just don’t know when to shut the fuck up. and that’s the same on here lmao.

anyway. this is just another musing on how maybe i could have adhd and i’m not self-diagnosing at all. but it’s stemmed from going through my posts again and people saying that i should probs get tested for adhd bc my behaviour possibly sounds like adhd in girls/women. but the problem is i’ve only ever known guys with it.

anyway don’t reblog this please and i’ll probably delete this post soon.

i just needed to vent again.

[beeautifulbeeb]

How to read a map.

Harry's never been able to read a map. Then he met Draco.

or

Harry's still working out his sexuality and then Draco comes along and fucks it all up.

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationship: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Words: 8489

(I haven't written in a while, please bare with me.)

Read on AO3 here! 

To Harry, Sex was an enigma. He understood it. He liked it. But he didn't want for it.

He distinctly remembers those conversations in the Gryffindor dorms, late nights, guy talk. Boys talking about people they found sexy or hot - large breasts and nice bum or big biceps and thick legs. He remembers those conversations because he didn't understand. In theory, he knew what 'sexy' was. He knew what made someone attractive because he had heard others talk but when he tried to think of it, tried to comprehend it - he couldn't.

"Do you think Lavender's hot?" Ron had once asked. And Harry had thought about it. But why should he know? She was just some girl.

So, "I don't know, I guess." He'd responded but it came out more inquisitive than he'd intended. Ron had hummed in agreement as if Harry had made a very interesting counterpoint in some intellectual debate.              

"I think," Ron began, sounding like he was adding an important argument in this discussion, "she's really hot."

"Why?" Harry had asked before even considering the repercussions of his inquiry.

"What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Well... I -" Harry had not prepared for this, he felt like he was rapidly losing the debate, "Why do you find her hot?"

Ron paused, looked at Harry, opened his mouth, closed it again and then looked away. Harry remembered it so clearly as Ron had looked at him with a face of utter bemusement. That face represented everything Harry felt when he tried to comprehend 'Sexy'. Ron had begun to gesture vaguely in front of him as if he had a graph that he was using as a reference.

"Well," his gestures continuing, as if to direct Harry's point of view to the statistics of 'hot', "she just is, ya know."

He sighed, despite Ron's obvious confusion, Harry had still felt as if he was the one losing this debate and resigned himself to this loss, "Yeah, yeah."

He remembers those conversations. He remembers that situation because he remembers feeling lost. He felt like Ron and Neville, Dean and Seamus, and everyone it seemed; they were following a map when Harry had never been even taught to read a map. Harry was just following their lead and as soon as he was by himself, he was completely lost.

This map was 'sexy'.

Yes, this map had a big bum and nice arms.

No, that's not what he meant. He meant that the map showed the route to 'sexy' and he had no idea how to read it.

But that didn't matter. He didn't need a map. He didn't need to know the route because he had spent most of his teenage years trying not to die. And Harry would have rather had a map to the horcruxes than to sexual appeal. Now that Harry isn't running into life threatening circumstances at every corner, he's starting to wonder if he'll ever learn to read that map because now, he doesn't feel lost. Harry feels like he's not even on the map and its almost more confusing than before.

He's currently sitting in The Leaky Cauldron at a booth in the corner. On his left is Ron with his arm thrown around Hermione followed by Luna who is grinning across the table at Ginny. Between Harry and Ginny is Neville and most surprisingly, with a chair pulled up to the table and a hand over Ginny's is Parkinson. And it still surprises Harry anytime she shows up, arms linked with Ginny or Luna and he always has this reaction to draw his wand, to protect.

But he doesn't. Because they're not in danger, there is no confrontation. They’re happy and he doesn't understand how but if Parkinson is making his friends happy then who is he to stop her. It just adds another thing to his list of the incomprehensible. Right under sexual attraction.

It's at that very moment that the entire table turns to look at Harry. Ah, he probably should have been listening.

"What?"

"Ginny'd asked if you'd finally got yourself a shag?" Parkinson gracefully answers and Harry forces a smile that he thinks looks more like a grimace.

"Uh, that would be a no. I'm- no." Harry stutters out. He had considered, in the past, to try and fake reading the map but remembered those conversations and situations and realised it's awfully difficult to fake something you know little about.

"Come on Harry, you could get anyone you wanted." Ron adds. Harry's fleeting hope, that the conversation would move on, swiftly dissipates as Neville adds the helpful comment,

"There's a cute guy at the bar. If you got any good pickup lines, we could remedy that tonight." Ron holds his hand for a high five over Harry and Neville smirks and claps Ron's hand.

"Yeah, we'll be your wingman!" Ron adds, far more excited for this than Harry is.

"No, no, no, no, no, no." Harry pleas as his friends start to pull him up by him arms. Before anyone can move to let them scramble out from behind the table, Ginny stops them,

"Oh no," and for a brief moment Harry believes he is saved, "if anyone's going to be his wingman, I think I'm far more suited to the job."

Maybe not saved, but given a window of opportunity as the table begins to debate which of them would make the best wingman. He sits back down and lets them talk, hoping that the longer he stays silent, the more time he has to work out an escape plan. He considers for a moment how big the windows are in the men’s loo but then decides he not quite that desperate. He takes a moment to look around the table and breathes as he soaks up the energy radiating from his friends. The love. He smiles. He realises that maybe he could just ask how to read a map. Or at least ask why he can’t. They are his friends after all.

"Guys, guys." He starts, but seemingly not loud enough.

"GUYS."

The table pauses and all eyes are on Harry.

"Although I appreciate your attempts to hook me up with someone, it's not what I want. And I don't just mean this guy. I mean... anyone?" He tries to explain but quickly realises that he's made it sound even more complicated.

"Ohhh," Ron starts, as if he's cracked a code, "you want more than just a one-night stand! That's fair mate."

"No! Yes? But no." Harry has really dug himself a hole now. He's starting to regret opening his mouth.

"Why thank you Potter, it makes so much sense now." Pansy adds and Harry thinks he can see the sarcasm dripping from her voice. Ginny precedes to whack her on the arm and smiles at Harry,

"Go on."

"I think what I'm trying to say is, I don't find people 'sexy'. I've never found anyone 'sexy'. I feel like I don't know what it even means sometimes." Harry manages to finally form the words and then the table falls into silence and he feels like he's made such a fool of himself. What a stupid thing to say, he should have stayed quiet, he's not even making any sense. Or at least that's what he thinks until Luna breaks the quiet.

"You might be asexual, Harry." She suggests with a gentle smile.

Harry looks back at Luna with a blank stare as the term goes over his head and a loud bark of laughter is heard from his side as Neville seems amused,

"Sorry Luna, I think you've got mixed up, that's like plant and micro-organism stuff and I don't think Harry's a plant."

"No, you're both right." Hermione adds, "Asexual reproduction is what you're talking about Neville but I think Luna's talking about the sexuality."

Harry is feeling awfully confused and turns to Hermione and then back to Luna and laughs gently,

"I'm sorry, I'm a little lost here, what is Asexuality?"

"The asexual spectrum is the spectrum of sexual attraction. People who identify as asexual don't experience sexual attraction." Hermione explains.

"Huh, maybe," Harry thinks for a moment. Asexual. It sounds like it might fit. He just doesn't know how to tell if it's right. How is he supposed to know? And then the topic passes as Hermione asks Ginny about the Quidditch season. Its something that he's sure Hermione knows little to nothing about and he silently thanks her for the distraction and the night continues as normal.

---

It was at breakfast the next morning when harry began to properly consider what Luna had mentioned. In Hogwarts, he'd never had a chance to explore or experiment his sexuality - he'd found he was a little preoccupied. But it wasn't like he'd tried to find time to or even wanted to find time to. The little dating he did do was fine. But it was just fine. Sex was never at the forefront of his mind but he’d never thought that it should be, or should it?

What he didn't get was that he liked sex? He just didn't understand 'sexy'. After the war, in the brief period when he and Ginny had been together, he had finally had a chance to explore his sexuality and he found that sex was good. He liked sex. He liked it a lot. But not because it was Ginny. He didn't want Ginny. He just liked feeling good.

Oh Merlin, this was getting awfully confusing, and now his tea was cold. He gets up and goes to the sink, tips out his tea and decides to up the caffeine intake as he boils the kettle. He makes a coffee and checks through his phone. Maybe it was time to call in for some help.

"Hey Luna! You free today?"

---

Harry's sitting in his favourite seat in his favourite café with his favourite coffee - a caramel macchiato, for reference - whilst convincing himself that he'd had a late night and that this much caffeine was completely acceptable. It was only his third? coffee of the day.

He likes this seat because it is right in the corner and has the perfect view if the entire café. Ideal for people watching. It's quiet today, which makes sense as Monday morning isn't really prime business time, but it means there are not many people to watch. He scans the room to see a couple of teenagers at one table by the window pointing with excitement at the small dog sitting outside. The only other person in the cafe is the barista behind the counter, who is taking a chance to clean the coffee machine in the quiet. He checks his phone to see if Luna has messaged him but alas, no notifications. She's probably got stuck on the tube or the bus, Harry thinks, he did ask her to meet at short notice. Then he begins to feel guilty for taking up her time, this isn't worth her going out of her way. It seems so minor, maybe he should cancel and work it out by himself?

The bell chimes as someone enters the coffee shop. He lifts his head expecting to see a stranger or Luna. He's wrong. It's a different blonde and he can't quite believe his eyes. He feels stuck as his eyes follow none other than

Draco Malfoy.

It's not like he hasn't seen Malfoy since the war. He has. But only passing glances in the Leaky Cauldron or at Luna's birthday. Not in a quaint cafe in muggle London. And now his glance is much more that passing as he feels like he needs to take in every inch of the man ordering his coffee.

Harry blinks and shakes his head, he's just another bloke on this Monday morning and Harry tries to ignore the fact that he's finding it remarkably difficult to look away from how the tight denim stretches over his rather lovely arse. But he does and begins staring straight into his coffee. Some small hope that maybe if he doesn't look maybe Malfoy won't notice him. He's starting to lose the staring contest with his macchiato when he's gets interrupted,

"Potter?"

It seems like the 'if you can't see them, they can't see you' tactic is failing; so, Harry slowly lifts his head to meet stunning silver eyes and he almost slaps himself to remind him that this is Malfoy.

"Malfoy," Harry croaks and feels like a teenager again as his voice breaks, "what a surprise."

"It is."

There's a significant pause before anyone speaks as Harry is unsure how to converse with his ex-rival-come-acquaintance. What do you ask someone who you haven't spoken to for literal years?

"How are you?" He goes with, hoping by some miracle that the café gets robbed and then they'd both be saved from this horribly awkward encounter.

Malfoy begins to speak but it immediately interrupted by the door swinging open and Luna rushing in. A miracle Harry thinks. Luna hurries over,

"Sorry I'm late Harry, I still find the underground ever so confusing," Luna pauses and looks at Malfoy, "oh, Draco! How lovely to see you."

"Luna, what a pleasure," Draco returns with the most genuine smile Harry thinks he's ever seen from Draco and he decides that it rather suits him.

"Would you like to join us for coffee?" Luna asks and Harry is about to object as this is not what he signed up for but luckily Malfoy beats him to it.

"No, no, I ought to be going. Lovely to see you Luna," he turns and gives her a half hug with the arm not preoccupied by coffee and then gives and awkward wave to Harry and nods,

"Potter."

And then he is gone as swiftly as he entered, and Harry isn't even sure if he saw him leave as he stares blankly at the door. All he can think is, what just happened?

"You alright Harry, you look like you've seen a Nundu?"

Harry hums absently, pretending that he knows what a Nundu is. He slowly draws his attention back to the table, Luna smiles at him and puts her bag down,

"I'll just get a drink!"

By the time Luna returns, a tea between her hands, Harry thinks he's finally recovered from his unexpected encounter enough to articulate a sentence.

"I didn't realise you knew Malfoy that well," Harry began.

"It would be rude not to get to know my girlfriend's best friend." Luna smiles and takes a sip from her tea, "and besides, he's been helping me do research for the quibbler, it's been so helpful."

"Oh," Harry feels slightly dejected at the fact he knows so little about Malfoy and surprised that he hadn't heard about his help earlier, "that's nice, I guess."

Luna hums, "It is. So, what did you want to talk about, Harry?" Then Harry feels horribly awkward,

"It's not that important really," he says, scratching the back of his head, "sorry you came all this way, you just seemed like you knew what you were talking about yesterday and I thought, maybe, you could help?"

"It's alright Harry, I quite like the underground, it makes for such an interesting adventure - so much more interesting than apparating!" Luna beams at Harry and some of the tension melts away. He takes a deep breath and begins to speak,

"Yesterday, you said you thought I could be asexual? And when Hermione explained, for a moment, it made sense, but I thought about it this morning and realised that, that I like sex? So would that mean I do feel sexual attraction? I just don't know how to know what I am." Harry catches his breathe as he feels that all the tension, that he even didn't realise he was holding, falls.

"It's okay not to know, you don't need to choose a label if you don't want to." Luna pauses, "and I don't think liking sex is the same as sexual attraction."

"Right?"

"I've met people before who are asexual and sex-repulsed and asexual people who are sex-positive." Luna continues, and Harry feels like his head might explode with all the different terms.

"Okay," He breathes, "so what you're saying is I can be asexual and still like sex?"

"Yep."

Harry huffs and smiles at Luna, although the smile ends up sort if lop-sided as his brain is still processing,

"You seem to know an awful lot about, all this stuff?"

Luna hums absently,

"I guess I do." She thinks for a moment, "I've met a lot of people in the community and when me and Ginny wanted to get with Pansy, we had to learn a lot about sexualities and relationships to make it work."

"I still can't get my head around it."

"Around what, Harry?"

"You and Ginny, and Pansy? I'm glad you're happy but -" Harry feels like he's stuck his foot in it, he shouldn't judge.

"But we make it work. And you're right, I'm happy. We're happy. I guess that's all that matters." Luna smiles gently at Harry.

He's thankful for her, for her understanding and he thinks that he's got some stuff to figure out.

"Thank you, Luna."

---

Harry's cooking dinner that evening, glad for his day off, when his mind starts to wonder. He can't believe he saw Malfoy again. Spoke to Malfoy. It feels like it's been years and to just bump into him in a coffee shop, a muggle coffee shop at that. It must have been 2 years? since they'd last spoken and he can't help but wonder what he's doing now. He's barely heard from him, about him, since. What was he doing? Where was he working? Where did he live? Did he have a partner? And could he smell burning?

