#the combination of his break issues and the set up fucked him today

[scuderiamint]

thoughts/messy rant from the baku weekend aka carlos sainz and rbr you are on my shitlist, fuck you :

that three way battle for the win that almost turned into a 4 way battle was so fuckin cool and i need more of that (preferably with max in the mix there)

charles leclerc actually fighting that mclaren rocket deserves a standing ovation

that clip of max waiting for charles in the back of a lewis interview is the only thing that kept me going for the majority of this weekend ngl

checo and baku is like a magical mix, he loves this track so much, its so beautiful seeing a driver love a track this much

speaking of checo, carlos sainz i am going to liquidate you and your williams contract for next year so you never step foot on this fucking grid again, you absolute bastard of a driver

anyways

oscar you are such an impressive driver

him pulling a win after all the mclaren bs about "papaya rules" was Beautiful

thank you mark webber and your black magic

now we get to my fav part :)

red bull fuckin racing ...

max literally said he was comfy with the fp3 set up and then the team changes it

not just changes it, REMOVES THE ONE FUCKIN UPGRADE THEY BROUGHT FOR THIS WEEKEND

MAX WAS LITERALLY DRIVING AN OLDER VERSION OF THE FUCKASS CAR.

baku and singapore is gonna be such a crucial damage limitation double header and the team couldnt even take advantage of a p15 starting lando ????????

??????

that dumb petty radio from lando after the race annoyed me even more cuz of this fuck off dude

max passes you so he could give you thumbs up for the race as a celebration and you become a whining loser on the radio ?? your engineer literally tells you it doesnt matter cuz the race is over and you still whine about it, brother what ??

the only good thing from this weekend is that it genuinely seems like rbr have figured out what the working window for the car is and now simply need to find the boundaries of it cuz they did perfectly with checo while max' set up was outside of that window

max' "we could be surprising" or wtv comment about Singapore is making me very delusional rn so i will be manifesting a career first Singapore win for max 🕯🕯

oh and a final note

fuck you sainz

[penvisions]

zest {chapter 1}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (formally known as Bartender! Reader)

Summary: Changes are sudden, lifestyles are altered, and important questions bubble up but through it all, you have Joel by your side.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: canon typical language, c'mon reader and joel have potty mouths, age gap (joel is mid 40’s / reader is late 20’s -early 30’s, protective joel, reader is canonically midsize, pregnant reader, surprise pregnancy, reader goes through nicotine withdrawal, smoking, cigarettes, nicotine use, lots of feelings, lots of emotions, complicated family dynamic, reader has family issues, death of a loved one, mention of life-threatening cancer, reader has religious guilt, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, reader canonically has an eating disorder, mentions of therapy, references to time apart from each other, adult content, smut, piv, unprotected piv be safe y'all!), talk of marriage, adult conversations, joel and reader are down bad for each other.

REMINDER: this is a sequel series, the previous series can be found here {garnish}

A/N: THEY'RE BACK, BABY! ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || masterlist || ko-fi

It’s the perfect spring day: sun shining in a warm but not hot brightness, a gentle breeze rustling the trees as you zip past them, an iced coffee, and the singing figure of Ellie in the passenger seat all make the first half of the day melt away. The amber of your sunglasses allows for everything to be swathed in the honeyed hue and you smile to yourself as you recall a rather heated comment from Joel ‘that every goddamn show feels so creative ‘n artsy when they slap the same tones over Mexico’ and then a softer set of words as he had cuddled closer to you on the couch ‘it’s not really like that, I’ve been there, darlin’, trust me’.

“What’re you all gooey lookin’ for, Sabrosa?” Ellie pauses to catch her breath between songs from the newest pop punk album from a band you first enjoyed in your teenage years. Unable to resist the temptation of adding it to your already laden down basket at the bookstore last week when you and the young girl had ditched Joel to run errands. “Ew, gross, don’t think about my dad while I’m sitting right next to you.”

“Oh hush,” You stuck your tongue out at her. Getting a kick out of how casually she sounded. It hadn’t ever been awkward between you two, or her and Sarah despite the six or so years between your birthdays. But then again, Sarah had let you into the secret of the older guy she had started seeing in her graduate program the last time she had been in town visiting… “It’s nothing dirty, just one of his many rants about my choice in television.”

