#sometimes you’re just in a foul fucking mood and that’s alright!

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Last night I drove downtown to meet a college friend at an old indie movie theater and we went thrifting and saw Bottoms and walked around the antique district and I laughed so hard I cried and I promised myself to have more fun from now on :)

Today I couldn’t get off my couch and everything I touched felt disgusting and I couldn’t look past the flaws in season one of Sex and the City and I think I’m going to fake sick and call off work tomorrow, so really it’s all about balance!

[tightjeansjavi]

warm me up

A/N: the voices won this round! @strang3lov3 & @speckledemerald also, this was my first time writing game!joel 👀 this could also be show!joel if that's what you're into! This fic really got away from me today and I didn't think it would be nearly as long as I planned it to be..but that's just sometimes how things work out 😉 huge thank u to Bug for making me this cute lil mood board and I LOVE the deers!!🤍

~word count: 3.3k~

Summary: while on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

Pairing I game!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (explicit & implicit) enemies to lovers, implied age gap (non-specific) consent, cock warming, one sleeping bag trope, close proximity, using one's body warmth for survival, denial of feelings, mean!joel, grumpy!joel, reader is a spitfire and gets under Joel's skin easily, joel has a big cock! He is a big big man! teasing, banter, sexual tension, fluff, foul language, pet names: (darlin, sweetheart, and princess) reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!

Joel is freezing, shaking like a goddamn leaf. It’s ironic, given his disposition. You should have tried to retrace your steps back to Jackson hours ago, but the winter was unforgiving, and the two of you have found yourselves in a real pickle; a frozen one.

“I told you that we were going to end up getting lost out here, Joel.” You grumble alongside him with your arms crossed over your chest. Your teeth are chattering, and it’s grinding his gears.

“We ain’t fuckin’ lost, sweetheart.” He gruffs back and adjusts his rifle strap along his shoulder. “I know where I’m goin.’”

You scoff at this because if he did know where he was going, you wouldn’t be fucking lost in a fucking blizzard right now!

“Right. I’m sure you do know where you’re going, Joel.” You mutter sarcastically under your breath.

He whips around to face you, cheeks speckled in red from the cold and even in the lowlight, you can see individual snowflakes sticking to his lashes.

“Alright, miss ‘I know everything.’ Which way do you think we should go?” He awaits your answer with a cocked brow and his lips pursed together. They’re severely cracked and on the verge of bleeding from the bitter cold.

“Not the direction we’re currently headed, that’s for damn sure! Let’s just fucking turn around and retrace our steps.” You bite back and watch the way that his jaw ticks from your tone. God, you’re a real thorn in this man’s side.

“Retrace our steps?” He laughs, shaking his head to the side and sucks in a harsh cold breath of air into his lungs. “The snow has covered up our tracks, you idiot.” He’s so fucking condescending, and you’ve just about had enough with his shit attitude for one day. Your blood is positively boiling under your thick layer of clothes, and you’d much rather succumb to Mother Nature and her wrath than spend another minute with this insufferable, annoying, mean, and painfully handsome man.

“Fuck you, Joel. I’m retracing my steps whether you have a say in it or not!” You snap and turn on your heel before you feel a rough, gloved-clad hand grasp your upper arm and yank you back towards a hard and very solid presence at your back.

“Quit your fuckin’ yappin!’” He barks against the shell of your ear. His voice is rasped, crackling like a roaring fire. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere without me, you got that?!” His grip around your arm only tightens when you tried to shove him away, but he’s built like a fucking steel fridge, and you’re no match for him.

“Then stop being a fucking asshole, Joel! I’d rather freeze to death out here than spend another minute with you!”

You mean every word. Well, you think that you do.

He sneers at your attempt to wound him with your words, as if a man with a heart made out of pure concrete can possibly be affected by the means of your figurative little daggers. They ricochet off his body and fall to the snow, disappearing under a sheet of white. “I wouldn’t have to be an asshole if you would just fuckin’ listen for once in your life! God, when we get back, and we will, I’m tellin’ Tommy that I ain’t ever goin’ on patrol with your ass again.”

His steel-like grip loosens when you don’t immediately bite back like he expects you too. He wants you to fight back, to call him names and send his own blood boiling because at least then he feels alive.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” You nearly whisper and bite down on the inside of your cheek, tasting harsh copper on your tongue.

“Fine.” He agrees and finally releases your arm. “We’re gonna wait out this damn storm for the night, and then tomorrow we’ll retrace our steps home. Who knows, sweetheart. Tommy might have already sent out a search party for us.”

“Let’s fucking hope that’s the case. The sooner this storm lets up, the better.” You think you’re going to cry, but you push your tears down as far as you possibly can. You have to conserve your energy, after all. Besides, Joel Miller isn’t worth your precious tears. Not even close.

He begins to survey the surrounding area. The woods offered some reliable cover with the thick evergreens acting as a shield from the treacherous wind. The snow is still falling in large flakes, but he might be able to get a fire going if he’s lucky.

“We should..probably y’know, share a sleepin’ bag for extra heat.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, feeling kinda silly in the moment because what did he have to be nervous for? His reasoning for sharing warmth was logical. It was just his survival instincts kicking in, right?

You, on the other hand, were unfazed by his request. Sure, it made perfect sense to share body heat with this man. Why the hell did he look so distraught over it - weirdo.

“Did Bear Grylls teach you that, Miller?” You look at him with a smirk playing on your lips. “If that’s the case, then we should probably sleep naked.”

That feeling that had laid dormant for so long, was beginning to reawaken and defrost at the thought of your warm, pliant, soft body being tucked up around him in close proximity. You were annoying, sure, and he could hardly tolerate your presence, but he couldn’t deny that you were a thing of beauty, and neither could his cock.

“No. Some reality TV star didn’t teach me the survival skills that I know, sweetheart. I’m jus’ that good.” He sounds cocky, full of himself and perhaps there’s a bit of eagerness detected in his tone? Maybe the dead giveaway is the way his cheeks flush, and this time it isn’t because of the cold.

You shrug and drop your pack and sleeping bag at your boots. “Whatever you say, Joel.”

He clears his throat and drops his hand from where it was resting against the back of his neck. He stares at you for a second longer than he would have liked to, and then announces that he’s going to go find some wood for a fire, and for you to stay put.

You wave him off and unroll your sleeping bag with a huff and begin to mentally question how the hell is this grizzly of a man going to fit inside of your sleeping bag? Oh well! Time to defy all the odds that have been stacked against you.

When Joel returns, he finds you already tucked away under the sleeping bag with your clothes neatly folded on top of your backpack. He managed to find a few fallen tree branches that would make good kindling, and some thicker logs for the base of the fire.

He avoids making direct eye contact with you as he crouches down and constructs a fire that he hopes to god will keep the two of you warm throughout the cold night ahead.

You already have taken notice of his suddenly quiet and almost docile demeanor with just your head visible and peeking out of the sleeping bag

“Are you sure that fire is going to last the night, Joel?”

His shoulders and back immediately tense from your question and you can already picture him clenching his jaw and muttering under his breath.

“Ain’t no tellin’ if it will last the night, sweetheart.” He stokes at the ember glowing logs with the end of a spare stick before looking over his shoulder at you. “Y’comfy in there?” His voice rasps, dipping down an octave and sounding much, much, lower.

“Yep.” You chirp. “Nice and cozy in here, Joel. Did I mention it’s very, very warm?”

He snorts under his breath, tearing his gaze away from you and focuses back on the fire. “Yeah. I bet it is.”

What you really want to say is: and it would be even warmer if you were here with me. But you refrain, and instead bury your face further into the contained warmth emitting from the sleeping bag.

Joel is hesitating, and that part couldn’t be anymore obvious based on his tense stature. Maybe he could just accept losing feeling in his fingers and toes instead of crossing that boundary with you. Or, he could man up and deal with the immediate feelings that would come as soon as his hands would inevitably touch your warm skin.

“Joel?”

Your voice tears him away from his thoughts briefly. “Hm?”

“Aren’t you..cold?”

Freezing. My cock and balls are about to fuckin’ fall off.

“M’fine.” He insists.

“So goddamn stubborn.” He hears you mutter under your breath followed by the sound of the sleeping bag zipper being pulled down. “Get in here before you freeze to death. I’m serious, Joel.”

“Fuck off. I said m’fine.” He grumbles and turns over his shoulder to look at you once more. His eyes catch a sliver of skin, a nipple peeking out from under the fabric as you were sitting up. His head whips around so fast he swears that his brain just got rattled around in his skull.

“Would you just be a fucking man and take your clothes off and get in here?”

So impatient, he thinks.

“You jus’ wanna see me naked.” He quips back.

“For fuck sakes, Joel. I just don’t want you to freeze out here. Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes.

“Jus’..don’t peek. Alright?” He slowly stands up from his place alongside the fire as he starts to shuck his heavy coat off his shoulders.

“Fine. I won’t peek, okay? Scouts honor.” You promise him and bring your hand over your eyes to cover them.

He’s grumbling to himself the whole time as he begins to undress. He bitches about the cold, his cock, and his nearly frozen toes as you listen quietly to the sound of his belt buckle being undone. He does not fold his clothes neatly like you did and instead they are left in a pile near the fire. He dashes for your sleeping bag, yanking the zipper down in a fury and climbs inside.

It’s a tight fit indeed with barely any room for him to squeeze in but he makes it work.

“Fuck!” His yell is muffled as he struggles to make himself comfortable in what little space he has. “Fuckin’ cannot believe I actually listened to you.” He rubs his hands together, blowing hot air between them.

“Oh, shut up, you big baby.” You stifle a laugh which earns you a displeased glare. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you just would have—”

“Do not start with me, sweetheart. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” His brows furrow and his jaw is clenched so tightly, you’re shocked that it hasn’t shattered.

“You’re all bark and no bite, Joel.” You mutter back and roll over onto your side so your back is facing him. You close your eyes and fully intend to get some much needed and deserved sleep, but the man beside you is squirming and making a big fuss.

“Darlin’ I know you ain’t want anythin’ to do with a man like me, but it was your idea for us to get naked under here..so all I’m askin’ is—”

“Just do whatever it is you need to do, Joel. Can you just be quiet about it? All I want to do right now is sleep, and your fussing about is making that really fucking difficult for me to achieve.” You snap.

“Are you givin’ me permission, sweetheart? Cus’ the last thing I want is for you to bite my damn fingers off if I touch you. So as long as it’s alright with you..” he trails off and you take matters into your own hands by reaching behind you and finding his cold hands and yanking them around your body. You couldn’t help but yelp from the stark difference of temperature from your body heat to his hands.

“You’re fucking freezing, Joel.” You state the obvious and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I didn’t exactly have time to warm them up, sweetheart. My apologies that my hands aren’t at the right temperature for ya.” You think you hear him snicker under his breath, but maybe it’s just his close proximity that makes you hear things.

“Whatever. It’s fine.” You reassure him.

His hands are big, huge, and the skin on his palms and fingers are rough. The feeling overall is quite pleasant, and soon enough his hands don’t feel like an ice block - quite the opposite actually.

He grunts softly as attempts to make himself comfortable without pressing himself into your back. It’s proving to be a challenge as it is, and he has this feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, that this challenge is going to get the best of him.

“What’s wrong now, Joel?” You try to ignore the way his thumbs are gently stroking the space between the curve of your breasts and under your rib cage, and how his touch on your skin is beginning to light a fire in your belly, and between your thighs. His touch is gentle and it’s making your head spin with need and desire.

“I jus’—I don’t wanna make y’feel uncomfortable s’all.” He admits, voice rasping deeply. “I’m fuckin’ freezin’, darlin’ but I don’t wanna—”

“Just shut up and stick your dick in me, Joel. You’ll be warmer then.” You surprise both yourself and him.

His meaty palms squeeze you gently, fingertips kneading the flesh as he inhales a shaky, yet audible breath. The tight confines of your shared sleeping bag suddenly feel ten times tighter, and hotter. It’s suffocating in a delicious sense that you and Joel are stuck here together in this rather..unfortunate situation. You hate him, and he hates you, yet the thought of his thick cock nestling between your thighs sounds like absolute heaven on a plate right now.

Joel thinks he’s on the verge of passing out from your vulgar statement. It’s been god knows how long since he’s felt the warmth of a woman’s body around his cock. It’s been too goddamn long, he thinks.

“..well, if you’re askin.’” He whispers as his hands maneuver your body to press back against him. One strong arm anchors itself around your waist, engaging you in a warm hold when you feel his hard, broad chest pressing against your back. You haven’t even seen his cock, yet you already can tell that he’s big. The word big might not even be able to describe the massive size that is Joel Miller.

“This doesn’t mean anything. Right, Joel?” You ask through the thick growing tension that coils itself around you and the burly man beside you like a snake.

“Doesn’t mean nothin’ at all, sweetheart. Jus’ sharin’ body heat for survival, like you said.” He rasps and blows a hot puff of air against the back of your neck as his strong thighs wrap around your own. Even this man’s feet are fucking huge in every sense.

Y’know what they say about big feet? An even bigger—heart. I was going to say heart.

“Okay.” You squeak out as you relax further into his hold around you.

“Can you jus’ let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point? Cus’ if that’s the case, I’ll slip right out. No questions asked, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his apparent nervousness. It was sweet, in a Joel-like fashion. Hell must have frozen over right then and there because the Joel you had grown so accustomed to, was anything but sweet.

“Wow. You sure know how to romance a lady up, Miller. Did Tommy teach you how to do that?” You couldn’t help but wiggle your ass back against him. The thought of reaching down between your thighs and touching yourself crossed your mind, but you refrained.

He laughed, and it sent a wave of arousal gushing like a river because his laugh was beautiful. It was music to your fucking ears.

“Shut the fuck up.” His teeth grazed at the spot where your neck meets your jaw. He bit down, drawing blood to the surface of his indentation in your skin. “I taught Tommy everythin’ he needs to know on romancin’ a woman. Don’t get it twisted, sweetheart.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, big boy.” You nearly purred. Your back arched towards him, a suppressed moan desperate to be set free when his teeth marked you.

“I think someone is a bit too eager over this whole arrangement that we have found ourselves in.” He comments in a low rasp and his hand drifts down from your hip and nudges your thighs apart with a practiced ease. His heavy cock pressed firmly against your lower back as he let out another praising grunt from between his lips.

“Stop playing with me, Joel. I don’t want to be played with.” You hiss under your breath when you feel the backside of his knuckles slowly drag through the seam of your cunt.

“Y’sure about that, sweetheart? If you don’t wanna be played with, then what do you want?”

Frankly, he’s taking too long for your liking and you decided then and there to take matters into your own hands; literally. You reach between your bodies before he even has a chance to protest as you blindly search for his cock. Your warm palm barely fits around the girth of him.

“I want you to take your cock and stretch me open, Joel. Think you can handle that? Best not keep a lady waiting. It’s awfully rude.” You tsk under your breath.

He growls as his hips buck upwards into your hand like he’s never felt the touch of a woman’s palm before in his life.

“Fine. I like a woman that knows exactly what she wants, anyway. Won’t keep ya waitin’ any longer, princess.”

Joel Miller is a man of his word and just when you think he’s bluffing, you feel the thick press of the head of his cock sliding through your slick folds and notching at your entrance.

He groans against your ear, jaw clenching, and teeth grinding because you’re tight and hugging him like a fucking fist.

“Jesus fuck. That’s a tight cunt if I’ve ever felt one.” He rasps as you slowly pull him in further at the rate that he pushes his hips. Soon, he’s bottomed out with his hips firmly pressed into your ass. His legs stay tangled through yours as his arms come to wrap you up in his hold once more.

“Fuck.” You breathe, lashes fluttering as he stretches you open. He fits snuggly, almost as if your pussy was making a home for his cock to stay there awhile, all cozy and warm with you. “See? Was that so fucking difficult?”

He shakes his head and you swear you can feel him grinning against your skin. “Nope. It wasn’t difficult at all, sweetheart. In fact, I think I’ll stay here awhile.” Yeah, he’s definitely enjoying this.

You smile at this, burying your face into the solid muscle of his bicep, pressing the lightest kiss there. Maybe you even nibbled on it, and maybe he chuckled and pulled you in even closer.

“Stay as long as you’d please, Joel.” You whisper softly.

Come morning the embers from the fire had long since died out, and the storm had since passed. You and Joel were still a bunch of tangled limbs and connected warmth by the time Tommy and the rest of patrol had found you.

Joel had since grown soft with his cock still buried deep within your warmth and his face was buried in your neck with peaceful snores slipping past his plush lips. His eyes barely peeked open when he heard familiar voices muffled, yet nearby. Tommy had just brushed a bit of snow off the top of the sleeping bag and pulled the zipper down when he was met with a sight that he wasn’t expecting.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He chuckled and shot his big brother a cheeky wink.

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[princessbrunette]

reader upset bc things just aren’t going her way today, she woke up on the wrong side of the bed after not getting much sleep, and her hair didn’t turn out the way she wanted it too, she couldn’t find her favorite skirt and she broke her nail. rafe takes her with him to run errands and handle business, and she’s quiet and upset the whole time and she just needs her rafe but he’s so busy right now. eventually something small happens like she trips over her feet or spills something over herself and had a meltdown, bc we all get overstimulated and have meltdowns sometimes :/

i can’t explain to you how much i relate to this :(( have too many days like this one !!

you’d be quiet for the most part, more quiet than usual but rafe isnt gonna necessarily question it, just chalking it up to being in a bad mood. by the time you’ve made it to the car, everything’s overstimulating you. you don’t like the songs that keep coming on the aux, the car is rumbling too loud, rafes being quiet too so it’s just setting you on edge thinking somethings up, it’s just too much. but worst of all, you were hungry.

rafe had some errands to run, but he’d promised you fries, mentioned casually earlier which he’d probably forgotten about. you were holding onto that fact, knowing being fed would greatly cure a large part of your foul mood.

you’d passed the midway point, rafe completing another task on behalf of his father before you finally speak up— voice croaky from lack of sleep and lack of use. “can we get food now?”

he glances at you, reversing out of his spot, looking over his shoulder with his mouth parted in concentration. “huh? oh — uh, yeah, yeah soon. i left somethin’ in the boat so i gotta go pick it up.” he speaks casually.

for some reason, it’s your tipping point.

“no… you said we’d—” you’d go to argue, but suddenly burst into tears, crying into your hands. once you start, you quickly realise you can’t stop, the overstimulation and every issue you’d faced that day catching up with you. rafe frowns in confusion at you, eyes darting between the road and your hunched over form.

“hey, what are you — why are you crying?” he asks, and you can’t answer— far too upset. he sighs, thinking for a moment you’re being a tad dramatic, so used to being spoiled by him that you’re crying over something so minor. he doesn’t like seeing you so upset though, so he sighs and starts to turn his wheel, the car hitting a U-turn. “alright, hey, alright. i’ll get your damn fries. shit.”

it’s only when you don’t calm down he actually starts to get a little concerned. you cry the entire journey, not lifting your head from your hands— and all he can do is spare you worried glances before ordering your food. he parks in the lot, a wad of napkins from the food bag in his clutch and turns to you.

“look at me, kid. please?” he instructs, and you reluctantly do. blinking through gloopy mascara and sniffling your snotty nose shamefully. he dabs at your face, holding the napkin to your nose and quietly telling you to blow. he then sets it aside, and places the fries in your lap, running his hand over his chin and jaw thoughtfully for a moment.

“m’sorry.” you break the silence, staring down at your fries. he sighs, shaking his head.

“what happened, hm? was it me? did i fuck up?”

“no rafe, just got overwhelmed. im having a bad day.”

he stares at you for a moment, turning his body to face you more. “what do you… what do you want me to do?” he asks, his own finger gently prodding at his chest. he was trying to understand you, trying to be a good boyfriend. you think for a moment, glumly staring at your hands.

“i wanna go home and just be with you.” you sulk. he nods slowly, staring off out the window.

“y’know i got shit to do though, baby. can’t just… drop everything, you know? got people countin’ on me. m’handling shit today. ” he squints, hating that he has to be tough— but makes his voice gentle enough to soften the blow.

“i know.” it comes out as a broken whisper, and he can tell you didn’t like his answer. he stares at you, helpless, before speaking once more.

“eat your fries, and then you’re gonna go lay down in the back and have a nap, okay? think you need one. we’ll figure it out from there, a’ight?” he places a hand on your shoulder, tilting his head down and staring into your eyes, hoping what he’s saying is good enough. you think for a moment before nodding and he smiles, patting your cheek.

“alright, that’s my girl. proud of you, okay baby?”

[s1ater]

crybaby.

pairings. louis partridge x fem!reader

about. you’ve been hurt by louis many times, but you don’t want to let him go. 

warnings. foul language, lil millie slander 😁, crybaby moment (not bad)

ricky rocks. this story was written at different points in time so 😭 forgive if it don’t make sense

you should have let it be.

ignorance is bliss.

but you weren’t ignorant. you never were and never would be and louis knew that since day one, but he always chose to ignore it, always hoping your love for him would blind you enough to let things go.

but he mistakes your love for something it isn’t, and time after time it kicks him in the ass

11:45 am — y/n: dinner at my house at six

he really only got back to you at later hours of the day due to his life conducting of sleeping, drinking, and sometimes working out if he really wanted; which was rare and almost never till his boredom killed his brain.

4:27 pm — lou: got it.

he didn’t show up. you weren’t surprised, but you still had hoped you would have caught him at a time where he was feeling considerate. guess not.

you didn’t see him for awhile after that, mainly because you were pissed and wanted to give him the silent treatment. otherwise you usually would have been at his house and in his bed within the same day he ditched out on you. the only thing that was different this time was the fact that he also ditched out on your mother too.

it was always hard to explain your dynamic with louis to people, especially your own mother, and even as she loved him dearly, she hoped better for you and urged you to end things with him. you had thought about it many, many times, but it just never happened.

you were attached to him, no matter how many times he broke your heart.

he called a week later, a call you missed, but lucky for you he had left a voicemail.

“eh, love, i’m going to be away from the next couple of days, don’t wait up on me, alright?” he laughs and you smile shamelessly at the sound while it echoed out from your phone for a good second. “i know you will anyways, but yeah, see ya, love ya.” the message is close to cutting off until it seems he remembers something just seconds before he’s about to hang up. “sorry about the other night. tell your mother i love her and your house is the first stop when i get back.”

lie. you knew he would forget that promise, but at least he apologized this time.

lou was an interesting person to say the least; he had no problem saying i love you, he said it before you did, but he hated affection outside of closed doors. any of it, there was a rare chance to ever catch him in such a touchy mood around friends, family, and in public.

he was shitty at communication, but almost couldn’t go a day without you when in the same rural area. he liked to flaunt your relationship all over the internet but got fairly embarrassed whenever the two of you went out on dates.

it was borderline hell.

sometimes you wondered if he even liked you, and you almost doubted it if it weren’t for times when you hung out and the reassurance was there… until he left again. you felt anxious without him.

when you first ever met louis, you tried hard for him. you were always on your toes about how you looked, what you did, what you said—all to make sure no bumps were hit. you spent a significant amount of time crying in the beginning, still did.

“lou, i’m calling,” you bit your lip hard, wondering whether or not you should even be calling. “calling, just wondering if you’re alright, it’s been a week and i just haven’t heard from you… bye love, call me.”

please call me.

he didn’t call.

“louis, calling again, please pick up.”

no pick up.

“i’m starting to worry for you, love. just send a message or something, bye.”

no message.

“louis, i have your life360 location on, you bimbo, answer your fucking phone.”

oh you were crazy.

things escalated fast after you recalled that you had his location, where you immediately checked to see that he was exactly at his house... and then her house.

millie, of course.

you had always had speculation that there was something going on between the two of them ever sense you had first met her and she could barely stay away from him for more than a minute.

he always denied, but you didn’t trust it. especially not now. millie was one of the most flirty girls you had ever met; she spoke with her hands, and could barely keep hers off his arms or shoulders, and even face.

they way he spoke about her never eased your thoughts. it seemed like he didn’t like her, but yet he always found himself at her house whenever he wasn’t with you. it was a punch in the face.

“louis, this is the last time i’m going to call you. i can’t do this. i know what you want, and it’s not me anymore.”

you were cursing at yourself for giving up already, so easily; without a second thought—but the thing was, you had given him so much time. you just didn’t want to let him go, no matter what.

the knock on your door was the answer to your prayers; because two days later, there he stood on your doorstep, smiling softly.

you were losing your mind at the sight, surprised, even though you should have expected him.

“hi, love.”

“oh, louis,” your hand pressed against your forehead, your eyes stinging from embarrassment knowing damn well that the only reason he was here was because of the voicemails.

“don’t cry,” he stepped in without invitation, pulling you to him with a sympathetic smile, “you’re worked up over nothing, baby,”

“oh, my god,” you shook your head, “i’m sorry.” you could feel your heart aching.

“don’t be sorry,” the hand he didn’t have around your waist was pressed against your cheek. his smile was soft but pressed into a thin line, not knowing what to make of you. “don’t be a crybaby, you’re okay.”

crybaby.

“you break my heart sometimes, lou,” you had your head pressed in the crook of his neck, regaining your composure. he held you, rubbing circles on your back as you spoke lowly.

“i know, sweetheart.”

navigation.

@aliyahsutherland @ioveisabel @multifandom-obsessed @cryinginsanity @rebbyr @cc13723things @heyitsmeimdead @thehuntress09 @black-rose-29 @rrosecar @instabull @rudypankowisdaddy @lukewearingbeanies @kiramdd @highkeygolden @kitkat-mini @spencybear @w0nderr @deadbeatbarb @phantompogues @i-love-scott-mccall @greengarsstuff @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @felixulvr @demigirl-with-problems @whoreforpsychopaths @siriusspuppyy @mxsmwndr

[miekasa]

M-mie could we get some athlete boyfriend eren hcs too if you don’t mind, please and thank you😩

He is: my boyfriend, and I love him dearly. Perfect amount of himbo and athlete without being a jock, everybody give it up for Eren for being my dream boy <3

Eren plays sports year round, with the exception of maybe one or two winter seasons, just because his school/work/home life was too busy for athletics at those times. Otherwise, he’s always go something to practice for: soccer in the fall, hockey in the winter, and his choice of baseball or basketball in the spring.

He’s not a varsity athlete; that is, he’s not “committed” to any one team, so he’s not tied to playing one sport every year, nor are his academics linked to his athletics, or vice versa. He’s just a pretty athletic guy, and he’s got a lot of energy, and he enjoys sports, so naturally he plays whenever he can.