Oh, shit. He's burnt his eggs. Harry quickly tries to scrape the eggs off the bottom of the pan and tips it onto some toast. Burnt eggs on toast. Lovely. If he puts enough salt and pepper on maybe it'll be edible.

He spends the rest of his evening drifting in and out of his thoughts, mostly filled with his ex-rival. Harry finds himself wanting to know him and talk to him. And what is he thinking? This is Malfoy. He is just some guy and he shouldn't be preoccupied thinking about him and even if Harry did want to see Draco - sorry, Malfoy - the likelihood of bumping into him is so slim that he probably won't see him for another year.

Or so he thought.

It's exactly one week later and Harry is back at the Leaky Cauldron with everyone but Neville, who had got caught up at work late and might not be able to make it. Somehow, they were discussing the best food they had used as ammunition in their years at Hogwarts and all is normal. Harry starts making his argument for profiteroles working as mini cream cannon balls when that blonde that Harry has been trying to push out of his thoughts saunters right up to their table and smiles that stupidly perfect smile, acting as if it is totally normal for him to be there.

"Oh, hello Draco!" Luna beams at him and Harry remembers that these two were friends now and almost scowls at the thought. Not that it's bad that they're friends, he thinks, he must just find it weird seeing him around?

"I hope it's okay that I invited Draco," Pansy starts, "Luna mentioned that Harry and her had bumped into him and I realised that we never catch up all together."

Right, where one Slytherin goes the other one follows, and Harry looks around the group expecting some resistance but everyone is smiling and acting happy families - even Ron? - as if their childhood enemy hadn't just sat down at the table like they were best friends. Like their so called rival hasn't just sat across from Harry, perfectly positioned in his direct eyeline.

But as the evening goes on, it almost does feel normal. And despite Harry's immediate reaction of confusion and frustration, he finds that he isn't as opposed to the idea of having Draco around as he first thought. Being in a group prevents the awkward one-on-one conversations and Draco even buys a round for the table - a pleasant surprise. And Harry can't deny that he's enjoying the eye candy.

Eye candy.

EYE CANDY.

He really likes the eye candy. And he realises that he's never even considered using that phrase before. And without realising it, Harry is looking at a map. He's starting to read a map. He's never read a map in his life before, and he's not quite sure how or why he's started now but the fact that there even is a map is new to Harry.

Harry is looking intensely at his fire whisky and isn't sure he can look at Draco again after realising that he is, by Harry's limited understanding of the word, sexy. He can feel his cheeks heating up at the thought and silently thanks the dim lights and flowing conversation for hiding his face.

Yes, Harry knows that many people in the world are attractive. He knows that many people are 'sexy' to other people. But Harry has never had such a physical reaction to someone before and it makes it even more confusing.

Harry carefully raises his gaze and forces himself to look at anyone but Draco. But he really wants to look at Draco. He really wants to look at that shiny blonde hair and sharp jawbone, flawless skin, perfectly plump lips and those swirling grey eyes that could draw Harry in like a siren.

And he realises that he has been looking at those things and his attempt to ignore has failed miserably as those lips smile right at Harry and those endless eyes are smiling too as they return his gaze. Harry doesn't know how to react but what he does know is that, for whatever reason, he can't look away. It feels like hours staring. He's almost forgotten where he is until,

"Draco makes a killer veggie carbonara." Draco pulls his eyes away after hearing his name and begins talking to Pansy.

Harry glances around the group, cheeks burning now, but no ones eyes are on him and it seems their moment had gone unnoticed. But Harry noticed.

He finds it particularly hard to focus for the rest of the evening, he downs his fire-whisky and let's the world continue around him, only pulled from his thoughts as people begin to leave and talk starts of apparating home. He shuffles out of the pub and says his goodbyes as everyone disperses until only him and Draco are left. Harry turns to Draco and can't find any words so he looks at the sky. So does Draco. They stand in silence, surrounded by the chill breeze and the gentle rumblings from inside The Leaky Cauldron. Harry hears Draco take a deep breath,

"Walk with me?" Draco asks quietly, looking back to Harry for an answer. And he finds that he can't say no. That he doesn't want to say no.

So, they walk. And talk. Wondering along the streets around Charring Cross and Harry finds a chance to ask the questions he was so desperate to know.

"What are you doing now?"

Draco huffs out a laugh and a gentle smile,

"Don't laugh," he pauses and takes a breath, "I'm a florist." And Harry doesn't laugh because the image of him working somewhere so quaint shocks him, he almost thinks it's a joke.

"A florist?"

Draco hums in response. And Harry realises he is serious. Images of Draco in a delicate apron, handling beautiful flowers flood Harry's mind and he finds himself smiling.

"Why would I laugh?" He asks.

"Because you're "The Boy Who Lived", "The Chosen One", you're the best Auror of our time. And I'm a - flower boy."

Harry frowns, he doesn't want all those titles, he just wants to be Harry.

"I'm not the best Auror of our time. They call me that because they want to suck up to me. I'm clumsy and forgetful and I'm awful at paperwork. And being a florist, well it sounds... nice." Harry trails of and thinks he could have picked a better word.

"Nice?" Draco laughs and feigns offense.

"No, I mean it sounds calm and if you enjoy it, then that's all that matters."

Draco smiles and Harry thinks he wants to see that smile over and over again.

"I do enjoy it."

"How'd you start, anyway?" There’s a pause as Draco gathers his words.

"I needed money." He starts, "and no one would take me after the war. Especially not with this on my arm," he stops. Harry can feel the regret lacing his words as Draco lifts his sleeve to show a faded and scarred Dark Mark. Harry has an innate reaction to take his arm in his hands. So, he does. Draco's breath hitches as Harry starts tracing the mark and surrounding scars. He takes a moment to breathe before continuing,

"so, I decided to look for a muggle job. There was this part-time job as an assistant in a florist in London. I found that I loved the care and precision of looking after the flowers and picking the right ones for customers. And it turns out that plants don't care about who I used to be. Anyway, I kept working there and got promoted and here I am." Harry is still holding onto Draco and quickly comes to his senses when Draco stops talking. He drops his arm,

"Sorry, sorry, I- I don’t know why,"

"No, no, it's okay. Blame it on the fire whiskey." Draco smirks at Harry and Harry can't help but smile back.

"I'm sorry about the way people treated you for your past, it's not fair, you were only a child. We were all only children. But I'm glad you found that job, it sounds good for you."

Draco hums. They continue to walk in silence, brisk air against their skin as they walk through the streets of London. Taxis and cars passing every now and then. A few people out late walk past them but mostly it's quiet. Just the sound of feet on concrete echoing between the tall buildings either side of them. With Streetlights providing the only source if colour, Harry watches as Draco’s hair seems to sparkle every time they pass under one. You're beautiful. Is all Harry can think. Draco stops suddenly, directly under a lamppost; he turns and looks at Harry.

Draco is just staring at Harry as if Harry had said something and then he realises,

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" Harry laughs awkwardly and looks at the floor, he brings his arm up and scratches his neck, almost attempting to cover his face. Draco nods slightly and Harry's not sure if he's blinked since his slip up.

"I- thank you." Draco says but can't seem to form any words so turns away from Harry and continues to walk in the direction they were going.

Harry is sure he's fucked up, now Draco is going to walk away, and Harry will never see him again because he forgot to shut his mouth. Just when he thought that they might even start being friends. That he was actually learning something. Draco's a few meters ahead when he stops and looks over his shoulder at Harry which had just been staring at Draco's back at a loss of what to do.

"You coming?" Draco calls back to him and Harry let's out a sigh. Maybe he hasn't fucked up, at least not yet.

He jogs slightly to catch up with Draco and they continue walking. Eventually, they arrive at a crossroads and Harry realises that they have no notion of where they're walking.

"Which way?" Harry asks.

"I don't know. I usually apparate home."

"Well we could apparate to mine and chat over a drink?" Harry says on a complete impulse and then worries he's pushing his luck, "or yours? Or neither? Sorry, just an idea."

Draco laughs, hard. His breathing begins to slow, and he smiles brightly at Harry. Yes, Harry thinks. Yes, that's a sight to behold.

"What, did I say something funny?"

"No, no," he starts, catching his breath, "it's just, I didn't expect the Saviour of the Wizarding World to be so awkward. It's endearing."

"Oh." Harry huffs out a laugh, "Thank you? I think." He pauses, looks around and realises that they are still standing in the corner of the crossroads, "so where are we going? Or are we departing for tonight?"

"I wouldn't despise having a drink before heading back. Yours it is."

"Mine it is." Harry agrees and holds his arm out for Draco. He takes his arm and in an instant they're twisted to Harry's front door. This is when Harry realises that he is certainly not prepared for a guest and it might be worth a disclaimer. Harry takes his arm from Draco and starts unlocking the door,

"Err, just a fore warning that I was not expecting anyone tonight and mess would be an understatement." Draco laughs at Harry's concern and promises him that he won't judge too harshly.

And then Draco is in his apartment, sitting on his sofa, drinking a glass of a random white wine that Harry had dug out from the back of the cupboard. Harry sits next to him with a glass of water in an attempt to focus his thoughts.

"So, Potter, what does the biggest name in the Wizarding World do for fun?" Draco asks.

Harry is taken aback for a second because he honestly blanks on his own hobbies, what does he do? He cooks, works, drinks coffee and oh,

"I guess I like to play quidditch every now and then, but sometimes it's hard to find an empty space to play. And everyone has full time jobs so it's only when I can drag someone to a random field." He explains.

"I miss quidditch, it was so freeing up there. So much space, no restraints." Draco added. Harry remembers when they used to play and despite the rivalry they had, he must admit that Draco played well. He put up a good fight on the pitch.

"We should do a seeker’s match sometime?" Harry asks on a whim, "if you're not scared I'll beat you." He teases. And Draco blushes. Harry thinks its adorable.

"’Sure it's not the other way around?" Draco smirks, "although I admit, I'm probably a bit out of practice. I haven't played since," he pauses, "since 5th year."

"I don't blame you. We were somewhat preoccupied."

Draco huffs a laugh. No one says anything for a while, they just sip on their drinks. Harry looks over at Draco and Draco is just staring into his glass, deep in thought. Harry takes a chance to breathe and wonder how on earth this happened. But he also finds that he doesn't care, he's just glad that it has because now Draco is here, and he feels thankful. He's not quite sure why, but it feels right.

"I'm sorry." Draco says almost a whisper, still looking away from Harry. And Harry thinks he sees a tear fall down his cheek.

"Why?"

Draco looks up now and he looks so confused,

"because of the way I treated you for 7 years? For fighting on the wrong side? For kicking you and berating you and for, for following him when," he breathes, "when I knew it was wrong." Draco's gaze is so intense, and he forces himself to keep looking at Harry. He is definitely crying now and Harry's heart hurts as he watches Draco's confident demeanour and strong facade crack. Harry leans forward rests his hand against Draco's cheek, he gently uses his thumb to wipe away the tears.

"I'm sorry." Draco repeats.

"I'm sorry too." Harry replies, "for hurting you, for not seeing the pain you were in. For not taking a minute of my time to consider what it was like for you. For being so selfish and for trying to hate you. But, I meant what I said before. We were only children. We were naive and things were out of our control. You did what you thought had to at the time and so did I. And it's in the past now. You've grown. You're not who you used to be." Harry stops, realises how much he meant what he said. He realises that he is also crying, and that he's still holding Draco's face. He drops his hand and then immediately pulls Draco into a hug.

It's an awkward angle but he thinks that this is what they both need. Draco shifts away to put his glass down and for a moment Harry thinks he's going to leave; that he's gone too far, pushed their boundaries. But he doesn't. He wraps his arms around Harry and rests his head in the crook of Harry's neck. They sit there and hold each other for what feels like hours. Silence but for the quiet sobs.

Eventually Harry's back starts to ache at the slightly twisted angle and when Draco's breathing softens, he pulls away.

"I'm not sure you're in the best state to apparate home." Harry laughs slightly and so does Draco.

"It's alright, I think I've cried the alcohol out of my system." Draco crooks out and smiles wearily.

"Are you sure you can get home safely? I don't mind you crashing here." Harry checks.

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. But thank you." Draco stops and considers for a moment before looking away, "-maybe we can get a coffee sometime and catch up properly?"

"Yeah, that would be nice." Harry replies.

"I'll promise not to cry all over you next time." Draco says as he stands and picks up his things of the table. He picks up his phone, unlocks it and passes it to Harry.

"Might make it easier to contact each other? Instead of waiting until we accidentally cross paths again." Draco suggests when Harry looks slightly confused at his action.

He takes Draco's phone, types in his number, and returns it to him.

"Alright, I'll talk to you soon?" Harry says. Draco nods and thanks him before apparating away and Harry is left staring at a blank space. He blinks and feels slightly lost. He almost feels as if this evening was some weird dream. But not necessarily a bad one.

He goes to bed that night with a mind full of blonde hair, grey eyes, memories of soft skin in his, the gentle scrape of hands on his back and a warmth rested against him. He goes to bed with a mind full of Draco.

---

Harry spends his week fairly normally but constantly feels on edge and checks his phone far to often as he waits for Draco's message. He feels like hitting his head against a wall. Why didn't he ask for Draco's number as well? What if Draco was just being polite? Why can't he stop thinking about him and his stupid sexy arse?

Despite being majorly distracted by Draco, he also finds plenty of time to be confused about his sudden realisation that there is a map and that he might even be on that map.

He thanks the heavens that most of his work this week has been admin as his mind is not on task and he's not sure he would have been the most helpful on the field. It gets to lunch time and Harry realises that he's completed less than half of what he should have. It's at this point he gives in, pulls out his phone and calls for help. Again.

"Hi Harry!" A soft voice picks up.

"Luna, hey! Are you free for a chat?" He asks.

"Yes of course, perfect timing really, just about to take a break."

"Ah, cool." Harry pauses, unsure of what to say next. He hears shuffling from the other end of the phone and takes it as a chance to think. The sounds quiet and Luna begins to speak.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, it's just," Harry takes a moment, "it's just about Draco? Kind of. And what we spoke about last week?"

"Go on, Harry."

"I thought that it made sense, being asexual as I've never felt like someone was sexually attractive. I've never thought of someone as sexy and then. And then..." Harry feels slightly awkward trying to explain this despite how supportive Luna is.

"And then?"

"And then I saw Draco again. And I've never reacted like this with someone. Like, I'm physically attracted to him. I want to fuck him? I've never actively wanted a person. I'm just, I was so happy that I finally had an explanation and now I've gone and mixed it up again." Harry breathes, he had spoken so quickly and forgotten to pause properly, "sorry, that was probably too much information."

Harry hears a gentle laugh from the other end of the phone. Not mocking but almost empathetic.