“Lemme guess….oh! The washed-out way they show Mexico, huh? Cause you were watching…oh fuck, what’s that show called…”

“Breaking Bad.” Was the supplied answer from your lips as you turned on the turn signal and began to slow down to turn into the parking lot for the restaurant. It wasn’t operating hours quite yet, too early yet for the dinner crowd Joel preferred to cater to. But Ellie had a shift, and you were dropping her off after classes. She wasn’t in either of the ones you teach, having completed the two semester course you had started off with. But you both had a class that ended around the same time, living so close to the university, she liked being able to walk but then catch a ride with you. Tradition, the word rang in your head. Routine, followed it and you smiled wider at the way your life had fleshed out.

“That’s the one!” She exclaimed as she unbuckled the seatbelt and leaned back in her chair. “Man, I really don’t have the energy for work today, but the old man said we have a full reservation list and then open seating at the bar.”

“Gonna be that way for a while, the article about him came out only two months ago. Everyone’s clamoring for a chance to try the ‘bursting flavors’ and ‘exciting combinations’ of the renowned Chef Joel Miller.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s hot shit right now, at least the restaurant is.” Reaching for her coffee in an imitation of you, she sipped at the whip cream, caramel whatever it is she had gotten. Coffee wasn’t her favorite, so she always got the espresso taken out, a glorified milkshake Joel had teased her once. “Proud of him, though. The restaurant was in shambles when he bought it from the previous owners, some shitty Italian place that never cleaned anything.”

“He’s done good.” You quietly agree, sipping from your own overly complicated drink. That was another tradition of yours and hers, to make your way through the menu at the coffee shops on campus, always pausing to get the special of the month. Joel claimed he didn’t understand the need for so much stuff mixed in with coffee, but you caught him stealing sips of yours if he were to come across it unattended around the house or when you were out and about with him and treated yourself.

“There’s my girls.” Joel chimes as you input your code into the gate for the employee parking and round the side of the building. His voice filtering in through the open windows as you pull into a spot and cut the engine. He’s leaned against the back of the building, cigarette in hand. “Was wondering what took you so long.”

“Accident on the main road, had to detour.” You appease as he approaches to open the door for you and pressed a greeting kiss to your cheek as you roll up the windows. He does the same for Ellie as she sidles up beside him for a side hug before trotting off to the door and disappearing through it. He let’s you pluck the lit cigarette from his fingers as you shoulder your bag and close the door. His hand goes around your waist to walk alongside you toward the building.

“As long as you two are safe, that’s all that matters. Today’s special is spaghetti all nerano, wanna do some grading here and try a plate?” He takes the smoking roll back from your offered hand and takes the last drag before tossing it into the pale beside the door. Opening it and leading you through it with a hand hovering over your lower back.

“That sounds yummy, I’m starving.” You toss him a smile over your shoulder before greeting everyone with a wave.

It’s well into the third hour of service and you never got the chance to leave once the doors opened. The bar had been struggling, Millie having taken over as manager and Mary trying to appease the picky impatient customers who all want a taste of the raved over menu and a glimpse at the alluring Chef Miller.

Picking up a shaker and twisting a bottle of vodka in your grip, you glance at the ticket that just printed and adjust the amount you free pour into it. Mary had been looked so guilty as she approached you’re the table where you do your work on a regular basis, the question of if you were willing to help out getting drinks started for those waiting on tables barely out of her mouth before you were nodding and cleaning up your stuff. It was now safely tucked away in the office and you were moving at a fast pace behind the bar to keep up with everything. Millie stepped down to let you take the reigns, knowing she would only get in your way. Ellie could be seen picking up and dropping off glasses at the well as often as Millie as she acted as barback.

The restaurant was buzzing, excited conversation and pleasant atmosphere making you remember the tingling high of getting off from a busy shift with a wad of cash tucked into your pocket. Just as you place a strainer over the shaker and begin to pour the contents over six shot glasses the door to the kitchen swings open and Joel walks through. You’re too busy, so you shift the chilled shots to the mat over the well and place the corresponding tickets beside them. Moving onto the next drink, you rinse out the shaker with the star sink in place.

His eyes catch yours through the crowd of people when you look up as Ellie comes up to take the shots and then watching as she delivers them, the sound of the shaker loud in your ear as you hold it over your head. His steps don’t falter as he approaches the table, he was delivering the plate to, but you could see something flash over his face. He’s back behind the door as you move to lodge the shaker open.