As it turns out, it does help him with his academics. Knowing he’s got practice the majority of the week forces Eren into building a schedule that prioritizes both schoolwork and sports so he can enjoy them equally. It teaches him to be independent in a way that he wasn’t expecting, but he’s come to really love.

And because he loves it, he doesn’t mind working hard for it. Liking the way he’s set it up for himself encourages him to do his best in both areas. It’s really just good for him all around: a good outlet fo his energy, a good way to spend his time, a good way to keep his grades in check, and a good way to keep himself comfortably happy and busy.

His appetite is insatiable, so it’s only dramatized when playing sports. He takes the all you can eat in all you can eat sushi a little too seriously.

The thing is… he’s a shit cook, too, so it’s not like he’s meal prepping to make sure he’s satisfying his appetite. He just buys a shit ton of food whenever he’s hungry. He’s always asking you if you wanna grab food, and part of it is to ensure that you’re eating—not as much as him, but eating nonetheless—but part of it is that he just likes sharing meals with someone.

He also doesn’t like to eat alone, so even if you only have your ten California rolls to his forty six spicy tuna rolls, that’s fine; he just wants the company.

That’s also why even if you say you’re not hungry, he’ll drag you out to eat with him anyway. And you’ll probably get fed some of his food even if you don’t order anything and insist that you’re not hungry because, “It’s really good, baby, just try it—just one bite, it’s okay I’ve got plenty left!”

He usually keeps a few granola bars and chips and other snacks of his liking on him. But because of Eren’s nature, he keeps them on you, too: in your car, in your backpack, in your apartment/dorm. You’ll meet him after class and he’ll kinda just start walking behind you, and you realize he’s opening your backpack, and you don’t even have time to question him before he’s pulling a bar out of the smallest pocket with a smile and munching on it.

Sometimes you come home and see his little protein shakes in your fridge. You definitely didn’t put them there, but you don’t move them, either. When you stock up on more when they’re running low, Eren contemplates marrying you.

If it’s been a hard week of practice or school, he tends to get sleepy when studying (usually when studying for his least favorite class, no coincidence there). He’ll close his laptop, put his hood up, and scooch his chair closer to yours before leaning his head on your shoulder.

He gets increasingly clingier the longer he naps; hand wrapping around your waist, nose poking at your neck. He’s not so subtly trying to hint that he wants you to quit studying and take him home to cuddle instead. If you don’t get the message, expect him to shut your laptop for you.

When you protest, Eren just looks at you with pouty lips and tired eyes, “Chemistry sucks anyway. Wanna nap, and also wanted you to do that thing with your hands when you massage my back for me.” (He then promptly falls asleep mid-massage on your bed).

He’s actually got a waiver to see a physical massage therapist because of how frequently he’s exercising. On occasion, he goes, but he claims he likes your massages much better. Also because he’s hesitant about a stranger touching him and once he moaned when the guy was working on his back and Eren swears it was one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.

He doesn’t get upset if you can’t make it to every game, but he does like it when you show up. Gets all cheesy and cocky with his arm around your shoulder, going on about how, “You’re my good luck charm, baby. I play better when you’re watching, you know?”

He has so much team clothing, from sweats to hoodies to t-shirts to socks. All he asks is that you wear something on game days, even if you can’t be there to support him while he’s playing. And that you keep one or two things for yourself anyway. He’ll put them in your closet for your if you don’t take them yourself <2

Because seeing you in his hoodie is always great, but his team hoodies are extra special, because they’ve got his name and his number on them. Whenever you’re wearing one, he trails just a half step behind you so he can see JAEGER printed on your back while you walk. Something about you wearing his last name around is… enticing, to say the least.

Even if it’s not the clothes branded with his name, Eren’s got a thing for you in sweats and/or workout clothes, so he’ll toss them at you whenever you sleep over. He’s always handsy, even if you’re just wearing an Under Armour shirt with the school’s logo on it; the material of it, and knowing that it’s his just makes him want to keep his hands on you.

Truthfully, he doesn’t workout all that much outside of practice. Occasionally, he’ll go to the gym with some of his teammates if they need a buddy, or go himself to stretch or take one of the free classes, but he doesn’t have a strict schedule for it. If you go to the gym, he’ll follow you if you ask, tho.

Turns out something that he does like is yoga. He’s not particularly flexible lmfao, but the stretching helps with muscle pain and tension, and he kinda finds the whole atmosphere of it relaxing. He’s still not so great at the meditation part of it, but he’s getting there.

(Actually, it’s pretty cute because on Tuesday and Thursdays, the yoga classes at the gym on campus are open-level and beginner friendly. That’s when the majority of the athletes show up, and you see people like Eren, Jean and Connie holding tree pose in the back room).

This, of course, makes him think that couples yoga is a great idea. Let’s just say, you’re lucky that Eren is strong enough to catch you and has sharp reflexes, because he’s certainly not the most balanced partner for this activity.

Game days are fun for him, and usually even if his team loses, he’s still so pumped up on adrenaline that he’s pretty happy. He only gets moody if he thinks the other team is playing dirty, or the refs are unfair, or he’s just been in a bad mood because of something that happened in his personal life; sports are an outlet for him, not his drive in life, so losing a game doesn’t take a huge toll on him.

Usually, even if he is upset about something personal, he’s able to funnel it into his game play. Small things used to make his whole sportsmanship sour, but overtime, he’s really gotten better at using his energy to fuel the right things. However, one thing that makes him foul (emotionally and literally; as in he might foul out of a game), is if he’s been fighting with you.

Sometimes it works in his favor—using the game as outlet, like usual—but it goes south pretty quickly. Because instead of using his aggression in a productive way, he gets distracted and easily pissed off, and it’s no good for anybody, especially himself. Because if he fouls out, or the coach takes him out for doing too much, then he can’t play; and if he can’t play then all that pent up frustration has no where to go; and then he’s forced to just sit with himself and his thoughts, but usually he starts deflecting and telling everyone else to piss off. Truly a no good, very bad box he’s put himself in.

You guys don’t fight that often, and it’s rare that it drags out for an extended amount of time when you do; but as with any relationship, it can happen. And when it does happen, if Armin doesn’t get to you first, expect one of Eren’s teammates to come groveling at your feet.

Or, rather, two. Because when you and Eren were fighting for over two weeks about god knows what at this point, it was Connie and Jean who ambushed you in the library. Jean had some pride to keep, but Connie was practically begging you to make up with Eren: “Look, I know he’s probably the one who said or did something to piss you off, and I’m not saying you gotta forgive him, but please just talk to him. I can’t run anymore extra laps because of him, and it’s gonna be so embarrassing if we lose to a C-list team on Friday because Eren’s funking up everyone’s attitude. PLEASE!”

Jean is more interested in the tea between you guys, but he also wants Eren to go back to being his normal hotheaded self, and not his current moody self. “He’s been playing like a bitch baby all week, and I’m gonna knock his skull in if he doesn’t fucking get his act together,” Jean rolls his eyes, “So just show up on Friday, alright? Do it for me and Connie, at least.”

When Eren does see you in the crowd at the game, it’s not a Troy and Gabriella moment, but when he sees you he feels so much relief that he’s physically calmer and way more mentally relaxed—because at this point Eren wasn’t even mad, he was just scared you might break up with him, and that fear brought out the worst in him. Seeing you in the stands, even if you didn’t wanna speak to him, was reassurance that you still gave a damn about him, and that was motivation enough.

He rushes to you after the game, wanting to make sure you don’t get swept away or leave with your friends. He’s smiling and so happy to finally see you that he almost forgets that you’re mad with him; hugging you and grinning ear to ear. When the reality kicks in, he kinda steps back at bit and rubs at his neck, embarrassed, but at least he knows he still has a chance to make things right with you.

(When you do make up, you’re surprised to find flowers and $10 coupon for your favorite pizza place in your mailbox a few days later. They’re from Connie, and his poorly handwritten note thanks you for “saving the team” and “curbing Eren’s temper).

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (PT.I) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN : PART ONE 

Summary:  Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother. 

Genre: fluff, slight angst, f!reader x dad! Iwaizumi 

A/N: There will be 2 or 3 parts of this oneshot! Depending on how long I feel like writing. Thanks for checking it out and stopping by! Let’s dive into some Iwa moments :,)

NEXT PART --> 

---

“What’s your return policy on rings?” 

The saleswoman smiles sympathetically behind the counter. That stupid sympathetic smile he’s been getting for weeks on end now. And it never stops; with his co-workers, with his family, his friends...

Iwaizumi’s sick of it. He’s sick of having to prove that he’s doing just fine, thank you very much. When in truth, his heart is constantly being torn apart and stomped upon as is people have nothing better to do than torture him in their free time. 

“I’m sorry, but these rings have been brought more than three years ago, and our warrant only lasts for three years,” the saleswoman keeps on talking but it doesn’t matter, for Iwaizumi can already feel the anger slowly creep up through the back of his neck, can already feel the vibrating emotions clogging up his sense of judgement. 

His fists clench at his sides upon impulse, the physical pain of his nails driving into his palms enough to remind him to stay cordial. It’s not the woman’s fault, the better part of him chants, it’s not her fault at all. 

“Fine,” he manages to grovel out, barely, “thanks anyway.” 

He all but storms out of the shop while shoving the rectangular box back in his pant pocket, and though it’s been more than four months since his ugly divorce with the woman he’d hoped to share the rest of his life with, the weight of their promise hangs heavy and hot upon his thigh. 

The thing is, Iwaizumi is mad. He is seething. If one were to give him a bat, he’d probably destroy the entire town by himself. Not because she was the one that cheated, not because she was the one going behind his back numerous times a week to seek out her lover when he’d been basically driven mad between Hoisuke’s cries and the stress of call meetings scheduled back to back. 

No, he’s angry. Because how the fuck could she do this to Hoisuke? How can she break the child’s heart like that, so ruthlessly, without even thinking twice about the consequences? 

Because if there is a victim in all this, then it’s definitely Hoisuke. And not only that, Hoisuke understands that his mother has been acting strange, that she doesn’t return at regular times and that her hugs now smell of cigarette smoke with a bittertaste of alcohol. 

Iwaizumi is so caught up in anger that he almost blunders past his battered Hyundai, red and chipping away at the corners. Still, this car holds so many memories, the good and the bad ones. 

“Can’t you get a newer car? I thought your company could sponsor you,” the ghost of his wife’s voice echoes through his head, a blatant reminder of all the things she’d found wrong in his life.

“Why?” he’d tilted his head around to fix his gaze on her figure bending over the sink. The TV was playing in the background and he thanked the gods that the morning comics were taking up Hoisuke’s attention, enough to distract him from his parents’ quibbles. 

“It’s just--so old and tacky.” 

“It still works well, doesn’t it? Why change it now?” 

She’d paused, hesitated slightly before blundering on, “It’s embarrassing. My colleagues keep asking if we're poor or something."

"Who cares what your colleagues think?"

Fuck her, Iwaizumi mentally swears as he turns on the ignition. Fuck her and all her needs for a better life. As if the life they had wasn't more than enough. Pulling out into the street to join the incoming traffic, he blinks away the sudden tears accumulating at the corner of his eyes and swears once more, this time aloud, glad that Hoisuke isn't in his presence when he gets in such a foul mood.

Iwaixumi may be angry. He may be filled with pent-up rage from the memory still attached to the day he'd discovered a used condom in their bathroom trash. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

That doesn't mean he does not still cry into his pillow over it every night.

----

"Please don't forget to do your homework for tomorrow! We'll correct them before moving on to the next chapter," you call out to your students as excited chatter fills the air. Students rise from their seats, some calling you bye and waving as they all file out of the classroom and you can't help the small smile lingering over your lips even though your feet are killing you.

Outside, parents have already lined up to collect their kids, the chatter and bustle of people ebbing away down the corridor as you let out a soft sigh.

"Miss?"

You jolt, not realizing that one of your students stands by the table wringing his hands, "what's wrong Hoisuke? Dad's not here yet?"

He shakes his head, watery eyes blinking up at you as he raises his thumb to his lips. You stand quickly and motion him to come close until he's within reach before your hand smoothes over the back of his head, "it's okay. He's probably stuck in traffic. I'll wait with you."

It's not surprising that parents get tardy once in a while and you're all too accustomed to those slight change in plans. Thankfully, you manage to distract the young boy with some coloured crayons and a piece of paper while you dial for his father's number.

It keeps ringing. No one picks up.

You try once more, one more time after that. But still, nothing. It shifts to voicemail. You decide it's better than nothing, "hi Iwaizumi-san. This is Y/N, Hoisuke's teacher. I was just wondering what time you would be picking up Hoisuke? Please call me as soon as possible. Thank you."

You end the call only to spot Hoisuke's eyes on you, intent and impatient for you to explain, "it's okay," you tell him with a smile, "he'll be here soon. Don't worry. Do you want to keep colouring some more?"

Hoisuke nods, to which your smile widens. It's those special moments, where your shyest students express themselves, that your chest warms with sympathy and affection. You've been there, you know how it feels like not to be heard, and you appreciate every interaction they offer you.

Being a primary school teacher is tough, especially since it wasn't in your original plans. But the satisfaction of bringing up some of the world's future leaders cancelled out all the late nights correcting tests and scrambled weekends trying to finish off as many worksheets as you possibly could for the coming week. You can’t complain, not when you have a decent salary that keeps bread on the table and a roof over your head.

A tug on your sleeve brings you back to Hoisuke looking up at you, a scribbled drawing of what seems to be of him and his dad. You feel yourself chuckling at how he's drawn both their hair in brown spikes, erratically extravagant and yet so close to reality.

"That's really good, Hoisuke!" You beam down at him, "what do you and your dad do on weekends?"

He shrugs shyly, head averted to the side so that there's no need for eye contact. And in the shyest voice he can muster up, he says:

"Daddy brings me...to see Mama," Hoisuke's words are barely above a mumble, "they live in different houses. They can't live together anymore."

Uneasiness squeeses in your stomach, followed by sympathy for this soft-hearted boy. You had overheard some of your colleagues giggling about Hoisuke's dad being attractive and single -- a combo that teachers adore -- but that doesn't mean that the weight of his words don't lay heavy on your own conscience.

"Do you miss your Mama a lot?" You ask him softly. Unconsciously, your hand finds a way to smooth over his head.

The boy doesn't pull away. Instead, he nods, "sometimes. But it is better this way. Daddy smiles more now. And there's no one to shout and make noise."

"Are you happy, Hoisuke? With your dad?"

He nods and to your amazement grins, "daddy is funny. He tells me not to swear but when he burns the food he always swears. And then he says to shush and tells me to close my ears. He also makes me pancakes every Saturday morning before I go see Mama."

Right on cue, a figure bursts through the open classroom door and both your heads snap to see a drenched, older version of Hoisuke who looks like he just finished running a marathon.

"I'm--" he wheezes, causing you to stand in alarm and concern, "I'm sorry I'm--so late--"

"Daddy, you forgot me again!" Comes Hoisuke's statement as you ask Iwaizumi if he's okay. He shakes off your worry with a flick of his hand and a shake of his head, "I'm fine. Sorry-- there's a nasty rain outside--"

"It's okay," you reassure him as Hoisuke practically barrels into his father and almosy knocks him off his feet.

"Sorry Hoisuke," you watch Iwaizumi's hardened features soften ever so slightly as he ruffles his son's hair. Then, looking back up at you as you bring over Hoisuke's backpack, he says, "thank you. For looking after him."

"It's no problem, honestly. We had fun didn't we?" You grin down at your student and are delighted to find Hoisuke grinning back up at you, albeit shyly, "I put his homework in his diary. He'll need to complete it for tomorrow so that he doesn't fall behind in class."

His father nods, "alright. Thanks."

"Daddy, your hair looks atrocious," Hoisuke says, tugging onto his shirt.

"Atrocious huh?" Iwazumi's eyebrow rise, "someone was listening in their English class today."

"Atrocious means that it looks bad. Daddy, your hair looks bad."

"Thanks buddy, I knew that. Now say bye to Miss Y/N."

"Bye bye, miss Y/N," Hoisuke says, wriggling his short arm through the air as you wave back with a giggle. His father nods at you in silent thanks, makes a move to walk out of the class, only to swivel back to you just as you're collecting your bag.

"Uhm," he clears his throat, causing you to jump slightly, "yes?" You blink back at him and try hard not to stare at the way his white shirt clings to his toned chest, translucent from the rain.

"Do you need a ride?"

-----

You've known Iwaizumi since high school. Having graduated just two years later than he did, his reputation had preceded him throughout the school halls even though you'd never actually had any face to face interaction with the said man. Iwaizumi doesn't know this of course and you are adamant about keeping it a secret. But that plan seems to be unraveling before your very eyes the moment your small talk turns towards your academic history.

"You're from Aoba Johsai?" His surprised glance doesn't escape your notice, especially since that's the most reaction you've gotten out of him.

"Yeah," your eyes stay glued to the row of cars crawling through the motorway, "I remember you went there too, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"You were Aoba's ace volleyball player. Everyone knew who you were."

His silence answers you and for a moment, you fear that you might have offended him. Not that it's something to be offended about.

Before you try to scratch your brain for some kind of response -- any response -- Hoisuke pipes up from the back seat, "Daddy was famous back when he was in high school. He hit the ball like kapow! And jumped so high he can touch the sky."

"Oh? Have you seen him on camera?" You turn slightly, a small smile dangling off your lips at how adorably amazed and excited Hoisuke seems to be.

"Yeah! His spikes are so awesome! It goes pow! And it zooms! Like a cannon ball!"

You burst out laughing, "yes, your father was amazing whenever he was on the court. Every girl in our class had a crush on him."

"What's a crush?"

"Hmm, you know when you really like someone. You like like them, you want to be together with them. Like, girlfriend and boyfriend."

"Oh," Hoisuke draws out, "did you really like daddy too?"

"Yeah I did."

"What?" Iwaizumi almost chokes on his own spit at the same time traffic eases and you're glad for the distraction, for you're certain there's a scattering of colour upon your cheeks.

"Do you really like him now?" Hoisuke persists, undoubtly untouched by the embarrassment taking over his father's features and you swear that more than ever, you want to laugh at how flustered Iwaizumi looks.

You decide to play nice though and instead turn to wink at your student, "that's a secret for me to keep."

You don't have to look twice to know that the man beside you is bursting into hot flames.

-----

"Did you really like Mama before you started living separately?"

Iwaizumi swears that he's never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Not when he's had to state that he was divorced, not when he had to sign divorce papers half drunk off his ass. Not even when he'd raged after his said ex-wife after finding a tie that wasn't his own in his laundry pile.

Now is probably a good definition of what uncomfortable means.

"You're not gonna let me off the hook are you?" He steals a glance at Hoisuke from over his shoulder while stirring the vegetable curry, "yes, I really liked your mother."

"Did she?"

The word 'yes' almost slips past his mouth. Except, he isn't sure whether that's the truth and decides to shoot back with, "have you finished your homework, Hoisuke? You know it's due tomorrow. Miss Y/N said so."

"Do you really like miss Y/N?"

"What?" Iwaizumi frowns, "well--no. Not like that."

"Why?" His son whines, "I really really like Miss Y/N. She's nice to me and she never shouts. And she bakes good cookies!"

"How'd you know that?" Iwaizumi leans over to taste a bit of the sauce. Not bad, he thinks and mentally pats himself on the back. A few weeks ago, he would've probably burnt the entire house down.

"Because she bakes them every month. Every time we finish a test."

"That's nice of her."

"Yes," there's a pause as the man fishes out a bowl in which to serve the curry, "daddy, what do you do when you really like someone? Do you marry them like you and Mama did?"

"Uh--yeah. Sure."

"Then does that mean I need to marry Miss Y/N if I really like her?"

"Yup."

"Daddy!"

Iwaizumi bursts out laughing. Turning off the stovetop and bringing the bowl over to the dining table, he reaches out to ruffle his son's hair with a grin, "you're the one who has a crush on miss Y/N."

"She's too old for me Daddy," grumbles Hoisuke while scooping out two rice bowls as the pair sit down for dinner, "but she'll be good for you."

"Not that simple, buddy," Iwaizumi says as he dumps two spoonfuls of curry into his son's bowl, before doing the same with his own, "there's a difference between like and love."

A frown falls over his son's face, so like his own that Iwaizumi can't help but chuckle, "what is the difference?"

"Well, when you really like someone, you might want to get to know them better. Or play with them andd shit--stuff like that. When you love someone, it's..." he hesitates, "it's different."

"Why?"

There goes that innocent question that punctures his chesy a little too deeply. The brown-haired man steadies his gaze upon the calendar fixed on the wall opposite him as he answers with:

"When you love someone, you want to live with them. You want to start a family with them. Their happiness," his brown orbs switch back to his son's focused attention, "their happiness is all that matters."

Maybe it's the fact that he's not used to speaking so truthfully about such things. Maybe it's just Hoisuke who suddenly realizes the layers hidden beneath his father's poker-faced exterior. But for a moment, neither of them speak, as if bewitched by a silencing spell if broken by the scraping of cutlery against porcelain.

"Did you love mama?"

Hoisuke's voice is small, fragile. So fragile that Iwaizumi pauses just as his spoon reaches his mouth, glancing over at his boy. His beautiful boy.

"Yeah."

Another short pause. "Did she love me?"

"Of course she did," Iwaizumi's face softens. To be honest, Hoisuke hadn't showed any kind of restraint during the entire divorce procedure, had merely accepted things as they had unfolded before his very eyes. But sometimes, Iwaizumi fears his son might be keeping more from him than he lets on.

He ressembles his mother a lot in that sense.

"Then," wet coffee-coloured eyes blink up at him, lips trembling with a hoarse whisper, "why'd she leave?"

Before his father can say anything, the young boy bursts into tears.

Iwaizumi rushes over, clasping Hoisuke in his embrace as the child buries his face into his neck and cries and cries and cries. His little heart beats like wild horses and with every sob echoing through hid body, Iwaizumi feels his own heart break over and over again. One of his hands rub comforting circles of Hoisuke's back, while the other smoothes over the back of his head as he murmurs soft nothings in hopes that it will calm down the young child.

"I want--" Hoisuke's voice is thick with tears, "I want Mama--"

"Shh, hey it's okay," Iwaizumi murmurs out, "s'alright kiddo. I got you."

Hoisuke falls asleep eventually, the soft sniffles dying out into even breaths as he slumps against his father’s shoulder, probably tired out from his earlier emotions. Iwaizumi takes this as his chance to tuck the boy into bed, glad that he’d listened to the small subconscious in his head telling him that Hoisuke would be falling asleep sooner rather than latter. 

As he smoothes over his son’s hair, a part of him wonders how much Hoisuke is still silently hurting from his mother’s departure. He can’t imagine it; suddenly changing lives like you’ve merely changed your bed sheets and Iwaizumi had been so caught up in his own heartbreak, in his own bout of silent rage, that he’d forgotten that along the way, Hoisuke was also a victim to their endless fighting, the cold war that had broken his family apart. 

He wishes he can take the pain away, ease it somehow. But it’s not that simple. The truth is, no one can actually predict how a heart gets broken, nor when it does. The only evidence are the repurcussions. And it’s only now that Iwaizumi gets to see it truly take its form. 

Leaning over to press a soft kiss to Hoisuke’s forehead, Iwaizumi murmurs his silent goodnight before walking out and gently closing the bedroom door behind him. 

He leans onto the hard wooden surface and rubs his eyes. It is only upon pulling them away that he takes notice of the family photograph hanging on the opposite wall, frozen smiles wrapped up in lies.

He really needs to take that down.

-----

[bonny-kookoo]

Mean (JJK x Reader) 💜☁️✴️🔞

💸 Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

💸 Genre: Mafia!AU, Single Parent AU!, Angst, fluff, Smut

💸 Warnings: bad language aka cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of illegal business, manhandling and not the nice kind, tsundere Jungkook, it’s not like he likes you duh, guns, description of violence, restriction of movement and not in a kinky way, protected sex because dude he’s got one kid okay that’s enough, unconventional romance, choking, near death experience, angst did I mention angst

💸 Summary: Jeon Jungkook was kinda cute, you had to admit that- but he was also a massive douchebag with his head up his ass. And a cute kid.

A/N: First of all, I want to apologize to anyone I might dissapoint with this. I've changed up the story concept numerous times- and the first trailer is in no way a proper teaser anymore, since it has nothing to do with this story anymore. I somehow hope you still enjoy the story however. If not- I hope you'll stick around for future content!

Taglist: @drumsofheaven @yzkyzkuniverse @strwberrybtch @kirbykook @teresaisla @park-hera-gi @justzeera @taestannie @bambuzlee (there were several people I couldn’t tag- I’m sorry about that!) 

Jeon Jungkook was facing his worst enemy.

Now, considering his work and all those rumors going on about him, this could be anything really; from an entire army storming his house, to readying himself for waterboarding. But no, this enemy he was currently standing across from was way more vile and difficult to get under control. The situation was slowly growing desperate on his side- this was a life and death situation.

"Mina, come on now." Jungkook pleaded as the toddler vehemently refused to raise her arms properly so he could slip on her dress for the day. He could understand her, to an extend- he wasn't a morning person either, but he had to overcome this in order to be successful- and she had to as well.

Well, success was not really that important at her age, but getting her to daycare definitely was.

"Mina I have a meeting soon and if you continue to be a brat I can't send you off again properly." He tried, knowing how much she hated him leaving in a rush like usually. He'd promised her the day prior as he'd tucked her into bed that he would, this time, at least stay until her friends had arrived, yet he couldn't have known that this situation would occur the next morning.

Sometimes being a single father was way worse than anything he was facing at his actual job.

"There we go!" He cheered as she finally caved in, pouting a bit before she giggled at the silly face her father was making in order to get her to smile. He hated sending her off in a foul mood, knowing that she could be an absolute devil's child if she felt like it. In a way, she was very similar to him, which was to be expected with her mother not being in the picture. He didn't mind it much, however- a cheating spouse was not really what he wanted by his side, if he was being entirely honest with himself. It was enough already knowing that almost all of his 'friends' and 'business partners' were shameless liars. He didn't need to live and raise a child with one as well.

"Tiger!" The young girl cheerfully exclaimed, as the both made their way into the kitchen. It wasn't just a random comment from her side, because her chubby hand already pointed at the cereal box designed with colorful images on the counter, way too high for her but perfectly reachable for her father as he chuckled, balancing her on his hip as he prepared a small bowl for her.