"It's okay Harry, it's not always easy. Sexuality is fluid and can change, so it could be you've just changed through your life. But Asexuality is a spectrum like so many other things. There are things like demisexual when the person needs a strong connection or romantic attraction before developing sexual attraction." Luna provides.

"Right." Harry thinks, "I mean, we did have a connection, I'm sure of that. But I think I was attracted to him before I had a chance to know him?"

"Well, there's also broader terms like graysexual which is more of an umbrella term. It sometimes suggests that you experience very limited sexual attraction, or it occurs in very specific circumstances."

"Right, okay. So, I'm not just going crazy?" Harry asks, laughing slightly.

"No Harry, not at all, in fact there are many people who are part of the ace spectrum. It's more common that you might think." Luna adds.

Harry smiles and feels somewhat relieved, "Thank you for helping, I really appreciate it."

"Any time, Harry!"

"I'll leave you to your lunch. Have a nice day!"

"You too Harry!" He puts down his phone and breathes.

Well, that’s a start at least. He mentally thanks Luna for her patience with him and hopes that it will all make more sense to him soon. Harry checks his phone one last time and decisively leaves it as his desk as he goes for lunch. He won’t let his life revolve around waiting on a text message.

But the first thing Harry does when he gets back to his office is turn on his phone. He squeaks and drops it back on the table as it vibrates in his hand. A message. It could be from anyone. It’s unlikely that it’s Draco, but it could be. And what if it is? What then? Harry is staring at his phone that is face down on his desk; it vibrates again, and Harry almost stands as he jumps in reaction.

Enough. There’s no point panicking about a message when it’s probably just Ron asking a bizarre question about the logistics of a fruit lasagne.

He carefully lifts his phone, unlocks the screen, and reads the notification.

2 messages.

One from Ron.

One from an unknown number.

He opens the one from Ron first.

Ron: if I made lasagen with bread instead of pasta, would it still be lasagne?

Harry laughs out loud unable to hold it back. Well, he wasn’t far off the mark. He answers Ron and mentally thanks him for unintentionally calming him down. He takes a breath and then reads the next message.

Unknown number: So, about that coffee?

It’s Draco. It’s actually Draco. He spent his entire week waiting for this bloody text. The first thing he does is add him as a contact and then he replies.

Harry: Took you long enough.

Blonde Buffoon: Well, I’m sorry that I have a life. So, how does this weekend sound?

Harry: I think that would be adequate.

Harry and Draco sent up a time and place and with a smile on his face, he finishes his work that he’s been neglecting the past few days. Suddenly, all the nerves and panic that has been brewing in him for the past week elevates and he is happy. Excited even.

---

The weekend comes and the calm state Harry had ended the week on quickly dissipates as he begins to worry about the million and one ways he is going to fuck up on his date. Date. Is it even a date? Did they clarify? What if Draco just wants to be friends? Not that he doesn’t want to be friends. He just thought there was something more. But what if Draco doesn’t see that? What if Harry’s finally found someone on his map and Draco doesn’t have Harry on his map? That would just… suck.

What if Draco finds out about Harry’s sexuality and finds it weird or wrong? He didn’t even consider that. He’s going to have to explain this whole – thing. Good god, he was overthinking this.

In the hours prior to the date (?), Harry has changed outfits at least 5 times; spent almost an hour trying to calm his messy curls; and has drank 3 cups of tea leading to a very urgent toilet break before heading out of his flat. Harry’s not sure he’s felt this nervous in his life – except maybe for the time he had to walk to his own death but that was very unusual circumstances. And, Harry thinks, that he might be walking to his own death depending on how badly he messes up.

By the time that Harry had arrived at the café of Draco’s choosing, his hands are literally shaking, and he can’t understand why he’s so nervous, but he is. He can’t see any signs of Draco inside but decides to go in, order a coffee – a caramel macchiato, of course – and sit down. He checks the time on his phone and as if like clockwork, Draco walked into the café - right on the hour. Harry watches Draco as he scans the room, presumably looking for Harry. When he notices him, Draco smiles lightly and waves awkwardly before gesturing to the small queue in front of him.

Harry takes Draco in as he is waiting to place his order and admires his coordination. His entire outfit is a combination of blues and greys and Harry notices a beautiful silver earing on Draco’s left ear. He never knew Draco had piercings. He realises that he’s still got a lot more to learn about Draco and he can’t wait to do so.

Draco comes over with his drink in hand and sits down opposite Harry.

“What’d you order?” Harry asks.

“Black Americano.” Draco answers with a small smile, “What about you?”

“Caramel Macchiato.”

“Is that just caramel in coffee?”

“Basically. Tastes good, do you want to try?” Harry moves his cup towards Draco and Draco looks at it warily. Draco picks up the mug and sort of inspects the top as it is about to jump out and attack him.

“It won’t bite.” Harry smirked.

Draco looked at Harry and then back at his coffee. He lifts it to his lips and takes a small sip before grimacing and sticking out his tongue. Harry starts laughing but can’t help finding the reaction endearing.

“Ugh, how much sugar is in that?” Draco passes it back over.

“Like 2 shots of caramel, and maybe a couple of sugars?” Harry explains slightly embarrassed.

“You’ll have no teeth in a few years, merlin.” Draco says but smiles despite it.

“Well I’m sorry that you obviously don’t like flavour.” Harry bats.

“What can I say, my coffee matches my soul.” Draco mocks, “Dark and bitter.”

“I don’t believe you.” Harry smiles, “I bet your soul matches my coffee, sweet and addictive.” Harry’s not sure where the confidence came from, but he then decides to wink at Draco.

“I’m not sweet!” Draco kicks Harry under the table and Harry bursts out in laughter. All the tension he was holding earlier falls and he feels relaxed, happy.

They spend their time laughing, chatting, catching up on the last few years. Draco tells him about his job and all the unusual customers that he’s encountered; Harry, in return, relays the weirdest Auror missions he’s been on. They gossip about their friends and exchange disbelief in the ongoing insanity of Prophet headlines. They talk about family.

“How’s your mother?” Harry asks gently after they’d lulled into a silence.

“She’s well. Thank you. I try and visit her often; I don’t like the idea of her being alone in the Manor. But she’s as happy as she can be. She’s redecorating actually, which is nice.”

“I’m glad.” Harry thinks of Narcissa, and thinks of how she helped him, “She deserves to be happy.” He pauses for a moment before sharing, “I don’t know if you knew that she helped me. In the war.” Draco shakes his head in response, his eyes meet Harry’s with a curiosity, “She lied to Voldemort, she protected me. She’s a good woman.”

“I – I didn’t know. But you’re right. She is good. She’s the best mother I could ask for.” Draco adds and Harry notices his eyes glisten slightly with a sheen of water.

“Um, I’d like to thank her properly, one day, if that’s – if that’s okay with you and her.” Harry stutters out.

“I think she’d like that.” He smiles a little. They fall into quiet again as they sip at their coffees. It’s peaceful, Harry thinks. He likes this.

“How are the Weasley’s?” Draco asks after a while, thinking of Harry’s family. Harry chuckles slightly before responding.

“Molly is as protective as always. She makes sure I check in regularly and I appreciate it really, even if I do moan.” Harry smiles to himself, “I see Ron and Ginny a lot as well, I’m sure you’ll see them more often, if you want to?” He shakes his head slightly as he corrects himself, “I mean, it was nice seeing you at the pub, you’d be welcome to join again – especially if you keep buying us rounds.” Draco laughs brightly.

“I’m not sure my bank account will be happy,” Draco jokes, “but I would like that, to join again.”

They return to telling stories, about nights at the Leaky gone wrong and their most embarrassing Hogwarts tales and even what they had for lunch in the week. They talk about anything and everything and before they know it, they’ve been sitting in the café for hours.

“We should do this again.” Draco says as he is gathering himself to leave.

“We should.”

They set up another meeting and part ways.

The next few weeks are filled with walks in the park, intriguing restaurants, and trips to the cinema – “Yes, I have seen a film before Potter, I’m not that naïve.” They even manage to play a game of quidditch - "Ha! I told you I'd win!"

It’s filled with subtle glances and sitting close enough for knees to tough It's filled with laughs and smiles and hands grazing as they walk side by side. Hugs before they say their goodbyes. It’s more that Harry expected. It’s better than he expected.

But Harry decides that he is greedy, he wants more.

It’s a Saturday evening and they are both slouched on Harry’s couch with a nonsensical film gracing the television screen. Harry is smiling and trying to hold back his laughter as Draco has a running commentary throughout the poorly constructed film.

“What is that outfit? She looks like someone tipped a can of paint over her.”

“Excuse me, that makes no sense, I thought they said she was a ghost? Why is she eating pasta like it’s no-bodies business.”

“And after everything, she does it anyway. Merlin, I wouldn’t trust this woman with a pair of scissors.”

“No one would ever do that. I take that back; you’d probably do that. No sane person would ever do that.”

Harry kicks Draco at this and Draco then kicks him back. So, Harry does it again but harder and Draco takes this as a challenge so whacks Harry back again until they are all but wrestling on the sofa, the film forgotten. They tumble back and forth: pushing, kicking, and laughing. Harry uses all his force to push Draco down onto the couch until he’s pinning Draco’s arms above his head and practically straddling his waist.

“Okay, okay, you win! Potter.” Draco replies, and sticks his tongue out and pulls a face at Harry. Their breathing is heavy, and Harry realises just how close he is to Draco. Harry thinks Draco notices too as a blush covers his cheeks and he looks away from Harry. Harry goes to release his arms and move away before he does something he regrets, before he ruins his new-found friendship, but is stopped as Draco tugs on Harry’s shirt and pulls him down into a kiss. Harry freezes for a moment and then relaxes. It’s soft and gentle at first but quickly becomes needy and heavy. Harry pulls away to breathe.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t – I should” Draco starts, as if he’s done something wrong but before he can continue, he’s interrupted with Harry’s lips and he’s pushed back down. This time it is quick but intense and Harry pulls away but leaves his forehead against Draco’s. He breathes heavily and looks straight into Draco’s swirling silver eyes. Enchanting, he thinks.

“Don’t apologise.” Harry smiles gently and then pecks Draco’s lips again. Draco looks shocked and now it’s Harry’s turn to second guess, “Is this okay?” He asks.

“Yes, yes – I just didn’t expect – I thought – Merlin.” Draco laughs and gives up speaking. He kisses Harry again. Harry smiles into the kiss. This is the start of something good, Harry thinks.

That night, Harry’s on the map. Harry’s navigating the map. And Godrick, is it the most beautiful map he’s ever seen. Harry carefully traces and learns every corner, every rip, every turning, and direction on his map. Harry wants to learn his map off my heart. To know all its secret routes, all its hidden gems.

And some days, Harry still struggles reading the map or doesn’t want to read to map or maybe he can’t even find the map. But Draco tells his that that’s okay. Draco tells him that he doesn’t care because even if Harry never had a map, he will be there. Draco teaches him that some relationships don’t need maps and that that’s okay too.

Some nights, Harry loves his map.

Every night, Harry loves his Draco.

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Two Truths and a Lie

Aqua breathes new life into the phrase ‘stormed out’, as she tears through the black archway, out of Hot Topic, dragging Vanitas with her like an empty black trash bag caught in a windstorm.

It takes Roxas a long moment to process this sudden departure and another to think to turn back to Axel, still leaning in the back door frame and looking vaguely whiplashed, like he ought to be picking stray leaves out of his hair.

Roxas finds himself moving toward him, dodging Clearance fixtures like a skier dodges flags. “Are you okay?” Concern wears down his voice, but he doesn’t think Axel will mind. His feet halt a few feet apart from the man, still staring out the entryway and frowning hard. “What was that about?”

Axel glances down at Roxas, silver pierced, red brows arching like it hadn’t occurred to him he might actually have to explain what’s just transpired. “I think I mighta broke Aqua.”

Axel tries to smile, but it’s a weak little twitch, and it makes Roxas a little sad that Axel feels like he needs to smile for him when he’s clearly no longer in the jovial mood he had been not fifteen minutes ago. (Even after Roxas had made the stupid mistake of telling him about pushing Sora off a pier and into the ocean. Which, okay. Sounded much worse than it was. Sora has a waterproof phone case. So, no harm done, really.)

Axel’s arms cross and he looks up, toward the top of the door frame where the paint’s started to scrape off. “Had to...uh, send someone home early,” he rubs at his arm, “low numbers and all that.”

Another person angry with Axel for just doing his job? It doesn’t seem fair...

“Aqua drew the short straw,” Axel continues with a shrug. “I’m sure she’s just pretending to be angry with me.”

“Sure, Axel.”

It feels too simple, like a lie. It certainly hadn’t looked that way to Roxas. Although, he supposes he hasn’t known them all long enough to really judge. Still something in his stomach tightens. He realizes Aqua getting upset could have been easily prevented. Still could be, but…

“I really, really need the hours,” Roxas argues with his conscience aloud, Seifer’s quick sneer and upturned nose back on his mind. (It should be impossible for anyone to look as stuck up as Seifer always did while also wearing a super dumb beanie, but he’d always managed it.)

Roxas backsteps, the echoes of Aqua’s ‘Screw you, Axel,’ ringing in his ears, as he watches regret play across Axel’s face.  

“But I guess, if she’s that upset, I’ll go after her...”

“You’ll…?” Axel shakes his head swiftly, pacing forward to set hands on Roxas’ shoulders. “It’s like day two for you, right? Stay.” Axel’s voice smooths out to a gentle salve. Between that and his hands—warmer than human hands are supposed to be, Roxas is pretty sure—Axel effectively stills Roxas’ entire being. “She’s fine. Really. She didn’t want me to tell you guys this, but she asked me if she could go.”

Roxas takes a slower breath. “Oh.”

So, her anger had been an act to cover up her calling first dibs to leave after Roxas and Vanitas duked it out earlier. Smart.

Also, kind of… offensive, right? Roxas hadn’t hurt Vanitas that bad. He’d just been milking it.

Chicken wuss, dismisses the Seifer in Roxas’ brain. Seifer, who Roxas had once seen bounce back to his feet, swaying, with his pretty nose broken, a couple displaced teeth in one fist and his Struggle bat poised to strike in the other. Always ready to go another round. The idiot.  

Axel reads Roxas’ mind, or the frown lines etching into his face at least.

“As for Vanitas, he’ll be back after Aqua tells him to behave himself.” Axel leans his elbow into Roxas’ shoulder to get closer to eye level. Amused overbright green halts his thoughts and Axel’s elbow digs a bit near his neck. Roxas can’t bring himself to mind. “You know. Probably.”