The night goes by quickly, taking orders for those lucky enough to snag a spot at the bar but hadn’t been able to make a reservation. Shoving each cash tip into a pint glass for the girls and even taking a few business cards from people interested in hosting parties in the space. You’ll be sure to pass those along to Mary, even if some of them requested you as the bartender. You didn’t mind, missing the atmosphere and good moments you had experienced in the setting. Ellie is taking back the remaining dishes from the last few tables, Millie is out back smoking after helping to clean up the bar top when Joel ambles from the kitchen once again.

He's got his chef’s coat unbuttoned and loose around the shirt underneath, the glint of his belt buckle catching the fairy lights around the bar. His steel curls are slicked back, but you could see the frizz and fluffiness where they rested over the back of his neck. He had been saying he needed a haircut, but you had made a sound in the back of your throat that made him put it off.

His eyes are trained on you as you move the trash cans full of empty bottles to line up beside the drink pick up area. You’re about to return behind the bar with a wink thrown over your shoulder when he snakes his hands around your waist and pulls you to him. He smells amazing, the perfect mix of savory spices, smoke, and Joel.

“Playin’ restaurant, huh? Thought you went home and passed out.” He leans down to kiss your jawline.

“Nah, Mary asked for my help when Millie got swamped.” You breath out, hands coming up to rest on his chest and push should he get a little too enthusiastic in you still being here.

“Not your responsibility.” His eyes hold no real heat or command, you know it’s born from a place of worry, of not wanting you to stretch yourself too thin.

“It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind.” You cradle his cheek in one hand and play with the collar of his open coat with the other. His eyes glance down, the glitter from your lotion catching the light on your neck and chest.

“Hmm, you looked good. Dress looks good on you, shakin’ those drinks and-“

“Dad, holy crap, it was so busy tonight. Some dude tipped me like fifty percent because he was trying to impress his date!” Ellie plops down on a stool with her server’s book. She doesn’t even look up from where she begins to go over the receipts. “Wait until everyone leaves to start doing that or better yet, wait until you’re home to do that.”

“One day you’re gonna meet someone and it’s gonna be hard to keep your hands to yourself.” You only giggle at the typical parent response from Joel. Ellie wasn’t a touchy-feely person, but you were sure she would be with the right person, you’d seen her flirty interactions with girls while out with you and your friends, tagging along for the free drinks and to have safe company. She was pretty smooth if she didn’t get into her head too much, soft touches to shoulders and waists, though she steadfastly refused to dance. With anyone, no matter the setting.

“Gross,” She begins to fill out the printed shift report before organizing the receipts in order and then asks you for the stapler. Detangling yourself from the man, you do make it back behind the bar. That’s when she notices the pint glass. “Holy shit! You made all that?”

“Huh? Oh, no. The restaurant did. Here.” You hand the wad of bills over to Joel. With your own shift report and stapled receipts. He uses two nimble fingers to extract the shift report but leaves the cash in your hand. Frowning, you track the report as it’s tucked into his back pocket along with Ellie’s. Her own cash tips secure in her booklet.

“Also gonna see about getting some of the petty cash from the safe for the hours you worked.” He begins to take the full bags from the trash cans, tying the ends together tight.

“Joel.”

“You worked, you get paid.” He doesn’t look up as he reaches into the bottom for the rolls sitting inside and begins to place new ones over the lips of the plastic.

“I’m your girlfriend. Who used to work here. I was just helping out.”

“Nope, not gonna fly, darlin’. It’s yours.” He slides the empties cans back around the bar for you to put back in their designated places.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.” Ellie reaches for it and you let her swipe it from your hand. Only for Joel to set her with a look. “Oooor not.” She says as she puts it down atop the clean bar top.

“Joel!”

“Can’t hear you, Sabrosa, gotta make sure the kitchen duties were done.”

“Seriously, I’ll take it if you don’t want it.” You quirk an eyebrow at the younger girl, but Millie bounces up and says everyone was going out for a bite at the taco truck parked a few blocks down. They have a spot in a lot that has picnic tables and offer late night service. Ellie takes off, ensuring you she’ll text either you or Joel when she’s back at the townhouse afterwards. She’d been staying the second bedroom there more and more, as you found yourself splitting your time pretty evenly between it and Joel’s. He would join you sometimes, but certain nights either you needed you own space or he did and that was okay.

Sighing, you lock the patron door behind her and turn the sign from open to closed.