"No funny business though, young lady." He said, as he sat down with her at the table. "We don't have to hurry, but we can't waste time either." He explained, as he watched her eat her breakfast with a concentrated face. He smiled at the picture, sometimes wishing this would be how his days would always start. Sadly, that wasn't the case- most of the times really, her nanny took her to daycare.

Which was another problem.

Her nanny had recently filed in for her termination, her age getting to her as she finally made the decision to settle down for her last years of life, she'd said. He accepted it without much resistance, having build too much respect for the elderly woman over the course of time by now. It left him with a gaping hole however, one that he knew he needed to fill.

But with who?

He couldn't just hire anybody for Mina at this point in his life. People needed to be fully trustworthy to be even given knowledge of his child at all. Most didn't even know she existed- the public unaware of her relation to him. He kept the facade up that she was merely the child of a close friend, just to keep her out of range of any potential enemies he had gathered over time.

His life really wasn't fit for a child at all, but what was he supposed to do?

"Y/N!" A small voice exclaimed behind you, making you look around from where you were cutting apples as the small child appeared.

"Mina!" You answered just as brightly, picking her up as she giggled excitedly. "Did you have breakfast yet?" You asked, as another daycare worker came inside.

"Yeah!" She said, and you looked at her surprised. "Daddy and I had breakfast!" She explained, as you placed her back down onto the ground. "He'ven brought me here today!" She said, and you hummed affirmatively,

"That sounds awesome!" You said, as she beamed up at you. "Why don't you go sit at the table, we're almost having our morning snack. You think you can eat some apples?" You asked, and she proudly nodded, before zooming off, stumbling a bit as she missed the slight gap of the door.

"He didn't come inside." Jenny said, as she watched the little girl sit down next to a boy her age. "I saw that he was sitting in his car, but she got out herself." She explained further, as you continued cutting the apples and making some cuts to have them resemble a bunny. "I swear to god-" She started, as you cut her off.

"We don't know what his life is like, Jenny." You said, as she huffed. "It's not our kid, it's not our life. She isn't unhappy, she's healthy, she's not mistreated. Case closed." You explained further as you discarded the scraps of apple unneeded in the trash, before rinsing the knife you'd used. "I'm not too happy about it either, but we're not her mother." You said, as you dried your hands.

Jenny sighed. "I know, but like-" She said, walking over to you to help you place the banana slices and grapes as well. "She's such a sweet kid. I don't know, but he seems like such a dick honestly. Like, have you heard his phonecall last week?" You snorted. Everyone did at this point.

Mina had had a minor incident, when she'd stumbled and fell. She'd scraped her knee, cried a little, but after a moment everything had been fine again. He however, had been livid upon finding out his daughter had been hurt, even though the scratches didn't even need a bandaid. Even though he'd only been on the phone with your superior, he'd made such a scene out of it that it became like local news around the daycare.

"I still don't know what the fuck that was about." Jenny exclaimed, taking a sip of her coffee as she kept an eye on the kids in the main room. "Like, yeah, she fell, but nothing happened." She said, and you agreed.

Shrugging, you grabbed some plates and napkins, and looked at Jenny. "Again." You reminded her. "As harsh as it sounds, you know me." Jenny sighed.

"I know."

You took back everything you had said this morning.

This prick had the audacity to keep you waiting for more than two hours now, without reacting to any amount of phonecalls you'd done by now. Mina was almost asleep on your lap, and you were angry to say the least. This was supposed to be your last day of work for a week, you were supposed to be curled up on your couch in nothing but underwear and fluffy socks, hidden by a blanket and eating icecream while watching netflix. You were definitely not supposed to sit here at your daycare until even the janitor was about to go home. "Fuck it." You mumble, carefully balancing the young girl on your hip as you grab your bag and keys.

You wave the janitor and cleaning staff goodbye on their way out, and take out your phone for a bus or subway that could drive close to where Mina's address is- but you notice there is nothing in her jacket written that you could use as one. You instead simply call the number written down for emergencies, and wait as it rings.

once.

twice.

"Hello?"

You are a bit taken aback by the voice on the other line, masculine, but clearly not as old as you'd thought he'd sound. "Uh, yeah, this is Mina's daycare, you mind picking her up these days, or not?" You casually say, Mina moving around a bit as to bring her thumb close to her lips. You internally coo at her.

"Shit! Fuck- I, where are you?" He asks, and you furrow your brows. Where the hell does he think you are, or does he seriously not know where his daughters daycare is? Wait, is that even her father?

"I- listen, am I even talking to her father or who is this?" You ask, and suddenly you feel extremely uncomfortable. This was a bad idea, what if this isnt her dad at all? You could loose your job for this!

"Yeah, yes. Listen I'm gonna send someone to pick her up alright? Should be there in an hour or so." He says as if frustrated, and you scoff, making him question you on the other line as if he was just struck by thunder. "Excuse me?" He says, voice low, but you're not intimitated.

"First of all, I'm not convinced. Second of all, and pardon my french, but are you nuts?! It's already way too late for her to be up, and I've finished my shift hours ago!" You complain, and he clears his throat over the line, clearly unhappy about your lack of understanding.

"Jeon Mina has a small beauty mark underneath her lower lip, she hates strawberries for some reason, and her biggest secret is that she is actually scared of unicorns. There, happy?" He grits out, and you chew on your lip. He was good. "Second of all, Miss." He makes sure to pronounce every word. "You're getting paid to look after my kid. If that's all you want I'm paying you extra for the inconvenience-" Oh boy, there we go.

"If I cared about your stupid money I would've called authorities hours ago, S.I.R." You start, careful to tone your voice down as to not wake her up. "And you know what, thats a great Idea actually! Let me just-" You begin, but he cuts you off with a sound that sounds awfully like a door closing.

"Fuck you, I'm there in 20." He says.

Jeon Jungkook was not too fond of woman.

That much was clear ever since he'd been cheated on and left with a kid, but it had always been like that. It wasn't like he was afraid of them, or didn't like them, it was more like, during his life, woman had been the reason for heartbreak and bad news all along. His mother had been an alcoholic, his dad desperately trying to get her back on track. His sister had been involved into shady business early on, a wild child that would do anything to get on peoples nerves. His aunt, which only ever visited to gain money. Women were bad news.

So his own surprise had been very prominent when he spotted you on the bench with his kid in your arms,her chubby arms clinging onto you like a koala. You seemed to be reading something on your phone, careful not to point the device too close to Mina so she wouldn't be disturbed. You were pretty, he had to admit that, even from far away- and you seemed like a confident person, from what he'd heard over the phone. You suddenly noticed him as he drove a bit closer, car tires crunching the gravel and snow underneath while his headlights shut off, to not blind you both. He stepped out, as you woke Mina up to announce to her that her father had finally arrived.

"Daddy!" She screached sleepily, running towards him with stumbling legs. He picked her up with a smile before he turned around, having every intention to buckle her up in his backseat as you came closer.

"Huh. Mind telling me why I shouldn't inform authorities about this?" You asked, and he huffed out a breath with a roll of his eyes, pulling out his wallet. You simply stood there, arms crossed, not at all fazed by the amount of money he held in front of you- you simply raised your eyebrow. "I mean, if money could talk I'd ask your bills, sure. But that right there isn't an answer." You replied, and he gritted his teeth, jaw clenching. Why were you being so difficult.

"Okay, how much?" He said, and you suddenly moved, shifted, as if absolutely offended by his offer.

"Do I look like a streetworker to you sir?" You said, and he closed his eyes for a moment, until another car seemed to pull up.

"You're getting picked up." He says, ready to step into his car as you look at him with confusion. "You don't know them?" He asks, and you shake your head, having every intention to check as he notices something familiar peeking out of one of the car windows. As if on autopilot, he rips his passenger side open, pushes you in, and runs to get inside the drivers seat.

There are shots fired, Mina is holding her hands over her ears as she simply stares at you, who is absolutely shell-shocked.

What the hell just happened?

So yeah, that's how you got here-

In a room that looked awfully like the interrogation rooms in your late night netflix crime shows. There was someone sitting in front of you- Mina's father, watching you, like you were going to do anything. But you were as quiet as a mouse, not saying anything.

"So you didn't know them? At all?" He questioned for the second time in the past ten minutes, and you shook your head. "Hard to believe. Then again, why would you ever tell me that your Dad's brother was sentenced to two years for escorting drugs- only getting two years because he snitched." He said, and your eyes widened.

"Okay what the hell-" You started, but he cut you off.

"Oh, I hit a nerve-" But you weren't having it.

"Oh an I'm gonna hit your pretty nose if you don't stop cutting me off!" You said, making him smirk. For some reason, this was quite entertaining to him- the only woman he ever had in here were so keen on keeping up that shy and innocent facade, that you were a breath of fresh air. "Listen, I don't know why you decided to dig up things that happened when I was literally a TODDLER- or how you even got that information - I swear to god I will really break your nose!" You ended as he had tried to speak again, making him chuckle.

If you weren't being held captive after getting your night ruined you might as well would've thought that was pretty hot.

"I was five years old- I had nothing to do with it, and my dad had no contact whatsoever with his brother after what had happened." You explained. "If you can find that, you can also find that I haven't had contact with my family in years either." You said, leaning back, as he spoke.

"I did. Which is quite confusing to me." He said.

You suddenly went stone cold on him. "It really isnt that deep." You said.

"Were you avoiding them?" He asked. "Because of what happened? Or because your dad got involved into something?"

"Because they're dead." You said.

Well. This was something that made him actually stop and think for a second. He did dig into that nasty part of your family, but he never looked further- their death was something he had overlooked. And by your reaction as you said it, the way you said it, he knew that you weren't lying. "Alright." He said. "But you do realize that I can't just let you go like that, right?" He said.

"Figured." You said. "So, should I stand facing against the wall or with my back against it so you can aim better?" You said, and he took a deep breath. Technically, yes, that would be a logical outcome.

"Neither." He said, and you raised your eyebrow. "I have an offering." He said, and your entire body went stiff, arms crossing in front of your chest. A pure sign of whatever he was going to say, your first reaction would be no. "I need a nanny for Mina." He said, and your lips parted, confusion clear on your face.

He almost thought it was kind of cute.

"You what?" You said.

"I need a nanny for Mina." He repeated. "It's a win-win situation for both of us if you think about it. You get to- in a way- keep your job and a bonus in terms of payment, and I will have someone to take care of Mina. And I also don't have to put a bullet into your pretty little head." He said, leaning forward with the last words.

"This isn't really a question, isn't it?" You said, and he laughed.

"You're smart- I like you."

„But that’s not how daddy does it..“ she wonders, as you tie her shoes for her, before looking up into her eyes. She really does resemble her father. Well, a more innocent version, that is.

„Well everyone does it differently.“ you say, well aware that there were numerous ways to tie a simple bow. „Your daddy probably has learned it from someone who does it like he does. I learned it from my dad.“ you explained as you went to pick up her backpack, carrying it for her as she took your hand.

„yours looks prettier tho!“ she exclaimed happily, a skip in her step as she kept looking at her shoes with a smile. You grinned, a sense of pride filling you. „Daddy‘s always looks crooked on one side-„ she said, before a voice broke through the sweet moment.

„You hurt me Princess. You always said they look nice.“ he hummed from his spot in the doorway, leaned on the frame, looking at you with something you could only describe as unsatisfied, while shooting his daughter a smile.

What the hell have you done wrong now?

This had been something going on for months now. Ever since you started working for him as a nanny, Mina had been nothing but a ray of sunshine- but he, he was not even a raincloud. He was the angry grinch miltiplied by a hundred, ready to piss everyone off twenty-five-eight. Somehow everything you did wasn't up to his standards; the way you cooked for Mina, the way you dressed her, hell, even right now with the way you tied a fucking bow.

You really hoped next time he washed his hands, his sleeves would roll down.

"There's an emergency gun underneath the back-" He started as Mina was out of listening-reach.

"I won't use it." You said.

Jungkook had tried to get you trained at least in the basics of guns- but you practically had an allergy to it, refusing to so much as touch one. He didn't quite know what your problem was, but after a while, he had given up on it- simply sending one of his guards with you whenever he could. By now, you were an easy target as well if found alone, so you had joined him in his place, occupying one of the larger guest rooms. He had said that it was to keep an eye on you, but internally, he simply didn't want you to get hurt.

And yeah, at first that was because he didn't trust you, at all- but by now, somehow, you had sneaked your way into his heart, in a way. Even though he himself would always grumpily comment on it, he loved how you made Mina smile and the entire mansion light up. Things felt a little brighter, a little less tense, and a little less lonely with you around. It felt as if you were an actual family.

And that scared the shit out of him, because in no way was he going to fall for his daughters nanny.

And, after all; you hated his guts.

If Jungkook knew the situation you and Mina had gotten yourselves into, you don't know if he would be proud of her or kill you.

Turns out that the guard Jungkook had sent you out with wasn't actually following his orders at all, but words from a different person entirely- you imagined they were highly likely the one's out to shoot you back when you first met the tall mafia boss and father. Now, the only thing they definitely did not get right however, was that you were Mina's mother- and someone Jungkook valued enough to give up his safety. This was true for Mina; the young child was his everything, and he'd cut off his limbs just to know her safe and sound- but you? That was just absolutely stupid. Sure, you've been living together for quite some time now, and he stopped trying to mentally push you down the stairs every morning as well. But there was nothing more than a mild case of friend- and partnership. You weren't being emo; Jungkook had, after all, said it again and again that he had crossed out the dating game. He's got enough trouble with Mina and you, he had said.

Well, seemed like one of those issues would solve itself.

"Again, what're you gonna do?" You say, as Mina looks at you from out of the vents above you had helped her into seconds ago.

"Crawl where the nice air is, call daddy- and don't look back." She repeats proudly, but you can see it clearly that she's just as scared as you are.

"Exactly, good job princess." You praise, and she nods with a pout. "Once daddy gets you, you'll be safe." You promise, and she wants to complain- but you don't let her, closing the vent again as you hear her shuffling away. This was fine. Mina would be safe, Jungkook would have one person less to worry about- he could move away, bring her to a different part of the country where no one knew her, and she could simply go to school next year and forget all of this ever happened.

You were just a bit sad that you'd never get to see it.

Of course you weren't her mother- but it was hard not to let her inside your heart, with the way she was. The charms her dad didn't have, she got them times ten. She was just so sweet, and you were around her all the time, it was hard not to somehow grow fond of her. You just hoped she'd be alright.

"Where's the kid, whore?!" A guard yelled after noticing you were the only one left in the room. You simply smiled, not answering, before he grabbed your neck, pulling you up as much as he could as he fumed. "Save that stupid grin for your son of a bitch at home." He barks, and you desperately try to breathe- unsuccessfully so, until he forcefully pushes you back down, the back of your head hiding the concrete floor with a sickening crack. You squealed out in pain, holding onto the spot for dear life as if that would somehow help it- but it didn't. "I knew sluts like you have to be tied up. You're all just trouble." He says, pulling you by your legs as another set of people come in, binding your legs and hands. You can already feel your fingers getting cold from how tight your wrists are tied- but you black out from the kick to your stomach before you can quite dwell on it.

"Fuck!" He yells, before he gets up, hands in his hair to somehow help himself not punch the laptop on his table. He's seen it, seen it all- from the moments you would shield Mina like a fearless lioness, the second you had lifted her up into the vents even though he knew your shoulder had to be in horrible pain, to the very moment you had faced the consequences of your actions. He hated that he had to wait, that he had to simply sit here in his office like a coward just to watch you take the beatings.

Because here was the thing with Jungkook; even though he liked to portray himself as someone who always takes the upper hand in things and troubles, when it came to his own personal life far away from his criminal business he ran, he couldn't seem to ever make up his mind. It was like a repeat of his past love affair- but instead of his ex-wife cheating and leaving him with a child, there was you, in some way fighting like a true lionness in order to keep said child safe and sound, even though you didn't even had to. Technically, this would've been the perfect opportunity for you to finally get your freedom back in a way. Because without Mina, there was no use for you being in his grasp anymore. Without her, there was no agreement between the two of you.

And yet there you were. And yet again, he simply watched, simply did nothing.

The entire mansion was already on high alert by now; his most trusted friends Seokjin and Yoongi already out to your location- he could wait. He could wait. He could wait.

Everything would somehow turn out to be just fine by the end of this day. He would successfully take his daughter into his arms, Yoongi and Seokjin would get you out of there, and after a good nights sleep and some first aid for you, things would just return to normal.

But what was normal at this point?

He didn't want things to continue like they did currently. He wanted change, for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell you about his inner thoughts, about his desires concerning you and his future. He wanted to tell you that he didn't just want you to be at his home and with him and his daughter just because of some stupid agreement. He didn't want you to stay with him because he forced you to.

His phone began to chime, your face greeting him as the caller ID as he accepts it. "Daddy-" His heart sinks down to the floor as he hears Mina sniffle on the other side of the line. He has to wait, he thinks, repeats like a mantra. He has to somehow calm her down, tell her everything's alright- "They're hurting mommy!" Mina wails, and somehow, those words make him snap.

Fuck waiting.

In a way, Mina was a smart kid. She had been nothing but understanding when Jungkook and her mother had broken up- divorced, and fought until she eventually left for good. She had been a little sad for a long time, thinking it had somehow been her fault; but he had assured her, and later on, explained, that Mommy simply didn't love Daddy anymore. In Daycare, she was one of the most well behaved kids ever encountered- careful, and calm. Of course she got excited and happy and sometimes made a mess; but she also was very careful who she interacted with, what kinds of friends she made, and how much she talked about home. She never complained, never threw public tantrums.

Jungkook truly was lucky- that the only thing left of his shattered marriage had been her.

He never had relationships after that- never dated, never truly searched for someone. No one, in his eyes, was worth the risk- and even after meeting you, that was his opinion. But as cliche as it sounded, you were quite different from anyone he'd ever met before.

You spoke your mind; always saying what bothered you, never beating around the bush. Yet, you weren't being a bitch about things. No, you actually could be pretty cute if you wanted to be- be it the moments he had caught you and Mina sneak a taste of her birthday cake in the middle of the night, or the one time he had been sick.

You had been such an angel to him.

Helping him towards the bathroom, never even scrunching your nose in distaste whenever he had to throw up. You simply rubbed his back, helping him towards the sink to rinse, just to lead him back into his bedroom. You had aired the room out, made the bed, made sure that he was staying hydrated and at least tried to eat every day- all without any complains.

Maybe that was the moment his perspective of you shifted into dangerous territory.

He had somehow become hyperaware of the things you did. How well you got along with Mina, how easy going you were becoming with him- how confident yet nurturing and sweet you were, gently scolding him sometimes to not overwork himself. You always made sure his kid felt happy and was healthy, never so much as whined about your past friendships lost; you had simply accepted the new situation.

In a way, you were what he silently dreamed of at night.

Because as much as he loved the sight of you holding Mina whenever she had a nightmare and couldn't sleep, he somehow also craved to be held throughout the night by your arms. Just like he held his daughter in that moment after she had climbed out of the vent into his arms. He could make out some of her words as he simply let himself feel her tiny body in his arms for a moment. Just to make sure she was really there, really alright, really out of harms way. She kept on crying out for you, for him to help you, to save you-

So it was only natural for him to jump out of his car and run after Seokjin, Yoongi, and their squad, as they entered the building.

Sometimes at night, when you got aware of all the different sounds of the room, you heard the blood rush inside your brain.

Just like now; but now, it was so loud that you could barely hear anything else. Things seemed hazy, fuzzy, your ears stuffed with cotton wool drowning out any sounds might happening around you. Your eyes stayed closed, light way too bright for your raging headache- and the stale metal taste on your tongue wasn't helping either. Your hands had started to tingle long ago, and your knees were hurting from being in the same position for this long. But the moment someone touched you next, it wasn't forceful. It was so gentle, and almost- scared?

You couldn't hear, but you could feel. How the rope was cut, blood rushing painfully into your hands and legs again, pins and needles making them hypersensitive as you were suddenly held- moved, carried?

It smelled like home, that was something your dizzy mind was able to properly make out. It smelled like Jungkooks mansion, and a bit like his office- a faint vanilla hitting your senses, making you faintly smile as your hand reached out, unknowingly grabbing his shirt, holding the fabric as tight as you could as you moaned out in pain when he placed you down again, warmth surrounding you.

Maybe you were dying?

Or maybe not.

Because after some hazy and confusing dreams, you slowly came back to your senses. Eyes opening slowly, there it was; the curtains you knew so well, the balcony opened, air crisp and fresh around you as the door opened. You wanted to move your head, but the fear of triggering another headache was too big.

"Y/N?" Jungkooks voice asked, warm, and almost hesitant. You hummed, and he snapped his head around, noticing that yes- after days of sleeping and slipping in and out of consciousness you were actually awake again. He walked into your field of vision, looking so casual; his white button up undone at the first two buttons, sleeves rolled up as he sat down close to you, palm on the blanket covering you as he-

smiled?

"W-" You had to cough a bit before clearing your throat. "Who are you and what have you done to Jungkook?" You said, and he chuckled, sighing in relief- you had, after all, not lost your charm.

"I think past Jungkook had a moment of self-reflection." He said, watching you as his hand placed itself onto yours, warmth spreading over your skin. "I'm glad you're okay." He admitted. "And thank you. For keeping.. Mina safe." He ended, and you smiled.

"That's literally my job." You said, and he got more serious.

"No, and you know what I mean." His voice was deep and rough, yet held no authority like usual. "You had chances to tell them who you were. That you had no connection to me other than through her; yet you didn't. And we both know why." He said, and you looked at him.

"There are more reasons than just one." You said, eyes drifting to his now empty ring finger on the hand resting on his thigh.

"Does it matter which one I mean?" He asked, and you wanted to scoff.

"It does to me." You said, and he shifted closer after a second, properly holding your hand now as he looked at yours- still a little scratched, but nothing that wouldn't heal.

"You did it because that's the reason you live here." He said. "You also did it because you adore her just as much as I do. And you.." He began, but grew unsure.

"And I?" You smiled, and he looked at you with his typical seriousness.

"And you somehow got stuck in an emotional mess." He explained. "You somehow, deep down, wanted it to be true." His thumb moved over the back of your hand as he spoke. "You wished that.. maybe there was more to it than just, partnership." He said, and you still smiled gently.

"Did I now?" You teased, but to your surprise, he was still looking straight at you.

"I know I did." He humms out. "I still do."

"You're stupid." You said, and he laughed bitterly, taking your words the wrong way as he slipped his out of yours.

"I know." He said, getting up to leave but stopped as you spoke.

"Good." You said, chuckling before coughing. "What, no kiss for me after all I've been through?" You giggled as his wide eyes stared at you. "Rude." You said, and he suddenly realized that no- you weren't rejecting him. You were accepting.

You felt the same.

Noticing his own awkwardness, he leaned over, hands supporting his body as he leaned down, properly placing his lips onto yours. You had never imagined what kissing Jungkook would feel like, but you certainly would've never guessed how gentle and absolutely loving it would be. One of his hands moved towards your cheek, holding it, as if you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen.

"Mommy!" Came Mina's excited voice, cries instantly noticable as she jumped onto the bed, burying her head into your chest as you held her, a few tears in your eyes from her jumping.

"Mina baby, be careful okay?" He said. But your words were the reason that he ended up tearing up, at the end.

"Mommy's still hurting baby." You said. "But she'll get better soon."

Not even during the first few magical months of being together with his past ex, had it ever felt like this.

He was euphoric almost; with the way you felt, moved, breathed. It all felt like so much to him, made him feel so.. He couldn't explain it. He had his hands on your hips, fingers careful not to press too hard, but having enough force to move you back and forth over his lap- his length moving in and out of your heat, making you whine, as he watched your breasts in front of him. You fit so perfectly like this, felt so amazing, managed to make him feel needy instead of the other way around.

He turned you over slipping out of you sloppily as he moved positions, now above you as he spread your legs, entering you again easily. He pulled you by your thighs, holding you in place as he began to thrust again, your eyes closing with every movement of his hips.

He loved the sight of it.

Deep down he wanted to take the condom off; he wanted to fill you up, cum inside over and over and over until your cunt would overflow. Not only just to claim you in a weird animalistic sense, but to also make his family complete. He had cut his ties to his illegal activities by now, had settled down with you- and he knew, there was no other person he'd ever have a child with again than with you. "I want to cum inside." He said breathlessly, making you whine in return. "Hm, you'd like that?" He asked teasingly, his thrusts gaining more strength as if to underline his statement. "Stuff you full of my cum, make you leak it and mess up the sheets.." He continues, hand reaching between the two of you to find your clit. "just to make love to you over and over again. I wanna make you cry." He gritted out, suddenly moving you around face down. He pulled up your lower body, entering you again, gliding in easily with the amount of slick you were leaking. "And you'd take it wouldn't you?" He asks, making you nod and groan out as he grows more desperate, faster, harder- throwing you off the edge but never stopping. "You're gonna take it until I cum, don't you dare move away from me." He scolds, holding you tightly, making you gasp out in overstimulation as he continues on, chasing his own high.

He reaches it with a loud groan, burying himself deep inside as he holds you, peppering kisses onto your spine. "I love you, hm.." He whispers out. "So good, so pretty.. all mine.." He huffs, simply falling onto the mattress with you in his arms, cock still buried inside you.

There was a moment of silence, until he spoke again. "I really do mean it though." He said earning only a tired humm from you. He simply chuckled at that, holding you close as he decided to maybe bring that topic up when the timing was a bit better.

For once, he felt like a normal person. Right next to you, in your arms, as you turned around to pull him close, burying your face into his chest.

Right where he belonged.

[pockydays]

unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that. 

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual. 

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense. 

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right? 

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences. 

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly. 

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product. 

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply. 

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving. 

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings. 

“Thanks,” he responded curtly. 

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand. 

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded. 

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand. 

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior. 

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to. 

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right? 

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper. 

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his. 

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.” 

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips. 

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?” 

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought. 

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did. 

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts. 

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered. 

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air. 

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed. 

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?” 

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?” 

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him. 

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier). 

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course). 

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence. 

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said. 

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice? 

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue. 

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again. 

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken. 

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was. 

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

[annmarcus63]

He wanted to say "I love you"

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Here's on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34237159

Injured Jaskier

"Blessed silence"

"Would you shut up, bard?"

"If you don't stop within the next two minutes, I swear, I'll break that fucking lute and shove it down your throat"

"Jaskier, shut up!"