Roxas tilts his head in turn, eyes narrowing, tracing the silver constellation of piercings highlighting Axel’s sharp features. Lip ring, nose ring, brow studs, earrings, plugs… “Probably. So, you’re saying it’s just you and me?” “Actually.” Axel takes two fingers and presses Roxas’ cheek, turning his face to face the register. “It’s just you. Time to show me your stuff, check out boy.” He taps Roxas’ cheek in emphasis, and starts to strut toward the counter, the stained-glass window designed plugs Roxas gave him earlier waving in the air at him behind Axel’s back.

Roxas mouth opens a bit at this light-hearted shift, but he trails after, taking up his post behind the register and arming himself with a hand-held price scanner. He nods solemnly and reaches out a palm. “Right.”

Axel returns the soldierly nod and drops the plugs into Roxas’ hand, along with a packet of Pop Rocks—the green ones. “Did I find everything alright?” Axel prompts sportingly.

“Yeah, yeah, you did, thank you,” Roxas mumbles back dryly, scanning the first tag. Axel scoffs, the hard edge starting to melt off his grin.

Axel starts to type away on his phone. Not leaving Roxas all alone after all then, the newbie realizes.

*          *

Even missing his winged eyeliner today, Axel’s jade gaze is striking. Roxas can feel it burning the back of his neck as he turns to tap at the computer screen. He’s trying to find the stupid employee discount option Demyx had shown him so he won’t seem completely incompetent when he screws up something else later on.

Axel starts clicking his tongue the second Roxas gets it right, and Roxas pauses, unable to withhold a flash of confusion. “Tsk, tsk, Roxas,” Axel drags out, amusement growing at Roxas’ immediate, doe-eyed look of disappointment, “week one and you’re already sharing your employee discount with tall, handsome strangers? I’m not sure if I’m scandalized or impressed.”

“Tall, handsome...?” Roxas’ mind immediately jumps to Axel. His better judgment rejects that idea and his tongue stills, eyes flicking between Axel and the nonexistent checkout line. “You mean you?”

Axel feigns indignance, sweeping a fatigued looking wallet toward his chest and offering a dry, “Thanks for noticing.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t saying you’re not—” Roxas fumbles too quickly, words tangling, “I mean, I didn’t mean to say—Wait.” Roxas blinks as Axel leans back to watch his meltdown with an unwavering smirk. “You. You’re saying you’re not an employee?”

Axel sighs, nods, tugging at his tight black tee. “Just dress like one.”

Roxas watches the cotton snap back against Axel’s lean chest, and then shakes his head, trying to understand. “But you’re always here.”

He’d helped with Roxas’ training, logged him into the register, known every single employee’s name and personality flaws and amusing anecdotes…

“Right next door, technically.” Axel flicks a thumb. “Like I said, I just swing by to help Saïx keep his life in order.”

Wait, Axel had already told him this? Puzzle pieces begin to click. Why people get pissed at him for taking charge, for example. “And that’s why you never stay long.”

“Bingo. Gold star.”

Roxas sets the scanner down, arms crossing. Axel hadn’t needed to be so fucking cryptic about it. “So, what do you do?”

Axel pauses to consider, an arm stretching behind his neck. Roxas wishes the guy didn’t flex so much, as he gets distracted by a flash of the tattooed tongue of flame above Axel’s wrist and the edges of black etchings further up, wrapping lean muscle.

 “Stab people with needles, mainly.”

 Roxas tongue goes dry. What the what? “You’re… some kind of nurse?”

Axel laughs, short and bright, leaning his arms on the counter. “That’s flattering.” His head shakes like he’s trying to picture himself in jet black scrubs. “Jesus, no. Here.” He flips open the billfold in his hands. “Remember when I told you knowing about piercings was my only job?”

 He slides a business card across the table, featuring a complex glossy black and white geometric design that reminds Roxas of a mansion gate. Apparently cryptic is Axel’s forte.

 “I thought you meant knowing everything was your only job.” Roxas’ teasing lacks gravity as he squints at the card, unsure what to make of it.

 Axel smiles. “That’s more a hobby.” He glances down at the card and then, with a ‘Whoops’ flips it over. “Friend and I own a little tattoo and piercing place down on the boardwalk.”

 “Never,” Roxas reads from the simple, seriffed, gold font overtop the black and white design, feeling incredibly stupid. He imagines a neat little shop, all weathered boards and open glass, hung with elaborate posters, the smell of salt on the air, and punk rock thrumming through the speakers, gently vibrating the floorboards.

 Roxas glances back up to the attractive man, reconsidering the inverted violet teardrop tattooed below each eye. “Kind of perfect for you.”

 “Yup.” Axel taps the counter. “We’re not wildly popular yet, but we’ve made a name and we do better than alright.”

 “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

 “Oh?” Axel stills, lip quirking, and Roxas stomach chills at his latest misstep, though he honestly has no idea what it was.

 “Well, if you show me yours…” Axel prompts, flicking up an eyebrow and pinching the collar of his tee, like he’s ten seconds from pulling it off.

 “Ah…” Roxas raises both hands, blue eyes widening, words too fast again, as his heart rate reaches a rate more appropriate for a jack hammer. “I meant your designs, that you drew…”

 Axel’s freckled nose crinkles, and he covers his mouth like he’s trying harder to fight another smirk. “I know what you meant, Roxas.” And Axel has apparently had second thoughts on the whole stripping in public concept, because he just nods, as if to say ‘Later, then’ and folds his wrists on the counter, head tilting in thought. “Y’know, I tell everyone they’d love the place, but I think maybe you actually would.”

 “Yeah, I …” Roxas nods, voice quieting, sliding the business card over to his side of the counter, “I think so too.”

 Never, Tattoo and Piercing Parlor, Xigbar Thornton & Axel Flynn

 This all makes such an incredible amount of sense, Roxas isn’t sure how it didn’t occur to him before. Oh right.

 “But you said earlier you work next door…”

 “Uh-huh.” Axel shrugs a shoulder, sliding his credit card out of his wallet. “More of a side gig.”

 Setting his card down, Axel dips a couple fingers into his shirt pocket and fishes out a small silver name plate. He clips the tag near his breast bone with a magnet, and then tugs it forward for Roxas’ viewing pleasure. “claire’s” is embossed across the top in crisp, bubbly, purple letters. Below this, printed in some cousin to Comic Sans, “AXEL” in vibrant magenta.   

Roxas’ brain back-fires again in a way better suited to an old pickup truck engine.

 Roxas tries to super-impose the man in front of him over an image of Claire’s. Claire’s, a cheap children’s fashion boutique with the overwhelming assortment of low-quality, cutesy micro-accessories: hair, jewelry, plushies, the whole nine yards. Claire’s with the pink, purple, and glitter color scheme that looks like something a unicorn vomited up. Claire’s which always smells vaguely of plastic and vanilla bean.

 Roxas can’t help but imagine that upon walking in, Axel, in his punk-goth-hipster glory with his unquantifiable number of tattoos and piercings, would be immediately escorted out again.

 They let you work at Claire’s.”

 “Hey,” Axel argues, with a hurt pout about as real as a Claire’s cotton candy blue hair extension. “I’m good with kids.” His eyes narrow with amusement as Roxas’ brows rise. “It’s the parents you gotta watch out for. And okay so,” his hands lift in a gesture of admission, “maybe I mainly just sit around, piercing ears and looking pretty. And maybe Marluxia likes for me to stay out of the way. And technically,” his fingers steeple, “I got the job as a personal favor, and not through an interview, but that’s just because I violate most of the dress code standards any given day of the week.”

 Roxas laughs outright. “God, sorry. I just feel like such an idiot.” He shakes his head and, at an angry beep from the register, returns his attention to his computer screen, responding to a prompt on the screen that asked if their transaction was still ongoing and another regarding Axel’s method of payment. “I thought you were, like, my manager,” he mumbles, thinking of the grief he’d given himself over his crush.

 “’S alright,” Axel straightens up, pocketing one hand, “You wouldn’t be the first to give me a discount. Especially on account of me n’ Saïx.”

 Axel plugs his card in the reader, keys in his code.

 “Huh?” Roxas watches him out of the corner of his eye as he taps another button on screen. “What about you and Saïx?”

 Axel smirks again, and this one he doesn’t bother to hide, his voice reaching a new level of patronizing, “Your parents’ll tell you when you’re older.”

 The reader beeps, and Axel tugs out his card and taps it back in his wallet against the counter. Roxas is happy to turn his miffed expression away from the man’s striking eyes and mocking smile as he retrieves a bag for the earrings.

“What?” Roxas coughs. Axel had said he had a boyfriend, but… “You and Saïx?” 

 No. Way.

 Then laughter comes, quick and easy, imagining the playful, flirtatious red-head wrapping his arms around the neck of Roxas’ sharp, stoic boss. “Right, okay, sure.”

 “Well,” Axel’s smile drops off as he waves away the bag in Roxas’ hand, “they say opposites attract. And he is smart... successful... built like a tank...”

 Roxas laughs again, remembering Axel and Demyx’s serious discussion about checking out Saix’s butt in sweatpants. Maybe this is a long running joke of theirs.

 “Warm, charming, sympathetic,” Roxas mimics and rolls his eyes, tearing Axel’s receipt off the printer.

 Axel looks mock affronted, fingers to his chest again. “Don’t believe me, huh?”

 “Yeah, no. Maybe when hell freezes over.”

 “Is that right?” Axel chuckles softly at Roxas’ adamance, eyes terribly amused. “I’ll let him know you said so.”

 Hm. Maybe they really are good friends. Roxas remembers Axel draping a scarf around Saix’s neck in the training video. Saïx hadn’t seemed to enjoy it, but he also hadn’t stopped him.

 “Yeah,” Roxas says with slightly less certainty, forking over the receipt. “You do that.”

 “Thanks, Roxas.” Axel wraps the plugs in the receipt and tucks them back in his pocket. Roxas slides the Pop Rocks, forward as well, but Axel covers Roxas’ hand with his own to stop its progress. “Those were for you.”

Axel slides their hands back toward the cashier side, letting go only when Roxas wraps his fingers around the packet of candy.

 “Thanks,” Roxas mumbles, glancing down at the candy and wondering what to make of it.

 When Axel captures Roxas’ eyes again, he winks. “Hey, come by sometime. I’ll give you a free piercing or something.”

“I’m pretty sure all piercings at Claire’s are free.” Roxas wishes he could rewind his mouth. He doesn’t know what it is about Axel that makes him blurt the first thing that comes to his mind.

Axel chuckles. “And the equipment is crap, too.” He turns lazily to go. “But that’s not really what I had in mind.”

 “Oh. You meant...” Roxas slides the card on the counter closer still. “Pierce my… what, exactly?” That doesn’t sound the way he means it to, either, but this time Axel doesn’t call him out on it.

 “Whatever you want.” Axel nods over his shoulder, smirk both condescending and endearing. “My treat.”

 “I’ve never really thought about…” He has, actually, but after his tattoo, it’s safe to say his parents would murder him in cold blood.

 “So, think about it,” Axel replies, facing away from him again, walking off, “I’ve got a few suggestions.” He laughs lightly at some stray thought. “I’m sure Xigbar will too.”

 Maybe Roxas will just die now on the spot and save his parents the trouble.

 Sora would probably give the eulogy and get all blubbery and incoherent halfway though. Maybe he could tell the ‘my brother knocked me off a dock’ anecdote. Classic Roxas. So tragic.

 Axel saunters toward the door, and how had Roxas not noticed Vanitas coming in and getting back to work? How much of this conversation had he heard?

 Axel stops at the door and turns one more time, smile quick, “Never say never, Roxas.”

 Roxas leans his arms into the counter so he will not melt into a puddle on the floor. “That’s cheesy as hell, Axel.”

 “See you later, Roxas.”

[phoenixfics]

Forgive Me My Weakness

Posted for @dabihawks-week day 1, prompt: touch

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Also on ao3

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Dabi was lounging on the top of a tall stack of shipping containers when Hawks arrived at the riverside warehouse just after sunset. Hawks saw him jerk upright at the sound of his approach, then relax back into a lazy slouch once he recognized who it was. Several months had passed since the two of them started their arrangement, and they were no longer as tense in each other’s company as they had been at the start. That idea should have unsettled Hawks - the idea of becoming comfortable in a villain’s presence. Instead, he was relieved that he no longer had to be constantly on guard around Dabi. It had been exhausting, constantly second guessing every word out of each other's mouths and always looking over his shoulder. Now he was unsettled because he wasn’t unsettled. What had happened to that burning hatred? Where had it gone, and why did he feel guilty about its absence?  

“You’re late!” the villain shouted down as Hawks stepped closer.

“Nice to see you too, bastard,” Hawks called out. He craned his neck to look up at Dabi. “Are you coming down or are you going to make me climb up there?”

Dabi shrugged, exaggerated so that Hawks could see if from the ground. Hawks took it to mean “do whatever you want, but I’m not moving.”

Hawks sighed before scrambling his way up the shipping containers.

“Did you forget you have wings, birdbrain?” Dabi asked when Hawks made it to the top. He was only slightly out of breath, his left knee twinging where he banged it on a sharp corner halfway up the stack.

“Took down a purse snatcher with a slime quirk this afternoon,” Hawks said, pointing to his wings. They were coated in a sticky substance that looked and felt a lot like glue. Dabi snorted and Hawks resisted the childish urge to stick his tongue out at him. He knew he looked like a mess. Like some kid’s craft project, with feathers sticking out at weird angles and an excess of glue. All he needed was some glitter to complete the look, although glitter was just as hard to remove as this slime proved to be. It was thick and gooey and made it so that Hawks couldn’t just detach his feathers, since the slime stuck everything together. He had to scrape it off each individual feather, and it was annoying and painful if he tried to do it too fast. Hawks hadn’t managed to get all of the slime out when he remembered he was supposed to meet with Dabi. And of course the glue made it nearly impossible to fly, so Hawks had to walk the entire way, which didn’t help his tardiness.  

As Dabi and Hawks traded information like two kids trading cards or lunchtime gossip, Hawks fiddled with his wings, peeling the slime off as carefully as he could. By the time they finished Hawks had a pile of goo sitting next to him and was trying and failing to reach for the feathers nearest his back. They were always the hardest to reach even without the slime making it difficult to maneuver his wings.

Hawks could tell Dabi was struggling to keep a straight face and he felt heat rise in his cheeks. He probably looked ridiculous, but he really didn’t want to walk all the way back to his apartment. He was tired and it had been a long day and he didn’t like having too much time to think. Flying cleared his mind like nothing else did. The roar of wind in his ears, the overwhelming sight of the city from above - flying kept him sane. Kept him from overthinking. Walking, on the other hand, gave him time to think about how far he had fallen. Gave him time to think about why it had been months and he was content to just keep meeting with Dabi. He was supposed to be infiltrating the league. Taking it down from the inside. He hadn’t made progress towards that goal in weeks. Instead, he and Dabi danced around the topic of his inevitable meeting with Shigaraki and he reported back to the Commission that he was still gaining Dabi’s trust. It felt more like a lie each time.  

“Well, if we’re done here...” Dabi said and made to stand up.

“Wait,” Hawks’s mouth said. Fuck , his brain added. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, but he was getting desperate. Dabi cocked an eyebrow, but sat back down.

Hawks bit his lip. “Can you…” He trailed off, unable to find it in himself to say the last word. He gestured vaguely at his wings.

“Help?” Dabi supplied.

Hawks felt resignation slide over him. How far he had fallen indeed. Asking a villain for help. He was an idiot. Of course Dabi wouldn’t help. He was a villain. Villains didn’t help heroes.  

Dabi laughed. “I was wondering when your pride would give out,” he said.

But he didn’t stand up. He didn’t leave. He scooched closer to Hawks and gestured for him to turn. Hawks turned his shoulder so that Dabi could better access the last few dozen feathers that Hawks couldn’t reach on his own. Dabi’s face was a blank mask as he reached towards Hawks’ wing, and Hawks attempted to mirror the expression instead of letting his distaste show. It was one thing to talk civilly with a villain. It was another to let him so close, to let him touch his wings. Hawks’ heart fluttered in his chest as Dabi’s fingers brushed his wings. He didn’t often left people close enough to touch his wings in a non-saving capacity. It felt like someone running their fingers through his hair: intimate and pleasurable. A shiver went down his spine. It was almost easy to forget that Dabi was a murderer. Too easy. This was stupid. He should have just sucked it up and walked home. Whatever he was getting out of this wasn't worth the risk. It was possible that Hawks wasn't reading Dabi correctly. If he made any missteps...

“They’re softer than I expected,” Dabi said, sounding faintly surprised by the fact. Hawks turned his head. For a second, Dabi’s expression was soft. Then he locked eyes with Hawks and the impassive mask was back, so fast that for a second Hawks thought he had hallucinated the soft expression on Dabi’s face. Hallucination would have made more sense than anything Hawks’s mind could provide to explain the look. He was growing more uncomfortable by the second. It was looking like he was right about his assumptions, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

“Just get started, will you?” he said, frustration leaking into his voice. “I want to get home before midnight.”

“Impatient little bird, aren’t you?” Dabi commented.

Hawks narrowed his eyes and Dabi smirked but got to work. He was surprisingly gentle, careful not to tug too hard at the feathers and making his way methodically from feather to feather. He worked in a single-minded silence, and Hawks found himself lulled nearly to sleep at the rhythmic motions of Dabi’s fingers as they carefully cleaned off his feathers. The pile of slime grew. Dabi was nearing the end, now.

“Who knew you could be so gentle?” Hawks asked, half joking, half out of real amazement. Dabi had been hard edges since the day they met. Who knew he was capable of something softer? Hawks felt a sharp tug on the feather Dabi had been working on and yelped in pain. “Asshole!”  He jerked his head around. “What was that for?”

Dabi gave Hawks an apologetic smile. “Oops, my hand slipped.”

Hawks narrowed his eyes. Dabi ignored his disbelief and continued pulling slime out of his feathers.

“I’m done,” Dabi announced a few minutes later.

Hawks turned around. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. Dabi looked a bit flustered and Hawks smiled to himself. This close to Dabi, he was able to get a good look at the man’s scars. He wondered, not for the first time, how he had received them. Sometimes, he thought he must have done it to himself on purpose, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why someone would go through so much pain just to disfigure themselves. He wondered what the scars felt like.

The next thing he knew he was running his fingers down Dabi’s arm. Dabi flinched and Hawks immediately jerked his hand away.

“Does it hurt?”

Dabi was breathing heavily. “No.”

If it didn’t hurt, then that meant he had flinched just from contact with Hawks. Was it because it was Hawks or because Dabi was unused to touch? Hawks decided to follow his compulsion to touch Dabi again. If the man jerked away again, Hawks would stop, but he wanted to know why he had reacted the way he did. It was useful information. Hawks stretched his hand out, questioning.

“It’s only fair,” he said. “After all, I let you touch my wings.”

Dabi looked at his hand like it was going to bite but didn’t move. Hawks sighed in relief. He trailed his fingers up and down Dabi’s arm. The scarred skin was dry and leathery under his touch.

“It’s softer than I expected,” he said.

Dabi snorted. “Are you a parrot now?”

Hawks felt his face heat up and forced himself to look at Dabi instead of away, as was his instinct. Dabi had a strange look on his face. His mask was cracking. Maybe it would be enough to let Hawks in.  

“Can you feel anything?” Hawks asked, still sliding his fingers up and down Dabi’s arms.

Dabi shook his head. “No.”

Hawks looked at him, amazed, unable to comprehend the sensation of not feeling. All Hawks ever did was feel. Feel the wind beneath his wings, feel feathers brushing against him, feel guilt and anger and joy. Did Dabi feel those emotions, or had they been lost alongside his skin? He skimmed his fingers down Dabi’s arm, down to the wrist, where Dabi’s pale skin was stapled to dark scars. Dabi tensed under him as his fingers got closer to the staples, which pulled his skin tight at the edges. Even if the nerves under his scars were fried, the ones on the rest of his body had to still work, right? The seams between his scarred and unscarred skin must be constantly in pain. Hawks ghosted his fingers over the staples, then to the tips of Dabi’s fingers. Dabi still hadn’t pulled away, and Hawks felt his confidence grow. He considered how far he wanted to push, and decided to go all the way.

“How did you get–”

Dabi pulled back suddenly, as if burned. “That’s it. I’m done.” He stood up and made his way to the edge of the shipping container.

Too far. Damnit.

As Dabi made his way down to the ground, Hawks wracked his brain, trying to figure out why he had thought asking someone like Dabi how he got his scars was a good idea. He had to salvage the situation, somehow. He couldn’t let Dabi leave angry; it would color the rest of their interactions. He wanted the soft Dabi back, the one that had touched him gently and let Hawks touch him in return. He should have gone slower, shouldn’t have leapt so far, should have taken his time. He was always too fast, always two steps ahead of everyone. Sometimes, he forgot that not everyone else thought in terms of the future. Some were stuck in the past.

Hawks stood up and stretched his wings. He was able to move them freely and without pain. Dabi had done a good and thorough job. Hawks glided off the tower of shipping containers and landed in front of Dabi, halting him in his tracks.

“Move,” Dabi growled.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Hawks said instead of moving.

“For once, you’re right. You shouldn’t have. Now move. Before I barbecue your pretty wings.”

Hawks stepped closer.

“I thought we were finally making good progress,” he said.

“Progress?” Dabi scoffed. “Towards what, exactly?”

“Towards an understanding. Towards trust.”

Another step. Hawks wasn’t lying; he did think they had made a huge leap that night. And he should have been happy about that. About getting Dabi to trust him. Instead, he felt sick and guilty at having upset him, and he wanted to make it right. He had an idea of how, but it was risky.

Dabi was within arm’s distance now. Hawks reached out his hand and brushed Dabi’s fingertips with his own.

“Can you feel this?” he asked softly.

Dabi didn’t respond but he didn’t move away as Hawks took one last step to close the distance between them. Dabi’s eyes were so blue. He’d never really noticed, because the scars always drew his attention away from them. Hawks blinked, refocusing. His gaze settled on Dabi's lips and the scars that gave him a permanent, grim smile.  

“How about this?” he asked before he reached up and pressed his lips gently to Dabi’s.

Dabi froze and Hawks hoped he hadn’t made a huge mistake. He had just jumped out of a frying pan and into a bonfire. He prayed that it wouldn’t burn him.

Finally, Dabi’s lips parted under his, and the villain leaned into the kiss. His lips were dry, so Hawks ran his tongue over them. Dabi made a small noise in his throat and Hawks suppressed a smirk. He wasn’t the best kisser, but he was willing to bet that Dabi didn’t spend his free time hooking up with people and therefore wouldn’t know the difference. Hawks brought his hands away from where they were still brushing against Dabi’s and ran them lightly up Dabi’s arms then around his back. About halfway up Dabi tensed, and Hawks knew that that was where the edge of his scars must be. He moved carefully over the area, then continued up until his hands were in Dabi’s hair. Dabi shivered at the touch and this time Hawks couldn’t help but smile through the kiss. He moved one hand down to the side of Dabi’s face, and felt the contrast between the cool metal of the staples and the warmth of Dabi's skin. Finally, Dabi broke the kiss.

“So?” Hawks said, slightly breathless.

“What?” Dabi snapped. He was getting defensive. His eyes darted in all directions. He was panicking. Hawks was walking a thin line at the moment.

“Did you feel that?”

Dabi looked at him like he was an idiot. Which was an improvement over looking like he was going to bolt any second. Hawks gave Dabi his cockiest smile. Dabi glared at him.

“You…really are a hero, aren’t you,” he said, sounding slightly disappointed. Hawks’s heart plummeted. Was this the moment Dabi finally gave up on him? Had he just failed? “Heroes,” Dabi continued, “do whatever they want because they don’t know the meaning of the word consequences. ”

Hawks scrunched up his face, trying to puzzle out what Dabi was trying to say. Should he not have kissed him? Well, that was a stupid question; ofcourse he shouldn’t have kissed him. He was a murderous villain and Hawks was a hero. Kissing him was dumb on more than one level. But it also hadn’t backfired spectacularly, which meant he must have done something right.

“Also,” Dabi snapped, “I’m not made of fucking glass . You’re not going to break me.”

The next thing Hawks knew, he was shoved roughly up against a nearby shipping container. Dabi’s mouth was on his, but this time he was taking the lead, which was fine with Hawks. He tried to let go of this racing thoughts, tried to give in entirely to the kiss, but a little voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him that he was a gigantic fucking idiot or a terrible person or some combination of the two. But that voice grew quieter and quieter as Dabi kissed him fiercely until it was just a whimper. Dabi had pinned one of Hawks’s hands to the cool metal of the shipping container. The other was exploring Hawks’s body, pushing Hawk’s jacket aside and roaming up his back. Dabi's hand felt hot against his skin. Hawks’s free hand tangled into Dabi’s hair, pulling his face towards his own.

When Hawks tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, he knew it was time to come up for air. He broke the kiss and put his free hand on Dabi’s chest, pushing him back. They were both panting heavily, though Dabi sounded more out of breath than Hawks did. Dabi’s eyes were wide and wild. A few trickles of blood were leaking out of the scars on Dabi’s face. Hawks felt sick to his stomach at the sight.

“I thought you said you weren’t breakable,” he murmured. He raised his hand to wipe the blood off Dabi’s face, but Dabi slapped his hand away and Hawks quickly added, “I’m sorry.”

He had lost his head. He shouldn’t have let it get so heated. He needed to be better.  

“You’re still thinking like a hero,” Dabi said angrily. “Empty words mean nothing to me.”

“They weren’t empty,” Hawks insisted.

Dabi blinked in surprise, then hardened his expression.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t want your damn apology anyway.”

“What do you want?” Hawks asked. He knew it was risky to keep pushing, but Dabi was in a vulnerable and emotional state. Hawks was too, but he was aware of it, at least. Was using it to push forward. He wasn’t sure Dabi was as self-aware. He was looking at Hawks with a slightly lost expression that implied that he had never been asked what he wanted before. It was entirely possible that he hadn’t, actually. The thought made him uncomfortable. He knew next to nothing about Dabi’s past. Everything he knew was pieced together fragments. Not enough for the whole story, but enough to know it wasn’t a happy one.

“I want…” Dabi hesitated, clearly trying to organize his thoughts. “I want you to come with me. To meet Shigaraki. I think it’s time.”

Hawks smiled, but it felt hollow. It felt like a lie.

[nickovaughn-blog]

It’s Nick’s Birthday (and he’ll cry if he wants to) → Para 009

Where: Nick’s Apartment When: Wednesday November 8th, Nick’s Birthday. Summary: It’s Nick’s Birthday, and he has plans to go out, but nothing lately seems to go as planned. Rating: PG-13. Some vague mentions of assault and hints towards drug use.   

Nick had always loved birthdays. Whether it be his or somebody else’s. He loved the excitement of it and the idea of celebrating another year of not dying. He usually had a lot of fun on Birthdays. Today, though, he couldn’t quite grasp onto his normal level of Birthday optimism. There were certain traditions and plans that he couldn’t just drop, though. At least not without people asking him what was wrong or trying to pry him for details. Thankfully, this year, he hadn’t planned much. The first half of the day was spent with family, and now he was at his apartment waiting for Miles’ to come over so they could both go out. He didn’t want to tell him that he wasn’t particularly excited about it, because they’d just started to actually hang out again. Nick felt comfortable with him, and while he didn’t necessarily want to go out and hang out with people, he didn’t mind hanging out with him. So Miles’ was on his way, and he knew it’d be okay. The only problem was that it was getting colder, and he was not one to handle weather changes well. He needed to grab his jacket before they headed out; he knew he needed to so Miles wouldn’t question him in leaving the apartment in just a T-shirt when it was as cool as it was. If only the last place he left it wasn’t strewn across a chair in his room. He still hadn’t managed to make himself go in there yet, and his first instinct was to just say fuck it and go out without the jacket and just deal with the potential questions. He knew he had to suck it up, though. He was being dramatic, and fucking stupid. And he’d already been stupid when he freaked out on Miles. So he found himself slowly making his way towards his room, his heart beating familiarly in his chest as he did so. When he reached the closed door, he hovered his hand over the doorknob for a moment before slowly twisting it open. And seeing the room again instantly made him feel sick again. He had to close his eyes for a second and will himself not to be stupid again and turn away. Making his mind up, he straightened up and walked further in, planning on heading straight to the chair and grabbing his jacket off. And he was doing just that, eyes narrowed on the jacket and the jacket alone. And just when he reached out to grab the jacket, he spotted something on the desk in front of him and promptly froze. It was some dumb shirt that Jude had borrowed weeks ago and brought back that night. On Halloween. And Nick had never wanted to tear up something with his own hands so badly — but instead, he felt his breathing pick up rapidly and his hands begin to shake again. Without thinking to grab the jacket, he was turning sharply on his heel and striding out of the room, slamming the door sharply behind him. Shaking his head, he tried to compose himself, although whatever good mood he’d been in was now gone. Keeping his head down, he walked straight to the counter that had his phone, and picked it up —- texting Miles without even giving it a second thought. ‘I don’t think I can go out tonight.’