"Alright! I'll stop, there's no need to be such a brute" replied Jaskier while tucking the lute, currently on his hands, on the brand new case he bought a couple of days ago to a retired musician living his last days on White Orchard. It's gorgeous, orgasmic, almost as sexy as the lute.

The music notes slowly fading in Geralt's ears, leaving a weak hum behind. Geralt sighed relieved, and a suspicious feeling that may resemble guilt. But there's not time to dwell on it. He's trying to sort the potions and required ingredients to complete the contract which he needed to follow up  that same night. Witchers were trained to tune out every sound to be able to concentrate. He could meditate for days with not a single thing to bother him, but Jaskier's chatter is a powerful contrary spell to the calmness he was used to. It's a possibility that Jaskier fell upon his path with the sole purpose to test his limits. He is good company but sometimes Geralt wonders if it's worth the trouble.

He needs Arachnomorphs' venom and Griffin's feathers and blue mutagen to brew the antidote to the potent venom of the Endrega warrior he's goin to face. Methodically he starts with the preparation, grind and mix, smell, taste, it hurts...it's ready.

Three weeks ago he received a letter from Eskel asking to meet for pressing matters. Geralt doesn't know what he may want, it maybe a problem with a powerful beast or just a call to drink, which is unlikely because the message seem urgent. So Geralt had to hurry if he wanted to catch him on time, he was two days late and if he doesn't kill the Endrega he'd be three days late. Traveling with Jaskier prevent from a fastest pace, and the reason of those two days were, of course, the bard who asked him to stay longer on White Orchard to wait for his new lute case. Geralt ponder all this with an edge of bitterness towards Jaskier, it's unfair and uncalled for. He feel like shit. He ponder it still.

Jaskier is capable of recognizing when he's being a nuisance. Or well...he can recognize when someone has reach their limits regarding him. He can be too much, he speaks too much, he moves too much, he whines too much, he thinks too much. He's considerate you see, when Geralt snaps at him he understands. He can't help it. Is what he is, and he's not going to change, he tried once for his father. It didn't work, Jaskier was giving too much away for the acceptance of one person, he conclude it didn't worth it.

He understands really, but today Geralt has been a little over the edge, and has crossed the line between banter and plain rudeness.

So the logical response is to be more annoying.

Jaskier can be awful too when he wants.

He prod the wild and stressed animal with meaningless chatter, why does the fire moves like that? is the color of my fingernail normal? have you ever wonder how it'd be to become a fish?

the wild animal spill one or two drops of the antidote while pouring it from the small wood plate in which the ingredients got blend. Jaskier swear have saw how the vein on Geralt's forehead pop.

Ups…

"Would you SHUT UP for once in your fucking life?” ok he seen that coming “I can't even hear my own thoughts, bard. When we reach Velen you're going to stay there. Do you understand? Not following me around anymore”

To be fair he has caused this. It's what he does, always, being and idiot with and incessant mouth. He has push too far this time, even so that tone on Geralt's voice put him on edge, angry even. That ungrateful witcher and his never ending foul mood. What would he give to see him smile more often?

Everything.

A heavy atmosphere settled on the camp, Geralt's angry and now Jaskier's too, offended to be more accurate. Jaskier hated these often-occurring moments, as if the bard were a stranger and not a years friend.

Are you though?

Whoever sent the letter is Geralt's friend. What give it away? the eagerness to travel fast for instance. Jaskier send a letter once, asking if he wanted to meet at Novigrad, he never received a response nor Geralt went there.

Geralt packed his things, secure the sword straps and with a particular tenseness on his shoulders he turn to Jaskier.

"You're going to stay here. HERE Jaskier. I don't want you anywhere near the nest, the poison..."

"I know"

"Then I want you to repeat it"

"What? Really? I'm not a child, Geralt" but the Witcher kept his stance, waiting, and Jaskier's a sucker for pleasing.

"I'm going to stay here, quiet and still. If I get near the nest there's a high chance to get poisoned, even a small dosis could kill me. And get my body back and bury it would be a big hassle for you Are you happy now?"

"Hmm. I'll be back by midnight"

Geralt disappeared between the trees and Jaskier watch him go with a big lump on his throat. Not five minutes later he started cleaning the broth pot to fill it again with clean water to drink to warm up his bones. How he wish to have tea or coffe to add.

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Wind's howling, Jaskier reflected, feeling the chill colouring his cheeks and breaking his lips unpleasantly. Besides the wolfs living on the wind, there was silence, a sepulchral silence that caused him feel unsafe. Even Roach looks in distress. An hour ago she was lying on the grass getting ready for a good night sleep, and now she's looking everywhere as if she can sense something lurking in the shadows, and that is scary. By the position of the moon Jaskier could guess the time, one and a half hour past midnight. That idiot witcher should be here by now. He knew that, Roach knew that, so why he's not here?

He couldn't think straight, the worry was eating him up from the intestines and it wasn't fair or unnormal, worrying for Geralt is like worrying for the sun to never come up again. It may happen but is unlikely, impossible.

Geralt is fine, he is, or at least is what he kept repeating himself for the past hour like a mantra that no one would ever listen.

Something went wrong, I'm sure. He'd be here by now so why he's not here? What if the Endrega chew his head off? that's sudden and crude Jaskier, what's wrong with you? He can't be dead, I mean I didn't even get the chance to apologize, to clean his wounds, to buy him breakfast, to tell him I love him with all my beating foolish heart.

Agh, but he's not dead, so stop that train of thought right this instant, young man.

For some reason the voice sounded like his dead mother.

"I need to go there only to see if he's safe" said Jaskier to Roach

"But he said rather rudely to you to stay put and not bother him." replied imitating Roach voice like a tired housewife.

"I know what he said" said with an air of petulant child. "And what about you come with me to keep me in check"

"It's dark you can't see and it's dangerous"

"But you can!"

"Fine, hop on me" he loved winning arguments.

He saddled Roach efficiently, Geralt rarely let him do it but he was a quick learner. He put out the fire with a kick of dust, took a small blade that Geralt kept at the bottoms of his bag just in case, he also lit the only torch they carried for emergencies, a beacon of light that Geralt could see if he was in trouble and rode Roach towards the clearing next to the main road from which people get disappearing and getting eaten.

He trusted Roah to guided him, she was a clever one who also worried for her master.

The cold kept biting his skin even under the small fire, he left his cape at camp in case he needed to run, but they're getting closer. A wooden statue with flowers and canisters at it’s feet appear by his right, the notice board said the location of the insect was near that god statue.

He stoped Roach and dismount then he took the short blade wishing he didn't have to use it, before leaving he remembered the possibility of encounter with poison, according to Geralt Endregas not only spit venom but also exuded poisonous gas equally lethal. So he took his undershirt to cover half his face, this might prevent breathing it.

The turned out the torch because the light would attract the Endrega and distract Geralt.

He walked slowly to north realizing how much he was trembling, it wasn't that cold. It was fear and the soft hum of the adrenaline waiting on his brain for being triggered.

And then a rancid and potent smell reached him despite the undershirt. There. A thick unnatural mist and a series of small mountains piled some meters away. No, not mountains, bodies, Endrega bodies lying on the ground slaughtered with efficiency. A witcher’s work.

He almost missed it because of the mist, but there he was, Geralt, lying on the ground in a tragic pantomim of his foes. Jaskier hurried to him almost tripping in the process, he kneel by his side and got shocked by the hardened veins on the witcher's forehead, his levels of toxicity must being dangerous high. But he wasn't dead and if Jaskier wanted to keep him like that he needed to take him away from the mist to help his body fight the secondary effects of the pocions.

He looked the number of bodies surrounded them, more than six when the contract said one Endrega.

He have to be quick so he wrap Geralt by the armpits and with all his strength started to drag him towards Roach, he couldn't risk bringing her here in case of the poison or another insect near by. Geralt was a big guy, he has always being attracted to that, now not so much. Sweating, weary and scared.

Sweating, weary and scared the bard dragged the witcher to Roach when he started to feel dizzy followed by an annoying scratching under the skin. Roach stamped her feet two times before getting closer, she nosed her master while Jaskier catch his breath, then the lovely girl crouched down and wait patiently.

In a matter of a blink, his head started to pound violently and his vision to get blurred. That wasn't good.

The poison, it's the poison.

With all the strength he got left he pull Geralt on his belly over Roach, the position wasn't ideal but it was all he could do before collapsing on his knees.

"Go Roach. Go" She stood with must carefulness, Jaskier watched her go feeling a rush of pride and victory, he saved Geralt, he'll be alright and that was all that matter.

Jaskier fell backwards hitting his head with the ground, his body started convulsing or at least that's what he thought before lose consciousness.

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An insistent poke on his ribs brought him to wakefulness followed by a fall and a sudden sharp pain on his side. A few seconds later the witcher take in his surroundings. Roach neigh by his side, he had fall from her. The heavy cloud from exhaustion and toxicity still rested on his brain.

He felt the bitter tang on the back of his tongue of venom running thru his system and the hollow pain that remained. There were eight Endregas...yes, the Endregas, he had fainted on the clearing knowing well that he might not woke up again if he kept on breathing that mist. How did he get there? Roach answered with a distressed stump of her foot.

"What?" he asked the horse, and she neigh.

Jaskier

"Fuck."

he search on his pouch for White Honey to swallow it in a big gulp.

Awareness returned quickly and despite the injuries and aches on his lef side he took Roach's reins and guided her back to the clearing.

Back to Jaskier, he hoped to not be late, please let him be on time, he begged to no one in particular.

The contract said one Endrega, imagine the surprise and horror he felt when encountering a nest with full grown ups monsters which position were stronger and their hunt abilities an excellency when attacking in pack. He drank the three vials of antidote he carried and a dose of Swallow that burned his stomach and shot the toxicity levels to a mortal point. The Endregas were all dead, but tired and injured he collapse defeated. The position of the moon indicate that was dead for at least two hours during which he continued to breathe the poisonous gas, half and hour more and he'd be dead for good. Jaskier went for him, he could smell him on Roach, his fear and urgency. Idiot, that idiot.

Geralt tried with all his might to not think him dead.

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At the feet of the statue was Jaskier, body bent in an awkward angle. Geralt removed the undershirt on his face, recognizing it as a clever tactic. The mist did not reach that area but the purple and green tone on the bard's skin indicate high levels of poison, he must have went thru the mist to reach Geralt drag him back to Roach.

“Fuck, Jask”  said Geralt with a trembling voice and without thinking carried Jaskier to Roach, there'll be time to check for injuries for now he have to take him back to safety. Jaskier's heartbeat was slow, very very slow. Geralt fret but he did not relent.

He laid Jaskier's frigid body on the bedroll and with Igni he started the fire, he located the water Jaskier used for tea and used to clean his hands of the grime and dirt. A choking noise alerted him and Roach who was nosing the bard.

From Jaskier's nose a dark liquid started to flow, he was drowning from the inside which meant that he had breath the poison and it was filling his lungs with thick mucus.

He put Dandelion on his side and encouraged him to vomit with his fingers to clean his airways as soon as possible. Jaskier throat convulsed on his fingers followed by a steady dark flow. Geralt reached for the pot by the fire to put it under his mouth, which soon was filled to the brim.

"That's it Jask, that's it" Geralt whispered even though the bard couldn't hear him. With a clean cloth, he wiped the bard's mouth once the flow stopped and her lungs sound clear. It was then that Geralt noticed with overwhelming fear that the other had stopped breathing.

"No, no, Jask come on come on"

He acted fast by lifting Jaskier's chin and placing his clasped hands in the center of his chest and began to push down hard more times than he could count.

“Jaskier come back!” he growled when his shoulders felt like jelly, he was getting tired and Jaskier wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing. He remembered Renfri choking on his arms a reflection of what was happening here. Not this again, not these again. Jaskier's mouth opened follow up by a weak gasp and a weaker heartbeat.

But he came back, and Geralt almost cried right there and there, but he didn't know how. There's nothing else he can do, he had no medicine of herbs for poisoning that could help humans, everything he had was lethal. He instantly regretted overlooking the possibility of this happening. He was traveling with a bard and the most responsible and considerate thing he could do was prevent and buy at least herbs just in case. But he didn't. They were at least a day and a half away from the next town and being that far from the capital meant fewer healers. Jaskier wouldn't survive the travel, not on this conditions.

If the poison hasn't killed him by now then it means that he could survive on his own, or at least that's what Geralt hope.

He put Jaskier in one of his shirts and covered him with all the available clothes they had, his cape and even the blanket with which he covered Roach.

Exhausted he started removing his armour to clean the now faint slashes on his chest and abdomen, then he walked like death to Roach to remove the saddle and pet her gently thanking her for her help.

It was an hour before dawn, but Geralt did not rest, he could not even if he wanted to. He sat next to Jaskier to check his breathing and keep the fire burning.

The fever hit the bard a couple of hours later, he was burning dangerously high, Geralt dipped a cloth on clean water to place on his forehead, from time to time raised Jaskier's head to feed him with water.

His heart didn't stop again which was a blessing amongst the terrible situation. Jaskier didn't deserve to die like this, not for Geralt or monsters.

Then the hallucinations began, feverish and confused, Jaskier babbled under his breath while trembling furiously. He smell like sickness and decay and in that exact moment the witcher missed the natural perfume of the bard's skin. Like sea breeze and orange tree. Like Jaskier.

By day two Geralt got assaulted by an all consuming wave of guilt. He had yelled at the bard for being...well, himself. He was so upset and it was so easy to insult and threaten to leave him in the next town.

Jaskier hated to be left behind.

"Why did you came for me, you idiot?"

"I don't deserve it" whispered before taking the now warm cloth to dip it once again on cold water. Instead of improving, Jaskier's condition began to deteriorate. Painful spasms convulsed his body for hours, the fever did not subside and his breathing were shallow and slow. Geralt lay next to him that night to keep the tremors at bay, he hold him carefully alongside his body.

"You do remember the night after Posada when we make camp and you asked me to cuddle you because you were cold?" He whispered into the night "I didn't. If you were awake I'd never hear the end of this. You'd love it"

The bard moaned softly and shook slightly under his grip. "Come back to me, Jask." He meant to say how sorry he was, he doze off instead.

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First he felt heat on his face, then a relentless pressure on his head as if a heavy stone was on top of it Little by little he maped his body and the multiple aches that alarmed him. On his chest underneath the skin his ribs screamed with fire as if he have been kicked hard multiple times, also his lungs burned like hell, his shoulders were stiff and sore, his belly hurt faintly.

What happened? Where is he? What, what, what, what

"Jaskier Jaskier. I'm here, breathe thru your nose, I'm here." Suddenly he realized that he was sitting up and wide-eyed. It was noon. "Jask" kneeled next to him was Geralt with a worried frown and a canister fill of water. He snatched it from Geralt's hands and drank as if a desert was kept inside his lungs.

"Easy"

“Not…your…horse” Jaskier flinched at how raspy his voice sounded. Beside him, the witcher chuckled and then stretched out his hand to put it on his forehead. Before Jaskier could react at the soft touch tha hand was gone.

"Fevers down" uh, did he sound happy?

"I had fever?" Geralt looked at him with such intensity, a expression he had never seen and therefore didn't know what it meant.

"You almost died" he answered softly. She saw Roach grazing without a mount a few feet away, she also noticed that Geralt was in his small clothes. The camp was a small mess like when they stay on the same place for more than two days.

"The Endrega"

"Endregas, yes"

"I went..."

"Yes"

"I... i'm sorry"

"No, don't be, you saved me" It was a shock when Geralt straightened a lock of hair from her forehead. His fingertips were warm.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't know. I don't think so"

"You have to eat. I cooked rabbit broth, it'll do you good"

He could only swallow a quarter of the broth before starting to feel nauseous, Geralt said he had vomit enough for the past days before taking the pot from him. Roach came to say hello and Jaskier felt his heart swelled with affection. He wanted to do and ask more, but suddenly he felt tired, very tired, his eyelids fluttered and when Geralt saw him, he helped him lie down and put his cape over him. He was soft and calm, tender even. At that moment Jaskier knew that he must have been in a bad shape if Geralt was acting like this, like Jaskier always imagine on his wildest dreams.

He wanted to said thank you but it felt so meaningless at the moment, Geralt didn't look that good, slump and with drop shoulders a clear sign of exhaustion. if Jaskier still breathed, it was all thanks to Geralt, despite how defeated he was from the contract, he took care of him.

I love you seem something meaningful to say, every feeling and thought Jaskier have had of the witcher, taking form into three little words.

Sleep took him away before he could have the courage to say it.

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The next morning Jaskier insisted he was fine and he wanted to travel to the next town , of course he was a liar Geralt always knew when he lied, because he wrinkled his nose in a cute but irritating way. With a small smile, he pinched the bard's nose back to normal.

“No, you’re not ready” Jaskier let out a laugh as he smack the witcher's hand away. and before Jaskier could protest Geralt added "But we need go there to get you to a healer and reastock"

"Your letter Geralt, don't forget about your letter"

"Uhmm"

Before setting off on the journey, Geralt made sure that Jaskier could endure the journey. He applied what was left of a soothing balm to Jaskier's chest for the pain and bruises that remained after the compressions. Riding would be painful, but they have to get to the healer in case of a relapse or permanent damage. Jaskier let him applied the balm and he couldn't believe the patience and care the witcher put on his motions as if Jaskier could break if enough force was used. He was crumbling in tiny little pieces, melting, but from a different source. The witcher is going to be the end of him one day of these.

I love you, we wanted to said. He put on one of Geralt's shirt instead, it smells like onion and Roach and Geralt and smoke and safety. It smells like home.

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Riding Roach was painful and tiring, walking was out of the question He kept waiting for Geralt to get upset by the multiple stops they made but that never happen, in fact the witcher was the one who plannified and suggest to rest every one or two hours.

Something has changed between them, but the bard does not know what to name this new atmosphere, but he sure welcomes it. For the first time in all the years they have travel together Jaskier felt wanted, cared for, treasured! With a rush of happiness and satisfaction, Jaskier acknowledged that the walls Geralt has built around him to keep him out and stranded, have collapsed. He finally was someone to hold on to. Jaskier was sitting on the bed roll with a warm tea canister on his hands while the witcher set up camp to sleep the night. A day and a half away from the next town has become two days, they'll be reaching the inn (if it were any, Jaskier hope there would be) by night fall.

Geralt was stoking the fire when a mad idea occurred to him, he crawled to Geralt and before he could voiced his displeasure the bard embrace him in a tight hug. Two seconds later, Geralt hugged him back almost urgently, nuzzling his face where Jaskier's shoulder and neck met. He withdrew with a goofy smile on his face and his heart hammering on his bruised ribs, he couldn't care less. But he didn't get any far, he was a selfish man. Geralt was smiling too, a soft and crooked smile, when he straightened the bard's hair over his forehead and ears, he then, like under a spell trace his thumbs over his eyebrows and eyelids. Jaskier could die right here and then from happiness.

Their faces were so close. I love you, Jaskier wanted to say, he took Geralt's hands instead to place a kiss on each dirtied palm.

"You reek" of course Geralt would know how to break the moment.

"You too, mister. For once Roach smells better than us"

“She always smells better tan us” Jaskier snorted getting back to the bedroll pondering on how lucky he was despite the near death experience, he was a lucky men.

By the next afternoon Jaskier was beyond exhausted, every single one of his bones scream with pain, he felt as if he was about to pass out at any moment.

"Geralt..."

"We have to get going, Jaskier, only for a few hours and we'd get there"

"I can't"

"Please, Jask, I'll take care of you when we get there"

Please, what a strange word to express how much you care.

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Geralt practically carried him up the stairs to the room, Jaskier fell face first on the bed already half sleep. Geralt was placing his things when the bard murmured “Wake me up before you go in the morning." The thing is that even if he were on time to reach Eskel, Geralt didn't want to go anywhere.

Jaskier woke up sometime in the night when the mattress sagged next to him.

followed by a strong arm curling around his belly.

"Grlt'?"

"Sleep"

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Jaskier woke up to the chirping of birds on the windowsill, it was still early, the sun was not up yet. Not even the drowsiness could prevent the joy he felt and finding himself tuck to Geralt chest, they're facing each other naturally as if they have sleep like this forever.

And like a bucket of cold water thrown over him he remembered the letter "Geralt" he called softly "Geralt it's morning"

"Hmm, I can see that" came the sloppy reply, but instead of getting up Geral cuddled him more, practically tucking his face against the other's.

as if sensing his distress Geralt added "I'm not going anywhere"

"But your contact..." he withdrew (a few inches) to make a point. Geralt opened his perfect eyes and hold him under them.

"Eskel, my brother. I already send a letter, he'll understand"

"I'm sorry" a kiss was place on his forehead

"Don't be, I want to be here"

"You...you didn't want to" Geralt sighed ashamed

"I know and i'm sorry. Now I know where i belong"

"Here?" replied Jaskier with a snort

"With you"

"With me?!" Now was Geralt's turn to snort happily, resembling Roach when they feed her apples.

"You risked your life even though I was an asshole to you, even when I told you that the poison would kill you if you got anywhere near the place. I...I'm sorry"

"You were an asshole, yes" Geralt gifted him with a smile full of teeth "To be fair i was behaving like a brat at the time"

"You are a brat, yes"

"Hey"

Jaskier wanted to say I love you, instead he kiss Geralt's lips softly.

Geralt wanted to do better, so better he did.

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 7

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide, nightmares

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

8 Years Ago – Age 17

“Y/N, do you know why you are here?” the shrink asked from across the large desk.  You looked down at the typical uniform of a patient at a psychiatric ward.  Yes you knew why you were in here.  A few months ago you witnessed your father’s dead corpse hanging in your living room.  The next thing you knew you were writing a suicide note of your own and your foster parents found it before you could do anything.  Now, you were stuck in a psych ward, probably until you at least turned 18.

“Yep,” came your short response.  

The shrink glanced down at her papers in front of her, going through all of your notes.  “We want to help you as best we can Y/N.  You’ve been through some very traumatic experiences in your life and you’ve witnessed a great deal.  We are going to get you all the help you need.”

3 Months Later

“Have you heard of Borderline Personality Disorder Y/N?” your psychiatrist, Dr. Wang asked.  

That made your head snap in her direction.  Here you were, still stuck in the psych ward after three months and you weren’t sure why.  “I’ve heard of that, yes.  But I thought I was just depressed,” you mumbled, chewing on your fingernail.  

You were clinically diagnosed with depression shortly after coming here.  

“Well, that’s what we originally thought at first.  But the longer you’ve spent time here, the more I and the rest of the staff have discovered it is BPD.  You’re intense mood swings, combined with your ongoing feelings of emptiness and the intense bouts of anger you have are all signs of BPD. We are going to switch up your medications and that will really help with your mood swings and anger issues.

~~~

 No matter how hard you tried, sleep never came to you that afternoon.  You tossed and turned all afternoon in your bed and nothing seemed to be working.  Not only that, but you were really starting to get more irritable as the day went on and you knew it was time to change the dosing of your medication.  It was like clockwork, every year to year and a half. The only problem was that you couldn’t leave the tower without Steve, Bucky or an anyone else.  How were you supposed to get an appointment with your Psychiatrist if you couldn’t leave the tower alone?  This only increased your anger and frustration as you got out of bed to get ready.    

You brushed your teeth and put on a some jeans and a t-shirt, not really caring what you threw on. All of the specific clothing you wore for work was in the closet of your game room along with your makeup and accessories.  

Upon leaving your room, you saw Steve and Bucky sitting at the island in the kitchen of your shared apartment.  They both looked deep in thought over some paperwork and you assumed it was for work.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen, you were about to head into the elevator as you didn’t want to disturb them, but Steve spoke up and caught your attention.  “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, umm, I’m heading down to my game room.  I’m going to work tonight,” you mumbled out as you pressed the button for the elevator. You noticed it was on the ground floor and it would take a few minutes to get to your level.  

“What time do you plan on being done?” Steve questioned.  

You huffed in annoyance, already irritated as anger began to creep through your bones.  “I don’t know.  Whenever I get done,” you snapped.  Immediately you felt regret, but sometimes your emotions got the better of you when you were in dire need of a medication change.  

“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” Steve commanded as he got up from his seat and stalked over to you, hands on his hips.  You noticed Bucky looking at you from his seat with furrowed brows.  They had never seen you angry like this.  You were always so compliant and easy going.  

“Look, I’m sorry.  I’m just tired is all.”

Steve looked at you sharply, his lips in a thin tight line.  “Alright.  Just make sure you get to bed at a reasonable time tonight.  Promise?”

“I promise,” you answered back.  

~~~

In the comfort of your game room, you quickly got to work.  Digging through your closet, you decided on a light pink tank top that said ‘Gamer Girl’ in black letters with two gamer controls on it.  Since your webcam only showed your top half, you threw on a black pair of cotton shorts to be comfortable.  

Next, you put your hair up in space buns, making sure they were situated just right so they wouldn’t be in the way of your headphones.  You put on your typical game night makeup: bright pink eyeshadow with dark smoked out liner, some mascara and blush and you were good to go.  

Turning on your monitor, you began to power everything up and once that was done, you logged in. Immediately your followers started putting in their messages off to the side and you smiled as you read them. You always tried to read as much of them as you could.  

As the night went on, you knew you should pack it up and listen to what Steve said; getting to bed at a descent time and getting rest.  But you were having way too much fun tonight and so were your followers. It was one of the best nights you’d had in months and not just money wise.  

Ignoring the clock you continued to play and interact with your followers with the microphone that was attached to your headphones.  Every so often you would glance to your messages box and see what some of them had said.  Most of them were cheering you on but of course you always had some haters in there as well.  

It was when you noticed the screen name of one of them that made your blood run cold.  JSmith20. ‘It can’t be’ you thought to yourself, trying to keep as composed as possible as hundreds of people were watching you game in this very moment.  

John’s last name is Smith and he always told you how his favorite number was 20, because that was how old you were when you met him.  No, but he’s still in prison.  He hasn’t gotten out.  He’ll be in there for many more years to come.  It had to be one of his friends right?  The same friend that had been delivering those letters to your old apartment.  ‘Yes, that’s right.  It’s just one of his friends trying to torment you’ you thought to yourself.  

Then, the person behind that screen name typed a message into your message box.  

Hey babe.  Do you miss me yet?  I can’t wait to see you – J

Yep, your composure went out the window reading the message.   Then another message from him popped up.  