Miles was still reeling since the last time he’d seen Nick. It was odd to even think that that had happened to anyone close to him, let alone his best friend. And he wasn’t even there for him until days later because of their constant stupid fights. Miles really didn’t want anything like that to have to happen again — for something terrible to happen while they weren’t communicating for some ridiculous reason. Miles had reluctantly left the next morning, and they were in constant contact since then, which was helpful. And now they were going to go out for Nick’s birthday just like they always did. It was going to be okay, and normal. Just...different. But maybe different was okay. It didn’t have to be the same as it always was. Miles didn’t know what he was expecting as he neared the apartment. He was feeling a little more nervous this time around, probably because the last time he’d seen him Nick had pretty much been a nervous wreck. And Miles wasn’t blaming him, of course; but he had no idea what he would see on the other side of the door. Before Miles could even get that far, though, he got what he didn’t expect: a text from Nick, cancelling on him. Miles’ brow furrowed in confusion. Had something come up? He was close enough to Nick’s place now that he could talk to him about it there rather than over text. At least, he hoped so. Worst case scenarios flashed through Miles’ mind as he got to the door and knocked. Maybe Jude had shown up and Nick couldn’t leave. Unlikely, sure; but not impossible, and it made Miles anxious as he waited. “It’s me,” he called through the door. “D’you wanna talk?”

Nick would feel guilty about this later on, after all was said and done. But right now he felt cornered. He felt like he was being picked apart and judged --- something he didn't want to feel from Miles of all people. After everything that happened, he didn't want to feel like someone who had to be Mothered. He just wanted to feel like things were normal.  set his phone down shortly after texting Miles, turning away from the counter as he did so and running a hand through his hair. He knew in his heart he was overreacting, but he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted things to go back to normal; he didn’t want to be like this. But the idea of having to go out at that moment was just as bad as going back in the room. He didn’t want to admit it, but in the back of his mind he still felt like he could run into Jude at any given moment. And that possibility terrified him. Taking a moment to calm himself down, Nick wasn’t expecting to hear a knock at his door. Jumping at the sound, he froze for a moment before hearing the sound of Miles’ voice. Clearing his throat, he willed himself to pull it together. “Yeah — one second.” He called back, hoping the shakiness he felt wasn’t audible in his voice. Walking towards the door, he unlatched the door before pulling it open and silently holding it open for Miles to come in. “Nothings wrong.” He said quietly. “I’m okay — I just don’t think I can go out tonight. I just—” he shook his head. “If you still want to, Murphy’s getting off work soon. Maybe he could go instead.”

Miles was relieved to hear Nick’s voice, to know whatever was going on wasn’t as bad as his mind was telling him it could have been. He breathed a sigh of relief just as Nick opened the door to let him in. All looked fine as far as Miles could see. “I’m not going out without you on your birthday,” Miles insisted. That would have been a total dick move. “What...what changed your mind?” He had a feeling, and he didn’t want to push sensitive topics, but he figured he should ask anyway. Nick would tell him anything he was willing to say. “Nothing happened, right? No one came here or anything?” Not that it was any of his business. But it sort of was now. He thought he was kind of a part of this by now.

Nick: Nick wasn’t even processing that it was Birthday anymore. It didn’t even matter, he just didn’t want to have to go out. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted, but he knew it wasn’t that. “That doesn’t matter, wouldn’t hold it against you.” He said absentmindedly as the door fell shut behind the. Nick shook his head at the question, not quite sure how to answer that. “I don’t... I just don’t feel like it. Nothing happened. Not really.” He knew Miles was worried, and he didn’t necessarily want to talk, but he knew his friend was paranoid. “No one came here.” He answered, trying to weigh what he should and shouldn’t say before deciding. “I tried to go in my room again.” He tried to explain plainly without letting too much emotion overwhelm him or get in the way. He didn’t want to freak out on Miles again. “I thought I could go in there. And I thought I could go out tonight, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Miles shook his head. “No. It’s not right.” He wasn’t going to budge on that, that was for sure. “Okay. It’s fine. We don’t have to go out.” He really didn’t care. It was tradition, sure, but sometimes more important things came up. And what could he do about it? It wasn’t like he’d have fun without Nick anyway. Upon hearing he’d tried to go into his room again, Miles understood, and he felt himself deflate a little bit. He just felt...bad. Not bad for him, he didn’t pity him or anything shitty like that. He just wanted to help him and he wasn’t sure how. “Oh. Okay, well, uh...did you need something specific in there?” he tried. “I could get it for you. We still don’t have to go out but I can get it anyway.”

Nick nodded at that, truth be told barely paying attention to the conversation. He’d already made his mind up that he was staying in tonight, and it wasn’t anything like he’d done on past Birthdays, but things were different now. Everything felt different; wrong. “I’m sorry, man. Maybe sometime soon, okay?” It was a halfhearted offer, and he wasn’t completely sure he’d be able to fulfill it anytime soon, but he’d try to get it together. He didn’t want to be scared to go out places, or to his room. He never liked feeling scared. The fact that that’s all he’d been feeling lately made him feel disgusted with himself. “I just wanted my jacket. It’s on the back of my chair.” He eventually said. “If you don’t mind... I need it. It’s getting cold.” Though truth be told that was only half of the reason he wanted his jacket back so bad. “If you don’t want to go out, you could always stay here with me.” He tried to smile at him. “Can’t guarantee it’ll be any fun for you though.”

Miles nodded. “Yeah. Sometime soon.” He didn’t know how serious that was, but it was the thought that counted. He couldn’t expect Nick to do anything for him. He was going through some shit and Miles was going to respect that. Nick explained the whole jacket thing and Miles nodded. “Got it. No worries, man.” It was the absolute least he could do. “Yeah, I’ll stay here, sure. Let me go get that jacket first, though.” He gave Nick a smile before heading toward his room, opening the door and going in like it was nothing. Because for him it wasn’t, and that was the strangest part. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that someone had made Nick genuinely afraid to enter a room. Miles looked around, of course not feeling any different, but even visualizing what went down in there made him slightly nauseous, and he shook his head. Fuck Jude. The guy could burn in hell for all Miles cared. He was pulled from his thoughts when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Miles checked it, only to find a text from Lily, checking to see that they were still meeting up. Oh shit. Lily was supposed to be a part of this whole birthday celebration too. Nick was being so nice about it all, even letting Miles bring her along to his own birthday. And now Miles was about to ruin it by simply sighing out loud at the message and putting the phone back into his pocket. Lily would understand — he hoped. Nick needed him right now. Miles tried to push it out of his mind by going to get the jacket instead. He wanted to get back to Nick, to solve this whole issue of Nick’s night by just giving him the damn thing, so Miles yanked it off the chair forcefully. When he did, he must have sent something flying out of the pocket, because he heard something hit the floor with a quiet thump. “Whoops,” he said to himself, turning to retrieve whatever it was he dropped. He scanned the floor and his eyes landed on...a plastic baggie? Miles bent down to pick it up and upon closer inspection, he noticed there were pills inside. That was...strange. He wasn’t sure what to make of it at first. He picked up the baggie and examined it in his hand, thinking that this probably wasn’t just ibuprofen in Nick’s pocket in case he got a headache. He didn’t know if he should be confronting him right now, especially about something that might end up being no big deal, but that didn’t stop him from exiting the bedroom holding it, stopping in the doorway. “What’s this?” he asked directly.

Nick now he felt cornered. He felt like he was being picked apart and judged --- something he didn't want to feel from Miles of all people. After everything that happened, he didn't want to feel like someone who had to be Mothered. He just wanted to feel like things were normal. couldn’t help but feel guilty about everything. The fact that Miles was here putting up with his bullshit was one reason. Nick had never felt more weak in his life — being too scared to go into a simple room or go out to a bar was pathetic. He knew it was pathetic, and he hated the fact that Miles kept seeing him like this even if he was being nice about it. Nick didn’t want to have to rely on him; he knew he shouldn’t rely on him. But he needed his jacket. Or more specifically, he needed what was in the pockets. He was hoping that the contents would help him get through the night, and now he felt like he needed them even more than before. So even if he felt slightly bad about sending in Miles to retrieve it, he didn’t feel guilty enough to stop him. He wanted his jacket, but it felt like he needed it. Planning on slipping away to the bathroom with his jacket once Miles came back, Nick anxiously waited, tapping his foot in an offbeat rhythm as he did so. He looked up as Miles came out, expecting to see the familiar jacket in his arms. Instead, his eyes fell upon a familiar baggie and his blood ran cold. Nick froze, and almost as though it were second nature, his defenses kicked in. “Why do you have that?” He replied sharply, shoulders tensing. “Did you go through my pockets while you were in there or what?”

Miles watched the way Nick’s expression changed, how seeing what was in Miles’ hand completely shifted the mood. If that didn’t tell him something sketchy was going on then he wasn’t sure what would. “It fell out when I picked the jacket up,” he explained. It was the truth, of course, and whether Nick chose to believe it or not was up to him. Miles maintained eye contact. “What is this, Nick?” he asked again.

Nick was overly defensive, but he didn’t think this would ever happen. He was always so careful. He thought he’d shoved it so deep in his pocket that it couldn’t just fall out that easily, but apparently he was wrong. His heart now hammering in his chest for another reason, he squared his shoulders. “What’s it look like, Miles? They’re pills.” He wasn’t going to say what kind. He didn’t need to know. Nick outstretched his hand. “I need them, okay? It’s not a big deal. Just give them to me.”

Miles eyed him carefully. Did Nick really have a drug problem he had no idea about? Was he really that clueless? Or Nick was just that good at hiding it. He glanced down at Nick’s outstretched hand, but he dropped his own hand down to his side, still holding the pills tightly in his fist. “Need them for what?” he asked. “What kind of pills are they?” It may not have been his business before, but now it was. He didn’t care much about prying if this was an actual issue. “If it’s not a big deal then I think you can tell me.”

Nick was getting angry. Not necessarily at Miles, but at everything. This whole day, this whole shitty year. The fact that Miles had Nick's pills clutched in his hand like he was his Mother finding porn under his bed. "Does it matter?" He said sharply. "It's not a big deal. I just take them when I'm stressed, or whatever." They were uppers, things he'd gotten from someone he'd loosely called friend for years who specialized in that sort of thing. He wasn't really lying to him. He did take them when he was stressed, he just left out all the other times he took them when he felt he needed them. "Stop treating me like I'm six. I know what I'm doing. You're not my Dad, dude." He swallowed the lump in his throat. Who cares?"

Miles couldn’t say he was surprised by Nick getting snippy with him. Miles was completely invading his privacy but he wasn’t sure if he should care about that or not. This was definitely cause for concern. At least for him. “That’s bullshit, Nick.” He wasn’t angry, and was trying to keep his voice level. He was just...nervous, really. He didn’t know anything about this stuff. “I’m not treating you like your six. But the fact that you had to hide this from me tells me it’s probably more than what you’re letting on.” He looked down at the baggie in his hand. “I care,” he said simply. “I care what happens to you.”

Nick shook his head as Miles spoke, set to argue. He didn't want to get into this. He didn't want to give Miles more of a reason to treat him like he was a mess. At that moment, he wished they could go back to the way things used to be so badly. When Miles didn't know things about him he didn't want anyone to know. When they were friends who just hung out and had fun and made stupid jokes. "What, do I have to tell you everything? Are you my husband now too or something?" He reached out his hand again, not giving up. "Well, you need to stop. Stop worrying about me. I fucked up the other night. But I'm fine. Just give me my stuff and let it go. Please."

Miles could fight it and keep them away from Nick, but he didn’t see that doing any good right now. Especially when Nick was getting even more defensive with him. Miles raised his eyebrows at that, feeling completely taken aback. “I—” He didn’t even know how to respond to that. Uncalled for, sure; but he didn’t feel like he should hold anything Nick said against him right now. So even though it stung when it really shouldn’t, he ignored it, instead lifting the baggie to place it in Nick’s outstretched hand. “Consider it forgotten,” he lied, following up by handing him the jacket as well.

Nick would feel guilty about this later on, after all was said and done. But right now he felt cornered. He felt like he was being picked apart and judged --- something he didn't want to feel from Miles of all people. After everything that happened, he didn't want to feel like someone who had to be Mothered. He just wanted to feel like things were normal. Seeing Miles give up on the argument caused him to deflate slightly, and he slowly wrapped his fingers around the baggie before letting it fall back to his side. He reached out to grab his jacket with the other arm. "I know you think you have to look out for me. But I'm okay." He was trying to be okay. "You need to worry about yourself. And Scout." He paused for a second. "And Lily. Okay?" He swallowed. "I'm sorry for being a dick --- just. You don't have to worry about me."

Miles exhaled, folding his arms across his chest. “I already said it’s forgotten. So you don’t have to look after me now. I know where my priorities lie.” He didn’t need Nick to tell him who he should be looking out for. Especially because Nick apparently wasn’t fond of Miles’ true preferences. “Fine with me.” He uncrossed his arms to take off his own coat. “Now let’s let it go like you said. Let’s start Stranger Things over again since we didn’t focus on it last time.” It wasn’t their usual birthday tradition, but this year it would have to do. “I hope Murphy isn’t too let down.”

[ellanainthetardis]

Hi! I've been reading your stories for nearly a year now and I really enjoy them - you're a great writer! I have a slightly (very) crack idea for a prompt inspired by Ariana Grande's song Side to Side, where Effie can't walk in a straight line in the morning after a night with Haymitch. I feel like it would open up for a lot of teasing from Haymitch that would be funny to read. Maybe pre-HG or a 5-times-and-1 style one shot? Up to you! X

This was fun and this is crackish ;) [X]

A Sore Price

The kids were skittish and it was why Haymitchusually avoided making an appearance at breakfast, all the more so when Effiewasn’t there to play buffer. He tried to ask about Training, if only to shut uphis guilty conscience, but all he got was some mumbles about bigger teenagerswho were bullies. The girl didn’t seem to know where to look when she addressedhim, she was red in the face. He pulled his dressing gown shut tighter so nohint of his bare chest could be seen. Being a prude wouldn’t help her in thearena but he figured she was entitled to some respect for as long as she couldget.

Although he resented it a little. He had put on pants and a dressing gown. Hewasn’t always that considerate when it was only him and Effie in the penthouse.