I see you are no longer living in that little one bedroom apartment.  Did you really think you could up and move and I wouldn’t be able to find you?  Oh babe, how cute.  I will find you and we will meet again soon.  I promise – J

As you stared at the words on your screen, you heard groans from the other players on your team.  You had just lost the game.  

“Shit,” you swore, anger bubbling up inside of you.  “Fucking damnit!”  You slammed your fist on the desk.  

You rarely lost games. Losing always put you in a foul mood. But because of already being irritable and your emotions on over drive, losing just made everything worse.  

Looking at the clock it was just before five in the morning so you logged off and shut everything down.

You took your hair out of the buns, immediately feeling the tension in your head ease.  Ever so quietly, you opened the door and poked your head out into the hallway.  It was bitch black so you used your phone as a flashlight and tiptoed to the elevator. Before pressing the button on the elevator, you paused.  What if the noise of the elevator woke up Steve or Bucky?  You had promised Steve that you would get to bed at a descent time and seeing as it was just about five in the morning, well, you kind of figured you’d be in trouble.  

Instead, you opened the door to the stairs which was situated right next to the elevator.  At least taking the stairs would be much quieter.

You climbed the stairs up a few levels until you reached your living level and you waited on baited breath for a few moments.  Nothing. Nothing but silence.  As quiet as a mouse, you snuck through the door and dashed to your room, thanking your lucky stars that the palm scanner didn’t make any noise.  

You took a nice hot shower, washing off all of your makeup and the stress of the last few hours.  As much as you wanted to forget John messaging you, it wasn’t going to happen, neither was any sleep.  

Rather than even bothering to get into bed and try to relax, you sent an email to your psychiatrist letting her know that you would more than likely need a dose change on your medications.  Frantically typing away at the email, you explained how you were beginning to get irritated and it was harder for you to control your bouts of anger.  

Luckily for you, Dr. Wang was an early bird and she emailed you right back.  She wanted you to come see her for an appointment and your heart immediately dropped.  That wasn’t going to happen as one of your rules was that you weren’t allowed out of the tower by yourself.  And as much as you liked Darcy, you couldn’t trust her to go with you and not say anything to Steve or Bucky.  

Typing out your reply, you explained that you were unfortunately not able to meet in person and if there was anything else that could be done.  After you hit sent, you began to pace in your apartment, clearly on edge with everything going on.  You just wanted to feel better; you hated feeling this way.  It was as if you weren’t in control of your body and you definitely weren’t in control of your emotions.  

A notification came through your laptop and you rushed towards it, almost tripping over your feet. As you read her words, you could have cried right then and there.  She had agreed to a phone call appointment and she had time right now to discuss things with you.  

Grasping your phone, you dialed her number.

“It’s good to hear from you Y/N,” Dr. Wang stated as she answered the phone.  

“Oh Dr. Wang it is so good to hear your voice.”

She let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, it has been a little over six months since we’ve last spoken.  How are things going with you?”

“Where to begin,” you started off saying.  You let her know that you indeed met your soulmates and had moved in with them. You went over the rules that Steve had given you and she made you feel better as she stated she had seen way worse rules.  Hell, she said your rules were like a walk in the park compared to some she has heard.

“Alright, now, let’s get down to business.  How are you feeling these past few days?” she asked curiously.  

“Ugh, not good. Moving was stressful but I have been feeling really irritated over the last few and I’ve had a few bouts of anger rush through me that makes me want to punch something, but I’ve luckily been able to hold back on that.”

“What about any risky behaviors such as reckless driving, spending sprees, binge eating, drug abuse or sabotaging anything positive in your life?”

“Not yet,” you stated. You knew the routine.  She was going over all the symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder to see what has changed with you.  

“Ok good.  How about any intense fears of abandonment or rejection?”

That question always hit you like a punch to the gut.  The only reason you had stayed with John for so long was because of that right there. He purposely wouldn’t let you see Dr. Wang or he wouldn’t take you to get your medications refilled and because of that, you were starting to feel those feelings; not wanting to be abandoned no matter what.  

“Nope,” you replied.  

“Ok then.  I am going to increase the dosing on your current medications but I want to warn you.  Without you coming in and personally seeing me and without getting some blood work done, I don’t know how well this dosing is going to work, if it will work at all. We might need to discuss changing the medication all together,” she stated.  

“I understand Dr. Wang. And do you think maybe you could prescribe some sort of sleep medication for me too?”

“I can prescribe a one week trial of a sleeping medication for you.  After that, I really need you to try and come see me in the office and we can discuss that further.  Now, did you want me to send these prescriptions into your regular pharmacy?”

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you so much Dr. Wang.”

“No worries at all Y/N. Give the office a call and get an appointment set up.”

“I will.  Thanks again.”

Now that you had your medications all taken care of, you had to figure a way to leave the tower so you could get them.  

[tokousername]

Dream Girl

A/N: let it be known that Rodrick as well as yourself are teenagers and thus there will be foul language.

Let's start this from the beginning, You live in a three person family, not important. What is important is that your home life is very quiet, the only exception to this being your neighbors. The Heffley's. Now, in that case, you need to be very specific when talking about 'the heffleys', by that, I mean one in particular. Rodrick. Him and his stupid, shitty band would play through most hours of the day, leaving you to put headphones on and attempt to block it out. Not this time, no way you're letting him get away with that.

You got up off your bed and opened your window, looking out at the garage that was below it, another thing you hated was living directly across from that dumb idiots room. That's right, you decided to stay in the attic most times. It was nice up here 99% of the time. You grumbled and ran down the stairs, your moms looked at you funny from the table.

"Honey, are you alright?" Mom asked, you nodded and sighed.

"I'm gonna go talk to Heffley about stopping all the noise." You tell her innocently. You slip on a pair of shoes and walk outside, immediately after you left, got in that scary mood your friends tell me about. You walked right up to his garage door and grabbed the handle, pulling it up and pushing it. It creaks and they all stopped playing, four dumb idiots in total.

"What the hell?" Rodrick asked, in an irritated tone.

"Mind shutting up for once?" You tell him, crossing your arms, the others 'ooh'd. "You too. I'm serious, I've been patient up until now but I can't stand to listen to your shitty music anymore, it's so damn loud Heffley."

He gets up from his drum set and you quickly realize the closer he gets, how tall this guy actually was. "What kind of dumb fuck name is Löded Diper anyway. You can't spell, you fuck up." You keep saying.

"Hey! It's a style choice." He tells you, sticking his drumsticks in your face, you grab them and smack him over the head with them.

"Stop being an idiot for once in your life, okay?" You tell him, you had been dealing with his crap for years, even before middle school. You grabbed his wrist and put the drumsticks back in his hand. Then spin on your heel to walk away, while you are, you can hear them start talking.

"Wow- your neighbors sexy." One of them moans, Rodrick groans.

"I know, she's scary though." He tells them.

After that, the rest of the day was fairly quiet, it was nice. A while later in the evening, You came back from the little corner store down the street, walked to your room and put the bag down. You were exhausted from the walk, it had been hot and bright out when you left. You began undressing and put PJ pants on, then took off your bra, you reached over to grab your shirt when a surprised shout came from the side of you. You covered your chest and looked around, then noticed Rodrick, fucking, Heffley, standing at his window in surprise. You'd forgotten to close the window and the curtains.

"Oh my god!" You shouted, you shut the curtains and put your shirt on, then opening them again. He didn't seem bothered.

"No, I- it's fine I mean- I didn't expect to see that- uh-" he tried to make sure you didn't think he was perving on me, but you knew that, he didn't seem like that kind of person.

"That's- that's embarrassing. Don't worry about it- ugh." You grumble, walking over and going through your stuff, Rodrick paused for a second and then spoke up.

"Embarrassed? About what?" He asks.

You stopped and looked over to him, "being seen half naked, idiot." You roll your eyes at him. He tilts his head and looks around with his eyes, then hums, seeing how that could be embarrassing to a normal person. He was beautiful when he wasn't covered in makeup and screaming, his side profile was hot, never would you ever admit that though.

"I wouldn't be embarrassed if I were you." He says. You scoff.

"Well you're not me. So." You open a bag of skittles and sit down in your chair, rolling it over to the window and leaning on it.

"You've got a hot body, if someone sees it then you should probably think of it as a blessing to their eyes." He grins stupidly. You let out a snort and sigh, looking away.

"No, fuck this, you're a dork. No wonder people don't talk to you at school." You say, going to shut the curtains, he looks offended.

"Sorry for complimenting you!" He calls out sarcastically.

"Yep! Thanks." You replied, shutting the window.

The next morning you tumbled out of bed, you reached for your cell and checked the time and day. "Oh." You perked up and smiled, you had a plan for what to do today. you got up and looked through your dresser, looking for your bathing suit, then ran to your bathroom to change, put some clothes over it, fix up your appearance and then you grabbed a towel, your keys and your cell and ran down the stairs.

"I'm going to the pool! See you later okay?" You called to your moms, you didn't hear what they said, you just wanted to get to the car, you hopped in, and then started it up, making your way to the local pool.

When you arrived you quickly made your way to the pool, you took a look around, it was a little crowded but not so much that you couldn't swim. You found a spot, pulled your clothes off, laid your stuff out and then dove into the pool, it wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm, it was a kind of refreshing feeling. You came back up to the top and moved your hair out of the way, you swam around for a while before deciding to get out for a bit, so you went to one side of the pool and put your hands on the deck, then pulled yourself up onto it.

You sighed and twisted the water out of your hair, then heard a wolf whistle. You actually looked in front of you and scoffed, you should have known.

"Well, well, showing off for me again?" Rodrick asks, his parents and his brother look at him in confusion, then at you. You look at them and let out a scoff at Rodrick, rolling your eyes, you turned to walk away, he quickly got up and followed, you looked over your shoulder at him. "Look, I'm sorry, I'll never mention it again, how's that?"

"Zip it, Heffley." You keep walking and press your arms into my chest, causing the water in your top to come out, you stopped by your stuff and he did too.

"I'm serious." He tells me.

"Yeah, and I'm an actress with billions." You shoot back at him.

"I deserve that- look, I'll make it up to you." He declares. You lay down in my spot and look up at him, he sits in the chair next to you. "Let me bring you to the boardwalk tomorrow." He suggested. That did sound appealing, he probably meant the amusement park that was on the pier.

"Are rollercoasters involved?" You ask. He sighed and looked around, smiling.

"Yes, there are." He looks back at you for an answer.

"Sure." You chirp, if there's anything you're up for, it's rollercoasters. "Is anyone else gonna come?"

"...uh- no, I came up with it just now-" he says, awkwardly looking at the ground and then at you again.

"Right.. so this sounds like a date to me. Is that what this is?" You ask him, turning on your side with your fist holding your head up. He looked at you body and then back at you and at the pool.

"Okay, yeah, it is." He sighs. "Do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow?" He asks properly, honestly you didn't think he'd actually talk to people in a civil way, but he was doing okay at it. You pretended to think and then nodded.

"Yes, I'd love to." You tell him, he whisper yells a 'yes' and was about to go off and probably tell someone when he ran back.

"Uh.. I'm gonna need your number-"

"Wow, that was so smooth." You teased him, he looked around and then put up his index finger, going off and then coming back with a marker.

"I carry this around, I don't have paper so maybe you could write it on my hand?" He suggests. You smiled at the idiot and gave in, holding your hand out, he gives his own to you and you write your number on his hand.

"This a permanent marker?" You ask.

"Uh.. no.." he realized. You shake your head and give him the marker back.

"Don't get your hand wet, or at least memorize the number first." You tell him. He nods awkwardly and then goes off again. You lean back in your chair and let your skin tan, usually you didn't burn so you didn't put sunscreen on, if you tanned it would get darker without it. Someone else comes over and blocks your sun so you open your eyes and look up, another guy, but this one you didn't know. You sigh and reach over, putting your sunglasses on and propping yourself up on your elbows. "Yes? You're kind of blocking the sun." You tell him, he smirks at you, clearly looking you up and down.

"Sorry about that, I just thought you were cute, I'm admiring the view." He says. You scoff in disgust as he keeps talking to you.

Rodrick's POV

I went over and flashed my hand to my loser brother Greg.

"No way! She didn't actually!" He denied.

"She totally did." I tell him, he shakes his head.

"No, no way you could score a girl like that."

"Like you can't score a girl like Holly?" I ask and smirk at him. He glared at me, "it's the same way, except I'm successful~" I sing, waving my hand in his face. He smirks at me and points behind me.

"Are you really?" He asks, I turn and look where he was pointing, there was another guy talking to Y/N, and he was actually toned. I glare at Greg and grumble, sitting down and watching them talk, he was smiling, although she didn't seem to enjoy his company.

2nd POV

"So, can I get your number? Maybe we could hang sometime." He suggests. You roll your eyes under my sunglasses and lean back in your chair.

"Not interested." You tell him, he seemed surprised. "Could you move please?" You wave your hand in a shooing way. He walked away and you heard laughter burst out a couple minutes later. His friends probably laughed at him for being rejected, a guy looking like him probably didn't get rejected often, but at the moment you weren't interested in anyone really, Rodrick being the exception, even then you weren't sure if you liked him, I guess you'll find out tomorrow.

The next day

While eating breakfast your phone rang, you checked it and saw from an unknown number, of course if it was Rodrick it would appear like that so you had to pick up. You answered it and put it to your ear, taking another bite of your pancakes. "Mhm?" You hummed, in case it was a scammer instead.

"Hey, what time should we go to the pier today?" You heard from the other end. You smiled and swallowed your food.

"I'm fine with anytime, in fact.." You pause and check your watch. "We could go now." You tell him, he didn't say anything for a moment.

"Uh... give me like 20 minutes-" he cuts off and hangs up, you checked the phone and scoffed. Okay, Maybe he was in a rush to get ready, honestly you genuinely figured he just woke up, he did sound tired, his voice was a little deeper than it usually was. You finished your breakfast and thanked your moms, you already told them about the date and they were happy, at least one was, the other didn't seem like she liked him, which you totally get.

After a while you walked over there and knocked on their door, it swung open almost immediately, your hand was still in a fist. It was his little brother, you smiled, "Um.. hello.. is Rodrick ready?" you asked him, he seemed sincerely surprised.

"Wait, he actually scored a date with you??" He asks, you glance around.

"Uh.. yeah." you say, he let you in to wait and struck up a conversation.

"You know, Rodrick's a huge jerk." He says, "I'm pretty sure you don't want to go on a date with him." You looked down at him.

"I'm aware he's a jerk, but he's only like that to you obviously." You tell him.

"Seriously???" You nod at that question.

"He's pretty fine at school and he's not rude to me on purpose. It's probably because you're his brother." You shrug. He seemed disappointed in both Rodrick and himself. Probably because he was trying to make me cancel the date and failed. Rodrick comes down the stairs and shoved Greg to the side.

"Get outta my way, turd." He says, running to the kitchen. You laugh nervously as Greg looked at me. Rodrick comes back and lets you out of the house.

"Alright, let's bounce." He says. You told Greg goodbye and walked with him. "My car or yours?" He asks.

"I'm fine with either one, doesn't matter to me." You shrug, he nodded and walked to his van, he got in the drivers side and reached over his console and seat to open the passenger door, you rolled your eyes and put your sunglasses on, getting in the van, he started it and then you took off. You had all day to hang out at the amusement park, it was gonna be awesome.

When you arrived you both headed straight for the rollercoasters. "Yes, yes, yesss~" you sung, he smiled and you grabbed his hand, pulling him along, he stumbled a bit and you let him go when you got there.

"You like rollercoasters?" He asks the obvious, smirking.

"I love rollercoasters.." you tell him, he nods and the line moves up. You walked forward and then turn back to face him. "What's your favorite color?" You ask him. He seemed confused and even like you caught him off guard with that question. He sighed and walked forward, pushing you up a bit.

"Um, black." He says.

"That's not a color technically." You tell him. He rolls his eyes and leans down to look at you.

"Very, very, dark blue then." He smirks. "What's yours?" He asks you, you walked forward as the line moved again.

"F/C." You tell him, taking off your sunglasses.

"Nice to finally see you again." He teases. You scoffed and then you realized you were next there was an open seat and they asked you if you wanted it. You looked at Rodrick who shrugged, "go if you want to." He says. You look back and then shake your head.

"No, I'm- uh, we're gonna ride together." You smile, he looks away, smiling a little bit too. You both got on the ride when the time came and it was a blast, when you got off he grabbed your hands and started dancing you around, you giggled, you both played games, rode more rides and hung out eating for the next few hours. It was the best date you'd ever been on, at the end of the day you were sitting in the back of his van with him, it was surprisingly clean in there, you assumed he must have cleaned it.

"Give me some of those fries." He tells you, you furrow your brows and look at his drink.

"Give me some of your milkshake." You smile. He leans over and hands it to you.

"Keep it, I can't finish it anyway." He says, then steals one of your fries, you smile and pick up another fry, dipping it in the milkshake and holding it out.

"Bite, trust me it's good." You grin. He sighs and bites the fry, then takes the rest of it from you, only half.

"It is good." He admits, you were both sitting on opposite sides of the van but sitting across from each other. You gave him the rest of your fries and moved to sit next to him, crossing your legs and drinking his milkshake. He eats the rest of your fries and you nudge him.

"This was great.." you tell him, he looks over at you and then away awkwardly.

"Yeah.. I really liked it." He says, you lean your head on his shoulder and drink the rest of the shake.

"Let's go on another date again.. another time?" You offer, he seemed surprised and looked at you.

"Yeah." He says breathlessly.

[writingwithacupoftea]

The Unexpected Visitor in Small Heath

Summary: Y/N Shelby was a nurse during the war. What happens when a ghost from that past comes looking for her? A ghost with definite intentions...

Word Count: 3683

Trigger Warnings: a slightly handsy dude

A/N: *peeks out from my hiding place* hi guys, I’m back!! Hope you’re all good - to me it feels so amazing to be posting some writing again! As you can probably tell by the word count, I got a bit carried away with this one and so it’s basically unedited, so apologies for any mistakes 😂 Hope you enjoy it! 😘

"About fucking time, Y/N, I've been waiting here for almost a quarter of an hour."

"You've knocked on my door five minutes ago, Tommy, stop being such a dramatic shit!"

To any passers-by outside of Y/N Shelby's house, for a moment it would have looked like the two siblings were about to get into another argument. But any anxieties about that were washed away when they observed the teasing glint in the younger girl's eye and the playful shove given by the man, as they made their way down the cobbled streets of Birmingham.

Tommy and Y/N Shelby were as thick as thieves, there was no doubt about that. The brother and sister loved each other fiercely, and where one of them was found, it was almost certain that the other wouldn't be too far behind. But when they rowed, oh boy, did they row.

It was only a few days ago that the occupants of the Garrison were subjected to their shouting, after Tommy had scared off yet another one of Y/N's dates. As usual, however, the argument had soon blown over.

***

Y/N loved living in Small Heath. It was a shithole, but it was her shithole, so she didn't mind it as much.  

To Tommy's surprise, she had turned down the offer of either living with him in Warwickshire or buying her a place of her own in the country. Instead, she had asked her brother if she could move into his old house on Watery Lane, to which he had agreed.  

His swaying factor had been that someone would always be close-by if anything happened at the office, and the rest of the family had a place to crash if they needed to.  

Y/N, on the other hand, had more emotional reasons for wanting to stay where she grew up. Since training as a nurse for the war, the Shelby girl had got to know the children of Small Heath very well: she had somehow become the go-to person whenever one of them got into a scuffle or had an accident, and always fixed them up with a smile on her face as she listened to their innocent voices babble away. Y/N wanted to see them grow up, and didn't want to abandon them. She also didn't want to leave behind some of the poorer families in Small Heath, who she paid a visit to once a week to check that everyone was as well as could be.

Tommy had had one condition for Y/N's staying in Small Heath by herself – that he walked her to and from work or the Garrison (wherever they were the latest) every day, and the days that he couldn't make it that she would let him get one of the blinders to do the job instead. The Shelby name and his sister's capabilities alone were not enough to settle his worries about her wellbeing.

And this job was what had brought Tommy to Y/N’s house that morning. It had come to Y/N’s attention that her brother seemed to be at his happiest during these walks - and when she said ‘happiest’ she meant that there was often just a slight glimmer of a smile on his face and his eyes looked a touch softer. Sometimes the indicators were bigger, but more often than not this was where the happiness would stop. It was in these moments that Tommy seemed to be at his most human, and they were the favourite part of Y/N’s day.

Apart from today.

The pair navigated the streets with ease, speaking quietly to each other, just as on every other day of the year. Suddenly, however, Y/N stopped still, lips parted slightly in shock. Tommy examined her expression carefully, and after realising (with a sigh of relief) that his sister wasn't scared shitless, followed her line of sight. It landed on a man. A rather scruffy man, who appeared to have done an awful job at trying to make himself look respectable, Tommy thought. The Shelby man knew that this was a stranger to Small Heath, not only by the fact that he had never seen such a distinct person before, but also by the way that he looked at the buildings and the people in the street. Yes, Tommy concluded, that was definitely a look with purpose.

Breaking Tommy away from his thoughts was the delicate hand that grabbed his wrist tightly, causing him to look down at his sister. "Tommy, how do you fancy taking the scenic route to the office today, hmm?" Whilst her voice was light, as if she were simply commenting on the day's weather, the forced smile that was plastered on her face was the one that she used at parties when she wanted to get away from someone (usually when she was being annoyed or bored to death).

Amused by Y/N's desperate desire to get away, he resisted her impatient pull on his arm towards a side street. "What's wrong with this way, Y/N/N? This is the route we take every day, I'm not going about changing it now." Tommy's voice was teasing as he casually lit a cigarette.

"Yes, yes, Tom, I know you're a stickler for routine – but for once in your fucking life can you do as I say?"

"Ah, well I was considering it, but since you've been so rude to me..."

The man was getting closer.

"Please, Tommy, I'll do anything." Y/N hated that she was having to practically beg her brother, but the situation was one that she definitely wanted to avoid. She even slipped her hand down to grasp his tightly for emotional effect, something that she hadn't done for years (but, oh, how she relished that warm and safe feeling that it brought with it).

Surprised at his sister's actions and looking into her wide eyes, he was about to relent and let her drag him down the side streets to the office. But it was too late.

"NURSE SHELBY!" The man's deep voice bellowed down the street, causing a few people to look towards them.

"Fucking hell," Y/N mumbled under her breath, giving Tommy's hand a tight squeeze and then letting go, before addressing the man. "Henry. What a surprise! What brings you to Birmingham?"

"Well, you, of course!"

Y/N cringed internally as she saw Tommy's eyebrows shoot up at this statement. Tommy cleared his throat. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Y/N?"

Sending a quick death glare up to her brother out of the corner of her eye, the woman replied with strained politeness: "My apologies. Henry, this is my brother, Thomas Shelby. Tommy, this is Henry Mathers, one of my former patients."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir." Henry shook Tommy's hand, the latter trying his hardest not to grimace at the thick layer of sweat coating the other man's palm.

"Likewise, Mr Mathers. You met my sister in France, then?"

"Yes, sir. We said that if we both made it out of there alive, we'd go for a drink. Ever since I got back I've been searching for her and here I am! And, oh, it was worth the wait to see that face again."

Tommy could no longer suppress the smirk threatening to escape as he looked between Henry's longing gaze and Y/N's very clearly faked happiness crossed with panic.

"Well, my sister is a woman of her word, Mr Mathers, and I'm sure she'd be delighted to be able to catch up with you after all these years." Tommy decided to pause for dramatic effect. "Perhaps you can go to the Garrison tonight, Y/N? We've had it done up recently, it's just around this corner here" Tommy added, pointing in the direction of the pub.

"Oh, that sounds perfect! I shall meet you there at eight o'clock, Miss Shelby." Before Y/N could get a word in edgeways, Henry was removing his bowler hat and bowing his balding head. "Good day to you, Miss Shelby, Mr Shelby." The man continued to walk down the street, a definite spring now in his step.

As soon as he was far enough away, Y/N sent a firm punch to her brother’s stomach. “What the actual fuck, Tommy?” She started to storm down the street quickly, leaving Tommy hurrying after her. “One minute you’re chasing men away from me, and next you’re setting me up on dates with people you don’t know the first thing about!”

“You’re the one who agreed to go for a drink with him in the first place, don’t go blaming me.”

“He had a lot of drugs in his system when he asked, I didn’t think he’d actually remember it.” Catching her brother’s amused smile at her excuse, she continued. “He was on the verge of death, I wasn’t exactly going to say no, was I?”

“Oh, so he fought to stay alive just for you then, eh? Sounds like a keeper to me, Y/N/N.”

“You’re an arse, Thomas Shelby. A complete and utter arse.”

***

Y/N remained in a foul mood with Tommy for the rest of the day, not that this surprised him.

When the hands of the clock hit ten to eight exactly, however, he still knocked on his sister's door to take her to the Garrison himself.

Tommy couldn't help the chuckle that fell from his lips at the sight of Y/N, clad in a beaded black dress, scowling as she stepped out of the house.

"You do know that you're not going to a funeral tonight?"

"Oh, it's my bloody funeral, alright. Might be his too, if he reverts back to his old ways." Y/N started playing with her hands as they made their way towards the pub, something that she'd done since she was little when she was nervous.  

Tommy noticed it immediately, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern as he recalled Y/N's desperation to avoid Henry. It hadn’t really hit him properly in the moment how desperate she had been. But before he could begin to question what the man's 'old ways' were, his sister spoke again.

"But you were right about one thing earlier, Tommy. I did still agree to go out with Henry, no matter what state he was in when he asked. It would be rude of me not to go through with it and at least act like I'm having a nice time, seeing as he's come all this way for it. So," her voice became sterner, "I'm going to smile my way through the evening, and you'd better not start any fights - do you understand me?"

The older of the two Shelbys sighed, a feeling of dread beginning to build up inside of him. "I can get you out of this if you -"

"No, Tommy." An angry fire was dancing in the young woman's eyes. "You don't get to land me in this situation and then try to snap your fingers and revert it. That's not how this works. This is happening, no thanks to you..." The last part was mumbled under her breath as she pushed the heavy pub doors open.

Tommy hadn't wanted to lose his sister in the same way that he had lost Ada at the beginning – not giving her enough freedom, especially given their argument the other day. So, when a man came along who she had agreed to go for a drink with previously, he had decided (for once) to take the light-hearted and supportive approach, a far cry from the overprotective older brother that he had been since the moment that Y/N had been born.

He was starting to regret even considering changing his ways, and the night had barely begun...