He gave them some advices that they didn’t takeseriously enough. He could see it, the looks they exchanged, as if listening tohim would be worse than going to the Games without a mentor. He wasn’t sure atwhich point he had become such a joke that people from his own Districtinstructed their children not to takehim into account. He would have Effie repeat it again later, they respondedbetter to her – not that they liked herbut she had shown from the start she was there to help when he had vaguelyscoffed and declared they should get ready to die. Maybe she had a point whenshe said he needed to work on his introduction speech.

He was relieved when the clicking of heelscould finally be heard. She stormed in with her usual unchecked energy and ablinding smile.

“My apologies for being so late!” she chimed.“Good morning, children! Good morning, Haymitch.”

The kids muttered greetings, quickly fleeingthe table when she hovered behind them correcting their eating habits. Shepouted a little but reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. Shewalked around the table and propped her hips against it to steal what was leftof his blueberry muffin.

“What took you so long?” he snorted. “Tootired?”

Faced with his smug smirk and his twinklingeyes, she huffed. “Hardly.”

“Yeah, hardlyis how I recall it.” he teased.

She pursed her green painted lips, tilting herhead a little to the side – not a hair moved from her silver and blue wigstyled as a huge puffy bun on the top of her skull, it left her nape bare andhe already knew it would be taunting him all day.

“You left marks.” she accused him.

His eyes slowly roamed on her throat and on thesmall amount of cleavage that particular dress offered, checking as much astaking in the view… “Can’t see any.”

“Yes, that would be thanks to the half bottleof liquid foundation I had to use.” she deadpanned. “And that’s only on my neck and collarbones. I couldnot get a proper look at my back but what I saw was enough. Did you mistake myshoulder blades for chew toys by any chance?”

He stood up, trapping her between his body andthe table. “Didn’t hear you complain, sweetheart… In fact… All I heard was ‘more, Haymitch’ and ‘yes’ and some pretty impressive moaning…” He brushed his noseagainst her cheek as he brought his mouth to her ear. “Fucking hot, you were…”

And the memory was enough to give him a boner.She placed a hand on his chest to push him away a little, flashing him achiding look.

“Do not get any ideas.” she warned.

“Bet I could have you screaming right here onthat table before Avoxes show up to clear it.” he challenged.

“Five times.” she reminded him. “Aren’t yousated yet?”

He was thirty-five and he was celibate most ofthe year. He was far from being sated.Besides, one of those times had involved his mouth and his hands so it didn’tcount for him.

Some night it had been though… Once at the veryboring party, once in the car, eating her up in the momentarily stoppedelevator, the particularly hot session in her bed with her on her stomach andthe lazy bout in the shower because some cleaning up had been overdue. He had been forced to carry her back to bedafterward because she had been so exhausted her legs hadn’t been able to stopshaking. She had been deep asleep when he had left for his own room.

“Are you?” he snorted.  

He expected some more banter because theyhadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other lately. There was somethingnew to their affair. It was less hate sexafter a fight and more… sex all thetime for no good reason at all. He didn’t know what it was about theSeventieth Hunger Games but… He wasn’t going to look at it too closely. Theywere having the best sex he ever had.

“For now, yes, I am.” she replied withoutbatting an eyelash. “Go get dressed, we have work to do.”

“Bossy.” he commented, lifting an eyebrow.“Maybe you should help me getdressed, sweetheart.”

She triedto remain serious but she turned her away to hide her smile and she couldn’thelp a chuckle or two. He took the opportunity to press a kiss on the side ofher neck. It tasted like make-up and it made him wrinkle his nose. He hatedthat taste.

“Do not undo my work.” she rebuked, pushing onhis chest again. “Go get dressed, Haymitch. I have a meeting with a sponsorscheduled in an hour, we cannot be late.”

“Fine.” he relented. “But I’m gonna fuck you again before the day isthrough.”

She rolled her eyes and shoved him back alittle more firmly. It was cute that she thought she could make him move whenshe was as strong as a kitten. He humored her though. It was always good tohumor her a little.

The outfit she had picked was good enough forhim – once thing he was grateful for with Effie was that, unlike previousescorts, she didn’t try to impose current Capitol fashion on him, she allowedhim outfits that were trendy but that he could live with, it was a compromisebut one that worked – although he left out the tie.

He came back to the living-room after somefifteen minutes – time enough to get ready and to get a few mouthfuls of liquorin his body – expecting to find her on the couch, reviewing schedules orsponsors files. She was checking hernotepad but she was doing it standing up, leaning against the bay window, afoot hooked around the back of her other ankle.

“I sent the children to Training.” she told himwithout looking up from the page. “We have five minutes before we need toleave. We are going to a restaurant for brunch, Haymitch, so I would thank you to put the tie back on.”

“That tie would look better around yourwrists.” he taunted. It was just a joke though. Tying her up… He didn’t trusthimself enough for that, as appealing as the idea might sometimes be.

“The tie, Haymitch.” she said firmly, still notlooking up.

That annoyed him. He didn’t like it when sheignored him or dismissed him like that, like he was just a chore for her tobear or a toy she took off the shelf when it suited her. He snatched thenotepad from her and pinned her against the bay windows, his free hand on herhip.

The kiss was brutal and it took her aback.After a second, she responded to it just as violently. His fingers left her hipto grab her thigh, hooking her leg up, aligning their bodies enough that…

She drew back with a hiss and he froze.

“You’re okay?” he asked, easing his grip onher. It had been pretty rough the previous night, he had bruises and scratcheseverywhere and he was ready to bet the same was true for her.

“I am fine.” she replied “We will be late.Please, put on your tie.”

She was lying, he thought, but he couldn’tquite decide about what. He let her go and didput on the tie if only to bring a flicker of a smile back on her lips.

He was surprised when she insisted on walking to the restaurant. Districtteams had cars at their disposal twenty-four hours a day and Effie wasn’t a fanof walking when she didn’t have to – and with the heels she was perched on hecouldn’t quite blame her for it. He, on the other hand, liked to walk so hedidn’t protest but he kept watching her in the corner of his eyes.

She was just as chatty as usual, her cheerfulescort self, but there was something off about her. It took him a while torealize it was the way she strode straight on. He usually had to adjust hispace to hers – because, despite her long legs, he was taller than she was – butright then, she was taking purposeful giant steps that made her look a littlefunny.

“We’re late or something?” he grumbled, notreally enthusiastic about this sponsor meeting in the first place. It neveramounted to anything and it was always uncomfortable.

She faltered a little and slowed down her pace.“Not at all.”

She picked up her previous topic again, wavingher hands left and right as she talked, but there was a strain in her voice anda slight wince every few steps.

“You’re sureyou’re okay?” he asked, as they came in sight of the restaurant she usually chosefor sponsor meetings. It was expensive, the staff was haughty and he hated theplace with passion.

“Right as rain.” she hummed, stopping longenough to make sure his tie was straight. “Now, do behave and let me do the talking.”

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes, irritated with her.“I’ll just sit there and look pretty.”

“You do that, dear.” she grinned, patted him onthe arm.

He vowed to pat something else of hers later.

“Don’t call me dear.” he muttered as he pushed the restaurant’s door,automatically holding it out for her – thethings she had drilled into him…

She ducked under his arm to go in, chuckling alittle. “Of course. How stupid of meto forget you have the pet names privileges in this relationship.”  

“Not a relationship.” he was quick to correct,the word making him want to flee to the other end of the city.

She didn’t even blink. “Poor choice of word.”

It calmed him down a little but not a lot.

The fact that the sponsor they were meeting wasone he really didn’t like helped distract him though. He tried to bite back theclever retorts, the bitter comments and the loathing gibes – if only becausethe guy might give them some money.

He hated the way the man was looking at themhowever – at the two of them – likethey were some really mouth-watering dessert he wanted to taste. Haymitch wasalways left with a strong urge to punch the Capitol sponsor.

Effie played it like she usually did: seductive.The man liked to think himself clever so she acted dumb, giggling a lot at herown fake intellectual clumsiness.

Her smile was a bit strained though andflickers of something kept disruptingher carefully constructed mask of flimsy escort. The sponsor didn’t seem tonotice but Haymitch did.

Something was definitely off.

She was squirming in a way she rarely did –never when he didn’t have his mouth between her legs at least – and for a momenthe wondered if she was turned on. She crossed her legs and then uncrossed themonly to cross them again… She leaned forward or backward as if to alleviatepressure…  

The thing that kept flashing on her face, thereand gone in a second, wasn’t pleasure though. It was pain.

He was pretty sure he had done nothing tobruise her ass so it couldn’t come from there, which meant…

Five times might have been a time too many.

“Well, this was a waste.” Effie sighed, as theyfinally exited the restaurant.

“So you say every year.” he mocked. “And yethere we are.”

“You never know. One day he might actually do something more than justbeing a creep and squeeze himself through his pants at the thought of the twous together.” she scowled, not as oblivious to the guy’s fantasies as he hadthought. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised by that. She excelled atreading people and the man wasn’t being subtle. It was a miracle he hadn’t yetoffered a threesome – or maybe he had and she had kept the information fromhim. “Perhaps you should go to the mentor lounge and see what you can find outabout our opponents…”

She was usually the one doing the digging.Victors were far too careful to let anything slip, some of the escorts now…

“You’re ditching me. You’ve got plans?” hesnorted.

“Not at all.” she immediately denied. “I stillhave some paperwork to fill so I will go back to the penthouse and…”

“Put ice between your legs?” he cut her off ina teasing tone.

She froze for a second and then quickened herstrides. “I do not know what you aretalking about. How vulgar of you. Truly, you…”

“Save it.” he interrupted again, grabbing herarm to stop her and immediately letting go because they were in the middle ofthe street and he didn’t need anyone sniffing out the scent of scandal. Itwould end up on Caesar’s special before they even reached the Games Compound. “Howhurt are you?”

She studied him and then pursed her lips,averting her eyes. “I am not hurt per se. I am simply… rather sore.”

“Sore.” he repeatedly flatly, acutely awarethat people were pointing at them and that it wouldn’t be long before someoneasked for pictures or autographs if they didn’t get a move on. He nudged heron, careful to adjust his pace to hers since he didn’t know how bad it actuallywas. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It means… It burns.” she admitted, clearingher throat. “I do hope it is just the result of last night and notsome horrible disease you…”

“You’re the only one I go with without acondom, sweetheart.” he sneered. “If anyone gives the other stuff…”

“I am clean.”she huffed. “It is frankly insultingthat you would even imply…”

“Calm your tits, sweetheart. Just joking.” hetaunted. He buried his hands in his pockets, feeling awkward. “You’re sure it’sjust sore, yeah? You’re not… hurt hurt?”

Because hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do.

But he had a bad track record.

“I am sure I will be fine tomorrow.” She shothim a side look, her lips stretching into a rare genuine smile. “If you canhold on for that long, that is.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes, not quite able tostop himself from smirking.

Not that he would admit it out loud but heusually held on half the year for her, so… A day wasn’t that long to go.  

[captaincoldgotthecanary]

Humans fanfic: Leotilda College AU (Part 1)

Humans fanfiction: Leotilda Professor x Student AU (Part 1). Rated T

Because I'm sick and in bed and this ship is my new obsession.

There's a string of "Ooo, Mattie, you're in trouble" from her fellow backbenchers as soon as Mr. Grumpy Slouchback is finished saying, "Miss Hawkins, please meet me in my office after class."

She knows it's about the assignment, and frankly, a part of her hopes she's managed to piss him off. But he seems like the kind of ass that would fail someone out of pure resentment, and there's always the fear of ending up having to explain that to her parents. She picks up her backpack, bites back a retort, and gives him a half-hearted nod.

She surprises herself with how gently she knocks on his office door. He looks up briefly from his laptop and gestures at the seat in front of him with just a tilt of his head. She sits with her backpack in front of her- a defensive gesture she managed to discard in middle school. Well, until now that is.

"So. As you can probably guess, I was going through your assignment," he says with no emotions in his tone, something Mattie hates worse than one of his moods. "I see you've managed to find glitches in my patented software. All those awards, all those accolades, and then a first year student just takes it apart?"

She bites the inside of her cheek to dull some of the venom in her voice. "With all due respect, Sir, technology is only good as long as something better doesn't come along, and science works with people disproving other people."

He stares at her, blinking, as if he didn't expect her to say something so vaguely profound. It makes her have to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "Look, I didn't show my findings to anyone, honest. Just you. So maybe you can start working on fixing the glitches. Or just ignore it altogether. Whatever. I don't know."

He closes his eyes, hunches over in his seat and grits his teeth. "I can't ignore it. Can't turn my back on people's security."

She nods, and fidgets a little in her chair. It's still not clear why she's here. She's not being chided as she expected- this isn't how he scolds his students.

"I'd like you to work on the fix with me," he says suddenly, as if he's someone not totally incapable of reading non-verbal cues. "Although I don't know what you can do that I can't-"

"Be civil, apparently," she holds back the retort with much difficulty.

"-You were the one to point out the problem. You should be part of the solution too."

She supposes there's no point arguing with him about it. Three months back, she would have killed for a chance to work on a project with The Leo Elster. But that was before she signed up for his Intro to Tech classes, and realized just how cold and arrogant he really is. She's been waiting for the term to end ever since, and now it just got longer.

"We can work on it after your classes," he continues, "Bring your laptop. Don't be late."

She nods. "If that's all...?"

"You can go now, Miss Hawkins."

She sighs a breathe of relief when she closes the door behind her.

She's a little jumpy when she codes, and she hates to admit that it's the effect of him sitting in front of her.

"Did you try a simple binary heap first?"

She feels stupid that it didn't even occur to her, and voices that thought aloud before he can. "I'm sorry. I'm stupid."

"No, you're not," he says softly, and it's so surprising that her head jerks up in his direction of its own accord. His eyes are glued to his laptop screen as usual- he's ignoring her again- but he looks, less grumpy than usual, probably?

Mattie mentally notes to herself to wonder later if she just imagined this rare little act of kindness.

A week passes with neither of them making much progress.

"I don't even know if we need to fix this," he says one evening, slamming his laptop shut with a thud that makes her flinch a little in her seat. "I don't think others will find the glitches. Everyone isn't as smart as you."

She didn't expect a compliment from him, and she certainly didn't expect it to melt her insides. "But there's always a chance," she reasons.

He groans, resting his head on his laptop. "I'm stuck. You?"

"Same," she admits.

"Maybe we should take a break for a few days," he suggests reluctantly.

She's a little too quick to agree. "Yeah, we could use a break. I'll see you next week then?"

He looks like he's about to say something, but decides against it, and only gives her a small nod.

She's not as glad to escape as she thought she'd be.

It turns out to be a rather boring week. Her mum drags her jeans shopping for Sophie, and Harun surprises her by visiting her on campus.

She hates to admit how much she's looking forward to going back to coding with him.

"So, how was your week?" is the first thing he asks when she enters his office, and it takes her by surprise, because they've never made small talk before.

"Fine, I guess," she lies, "How was yours?"

"Fine," he parrots, and then adds just as abruptly. "So that guy you were meeting on Thursday. Is he your boyfriend?"

Mattie blinks. How did he even...? "Were you spying on me?"

He scoffs. "I was just testing the mods on my drone. You happened to be in the path of my flight."

She crosses her arms in front of her. "Either way, I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's not-", he begins, but seems to be at a loss of words. "I'm just-" He swallows hard. "Sorry," he mumbles.

For some reason, that leaves her with this urgent need to explain herself. "For the record, he's not my boyfriend. He's just- He's just a friend."

He nods, and asks in the most casual tone he can attempt. "So you're single then?"

She can feel her cheeks inexplicably starting to burn. "I suppose."

"Here you are coding every night instead of going out," he points out. "You're a strange young woman, Matilda."

"It's Mattie," she corrects with a grin. "And I'm not gonna tell you about all the probably illegal things I do, Professor."

It's that look again, that look of wanting to say something but holding back. This time though, he forces the words out. "You can call me Leo."

It's the sincerity with which he says it that surprises Mattie the most. She bites down on her lower lip, and it doesn't help when his gaze is directed towards that action. She clears her throat. "I don't think that's appropriate."

He looks dejected for a moment, before he recoils behind his façade of not caring and hides behind his laptop screen. "Right. Sorry."

It's her turn now to struggle with whether to say the next thing. "We call you Mr. Grumpy Slouchback."

"I don't think that's appropriate," he mimics.

She grins. "It kind of is."

He huffs. "I'm not always grumpy. And I don't slouch."

"You're slouching right now."

"No, I'm not." And he doesn't even attempt to straighten up.

"Yes, you are."

"Am not," he says stubbornly, and Mattie realizes just how ridiculous this whole conversation has been.

She decides it's time to change the topic. "So you have a drone?"

He nods.

"Can I fly it sometime maybe?" she asks.

He nods again.

And then it's back to coding.

It's Friday when there's a knock on his office door, and they both look up in surprise, because he doesn't get visitors, being the loner that he is.

"Come in," Leo says, and the door half opens to reveal a brunette with long straight hair. "Mia," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. "What are you doing here?"

"You weren't answering my calls. I was worried," Mia explains briefly.

Mattie wonders if she should be here for this conversation. It never even occurred to her that he might have a girlfriend, and she's kind of surprised at how surprise isn't the dominant emotion in her chest.

She eyes the woman discretely. She's Asian. Maybe in her early thirties. And she seems nice. Everything that she isn't. Fuck, she's doing it again, she's comparing herself to this woman.

"You're not mum," Leo grumbles, breaking her train of thoughts before they lead to her derailment.

"Mum's worried too," Mia snaps back, before taking in a deep breathe and composing herself. She turns to Mattie, and extends her hand out with a smile. "Hi, I'm Mia, his sister."

"I'm Mattie. I'm a student," she says, sounding as young and vulnerable as she suddenly feels. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Mia returns, before fixing Leo with a soft glare. "At least you're working with another human being this time. Call mum. And maybe have a little fun once in a while. It won't kill you, you know."

He rolls his eyes. "This is fun. Should I call you a cab?"

"Ed drove me here," she explains briefly, and presses a kiss on the top of Leo's head. "Take care, Leo."

When she's gone, he lets out a groan. "Older sisters. Always bossing you around. Do you have any siblings, Mattie?"

"Yeah. Two younger ones," she says, amused. "Can confirm the bossing thing."

He grins sheepishly. "Well, what do you do for fun?"

"I hack into the Pentagon," she manages to say with a straight face.

His expression is a mix of mortification and pride, and it makes her laugh. "That was a joke, Leo."

She says his name before she can register she's saying it, and it's too late to take it back now. Not that she wants to. Not when it earns her that brilliant smile from him.

"You were not in class today," he states when she joins him that Monday evening.

"You noticed," she answers cheekily.

"Everything okay?"

"Uh huh," she answers with a non-chalance that she has mastered through her teenage years.

He doesn't avert his gaze from her. "So you had nothing to do with the sprinklers going off in Professor Hobbs' office this afternoon?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lies smoothly.

"That was a damn good prank, I'll admit," he praises her before the concern takes over. "But you're sure you covered your tracks?"

She pouts. "I did everything right, I promise."

"I know. I believe you," he assures quickly, and quirks up an eyebrow. "I'm just curious. What did he do to you?"

Mattie shrugs, trying to play it off as if it's not a big deal. "He stole one of your research papers. As much of an ass as you are-"

"-Gee, thanks!"

"-He's still a bigger ass. He deserved it."

He has to agree with that. "I'm touched. I should thank you. Ice cream?"

Coming from his mouth, that suggestion ends up sounding condescending. "I'm not a kid," she says, not amused.

"Who says ice cream's just for kids?" he bites back.

"It's for kids and the accompanying adult."

He sighs. He's not the only one who can be moody sometimes. "You know what I meant, Mats."

"Beer," she declares after a moment of contemplation. "You're buying."

He eyes her skeptically. "Should you be getting drunk on a school day?"

She fakes a gasp. Now that they are kind of sort of friends, her sarcasm is starting to break through. "I didn't know you could get drunk from beer."

With just an eye roll, he surrenders.

It's the next Tuesday when her mum shows up at his office. "Kill me now," she grumbles, wishing the ground would swallow her.

"Hi, I'm Matilda's mother," Laura introduces herself. "She tells me she's been staying late working on some project with you? I just wanted to make sure everything was okay?"

"You could have just emailed," Mattie snaps.

"I did. He didn't respond."

"Well, he's busy," Mattie snaps again, vowing not to talk to her mother, like, ever.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hawkins. I'm a little behind on my emails," Leo says with a smile, going as far as standing up in his seat to shake her hand, which makes Mattie raise an eyebrow. "Mattie has been helping me code. I hope I'm not keeping her from other assignments?"

"No, no, it's fine," Laura assures quickly. "I was just worried she might be into some-" on seeing the glare on her daughter's face, she settles for the word "-stuff."

"I completely understand," Leo assures, and even offers her a tea or a coffee.

Mattie keeps staring at him after her mother's gone.

"What?" he asks, irritated.

"When did you go to charm school?"

"Oh, so, being nice to your mother is a crime now?"

"For me it is," she replies with a shrug, and voices the epiphany she's just had. "You are one mysterious dude, Leo."

What she leaves unsaid is this: And I'm trying to get to know you.

[gearsforyears]

Prompt Request: Danny and friends discovering an in-universe phansite dedicated to speculating about the local ghost boy and his shenanigans.

This??? Was so??? Much fun??? To write?????? Thank you so much for the prompt!!! ;w;

“Danny! You have to see this!”

Said halfa in question groaned; he, Sam, and Tucker were busy trying to get homework done before patrol that night. And with the way his grades are currently? Yeah, getting distracted was something he didn’t need at the moment. But Tucker stretched his arms way above his head, letting loose a groan as Danny heard his bones pop, “Hey, you guys up for a five minute break?”

Sam curled her toes to get some feeling back into them before standing up, “Yep. How about you, Danny?”

Despite the urge to do his homework like he was determined to do, Danny had to admit that a break sounded amazing. They had been doing Precalculus for a good hour, and his brain needed rest, “Sure. But we should get this finished before patrol…” He warned.

“Oh, c’mon Danny; we’ll get it all done before tonight,” Tucker rolled his eyes. Sam was walking out the door already with her arms above her head, fitted comfortably in Danny’s sweatshirt and a pair of Tucker’s cargo pants. The technofreak still had no clue how she got a hold of their clothes when they weren’t looking, but he dismissed the suspicions to keep talking, “Besides, Jazz sounded excited about something.”

Sam looked over her shoulder, “Let’s just hope it’s not a new psychology therapy session theory she wants to try out on us.” She shivered before continuing, “I still remember the last time she tried something in those college books of hers on us.”

It was Danny’s turn to roll his eyes at his friends before ushering them out into the hallway and hurriedly making their way into Jazz’s overly pink room. Said sister was curled up in her chair in front of her computer screen, her face red and a smile plastered on her face. Danny wasn’t sure what was making her convulse in the manner she was, but after a moment realized that his sister was laughing.

She pulled her orange hair up into a tight bun and wiped any stray tears from her eyes before leaning out of the chair to stand up, “Y-You guys have at it. I need to get something to calm me down…” She let out a laugh behind a hand, “By the Ancients, the comments are hilarious.”

Danny raised an eyebrow at the curse, recognizing as something that he says too often for his own good. But the surprise quickly went away as he saw the black, white, and green background of Jazz’s computer screen. He sat down in the chair and read the blog title, ‘The Phantom Conspiracy!’

Tucker let out a small breath he wasn’t sure he was holding before jumping into Danny’s lap to see the computer better, to which Danny groaned at the unexpected weight, “You’re too heavy, get off.”

“Stop whining!” Tucker cheekily smiled, “Besides, I’m not that heavy, and you have super strength.”

“Get used to it, Danny,” Sam smirked before collapsing on top of both of them, making the two of them groan beneath her, “Either you make room, or you deal with the two of us.” She popped her gum loudly to make her point, earning her a glare from the two boys below her.

They settled into the chair quickly, Danny supporting both friends’ weight on his legs. As they all found a comfortable position, the three juniors read a few of the articles to themselves.

“Danny, Danny, click on that one! It’s all fanfiction about you!” Tucker pointed and practically yelled. A click later, and the techie was guffawing, getting himself drunk on the giggles that the new page produced, “People ship you with other ghosts! Look, even with our infamous Red Huntress! And Box Ghost!”

Danny rolled his eyes and clicked away from the page, not wanting to have Tucker beg him to read some of the more smutty stories on the site. How was that even allowed on a public internet server? He wasn’t even human! Sam leaned over the two of them and pointed to a tab that Danny clicked, “The Phantom Experience? Why does this sound like a spa treatment?”

He gave out a sigh as he clicked on the page, already feeling slightly uncomfortable with the entire website. Danny vaguely wondered who would even start a blog like this, and how the hell was it so popular?! “Is this… An origin story?”

“WHAT?!” Danny and Tucker leaned in closer, and Tuck read the article out loud for everyone to listen to, “‘Danny Phantom, the mysterious ghost boy, had appeared almost two years ago to save the residents of Amity Park. But where did this ghost come from? There aren’t any reported deaths of people who look exactly like the ghost-’ Dude! This is totally an origin story!”

“Well? What does it say?” Danny asked, with a newfound fervor. With all the other supers in the world, he didn’t want people to think he had a lame origin. What if the freaking Batman found out if he had a horrible backstory? (Although, Danny still wasn’t too impressed that he him having half-died is his origin, seeing as Superman came from an entirely different planet, but he could deal with it).

Sam scanned the page quickly, and pointed near the end, drawing their attention to a hand drawn picture of the halfa with a section under it, “It says here that you died thousands of years ago!”“That doesn’t make any sense!” Danny exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. A groan escaped his lips as he covered his face with a hand, feeling his cheeks and ears flame up a bit at the inaccuracies, “What feasible proof is there?”

“Remember ol’ Vladdie man taking the Infimap from the Far Frozen clan?” Danny looked up, slightly horrified that someone traced him back that far, “Looks like someone in Rome wrote about you, and same in ancient China, and again in Salem. People seem to think you liked to lay low then, but now feel a duty to protect this place in particular because of all the ghost attacks.”

“Why would anyone want to know my history that badly?” He murmured. Danny had to admit that he felt almost violated at the blogger’s want to find out more about him. He looked at the author and saw a familiar name, “Paulina?!”

Sam nodded, taking the mouse and clicking on a few other articles, “Seems like she’s written a majority of these, actually.” The goth leaned in closer to the screen, “She’s not that bad a a writer. Huh.”

“Can we get back on topic here?” Danny practically groaned, rubbing his temples. He was going to need so much aspirin to get rid of the headaches this was giving him, “I thought this was supposed to be funny, not mortifying.”

A few clicks, and Tucker got them to the comment section of the origin story that Paulina had written out. Said technofreak slipped off of the armrest and landed directly in the center of Danny’s lap, making him cringe while Tucker stared at the screen in awe, “Oh. My. God. Wes posted about you being Phantom online!”

Sam leaned closer as well, deciding to ruin Danny’s night more by falling into Tucker’s lap so the both of them were once again crushing Danny beneath them. A majority of the messages were from Wes Weston, the brat that was constantly trying to get Danny in trouble and casually spread his secret around like the common cold. But she had to admit, the conversations in the comments were hilarious.

WWeston: Phantom isn’t that old! He’s fucking 16! It’s Danny Fenton, you guys are all idiots!

Beauty Queen: Wes can i post one thing on this blog without you claiming this every time?

StarQuarterback: theres??? proof??? in the article??? about phantom being in rome? wes can you stfu

WWeston: I have literally seEN FENTON TURN INTO PHANTOM HES NOT THAT SECRETIVE ABOUT IT HE DOESNT CARE IF YOU SEE HIM

Beauty Queen: Are you just jealous because Phantom was crowned honorary homecoming King and you werent?

WWeston: 1, YOU GAVE THE CROWN TO PHANTOM and 2, I WOULDNT BE JEALOUS OF A FENTON

KwanL: God, wes, just let it go.

Beauty Queen: He’s totally jealous of Phantom, someone make some fanfiction of these two omfg

WWeston: HES FENTON AND IM NOT FUCKIN GAY

StarQuarterback: It’s not gay if he’s dead, bro. We got you a tshirt about it man

WWeston: I burned it. I’m not wearing anything involving that half-ghost freak! And it’s stILL GAY

KwanL: What the hell are you talking about???? Phantom is a ghost, it’s impossible for a half-ghost to exist. Get your ass out of fairytale land mr.basketball

Now was when Danny had finally found the entire endeavor of reading these worth his time away from homework. Wes had an account on a Danny Phantom blog to rant to others about how he was half-ghost, and the best part was no one believed him. How stupid could people get?

And Mr. Basketball? Danny had to remember to use that line next time he saw the redhead approach him with his newest conspiracy about him. He looked over to see Sam on the floor, clutching her stomach, and Tucker, who was still seated in Danny’s lap, was halfway out of the chair, tears streaming down his face. A knock resounded in the room, and Jazz came back in with cups of tea for everyone, “T-To soothe your throats from… pffft… the laughing.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Basketball,” Tuck’s statement sent everyone into another round of laughter, and Danny had to admit. Sometimes, it was good to take a break.