***

From his seat at an ordinary table at the Garrison, Tommy looked at the occupants at the bar once again, probably for about the fifth time in the past two minutes. He had decided not to retreat into the snug, as he usually did, wanting to keep a close eye on Y/N and Henry.

So far, the evening had gone surprisingly well - it was far better than any of Tommy’s imaginings after his discussion with his sister previously. He had heard his sister’s gentle laugh ringing across the room on multiple occasions (and he could tell that it was genuine), and the pair had barely stopped talking.

Maybe this would prove to be a success, Tommy had mused.

One thing that the man’s careful eye had picked up on, however, was how many whiskeys Henry had thrown back. Tommy had concluded that no matter how well things appeared to be going now, he wasn't leaving just yet.

And he was glad he didn't – for just 15 minutes later, as the alcohol began to kick in to Henry's system, things began to go downhill.

It started with the occasional nervous laugh, or a smile that didn’t quite reach his sister's eyes as she avoided Henry's intense gaze. This grew more frequent as Henry continued to drink, and Y/N began playing with her hands once again as well.  

The head of the Shelby family was an inch away from leaping out of his seat when he saw Henry leaning over to whisper in Y/N's ear, and her nose crinkled in disgust at the stench of alcohol on his breath. After a few subtle attempts, she finally managed to push him away from her, and Tommy relaxed slightly as he heard her state a firm "No." His sister was always a lot tougher than he thought.  

But her efforts were undermined as Henry grabbed her left hand, holding it as if he were about to kiss her knuckles. However his grip was far too firm for that. Ripping her hand out of his, Y/N grabbed her bag hurriedly and started to get off her seat, and Tommy stood up himself.

The final straw for the protective brother was when he witnessed Y/N freeze completely as Henry rested a hand on her knee to stop her from leaving. Fists clenched as he tried to contain his anger, remembering his sister's warning about not starting any fights, Tommy marched over to the bar, his lie for getting her out of there already prepared.  

"Y/N, something urgent has come up, we need to call a family meeting – now." Tommy extended a hand to his sister, which she gratefully took as he helped her get down off the barstool and pulled her safely to his side. "Would you get my things from the back room, I've just got something to sort out quickly before we go. I'll see you outside."

Y/N nodded, knowing exactly what Tommy was doing. Shooting her brother a grateful glance, Y/N mumbled a quick "Goodbye" to Henry, and walked off quickly, not wanting to be in the man's company for any longer than necessary.  

***

She slipped out of the back door and into the cold night air, relief washing over her. Lighting a cigarette, Y/N waited for her brother, wondering how he had got to her so quickly – she hadn't seen him once after meeting up with Henry.

A few minutes later, Tommy emerged and went straight to Y/N. "You alright?" His thick Brummie accent comforting her as he, too, lit a cigarette.

Y/N sent him a soft smile as she replied, "I'm fine, Tom. I'm assuming there isn't actually an emergency?" Her voice was laced with amusement.

"Nope."

The siblings stayed there for a while, smoking and listening to the sounds of the pub behind them. Y/N vaguely wondered whether Henry would find them, but looking up at her brother's solid presence beside her, she felt any worries lift off her shoulders.

Out of the blue, Tommy threw his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out, turning to Y/N. "Come on. Do you fancy going for a walk?"

"Yeah, I need to clear my head." Tommy started to move towards the street. "Oi! I'm finishing this first, you know I hate smoking and walking at the same time!"

***

"You gonna tell me what happened tonight then, eh?"

The pair didn't know how long they had been wandering the streets of Small Heath for, but Tommy's curiosity had finally gotten the better of him.

Y/N sighed, her eyes focused on the cobblestones beneath her. "When Henry first came to us, back in France, he'd been caught up in an explosion. After the doctors had seen him, he was still very drugged up and the chances of him surviving were about fifty-fifty. We had to keep administering him the drugs for a few days, because he was in so much pain. He kept calling me over, wanting to talk to me no matter how busy I was – said that he needed a 'pretty girl' like me to keep him company. I humoured him. But then he started saying things like we were 'meant to be together', 'soulmates' even."  

Y/N paused, thinking hard. "He lied when he showed up today: he said that he asked me out for a drink, but he didn't. What Henry actually said was, and I quote, 'If we both survive this fucking war, I'm going to find you and marry you.' I had no clue what to say. His chances of making it out of the hospital alive, never mind the war, weren't improving. So I said something like 'Well, I hope you buy me a drink first.' I ran off after that, and another one of the nurses took over his care. I had no clue that he was still alive until today.  

"At the pub tonight, I will admit that I did enjoy catching up with him. For someone who I believed to be a lost cause all those years ago, it was nice to hear that he'd actually done something with his life. But then he brought up getting married again, insisting that I was still 'the one' for him and that it was the thought of me that kept him going until the end of the war. He just kept repeating over and over again that he was going to marry me and that we'd be so happy together.

"But just before you came over, he was getting rather forceful about it. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see your stupid face." She laughed a little, noticing her brother's annoyed (yet secretly amused) glare as they sat down next to the Cut.

"It wasn't him that freaked me out, necessarily - it was the thought of marriage. I'm not ready yet, Tom, and to be honest I don't know if I ever will be, no matter how many boys I try and date. I'm terrified of being tied down to someone and losing my independence. I enjoy being by myself too much – and with you lot, I suppose." Y/N nudged her brother's arm.

A comfortable silence settled between the siblings, and Y/N let it sit there, wanting to give Tommy the time to process everything that she had said in her little monologue.

Happiness was one emotion that the elder Shelby didn't expect to feel after hearing his sister's answer to his question. And yet it coursed through his every vein, accompanied by a sort of relief. Tommy wanted his sister to find contentment and peace more than anything; even though he hated the thought of her marrying, of her having someone else to turn to that wasn't him, a few years ago Tommy had come to accept that one day Y/N would want to move on from him and the family. Maybe even start her own family. This acceptance, however, hadn't been able to stop him from deterring nearly any man who came her way. In his mind, anyone that couldn't stand up to Tommy definitely wouldn't be able to deal with his youngest sister, and that they simply weren't good enough for her.

To hear, though, that Y/N had no intention of leaving him yet, was music to his ears. It was also a comfort to know that she was waiting for the right person to get serious with – Tommy felt as though he wouldn't have to spend as much time hunting down every single potential suitor. Instead, he could spend the time with his beloved, if annoying, little sister.

But this was Tommy Shelby, and he would never communicate such vast amounts of emotion verbally. "So I'm stuck with you for a bit longer then?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Y/N couldn't help the grin that spread across her face, understanding the exact meaning behind her brother's words. It widened as she heard Tommy chuckling slightly in response, a sound that she had nearly forgotten. "What did you do with Henry? After I left the pub?"

Tommy cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "He won't be proposing to you again any time soon, don't you worry, sweetheart."

"Tommy, I thought I said - "

"No fighting, I know. And I did as you said, I didn't start any tonight." He looked, almost sheepishly, over at Y/N, who had adopted Polly's stern expression. "I told him that if I saw him again in our city, I'd cut him myself, and the same applies for if he tries to contact you again."

The younger Shelby sighed and rolled her eyes, fondly. "Well, I can't complain about that, can I?" Y/N heard the bells of the church chime, telling her that it was midnight. She turned to Tommy. "Home?"

He nodded. "Home," and he knew exactly where that was tonight. Tommy stood up and brushed the dirt off of his trousers, whilst Y/N got up too. They were about to set off when Tommy held his hand out to his sister, just like he used to when they were younger. Y/N instinctively took it, a feeling of warmth spreading throughout her body. She felt loved, and knew for certain that this love was the only one that she needed at the moment.

Tommy didn't let go until they reached the front door, comforted in the knowledge that Y/N was going to remain his little girl for a while longer yet.

[bloody-bee-tea]

BeeTober 2020 Day 13

Flesh - Fruit

I know I just did a sick fic, but let's be real here, you an never have enough of those, so have another one ;) 

Jiang Cheng wakes up to a blinding headache, a stuffed nose and a scratchy throat.

He groans into his pillow before he’s even really awake and then he blindly reaches for his phone. He pulls up his last conversation with Lan Xichen and then types out a message with just one eye open.

I don’t want to see you today, do NOT come over.

As soon as he sends it he realizes that it sounds entirely too mean without context, so he quickly types out a I’m sick and don’t want to infect you, too but before he’s even halfway through that message his phone lights up with an incoming call.

It’s Lan Xichen, of course.

“It’s too early for me to have done anything to make you mad,” is what Lan Xichen greets him with, clearly trying for a light tone, but Jiang Cheng can hear the underlining worry in his voice.

“I’m not,” Jiang Cheng rasps out, and his throat is not liking his attempts to speak, because a coughing fit wrecks him.

“You’re sick,” Lan Xichen says with understanding once Jiang Cheng caught his breath and Jiang Cheng doesn’t dare to speak again, so he carefully hums.

“Is it very bad?” Lan Xichen asks and Jiang Cheng opens his mouth, before his eyes fall onto the bottle of water next to his bed.

“Wait,” he gets out, and reaches for the bottle, taking big gulps and soothing his throat—however temporary—before he gets back on the line with Lan Xichen.

“Very,” Jiang Cheng agrees. “I feel like my head is going to explode.”

“You sound horrible,” Lan Xichen notes and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes—because duh—but even that turns out to be a bad idea, because it only intensifies his headache.

“I feel horrible,” he admits and Lan Xichen softly sighs at the other end of the line.

“Do you really not want me to come over? I could take care of you.”

“If you set foot in here, I’m going to sneeze on you and then you’ll be sick, too. And then who is going to take care of who?”

“Well, not you of me, because you’ll still be sick,” Lan Xichen teases, but then he gets serious again. “Promise me to at least call Wei Wuxian? Someone should check in on you.”

“You really don’t care about my brother, huh?” Jiang Cheng gets out before a new coughing fit hits him and Lan Xichen makes a concerned noise.

“I just don’t know him to get sick,” Lan Xichen corrects him. “I haven’t seen him sick in all the years he’s been with Wangji.”

“That’s because he gets sick exactly once a year, and conveniently always during the family retreat. I still maintain my position that he somehow does it on purpose.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Lan Xichen agrees and then sighs again. “Fine, I won’t come to visit you. But you’ll keep in touch when you’re awake, okay, or otherwise I’ll worry. And as soon as the worst has passed, I’m right there by your side.”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes at that, unable to help the soft smile on his face, because he loves this man so damn much, it’s ridiculous sometimes.

“Of course,” he promises easily. “You can even call once a day to make sure I haven’t died.”

“At least once a day,” Lan Xichen corrects him. “But now go write Wei Wuxian and then go back to sleep, alright, my heart?”

“Mh, okay,” Jiang Cheng whispers, already more tired than he had been when he woke up, and it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Text your brother,” Lan Xichen reminds him again and Jiang Cheng gets to it right that moment, because he knows otherwise he’ll forget it and fall asleep.

I’m sick, don’t bother coming over, he types, even though he’s not very optimistic that Wei Wuxian will listen to him.

He’s almost a worse mother-hen than Jiang Yanli.

“Done,” Jiang Cheng mumbles, eyes already more closed than open and Lan Xichen chuckles softly.

“Good, my heart. I love you. Now sleep,” he instructs him.

Jiang Cheng has just enough awareness left to mumble “Love you, too,” before everything goes dark again.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng startles awake when the door to his bedroom is flung open with enough force that it bounces back from the wall.

“What the fuck,” Jiang Cheng gets out, his voice grating and not much more than a harsh whisper and it’s a real struggle to open his eyes fully, even though the adrenaline is coursing through his veins right now.

“Surprise,” Wei Wuxian’s obnoxiously bright voice yells out and it feels like he personally hammered a nail right between Jiang Cheng’s eyes.

“Fuck off,” Jiang Cheng groans and flops back into bed.

He really cannot deal with this right now.

“Won’t, can’t, shan’t,” Wei Wuxian brightly says and flings himself onto the bed.

“Go away,” Jiang Cheng begs as he tucks the blanket over his head, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t move.

“Still, won’t, can’t shan’t,” Wei Wuxian repeats and Jiang Cheng knows that he’s doomed.

If Wei Wuxian is in one of those moods, then it’s easier to make an elephant move. At least those can be lured away by food.

“What did I ever do to deserve this?” Jiang Cheng laments and peeks out from under the blanket, only to be hit by a blinding smile from Wei Wuxian.

“You’ll never know hoy you deserve to be this lucky in life,” Wei Wuxian solemnly says, but then he gets serious. “You really do look sick.”

“I am,” Jiang Cheng says, and as if to underline his point a cough wrecks his whole frame.

“You really are sick,” Wei Wuxian says again, as if Jiang Cheng would lie over text like that.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t deign to answer him and instead pitifully sneezes into his pillow.

“Gross,” Wei Wuxian mutters and then wrangles the pillow away from him.

“Hey,” Jiang Cheng protests, but Wei Wuxian isn’t deterred and simply takes the pillow away from him.

“It’s full of bacteria now, you’re not going to sleep on that anymore, I’ll get you a new one,” he rambles and dashes off to find a new one for Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng watches him run around in his room, a horrifying thought forming in his mind. He waits until Wei Wuxian comes back to the bed to shove the pillow at him, before he confirms it.

“You told A-jie,” Jiang Cheng says, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t even have to answer, the guilty look on his face tells Jiang Cheng all he needs to know.

“Why would you do that?” Jiang Cheng demands to know but Wei Wuxian only shrugs.

“You know how shijie is. If she finds out that you were sick and no one told her about it, she’s going to kill us both.”

“You didn’t even believe I was sick, why would you tell her?” Jiang Cheng incredulously asks but Wei Wuxian shakes his head.

“I didn’t tell her, though!” Wei Wuxian exclaims and Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at him.

“Then who did?” he wants to know, but he can already guess what Wei Wuxian’s answer will be.

“Xichen-ge did,” Wei Wuxian says, and of course he did.

Of course.

“He’s such a worry-wat,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, but secretly he is pleased that Lan Xichen wanted to make sure that someone is looking after Jiang Cheng. “He already forced me to tell you, he really shouldn’t have dragged A-jie into this.”

“Nah, don’t complain, you love that he worries like that,” Wei Wuxian tosses over his shoulder, as he leaves the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Jiang Cheng calls after him, completely ignoring how right Wei Wuxian is, and promptly starts to cough again.

“I come bearing gifts,” Wei Wuxian triumphantly says as he comes back into the room, burdened with two heavy looking bags.

“What is happening?” Jiang Cheng dumbly asks, because why the fuck is Wei Wuxian bringing him things.

“This one,” Wei Wuxian says and lifts the left bag, “is from shijie. It’s full of medicine and soup, so you get better quickly.”

“Of course it is,” Jiang Cheng mutters, but he holds out his hands to accept the bag.

Jiang Yanli really does worry too much about his health all the time, and it looks like she put all the medicine in her house into the bag. Jiang Cheng only has eyes for the containers of soup, though. The medicine can wait.

“Medicine first,” Wei Wuxian says just at that moment, as if he’s able to read Jiang Cheng’s mind and expertly steals the soup away from Jiang Cheng.

“Do not even think about eating that,” Jiang Cheng threatens him and Wei Wuxian looks at him with wide eyes.

“I won’t! Shi-jie will now and she will kill me. The soup is for you. But I am under very strict instructions to feed you medicine first, so open up!” Wei Wuxian cheerfully says and holds a pill to Jiang Cheng’s lips.

“I’m going to bite you,” Jiang Cheng threatens, but Wei Wuxian only takes that opportunity to drop the pill into his mouth.

Jiang Cheng swallows it on reflex, but he would prefer to spit it out at Wei Wuxian again.

“Okay, and now something for your stuffed nose,” Wei Wuxian says and holds out a spoon with some syrup on it.

Jiang Cheng eyes it suspiciously.

“I don’t think so,” he finally says and Wei Wuxian pouts at him.

“Do you want me to do the airplane thing?” he asks and Jiang Cheng glares so hard at him that his headache flares up again.

“I will sneeze on you,” Jiang Cheng warns him.

“Gross,” Wei Wuxian cheerfully says and then simply stuffs the spoon into Jiang Cheng’s mouth.

He almost chokes on it, but in the end he survives. He wishes he didn’t, though, with how foul it tastes.

“Better tell me what’s in the other bag,” Jiang Cheng says, once he’s sure he doesn’t have to throw up anymore and Wei Wuxian smiles at him.

“This,” he says and lifts the bag, momentarily forgetting about the medicine, “comes from your boyfriend.”

“Oh, really?” Jiang Cheng asks, curiosity piqued and he makes grabby hands at the bag. “What did he pack?”

“Fruits,” Wei Wuxian says with a shudder. “Lots and lots of fruits.”

Jiang Cheng smiles at that and looks into the bag when Wei Wuxian finally hands it over.

“He said he trusts that shi-jie had the medicine and soup part down and he’s adding the vitamin c you need to get healthy again,” Wei Wuxian explains and makes a gagging sound as if he and Lan Wangji aren’t just as sickeningly sweet to each other.

“And he packed all my favourites,” Jiang Cheng mutters, and blindly reaches into the bag and pulls out one of the fruits.

“Ew, wipe that love sick look off your face, I don’t want to see that,” Wei Wuxian gags, and Jiang Cheng sticks his tongue out at him.

“Go find your boyfriend and be disgusting with him then,” Jiang Cheng says and Wei Wuxian nods as if that is the best idea ever, and promptly leaves without a word of goodbye.

Jiang Cheng knows that he will be back in the evening to check if he ate the soup and to pester him with more medicine again, but for now he revels in the blessed silence.

Jiang Cheng bites into the fruit in his hand, his teeth sinking into the ripe flesh, and he hums when the flavour hits his tongue, thought he’s barely able to taste it with how sick he is.

He continues nibbling on the fruit as he reaches for his phone and calls Lan Xichen again.

“Did my package reach you?” is the first thing Lan Xichen asks and Jiang Cheng bites into the fruit again, trusting that the sound will carry over the phone.

“Ah, I see,” Lan Xichen says, and he must say it with a smile, because Jiang Cheng knows that particular voice.

It’s the voice he loves best, after all.

“I thought your sister had the rest covered, but I know you get a craving for fruits every now and then and I didn’t want to risk you not having any.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng whispers and quickly swallows the rest of the fruit, before he lays back down in bed.

“How are you feeling?” Lan Xichen asks, his voice low and gentle and Jiang Cheng’s eyes are already going heavy again.

“Better, now that I’m talking to you,” he mutters and Lan Xichen huffs out a laugh.

“You sap,” Lan Xichen accuses him, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t mind, because after that Lan Xichen stays on the phone and talks to him until he falls asleep.

And it’s a very sweet sleep for Jiang Cheng, with the voice of his light in his ears.

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Enemies by Association {Draco Malfoy x Reader}

Words: 7.6k

Summary: Sometimes you don’t really know what you and Draco are meant to be. 

Genre: angst (?)

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - what the FUCK is this, Aticus?! 

----

  “What the bloody hell are you doing here? 

   The voice strikes you almost immediately like a blow to the back of the skull. Already in a gruesome mood, the shrill tones of Draco Malfoy does nothing to make this night any better.

    Slowly, you turn to face the pale-haired boy now standing before you. It was only seconds before the forest was completely empty, nothing more than you and it’s usual spooky atmosphere, and where once you craved the comfort of another human being suffering alongside you, you now wish for nothing more than a tree to scoop you up and devour you.

    Draco, as per usual, stands tall and bold, even in the most embarrassing of circumstances. He’s wearing his Hogwarts robes, the Slytherin crest unavoidable upon his chest alongside his very undeserved Prefect badge. His basically-white hair still manages to glisten even in the pitch black of night, and that stupid scowl of his is, of course, still very prominent on his features.

    “What does it look like?” is your response to his dumb question. “I got a detention.”

    Draco raises a brow, visible only beneath the torchlight cast upon his lower jaw. “Y/N Weasley getting a detention? Colour me surprised.”

   You scowl and swivel back to face the path you had previously been staring into; still dark, still scary, still very unappealing, but it’s better than dealing with Draco’s sarcasm.

    He steps up beside you, folding wiry arms over a flat chest. “Are you not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

  “I can genuinely say I don’t give a shit.”

   “Watch your mouth, Weasley, or I’ll give you another detention.”

    You roll your eyes. “Fine then. What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

    He’s quiet for only a moment, and during that moment, you can feel his ice-like eyes burning into the side of your head; you want to punch him, desperately and with the force of a thousand waves, you want to punch that smirk off his stupid face.

    “Apparently part of the job of being a Prefect is overlooking detentions.”

    You gasp over dramatically, clapping your hands to your face. “You’re a Prefect? Why didn’t you say?!”

   “Oh, ha ha.” He nudges your arm, nods into the darkness ahead. “Get walking, then. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

   “An hour,” you correct, walking forward with him following close behind; you have to admit, he’s grown an awful lot since the last time you had been cursed with a shared detention with him. That was way back in first year after the two of you had been too loud during an argument in the hallways - hallways you were not supposed to be in that late at night. Filch had come sprinting down the corridors, and it was an instant sentence to the forest. Back then, Draco had basically been trembling in fear as Hagrid led the two of you through the trees, giving his usual promises that everything would be okay. You love Hagrid, would trust him with your life, but you’ve never been able to take his word on what he deems as okay.

    Now, however, Draco walks with his spine straight and his eyes narrowed, looking for the dangers you suspect he thinks he can fend away. 

    “You haven’t even got your fucking wand in your hand,” you point out.

   “Language, Weasley. I won’t tell you again. Even that twin brother of yours doesn’t use such foul language.”

   “Such foul language. Alright, Umbridge, I don’t remember asking.”

    Draco purses his lips. “It’s like you want a second detention.”

  “If it means having to walk through this bleeding forest with you again, I’ll pass.”

    The conversation dips after that. Draco keeps his wand in his hand, seems utterly concentrated on the path ahead; neither of you know where you’re going, but that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing when the tension is so high. 

     And the thing is, you don’t even think you dislike him.

   Draco just has the kind of personality you’re meant to clash with. He’s Slytherin, you’re Gryffindor. You’re a Weasley, he’s a Malfoy. You’re best friends with Harry Potter, and he’s got some kind of vendetta against him, so hating him is just kind of expected.

    But you talk to him a lot more than the others do.

    It’s mainly arguing, yes, but you’re still communicating, and you still go out of your way to sneer at him, and he goes out of his way to sneer right back. You insult him, but you spend ages coming up with those insults and you get excited when you see him and can finally hurl them at him from across the hallway, and you get excited when he throws his own set of insults right back at you. It’s been like that from day one, and you’re not sure what your day would look like without it.

     These thoughts never settle well with you, of course. You take one look at Ron and immediately feel like a traitor, because if he was to hear what was running through your head, he would be most incredibly displeased - and rightly so. The way him and Malfoy get on, it wouldn’t surprise you if Ron turned and ripped your head off for ever expressing even a single hint of fondness for the blonde boy currently strolling alongside you.

     “What are you in detention for this time, then, Weasley?”

   His voice breaks you from your reverie. You glance at him; he’s still looking dead ahead, tracing those ice blue eyes along the ground in search of danger. Part of you is surprised; the fact that Malfoy even showed up tonight is a big deal, considering you wouldn’t be surprised if he simply left you for dead in the Forbidden Forest.

    “McGonagall got mad at me,” you mumble in response. 

   Draco raises a brow. “For what?”

    “For nothing.” You fold your arms over your chest, letting your wand peek from your sleeve to keep the light illuminated on the track ahead. “In my defense, it was entirely Ron’s fault - if he had just let me get on with the Vanishing spell, that table would still be in her classroom and I wouldn’t be here.”

    Draco nods like he understands. “I always said two Weasleys in the same classroom would be dangerous.”

    “Ha.”

    “So why didn’t Ronald get a detention?”

   You scowl. “I bloody covered for him.”

   Draco almost seems to stumble. Your head snaps round to look at him at the exact same time he whirls around to look at you, eyes wide beneath his wand light, his footsteps a little heavier.

   “What’s wrong with you?” you demand, struggling to hide your laughter.

    “You covered for him?” 

   You raise a brow, grin spreading slow across your face. “Of course I did. He covered for me during Snape’s last class, and Snape is ten times worse than McGonagall - I owed him one.”

    Draco continues to stare at you in puzzlement.

   “Malfoy, close your mouth before you attract flies.” You glance into the darkness and shudder. “Or something worse.”

     Draco shakes his head, fumbling to return to his previous pristine posture. “You’re an idiot.”

   “Would you rather be walking through this hell-hole with Ron? Because I’m sure he’d be flattered to hear it.”

   “Absolutely not,” Draco snaps. “I just. . . I don’t understand why you’d get yourself in trouble for the sake of somebody else. Surely you have better things to be doing than a late-night detention with me.”

    “Aw, give yourself more credit, Malfoy.”

   He raises a brow.

   You grin. “Although, to be fair, I would much rather be chewing on leather shoes than walking beside you right now.”

    Draco rolls his eyes, nudges your arm in his attempts to make you speed up. “Say that again and you’ll be back here tomorrow night.”

    And that is enough to shut you up immediately.

   ----

    Professor Dolores Umbridge.

    The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, a small woman doused in pink, ruffled with feathers and other fluffy accessories. A woman with a smile and a sweet voice. A woman hiding behind a mask that almost everybody has seen past at this point.

    She’s only been at Hogwarts a handful of months, and already she’s decided she owns the place. You, Ron and Harry scowl when you walk into her classroom to see she has yet to fall into the Hippogriff dens. As per usual, written upon the board in white chalk is the next chapter the class will be forced to read in utter silence whilst their wands are stowed away in their backpacks.

    “I hate her,” you whisper to Ron as the two of you take your seats at the back of the classroom. “Hate. Her.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Hermoine hisses, leaning back so she can talk to you. “You’ve seen what she did to Harry when he spoke out of turn - she won’t let you away with it either, Y/N.”

    You scowl, glaring at the back of her head. “She’s just got something against Harry.”

  “Exactly,” Harry whispers. “And you guys are my best mates, so she has something against you lot, too. By association.”

   “To hell with that. McGonagall surely won’t let her give us a detention just for being your friend.”

   Harry raises a brow; he’s already been through this once with you, but you were too busy arguing with Fred and George about their Nosebleed Nougat to really listen. Nonetheless, you’re aware that Harry went to McGonagall in his attempts to weasel out of his last week of detentions with Umbridge and was told - plain and simple - that she could and would do absolutely nothing to help him out.

    The lesson starts as per usual - with Umbridge reminding the class which chapter they left off at, ordering everyone to open up to the page beginning the next one, and reading everyone that they did not - under any circumstances - need to talk.

    You lower your head to your textbook, skimming the same sentence over and over again. It’s so easy to lose concentration when even just sitting in this room - in silence or not - makes you angry. You don’t want to read, don’t want to learn, don’t want to listen to her stupid, squeaky little voice. You just want to-

     The seat beside you is pulled from beneath the desk. Your head shoots up, eyes widening when you see Draco Malfoy sitting down, pulling his textbook from his bag without so much as a glance in your direction.

   You look up; Umbridge has spotted the latecomer, but merely gives Malfoy a smile that tells you she is in close cahoots with the blonde demons father. You look back up at Malfoy and narrow your eyes.

    “You don’t sit there,” you whisper.

   Draco glances at your textbook, nudging his arm with your own. “What page are we looking at?”

  “Not my problem you were late, Malfoy.”

  He tugs your textbook closer, leans a little further forward to read the page number, and it’s when he does that that you can feel his breath on your lower arm, can feel the warmth of his skin as he gets so close. Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second - you never once believed Malfoy would have warmth. The boy looks too much like a corpse for you to think he has any kind of body heat whatsoever.

   But it’s nice, and he’s very close to you, and you don’t think you like it that much.

   You don’t move away.

    “Half these bleeding chapters don’t even make sense,” Draco mumbles, eyes still scanning the glossy page of your textbook. “I’ve learned nothing since she got the teaching job.”

    You raise a brow. “I could have sworn Umbridge was one of those teachers your head was shoved up.”

    “What made you think that?”

  “Well, she’s a bit of a bitch, isn’t she?” you reply, motioning to the woman sat at her desk, too busy humming away to herself to hear you and Malfoy conversing in the back of her classroom. “I just assumed you liked all the bitchy teachers.”

    “You really do have a foul mouth, don’t you?”

   “You’re avoiding the subject.”

   Malfoy purses his lips and glances at you through the corner of his eye; you, on the other hand, shamelessly stare right back at him, tracing your eyes along his sharp side profile. He really is a pretty boy to look at; the sharp jawline and pointed nose. You always thought he was fairly attractive, despite the amount of times you called him a weasel in your lifetime.

     “I think she’s a lousy teacher,” Draco concludes. “Her policies aren’t too bad-”

  You grunt.

    Draco rolls his eyes. “You only don’t like her because she yells at you all the time.”

   “All teachers yell at me all the time - but at least I deserve it in their classes. She just yells at me because I’m friends with Harry.”

    Draco shifts. “Don’t really blame her.”

  You yank your textbook back to your side of the table, fury suddenly building in your chest. “Oh, go to hell, Malfoy.” 

    This is how it always goes with him - things will be going so well, so smoothly. For a short period of time, you convince yourself he’s a good guy and maybe - just maybe - you’ll be able to get on with him. But then he goes and says something like that, so unnecessary and unjustified that it reminds you how much of a rat he really is. 

     Draco is quiet for the remainder of the lesson, one hand tucked against his cheek as he scans the pages of his own textbook - one he miraculously found just a few minutes after you downright refused to share yours. Although the whole class is silent, it feels a bit more tense where you and Malfoy are sat. He shifts every now and then, and the constant glances shared between you are enough to drive you insane.

    Sometimes you just want him to speak to you, which is weird considering you were the one who shut down the conversation in the first place. Arguing with him, throwing insults back and forth is better than sitting here in this anger-infused silence.

    Class finishes with no slip-up’s between you and Umbridge. She tries to claim you were too noisy when standing up, but whatever punishment she was about to fish out to you is washed away by the crowd of students happily making their way out of her classroom.

     “What did Malfoy want?” is the first thing Ron asks when you finally find each other in the crowded hallways. 

    “Nothing,” you reply. “He was just late and needed a seat.”

   Ron scowls, shooting a glance over his shoulder to where Malfoy and his cronies are standing. “He better not have been causing you any trouble.”

    “No trouble at all.”

   “He wasn’t insulting our parents or anything, was he?”

  “I said he was no trouble at all.” You aren’t sure why you’re snapping; you’re mad at Malfoy, for crying out loud. 

    Ron hauls his bag a little further up his back, still scowling even as he turns away from them. “He winds me up. He’s constantly staring at you. Makes me want to punch him right in his ugly little-”

    “Okay, Ron. I get it. You and Malfoy are sworn enemies.”

    Ron glances at you. “You better be on my side or I swear to god-”

   “Of course I am.” But you’re talking so fast, and Ron knows you better than anybody else. His steps falter, letting you know immediately that he’s picked up on the rush of your tone, the heat in your cheeks, the uncertain lilt to your statement.

    You glance at him through the corner of your eye and quickly mumble, “I’m on your side, Ron.”

    Ron pauses. And then, “Wait till I tell Harry about this. He’s gonna crack up.”

   You grab Ron’s arm when he quickens his pace. “What are you talking about? Ron, stop. Stop right now or I swear to-”

   “You fancy Malfoy!”

    You wince, heart dropping. You nearly stumble over your own two feet in your attempts to slap your hand over Ron’s big mouth, his grin widening beneath your hand. “Shut the hell up, Ronald Weasley!”

    He pries your hand away. “How long has this been happening? And why him? Of all bloody people!”

  “I don’t - I don’t fancy Malfoy!” you hiss, trying your hardest to keep your voice down - Fred and George have a habit of appearing out of nowhere, and this is the absolute last thing you want them to overhear.

    Ron raises a brow, still grinning manically. “Your face right now tells me differently.”

   “He’s a rat. I’ve hated him since first year. Just because I can’t be bothered listening to you rant about him every few minutes doesn’t mean I have a bleeding crush on him!”

    “And here I was thinking you didn’t have feelings.”

    You close your eyes, running your hands through your hair. “Oh, please be quiet, Ron. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. If he tries anything-”

  “He won’t.”

  Ron pauses, clearly unconvinced but too smart to continue his teasing. You open your eyes, shoot him a pleading look to which he simply rolls his eyes and continues walking down the corridor towards his next class. You take a moment to recompose yourself before jogging to keep up with him.

   “I’d rather you didn’t tell Harry or Hermoine,” you mutter.

   “Of course not.”

  “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”

   Ron shrugs. “I won’t for a while, but if anything happens between you two, they deserve to know.”

   “Deserve?”

    “They both hate him as much as I do. Just because I’m supporting you doesn’t mean they will.”

    You purse your lips; he has a point, whether you want to openly admit it or not. Your feelings for Draco Malfoy have never been crystal clear to you, and even now as you refuse to deny them in front of Ron, they’re still not crystal clear. He’s attractive, and you enjoy talking to him, teasing him, but saying you have genuine feelings for him does nothing but make you anxious.

    But at the end of the day, nothing can happen anyway. Draco Malfoy is one person who is completely out of bounds to you, too different from you to even think about anything beyond a friendship.

     --- 

   That night, you can’t sleep.

   Your head hurts. Attempts to tackle your mountain of homework failed immensely, giving you nothing but a migraine and a sense of frustration that teachers are still insisting on giving you piles upon piles of work to do after class hours.

    So you do as you always do, and break the rules by getting out of bed and parading the hallways.

    You’ve gotten good at hiding from Filch throughout the years; with the help of the Marauders Map, it’s not difficult to keep tabs on where the little man is. With the help of your older brothers, you’ve also been able to pinpoint all the decent hiding places, one for each corridor, so you’re safe for now.

     You walk, clutching the map in one hand and your wand in the other. In the distance, you can hear Peeves singing to himself, but you don’t worry too much about him - he likes you, says you’re more like Fred and George than Ron is, so he’ll let you off with a lot more things.

     The corridors are always a little spooky at night; already spooky enough during the day, the cloak of darkness and the eerie silence that comes during the night makes it even worse, but you’ve found yourself enjoying it. The feeling of the unknown has always intrigued you; you get it from your father, you think. He’s forever looking into random little things, things he knows nothing about it, risking it all just to gain a little extra knowledge on a topic nobody else cares about.

    You saunter through the halls tonight, running your fingertips along the bumpy wallpaper. You sigh when you turn the corner, eyes nearly closed with the migraine pumping through your skull, hands gripping-

    “Lower your wand right now.”

   You nearly scream. If not for the shock that takes over your body in an instant, you would have bellowed out for help. But you’re left frozen, mouth open in shock, knuckles turning white with your suddenly enhanced grip on your wand.

   Standing in front of you is Professor Dolores Umbridge, a pink dressing gown wrapped round her shoulders, a beady glare on her face. All that is left to top the ensemble is a set of curlers upon her head.

    “What are you doing out of bed?”

  It seems like the most obvious question, but you struggle to find a response. All you can do is stare at the short woman with your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She raises a brow, tilts her head and motions to your wand.

    “Do you plan on using that against me, Weasley, or will you put it down before I’m forced to take lethal measures?”

    You quickly stow your wand beneath your bed robes, giving her an uneasy smile. “Sorry, Professor.”

   “No, I don’t think you are.” She shakes her head, tutting as she looks to the ground for a reason you cannot pinpoint. “Again, Weasley, with the misbehaviour. Has my message not gotten through to you a thousand times by now?”

    “I have a migraine,” you reply. “I was going to the infirmary-”

    “You should have a note,” she says quickly, not giving you a chance to properly explain your situation; and yes, your explanation would be sprinkled with little lies, but she wouldn’t need to know that. “I’ve gone so easy on you since the start of term, Y/N, and it seems like you’re taking it for granted now. Being out past curfew is just a step too far.”

     You blink. “Uhhhh…”

    “A week of detentions with me it is,” she says, and your heart drops. “I’ll see you-”

    “There you are! Did you get that thing I asked you to get?”

    You spin around. Approaching is no other than Draco Malfoy, and you silently curse whatever deity is looking over you right now.

    He’s got a grin on his face unlike anything you’ve ever seen from him. Usually adorned with a grimace or a scowl, seeing Draco genuinely smile is like seeing light for the first time. Although unusual, it fits his face perfectly and you very nearly have to grab Umbridge’s fluffy arm to stop your knees from giving out beneath you.

    “Malfoy!” Umbridge gasps. “And what are you-”

  “Oh, you got caught,” says Malfoy, sidling up to your side. “Bloody hell, Y/N - I give you one job.”

  Umbridge blinks. “What are you talking about, Mr Malfoy? Y/N here was parading round the hallways of their own-”

  “I asked her to get me something from the Ravenclaw common room,” Draco says. Your eye twitches, mouth opening, but Draco oh-so-subtly pinches your palm before you can speak up and ruin whatever little deception he’s got going on right now. “You’re not giving Y/N the detention, are you? I asked them to get it for me, and I’ll gladly do the detention with you, Professor.” He beams even brighter. You bite your lip, glancing at Umbridge who seems to be growing more and more shocked as the conversation progresses. 

    “This behaviour is - is - it’s ludicrous!” Umbridge exclaims, stamping her foot on the last word to really drive her point home. “Mr Malfoy, what on earth possessed you to think doing such a thing would be wise? You’re usually such a well-behaved student!”

  You snicker. Again, Draco pinches your palm.

    He looks down in faux shame. “I know, Professor. I deserve a detention.”

    You subtly raise a brow, glancing at Malfoy through the corner of your eye; he’s not even looking at you. He’s got his eyes to the floor, a little frown on his face. He’s being awfully convincing.

    Umbridge sniffs, clearly torn at the idea of giving a Slytherin a detention - not her precious Slytherin. You want to draw back and punch her.

     “Very well, Mr Malfoy,” she says. “I’m afraid that’s a week of detention for you. I’ll see you in my room at ten o clock tomorrow night.”

    Malfoy just nods, the two of you watching as Umbridge turns on her heel and starts marching back up the hallway, too flustered to even bother telling the two of you to head back to your dormitories.

    You whirl on Draco as soon as Umbridge is out of ear shot. He’s already grinning at you, putting his hands up in mock surrender as you slap his arm.

    “A thank you, Draco would do the bloody trick,” he hisses, stumbling back at the force of your abuse.

    “What the hell did you do that for?” you bark. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

    “Again, a simple thank you, Draco would do-”

    You groan, whirling on your heel. A noise escapes the back of Draco’s throat as he leaps forward and grabs your hand, forcing you to turn back and look at him. His blue eyes bore into yours, a stampede of butterflies erupting in your stomach; you try your hardest to ignore those, but it’s difficult. Getting more and more difficult with each passing day.

    “So you’re not even gonna tell me what you’re doing out of bed at this time of night?” he asks, raising a brow. 

    “How did you even know I was awake?”

  “It’s my job as Prefect-”

  “You’re a Prefect?”

   “Shut up! It’s my job as Prefect to make sure nobody is out of bed past hours - technically I should be giving you a detention right now.”

  “Oh, look how that’s turned out.”

    “You owe me one.”

  “I owe you fuck all.” You pry your arm from his grip, but instead of walking away, you fold your arms over your chest. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

     Draco rolls his eyes. “You’ve always been such a stubborn one, haven’t you?”

    “And I’ve also always been able to hold my own.” 

    “I never said you couldn’t.”

  You narrow your eyes. Draco narrows his right back at you; there’s so much going unspoken right now, and it makes you uneasy. There’s a tension that you both clearly feel but neither of you want to address because neither of you are completely sure why it’s there in the first place. 

    Draco breaks first. With a huff of air through his nose, he turns on his heel, though he doesn’t start walking until he says, “Get back to bed, Weasley, or else you will get a detention off me.” Then he’s gone, and you’re too tired and too flustered to call after him, to give back some kind of insult.

    So instead you do as he said, heading back to the girls dormitories. Hermoine is still awake in the common room, hunched over a desk with her homework spread out before her; she looks content, smiling down at a book on Hippogriffs with multiple quills laid beside her. You give her a tiny smile as you walk past,  but her bleary eyes and lack of acknowledgement tells you she isn’t really paying too much attention to the fact you’ve just walked in from the hallways past hours.

    You tuck yourself up into bed and sigh into the air; Draco Malfoy will truly, utterly be the death of you.

     ----

    The next time you see him is at lunch three days later.

   He’d disappeared. You tried to keep yourself calm. You pretended you didn’t even notice his absense, laughing along to jokes at the Gryffindor table, joining Fred and George in even more michief just to get your mind off the fact that Draco wasn’t sitting at the Slytherin table, and he wasn’t insulting you, and he wasn’t making you feel special.

    But three days pass, and you finally corner him.

    He’s got his back turned when you approach, but Ron, Harry and Hermoine went down to visit Hagrid, leaving you on your own; if there’s any time to talk to Draco, it’s now. So you take your chance, moving across the hallway with swift steps before you reach out, tap his shoulder, and-

    He whirls around, eyes wild. His hair is sticking up on end, and as soon as he sees you, he stumbles back into the wall and tries to make a break for it.

    Panic erupts in your system for a reason you can’t pinpoint. Your hands snap out, wrap around his arm and tug him back before he can escape.

   He groans, throwing his head back. “Weasley.”

   “Let’s not do this today,” you hiss under your breath. “Where have you been, Malfoy?”

   “Why do you care?”

  “Because-” You falter; you hadn’t planned a response to that question. You shake your head instead, tightening your grip on his arm. “Just tell me where you were. Have you been going to Umbridge’s detentions?”

    Draco’s arm tenses. You glance down, raise a brow. He tugs his arm back. “Yes, I’ve been going to Umbridge’s detentions. No thanks to you.”

   “I never asked you-”

  “You’ve said.” He turns, grabbing his bag as he does so. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting in Professor Snape’s office in regards to-”

    Your eyes drift down. You’re not sure why; maybe the mention of Professor Snape immediately switched your attention span off and the sight of Draco’s hands curling round the strap of his bag was more exciting. But it’s this simple action that helps you see what Draco is clearly trying to hide.

    A small gasp escapes your lips, and he freezes because he knows. He knows you’ve seen them, knows there’s no way to hide it any more. His eyes squeeze closed, his teeth biting together as he whispers, “Please don’t make a fuss.”     Scribed on the back of Draco’s hand are the words I must not break rules. 

   Your mouth runs dry in an instant. Anger claws at your throat. You slowly reach down and grab his wrist, bringing his hand up to your eyes, and he doesn’t even try fighting you off because he knows there’s no point, it’s too late now, you’ve seen the damage.

    “Draco.” Your voice is a whisper, hoarse and clogged with emotion. “Draco, what did she do?”

  He looks to the floor and says nothing. For the first time in the five years you have known Draco Malfoy, he does not have words. No insult, no snide remark, no cocky little statement to make himself feel better in times when the world is ganging up on him - he’s completely silent, mouth open as if the response is hovering on the brink but not quite reaching the surface just yet.

     You flick your eyes up to his face. “Draco, tell me what she did. Please.”

   “It’s my punishment,” he mumbles. “That’s all.”

  My punishment. His. Like he was the one roaming the hallways when he wasn’t supposed to be, like he’s the one who always thinks he can get away with things, like he’s the one who genuinely deserved the punishment. 

    You drop his wrist and spin on your heel. “I’ll kill her.”

    Draco grabs you round the waist and drags you backwards. You grunt, anger flooding your system, released after months of torment from Professor Umbridge. “Let go of me, Draco. Let go!”

     “Stop,” he hisses in your ear. “Look, the damage has been done, alright? There’s nothing either of us can do now-”

    “I’m telling Dumbledore,” you exclaim. “He can’t just let this continue. Malfoy, let go of me!”

    He tugs you even closer to his chest. “You’re acting out.”

    “Oh, I’ll show you what acting out looks like-”

    “Please.”

  It’s that word coming from his mouth that floors you. Your body goes limp. You collapse against his chest, your head dropping, like all the energy you once possessed has been sapped from your bones all because of Draco’s voice whispering that oh-so-fragile word in your ear.

    He gently spins you around to look at him, taking you by surprise when he cups your face and tilts your head back and forth, giving you a little smile that does not reach his eyes but makes your heart clench nonetheless. 

   “Don’t ask me to ignore this,” you mumble. “This is . . . This is just. . . “

    His thumb traces your lower lip; it’s no longer just a casual gesture between friends. Even you - in all your denial - are able to notice this; the way he’s looking at you, the affectionate way he trails his circular nail against your lower lip. There’s no way it’s friendly.

    “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he replies softly. “I know what kind of temper you’ve got on you, Weasley. It’s much better if I take Umbridge’s punishment than you, or else god knows what’ll end up happening to that poor woman.”

    “Poor woman.” You reach down, winding your fingers through his. “How many more detentions have you got with her?”

    “One,” he replies, running his thumb along the back of your hand. At the raise of your brow, he rolls his eyes and says, “It’s not too bad, Y/N, honestly. I’m braver than you seem to think I am.”

  “You’re a wimp, Malfoy. You probably go back to your dorm and cry after every single one.”

    He scowls. “I’m always so close to giving you a detention.” He leans forward, lowers his voice. “Detention in the library, Weasley.”

    His tone of voice startles you. It’s reflex when you jump back, taking your hand from his and stuffing it inside the deep pockets of your robe, awkwardly coughing into your shoulder. Draco continues to stare, one eyebrow raised, a tiny hint of a smile playing on his face. It’s that same smile that, once upon a time, would have made you want to draw back and punch him, but now does nothing more than make your stomach erupt into butterflies.

     “I have to go,” you say hastily. “I was meant to call Bill a few minutes ago to let him know about all that family drama - you know the stuff with Percy? What a git. Still very mad at him.” You glance over your shoulder. “Uh, so I’ll see you around, yeah? Nice talking.”

    Draco simply nods. You spin on your heel and dart in the opposite direction, heart hammering at a million miles per hour.

   And you’re not bloody stupid - you can recognise flirting when it’s shoved in your face like that. The hand-holding was innocent at first - at least, you thought it was. Yes, it gave you butterflies to feel his skin pressed against your own, and yes, his eyes make your heart melt every time you look into them, but none of that truly means anything at the end of the day.

    However, his tone of voice when giving you a detention was - quite simply - past the point of dishing out a simple punishment, and those are boundaries breached that have been up between you and Malfoy for as long as you can remember.

    You’re not sure whether you want them breached or not.

    ---- 

     Once again, you can’t sleep that night.

   It’s not a migraine keeping you awake this time. It’s not the stress of homework, the dread of seeing an disliked teacher the next day; tonight, sleep evades you because you can’t stop thinking of Draco Malfoy sitting gloomily in Umbridge’s classroom right this very moment, being tormented with a pain he does not deserve, a pain inflicted upon him because he took the fall for a rule you broke.

     You tell yourself that’s the reason you’re getting out of bed; you want to make things right. You’ll go down to Umbridge’s classroom and you’ll tell her the truth, and then you and Malfoy can pretend none of this ever happened. You can go back to insulting each other. You can go back to disliking each other.

     You pull your dressing gown on, quickly check the Marauders Map and head out, ignoring Hermione’s exhausted grunt of “Goodnight” when you pass her in the common room. You double check for Filch or Umbridge herself before heading straight to her classroom, not caring about the noise, or Peeves souring about you, crying out, “Where’s the fire? Where’s the fire?” 

     You reach Umbridge’s door and wrack your knuckles against it. It only takes seconds for the door to swing open and for Umbridge herself to be stood in front of you, her eyes widening.

    “Weasley,” she says, voice high with surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”

    Malfoy’s own voice drifts from behind Umbridge. “Weasley? Please tell me it’s one of the twins, o-or-”

    “You shouldn’t be out of bed at this time, Y/N,” Umbridge exclaims. “I’m holding a detention right now. Whatever you want to inquire about can surely wait until-”

    “You are one evil little toad, aren’t you?”

    You don’t even know where it came from.

     That wasn’t what you planned on saying at all. You’d approached her door tonight with the intention of telling her it was you roaming the hallways of your own accord the other night; Malfoy had nothing to do with that decision and he has no reason to be sat in her grubby little classroom right now.

    But looking down at her, hearing Malfoy’s voice, knowing what she was doing to him behind closed doors - something just erupts, and you can’t hold it back, and suddenly you’re pushing past her into the classroom where Malfoy sits, straight backed and gaping.

     “Y/N-”

  You march towards him. “Let me see your hand.”

   “What do you-” 

   You snatch his hand up and gaze at the fresh cut scored into the back of it. A fresh surge of anger spears itself through your chest, and suddenly you don’t care about expulsion, or Umbridge’s wrath, or prison - you just want her to pay. You want her to feel pain like the kind she is inflicting upon Malfoy right now. You want her to feel shame for what she’s-

    Draco flips his hand around in your own, grabbing your fingers before you can whirl around and jinx the teacher standing dumbfounded behind you. Your eyes snap to his own, breath leaving you in one clean swoop when you see that foggy essence covering his irises; a silent warning for you to not do anything stupid right now.

    “Draco…,” you whisper.

   He just nods. You don’t know what he’s nodding at, what he means by it, don’t even know if he really knows why he’s doing it, but it creates a sense of calm in your system. You bite your lower lip, trembling slightly as you turn back to Umbridge and say, “Draco didn’t make me leave the Gryffindor dorms the other night.”

  His grip tightens on your hand. “Professor, they’re lying. I told them-”

    “I had a migraine,” you reply. “I leave the dorms all the time to go roaming the hallway - Draco just came across me that night and took the blame. Why, I have no idea.” You shoot him a glare. He glares right back. “But it should be me in here getting them words carved into the back of my hand. Not him.”

    Umbridge’s nostrils flare, truly angry right now, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Draco is running his thumb along the inside of your wrist, this small reminder of his presence being enough to keep you from pulling your wand out and pointing it at Umbridge right this second.

    She flicks her eyes between you and Draco, clearly trying to calm her breathing. You’ve never seen her so angry; part of Umbridge’s “charm” is her ability to say the most hurtful, terrible things in a completely sweet and innocent tone. It’s one of the reasons you hate her so deeply.

    “This is. . . This is . . . unbelievable.” She pulls her wand out. Draco freezes. You closely follow her movements. “Never in my thirteen years of teaching have I come across a Prefect who would lie to clearly to my face.”

    “He was lying for me,” you bark, stepping in front of Draco. “I’m the one who deserves the punishment, okay? Keep him out of this.”

    “DON’T talk to me like that, Weasley, do you understand me?” She thrusts her wand towards you, gritting her teeth. “This is unacceptable. You must think you can get away with everything, do you? Well, not whilst I’m here.”

     She marches past you, snatches the pen from Draco’s hand and flicks her wand; she says nothing, but you can clearly see something shift within the pen. It sparkles a little differently, and when she presses it against the page and starts writing, it’s not her own hand that feels the effects of the spell - it’s yours.

    A sharp pain suddenly sinks into the back of your hand. You gasp, more from surprise than the pain, but the pain sinks in shortly after. Draco stands up immediately, head flicking back and forth as he tries to figure out what’s happening.

     And then he growls, pulls his wand out and yells, “Expellirmus!”

    “Draco, no!”

    Umbridge’s hand snaps backwards so fast you’re almost certain her shoulder has dislocated. She cries out, stumbling back as the pen goes flying through the air, crashes into the wall behind her and splits right down the middle. Ink dribbles down the wall, burning a trail in the paint.

     Draco pants. “Touch Weasley again, Professor, and I’ll have my father in here quicker than you can blink.”

    Umbridge stares. No words. No retort. No decree to pass. She simply stares, and as if the mention of Lucius Malfoy has paralysed her, she does not make a single move. You stand behind Draco, watching the unusual scene unfold until Draco finally snaps, stows his wand back beneath his cloak and grabs your hand instead. He drags you from the classroom, still breathing heavily, cheeks still flushed with adrenaline.

    As soon as you’re both far enough away from Umbridge’s classroom, he pushes you into a side alley and lifts your hand to his face. “Does it hurt?”     “What just happened?”

   “Y/N, does it hurt?”

  “It’s okay.” You glance down at the words carved there: Blood traitor. “She could have been a bit more original.”

    Draco groans, and before you can register what he’s going to do, he’s leaned forward and is pressing his lips to yours. 

    You’re confused and your hand hurts and you still have no idea what you have just witnessed, but there’s something in the way Draco’s mouth fits perfectly against your own that stops you caring for a second. You melt into him, wanting to cry and scream at the same time as the exhaustion and the nights events overtake you, but Draco’s arms around you keep you from completely buckling.

     He pulls away and presses his forehead against your own. “You are the stupidest git I have ever had the pleasure of interacting with, Y/N Weasley.”

    You close your eyes. “Go to hell, Malfoy.” And then you kiss him again, because you can.

   ----

    “I am in love with Y/N.”

    Ron blinks. You keep a close eye on him, one hand placed in Draco’s, the other gripping your wand in case you have to zap Ron backwards last minute.

    Despite Draco’s previous insistance that he doesn’t care what Ron thinks, his palm is sweaty and his cheeks are bright red. He stands straight backed, as if he’s addressing some member of the Ministry, and he’s talking with a formal little lilt that makes you want to laugh.

    Ron’s eyes flick between you and Draco, waiting for a punchline he will not be receiving.

    Carefully, you say, “And I am in love with Draco.”

   Ron’s shoulders slump forward. “So that’s it then? I owe Ginny a fiver?”   It takes a minute for his words to settle. When they do, you reel back like you’ve been slapped. “What?”

   “You two couldn’t have held it off for a little bit longer, could you? At least till after Christmas, for Christs sake.” He shakes his head, stands up and fishes five galleons from his back pocket. “That’s my lunch completely ruined. I’ve only got enough for three chocolate frogs out of the vending machine, and they won’t keep me full through Divination, will they?”

   Draco tilts his head. “Is this serious?”

    Ron points a finger in Draco’s direction. “Whilst we’re on the topic, yeah, you don’t mess about with Y/N, alright? I don’t want to have to comfort another one of my family members; Mum’s enough as it is.”

    “So you’re alright with it?” you say, stepping a little closer to Malfoy; despite having claimed that nothing between you and Draco will change if Ron has a sour attitude, you still stood a little bit away from him just to give Ron the chance to ease into the news. 

     Ron shrugs. “Obviously I’d prefer someone else for you, but I’ve seen how happy this git makes you.” He points in Draco’s direction. “I don’t get it, personally, but that’s none of my business.”

     “You’re right there,” you say, before softening your voice and giving Ron a smile. “Thanks, Ron. I appreciate it.”

    Ron scoffs. “If you really appreciated it, you’d buy me lunch.”

   “No. Get some sweets off Fred and George.”

  Ron looks at you like you have two heads. “And risk suffocating? I don’t think so. I’ll starve, thank you very much.”

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 7

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. There is violence in this chapter.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: *chants* BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF. *sings* they're ain't no big thing just show them a little swing. Beneficial Cucumber. Author's notes are spoilers without context at this point... Y'all-

My beta, @miscmarvelwritings . We make the best duo. I am her dumb of ass and she is my gay. I love her.

Tony was elbow-deep in a robot when I came out of the elevator, Peter holding up the spare part needed, hovering next to the engineer. Without preamble, I was directed to help and dutifully fulfilled Tony's requests. Nothing indicated that my evening stunt ever happened besides Pete's faint blush; I might as well have written it off to the tank top hugging the upper part of my body in all the right places.

I was disappointed, I won't lie to myself - I expected Tony to tease me at least a little bit, snark something vaguely lewd and move on. But the engineer was quiet today, eerily so, almost to the point where it seemed he was ignoring me on purpose. My pride didn't let me begin any of our usual banter so I frowned in silence, making the appearance of a very focused person. Bolts and screws - most interesting things in the world!

As usual, I clocked out first around eleven thirty, leaving Pete and Tony some time to discuss their secret science stuff. Usually I would be exhausted by this point which left little to no room for jealousy but that night, emotions hit me like a freight train and it took me every ounce of my willpower to head out to Bruce's for the inevitable "I'm disappointed in you/Fuck safely" round of brainwashing.

My brain kept returning to the downwards tilt of Tony's mouth and the somber mood around him. I hated seeing him so...unhappy and tense.

The moment I set step in Bruce's lab, I saw the man's back hunched over a tube, I felt the same energy coming from him. What a fucking day! The sigh that left my mouth was resigned. "Bruce?"

A couple of seconds passed before he turned. He attempted a smile but it didn't reach his eyes at all. "Hi, Princess."

I cocked my head in defeat. "If this is the part where you lecture me, let's get over it. Or even better, you say nothing and we carry on," I pursed my lips, inspecting my nails in favour of actually facing the scientist.

I heard the click-clack of his instruments being placed on the table and the soft taps of his shoes against the tiled floor. His arms reached around my shoulders before I could even attempt to pull away, one of his broad palms tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not mad, baby girl," He told me quietly.

I felt some of the tension dissipate, wrapped my arms around him, coming to a realization the man was all but melting into me.

"Just stay safe, alright? I don't want you to get hurt," With the same quiet tone, Bruce gently shushed my worries away. "If something is wrong, you can come to me. You know that, right?" He sounded painfully hopeful as he withdrew just enough to capture my face in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eye.

Something about the look in his eyes made my heart ache. I didn't have the heart to refuse, nor did I want to, so I nodded. Promptly, I was embraced yet again, his lips resting on the crown of my head, both of us swaying gently.

I've never wanted to cry so badly in my entire life.

"I'm a fuckin' mess, Bwucie, you haven't got a clue what you've gotten yourself into," I settled for a round of self-deprication instead. Bitter as it was, it was the barenaked truth.

"Then you're a beautiful mess," I could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. So I smiled, too, obscured by his lab coat.

As much as I didn't want to leave the embrace, like, ever, I had to get home before one o'clock - before mother went to bed, zonked out on Valium and Ambien from the endless supply closet courtesy of my dad. "M'hafta go home," I mumbled.

Bruce sighed deeply. "I'll grab one of Tony's cars and drive you," He went over to remove his lab coat as I gaped. "I'm a forty-five year old man, I can drive." He chuckled humorlessly.

"Tony won't mind?" I asked the first question that popped into my mind to attempt dispelling the awkward moment.

"Trust me, he won't mind at all," Bruce mumbled darkly. I wondered what's up with that but the immediate future for me was already planned out: I was really looking forward to going home, crawling into bed with my clothes on and having a good old fashioned cry.

We made quick work of locating a set of keys and peeling out of the garage in Tony's shiny Audi R8, tires squealing on the wet pavement. It had stopped raining sometime during my robot building but the city was still filled with puddles. I could smell the moist, decaying leaves through the tiny gap of the window, the city was drowning in autumn like I was drowning in my own cluelessness.

The adrenaline rush, the weight of Tony's foul mood, the grief and pleading that radiated off Bruce mixed into a horrendous cocktail of misery and pain. Too much pain for my little, weak, dumb heart to handle. And all these people out in the streets, dressed to the nines despite the disgusting weather - laughing, hugging and drunkenly giggling, it was like salt on my wounds, rubbing it in how much of a good time they were having.

"This your house?" Bruce pointed at the black, high gate of the entrance to my garage.

"Yeah, it's a bit much," I nodded absentmindedly, seeing Bruce's eyes bulge at the sheer size of my estate. My mother wouldn't settle for any less than the best so having a monstrously huge (for NYC) home was what she got. Dad just signed the checks.

Bruce hummed.

I made a face, reaching for his warm hand and giving it a squeeze. "Thanks, Bwucie," Smiling at him, I used up the last of my good mood to show the gratitude he deserved.

He pulled me into a tight hug right over the middle console. It wasn't comfortable by any means with the numerous buttons and switches poking at the soft of my stomach but there was nowhere else I'd rather be than in his arms during that moment. The breaths that left me felt like they were punched out of my chest cavity by steel-toed boots.

"Good night, Princess. Sweet dreams." He kissed my cheek, lingering just a tiny bit.

I did the same, rubbing softly against his stubble and giggling at the ticklish sensation. "Night night, Bwucie."

I waved at him again as I unlocked my front gates and watched him speed off from behind it, obscured by the shadows of the decorative trees growing right behind the fence.

Bruce's face had morphed into something akin to torment or suffering the moment I disappeared from his immediate eyesight and it baffled me to no extent. I ransacked my brain left and right, searching for a reason I might have inadvertently caused him to feel that way but found none. The only logical reason was that he was just lonely. He didn't have many friends from what I gathered and if judging by the proud tone in which he spoke of Will-Mr Davies today, he desperately needed some other company than his teammates. I wish I could have helped.

Mother was nowhere to be seen when I entered the house so a beeline for my bed was successful. The ugly, loud, dry-heaving sobs weren't in any shape or form attractive or acceptable to show to anybody but me so when they forced their way out of me, the pillow keeping me company. I cried as for everything that was happening to me as much as I sobbed because of the self-pity I was indulging in.

It was pathetic, really. My mother would scoff and my father... Well, he'd offer me to 'cheer up, throw a party, do normal teenager stuff'. The bottle of wine I kept in my closet was empty in no time: I justified that as a single lady in a big city, I was entitled to relax once in a while.

Who was I lying to? I downed a bottle in twenty minutes just so I could fall asleep and begone from all this bullshit for a while.

On Monday, I anonymously submitted the documents pertaining to Thompson's behaviour to the school board and to a local newspaper that was known to dabble in socialite gossip. Next day, an investigation was promptly launched and important-looking people started to appear in the hallways, going in and out of the principal's office. Flash was pulled out of class by two police officers: at this point, half the student population was unashamedly filming it on their smartphones, me included. With grim satisfaction, I sent the video directly to the group chat with an added message of "so long, fucker".

Steve didn't even remark on my profanity, just sent a thumbs up.

It really fuckin' blew up the next morning. The news was plastered across every paper, every social media site - "Midtown Principal's son arrested for grand theft auto and assault", "Midtown Principal Being Investigated for obstruction of education" and other ridiculous headlines that had me, Bucky and Natasha in shit-fits.

Flash returned to school on Wednesday accessorized with a pretty ankle monitor and a sullen frown. During lunch, he sat only with two of his closest minions instead of the chatty group he was usually seen with. Everybody avoided him like the bubonic plague, even teachers ignored him.

With the final bell, me and Pete went on to look for Happy outside the school territory.

I was spending nearly every evening at the tower either in Tony's or Bruce's lab or sandwiched between Wanda and Bucky on the couch, gossiping while TV shows mutely played in the background. I had found a second friend in the face of Winter Soldier who, much like me, spent a lot of his days occupied by the internet or in a general state of confusion. Bucky was charming, funny and very flamboyant. I enjoyed the no-nonsense attitude and zero fucks that he gave the world in general.

The moment I stepped on the other side of the gate, I immediately knew something was wrong. Peter squirmed uncomfortably beside me, looking frantically in every direction, trying to spot Happy's car in vain.

"Ay, Parker," The familiar obnoxious voice of Peter's bully reached our ears. "You wanna tell me how you got your grubby little hands on that file?"

Thompson had brought back up with him, the idiot that he was. He was standing off to the side, leaning against the fence while five older boys surrounded us in a tight circle.

"Leave us alone, Flash, you're already in trouble," Peter tried reasoning with the bully meanwhile I... I was searching for a cleaner, dryer spot to dump my $1500 bag onto in preparation for the inevitable. I was no stranger to swinging my arm - as a frequent house party guest, I've had to fend off enough unwelcome advances. I've been told I have a mean, mean right hook.

"Bold of you to assume Peter would actually steal something," I stated in a bored tone once my bag was out of the way and Pete was standing securely behind me. I wasn't afraid of Flash, mostly because I knew he'd step back for the fear of retaliation from my family was usually too much.

"Oh, look at that, the weirdo is talking," Thompson mocked, getting up and standing right in front of my face. "You know, I don't get why the likes of you have to go to school with us, normal people. See, Peter here might be a little wimp but at least he won't shoot up the whole school one day because his daddy didn't love him enough," Thompson decided to test his luck. To finish his epic tirade with a flourish, he spat on the ground next to me.

I snorted. "Wow, that's an awful lot of smart words for someone as dumb as a doorknob," I shook my head in disdain. "Look, either you go now or I'll sue you so far up your ass, you'll be sucking dick in prison just to get something to fill your stomach with." And wow, that comeback was really, really good. I was proud of myself.

I saw pure rage mar Thompson's already ugly face into something demonic and ducked at the last moment, feeling the blunt sting of his knuckles connect with my left cheekbone. Reflectively I swung, too, decking him straight in the nose with all the rage and despair that was burning deeply inside of me at that time.

I heard gasps all around me as the students whispered, shouted and cheered at Thompson's confused form hitting the ground. He held his face and his palms were stained a deep crimson; I felt something warm on my face, copper in my mouth.

"Does anybody want some of that, too?" My tone was icy. I shrugged off the hand that landed on my shoulder, glaring down one of the boys who came with Thompson.

"Shit, cops, RUN!" One of the students suddenly shouted and just like that, both me and Flash were surrounded only by a handful of students who had filmed the entire incident on camera. God bless technology!

"Uh, I think you're bleeding," Pete timidly remarked from behind me, hand still awkwardly outstretched towards me. He cast a guilty look to the side where Happy was running towards us, phone held to his ear, no doubt already on the line with Tony and the rest of the Avengers. Shit, fuck, SHIT. I didn't plan for this!

The police officers called an ambulance for Flash and took my statement while I was holding my bleeding nose up to the sky, much to the officer's dismay. Happy had passed the officer his mobile phone and I briefly heard Tony's voice saying that I will be taken care of in the tower's medical suite - and let's face it, no cop will go against Iron Man's charm and wit.

As an eighteen year old, I could refuse the on-site medical assistance that the city provided and my parents weren't required so I was let go after my statement was taken and my injuries photographed.

Not that the photoshoot really was required. Multiple people had the incident on video, from multiple angles. It was an open and close case. I called my mother in the elevator (she didn't answer) and left her a voice message with the bare facts of the situation and my current whereabouts.

Seeing the whole team assembled in the living room, some nervously twitching, some anxiously pacing, I couldn't help but let out a slightly hysterical giggle. "Oh my god, guys, I'm not in a coma, stop acting like I'm in a coma!"

Bucky was the first to approach me, carefully hugging me and steering me towards Bruce. He looked a bit rough, green-ish? I guess. But the first aid kit was already on the table and Stephen Strange was hovering nearby.

"You decked the sucker real good, doll," Bucky's Brooklyn accent made his speech less intelligible but he definitely got all the cookie points for the heat and the passion.

"Ditto. Should've kicked him in the balls, too," Natasha smirked and Steve mirrored her smirk with a darker twist.

"I'm going to sue him so darn far up his ass," Tony seethed, looking absolutely livid.

"Don't worry, mother's got it handled," I obediently laid down on the couch, staring up at Bruce's wide eyes and Stephen's focused face.

"You are fearless and fierce, dear lady," Thor boomed from somewhere.

All of this was making me... Emotional. I just punched a piece of human garbage, it was not a big deal, okay? He had it coming. I chuckled uncomfortably, wincing when Bruce began dabbing at the dried blood on my face with a piece of gauze soaked in alcohol. "Petey, you alright?" I asked, worried about the sudden onset of silence from the usually chatty boy. He mumbled something. "Speak up, I can't hear shit with all the ringing in my ears."

That earned me a worried look from doctor Strange and a frown from Bruce.

"I should've protected you-I mean-it's not that you can't do it yourself, or because you're a girl, it's just-I," he suddenly stopped.

"Go ahead, kid," Tony urged him with unmistakable kindness in his voice.

"You see, I'm-I'm actually Spider-Man and I'm afraid to accidentally kill someone, 'cause I'm really strong." Pete blurted out.

I had to replay his words several times in my head to get to the gist of what he was actually saying. Shy little Peter? Spider-Man? So that's why he was such a fucking pacifist? I mean, it made perfect sense if he really was strong enough to lift cars and hold together collapsing bridges like I'd seen on YouTube.

"Huh," I stated after a brief pause. "I guess I did double the work today, dumped out some trash and prevented a potential murder. I'm on a roll and I deserve chocolate cake," I rambled to distract myself from the incoming dull headache and the sting of the alcohol against the split skin of my cheek.

Strange chuckled, looking, possibly, the happiest I've ever seen him. Bruce giggled too. A tiny bit.

"Friday, order the biggest, most expensive chocolate cake that can be delivered in... Two hours," Tony immediately spoke up.

"Cake," I mumbled happily, a strange drowsiness overcoming me, making my eyelids droop. "Hey-mmm, doc?" I slurred, seeing Stephen's face fall. "M'think m'concussed, f'king 'ell!" The snort that left his mouth was absolutely hilarious; I started giggling, too, startling Banner into action.

He picked up his phone, saying something I didn't understand at all.

"Y'kno," I had this totally bright idea I absolutely NEEDED to share with everyone. "Y'kinda look like the guy... Wha's'is name... Bendy-snap Crum-ble-sticks? No, wait," Snorts and giggles began to resonate through the room as the amount of Doctor Stranges suddenly multiplied by two. He was a WIZARD, that was so cool! "I think... Mmm, yes... Benadryl-Claritin? No-no-no, 'das meds," Woah, a lot of people were there and they were suddenly all laughing. I wondered what was so funny. It was hard to think with so many people laughing; my temples were pulsating uncomfortably. "Wait, I know, I know!" There were wheezing noises now, noises that distinctively reminded me of Tony and Wanda and Bucky. "Bubble-butt Coitus-snack!" I triumphantly exclaimed, finally happy to have gotten it right.

The laughter turned into truly demonic cackling, surrounding me, they were so loud I almost managed to get fully afraid. And then, I passed the fuck out.

TAGLIST IS OPEN Y'ALL.

@another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem

[captains-writing-desk]

Inappropriate

Universe: BBC Sherlock

Character: Mycroft Holmes

Type: F!Reader insert (I, me, we)

Words: 2,011

Warnings: Swearing.

Note: Jesus lads... This was quite cathartic to write in a way. Took some interesting turns... I won’t lie it almost took a different turn towards the end with cheekiness ;)

Mycroft joins you on a walk after you get angry with him and his brother. Awkward angsty fluffiness ensues.

-

“Deduce me again Mycroft Holmes and I’ll see to it that you suffer.” I spoke without lifting my eyes from my reading material. He immediately averted his gaze and idly rolled his palm over the handle of his umbrella. “And tell your shit of a brother he can stop fucking trying too.” My voice did not waver once and remained low in tone- perhaps making it more sinister.

“I am right here.” The brother muttered from his arm chair and I raised my brow, peaking over the top of the newspaper for one moment just to reiterate, “Personally.”

“Well we can’t help it can we, it’s something we’ve always done, it’s not our fault that you’re more fun to try. “ Sherlock never knew when to shut up which was one trait Mycroft at least had the decency to inhabit.

“You CAN help by not turning me into a game.” Mycroft looked rather offended as did his brother, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re hardly sneaky about it, seeing who can get a deduction first and just how much fucking money have you both put into this hm? Acting shocked as if you were being so fucking sneaky, you haven’t fooled anybody... Dickheads.”

“I’m sorry, you turned someone’s trauma into a game?” John piped up emerging from the kitchen , my eyes narrowed at him.

“You boys should be ashamed of yourselves. Such an awful thing to do.” Mrs. Hudson followed from the kitchen who was met with a direct glare and with that, I folded the paper up neatly and rose to my feet.

“I rather despise this household sometimes. I’m going for a walk.” I’d had quite enough of this nonsense and had thrown my coat on and shut the front door behind me before anyone could speak up.

“Rather foul mouthed isn’t she?” Sherlock commented.

“Hot blooded.” John hummed in agreement.

“I find it rather endearing, oddly.” Mycroft mused as the room openly stared at him which he took as his cue to also leave.

-

“I’ll scream.” Mr. Government had caught up to me and I just couldn’t be hassled to deal with him and yet, he persisted.

“I don’t doubt that. Bare in mind however, that we are in London. Nobody would even flinch if you screamed.” He reasoned.

“What if I screamed 'bomb' and threw something?” Highly insensitive yes but I was angry.

“I stand corrected.”

“Yes and what a lovely mess that’ll leave you to deal with.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” His voice a little grave.

“Then perhaps you should bugger off hm?”

“Perhaps.” Yet he remained by my side even as my pace quickened, the swearing had subsided a little so I couldn’t be quite as angry right?

“Where exactly are you walking to?” I suppose my route made no sense to him, then again, made no sense to me either.

“Why do you want to know? Just follow.”

“So I can follow you now? No need to ‘bugger off'?” He was amused, but not at his comment, rather at the fact I would let him tag along. Not amusement, elation.

“You would be following me regardless and by that standard all you need to know is which way I am pointing and that will be where you’re going too.”

“I see. So we are just wandering aimlessly?”

“I am wandering aimlessly. YOU are wandering after me.” Why did that make him feel stupid? Perhaps it made him think too much into why he liked to stay around me as long as he could.

“Yes, sir.” He was making it seem like my fault, as if I’m ordering him to follow me. Can’t say I minded it.

-

We made it to Whitehall gardens and ambled through, staring at the flora that had started to turn with the autumnal weather. I was hungry now as I walked through the park and down to the embankment so I bought a pretzel from a little hut whilst Mycroft trailed behind on the phone about something so I expected him to leave soon.

I sat myself down on the wall with one leg tucked underneath myself so that my body was turned slightly and I could gaze through the bars my back rested against and watch the river.

Moments later Mycroft came and sat next to me, mirroring my pose only with his leg crossed over the other instead and he watched me for a moment until I looked at him.

“You can go. I’m quite happy sat here.” Not that he needed my permission to go but it felt as if I needed to remind myself that he could go, that I didn’t need him with me.

“I’ve got nowhere to be.” He raised a brow when he saw me relax, a wave of relief washing over me then the lamposts all turned on, what with the shorter autumnal days. I glanced around at the red leaves now lit up in this strange new light then back to Mycroft who had an amused smile fringing on his lips.

“Good,” I smiled, feeling an odd new confidence, “Do you mind if I stay here a bit longer?”

“Not at all.” He leaned back on the rails slightly as I took a bite of my pretzel, still warm from the vendor.

“Here.” I noticed Mycroft pull the sleeves of his coat down a little from the cold so I tore the pretzel in half and offered him a piece. ‘Does he even like common food?’ I thought and laughed internally at how odd that sounded. “It’s warm” I added still holding it to him. He thought about it as if it was a big decision but eventually took it.

“Thank you.” He smiled, thankful for the bit of warmth it provided him.

“It won’t kill you. Probably.” I looked out across the river feigning being suspicious.

“I’ll take my chances.” He chuckled and took a bite, humming at how surprisingly nice it was as I took the last bite of my own half and shook the crumbs of my hands then tucked them between my thighs to keep them warm.

Once he finished his half he turned further towards me and leaned in slightly.

“I apologise for earlier. It was uncouth of me.” He cleared his throat nervously but looked directly into my eyes where I saw the sincerity in his apology.

“It’s alright, You can’t help it. Besides,” I sighed, “I know you do it often- both of you. I suppose today I wasn’t in the best of moods to put up with it.” Truth be told I’d had a shit day. The sort of day where everyone I encountered decided to make my day worse than the last person had.

“Did anything happen?” He asked and I looked at my hands for a moment before furrowing my brows and looking back up to him.

“I’m not traumatised you know? That’s just John’s theory on me.” I wasn’t sure why I started with that but I suppose it did feed into why my day was crap but more than anything really, I felt the need to explain myself to Mycroft. Maybe explain why I was so difficult and rude. He sensed I had more to say and let me finish.

“Truthfully I'm not really sure what’s wrong with me. I just can’t seem to figure out how to figure out what I feel or what to do. Some things I understand but then I just get overwhelmed to point where I just numb down. I can’t quite explain it but I it just makes me cold and it scares me. I never used to be like this and I don’t mean to be cold but I just am. Then when people point it out it makes me feel like shit and I get agitated but with the wrong people.” I started to choke up, “So I don’t know. I don’t mean to be that way.” I looked down at my hands and started fidgeting to distract myself.

“You’re not cold. I’m sure anyone that knows you can tell you that. You’re perfectly fine the way you are.” He made no great speech just a simple reassurance and it was that- reassuring. “I've never understood people. They are idiots.” He summarised and I laughed.

“That is true. Yes. Mycroft I-“ I looked at him and he leaned in expectantly, “I didn’t mean to unload all that on you.” I shot him an apologetic look.

“It’s quite alright. I’m glad you felt you could say it though. That and it’s my job to make people talk sometimes.” He joked.

“Don’t pull that crap. I did it because I needed to not because you made me. I'd never crack in an interrogation.” I teased.

“We shall see.” He lifted his brow and watched me carefully.

“Did I not say that you would suffer if I caught you deducing me again?” You narrowed your eyes at him with a smile threatening to escape.

“You did.” Though he didn’t stop watching and even cocked his brow playfully which surprised me. Was he flirting? A sadistic smile slowly crept up my face.

“Are you flirting with me?” I returned the scrutinising look and he was taken aback.

“Excuse me?” He recoiled.

“You heard me. Are you flirting with me?” I demanded now, leaning in to catch his eyes until he finally looked at me. “You are flirting.” I could see it in his eyes and I was surprised by my own realisation and honestly elated though I tried to conceal it. Though now I had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry if I was inappropriate.” He finally spoke, breaking my train of racing thoughts then he stood up. My heart skipped a beat, I didn’t want him to leave. He turned to me and I looked up at him with my brows furrowed, unsure how to proceed. “Perhaps I should l-.“ I pushed myself into my knees, grabbing the lapels of his coat and kissed him. I knew what he was going to say and leaving was not an option so I panicked. I pulled away and searched his shocked expression.

“There.” I took a deep breath and sank back to sit on the feels of my feet, “Now we’ve both done something inappropriate.” I laughed nervously under my breath, drowning in my own awkwardness and searching for any words to say to make this moment go away. I definitely misread the situation, he was definitely not flirting. My head flopped into my hands and I groaned.

“I fucked up... I’m sorry.” I mumbled through my fingers. I only wanted to tease him, make him suffer a little, but now we were both suffering for the wrong reasons.

“You didn’t fuck up.” Mycroft’s voice was gentle as his palm rested between my shoulder blades, pulling me forward until my head rested against his stomach. I really hoped he would forgive me for this cock up but I couldn’t bring myself to show my face, now or ever. However, we couldn’t stay like this forever so he grabbed my hand that was still glued to my face in shame and he urged me to stand up. My legs felt like they barely worked but I managed to sort of flop to my feet in front of him , dropping my other hand to my side and just stared at his chest. He let go of my hand and if my heart could drop any further it would have but instead, it shot up into my throat when he grabbed my waist with both hands. I looked up to see him smile then pull me into him as he lowered his lips to my own.

He pulled back to look at me fluttering my eyes open and staring slack jawed.

“You didn’t fuck up.” He repeated and squeezed my waist reassuringly which snapped me out of my daze. I bit my lip trying to stop the smile they crept onto my lips.