As you’re double checking everything is shut down properly, you open the washer to let the last load of glasses air dry, the steam billowing out. Turning when you hear the swing of the kitchen door again, Joel has his chef’s coat tossed over his shoulder and his backpack over the other. His eyes zone in on the cash and then a smirk takes over his face. You turn your attention back to the washer and ensure it’s off before you round the bar top and makes sure it was swept underneath the stools. You’re about to ask him which car you were gonna take home when you spot a crumpled napkin you must’ve missed.

As you bend down to pick it up, you feel thick fingers sneak beneath the skirt of your dress. You don’t think anything of it until you feel Joel tuck a bill from the stack into the band of your panties. Knuckles grazing against your slit as he moves to the other hip and does the same. You shoot up, the napkin forgotten as you try to turn around.

“Nu-uh,” His palms come to rest on your lower back and shoulders, bending you over one of the stools as the heat of his body looms close. He whispers something about having to scrub the video cameras set up around the dining room before you hear the clink of his belt being undone and feel him move your panties to the side. You throb at the feel of the cooler air circulating around the room, a gasp leaving your lips as he gently runs the head of his cock over your folds, arousal from you both making it such a smooth motion.

As he reaches over your back for something, he fills you up, the stretch of his girth feeling like a reward for the hectic shift completed. But you know the night would’ve ended like this either way.

A moan rips from your chest as he grabs a hold of whatever he had been trying to get, hips flush with yours. He chuckles, pleased with himself before his hands sneak around to cup your breasts as they threaten to spill out from your dress at the prone position. His fingers tuck more bills into your underwear, beneath the straps over your shoulders, into the already full cups to peak out over the swell of your chest. He even tucks one into the mess of your hair thrown up into a clip at the back of your head before his hands secure around your waist and he begins to thrust.

That’s the last memory you have of both smoking and drinking, only a few days before you had anxiously waited for a piece of plastic to tell you your fate. It was now a month since finding out, Joel making sure to go with you to get confirming bloodwork and a full physical. The headaches from missing both finally having abated. Joel on the other hand, he was sneaking cigarettes, you could smell the lingering smoke on him when would come home and you were still up. It didn’t really bother you, knowing he indulged for far longer than you had in the bad habit. But you missed the social aspect of the act, of seeking out the designated spots around campus and chatting, of sitting out on the back patio with Tommy as he enjoyed one on the evenings he stopped by with his own little family for dinner.

But it was all worth it, you mused as you poured yourself a cup of steaming water into what was once your coffee mug. Tea was something you indulged in now, the cupboard filled with the different types you were trying to work your way through to see what would help with the onslaught of nausea and also appealed to your tastebuds. You preferred the fruity ones, just like you did with your cocktails, hence the nickname Ellie had graced you with that stuck.

Jingling keys and heavy footsteps signaled you to Joel’s return, the sun still shining on the calm afternoon. He had been gone when you showed up at his house, a cookout planned for the day. Tommy and Maria had been here an hour, the grill just about ready for the first of many things to be cooked and the pool was sparkling as it awaited the arrival of Sarah and Ellie. You had spent the morning cleaning it of debris and adding a few treatment drops. The whole family getting together. It was good, it was a good feeling being surrounded by them all. You and Maria hitting it off even more over the news of what was to come. Her own child now nearing two, she had given birth while you and Joel were split. But you had sent a care package and visited her in the hospital with her favorite takeout.

It was so domestic, so full a life…it made you wonder why you hadn’t been able to experience it as a child yourself.

“Missed ya, darlin’.” Joel steps up behind you and embraces you. Kissing your temple, you feel the frown mar his lips as you don’t respond. “Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah,” You mumble, turning in his hold and wrapping your arms around his chest. He smells like cinnamon and the grill brick he used while closing up the restaurant after a brunch shift and you breathe him in as you press your face into his broad chest.

“Gotta shower, wanna join me?’

“The girls will be here soon.” You hold him tighter, missing your own family even if it had never been the same as his own. Dinner once a month with your own father, no visits offered or initiated, grandparents raising you since you were young. A mother who had passed early due to complications from cancer she hadn’t known she had until she was pregnant with you herself. “Wanna make sure everything is ready for them.”

He peppers kisses into your hair before pulling away and disappearing upstairs.

The afternoon continues, the smell of grilling meat and roasting vegetables lilting into the air alongside ruckus laughter and bad jokes. Everyone is comfortable around the patio and the in the pool, food served and consumed. Just a few bites left of everything, Joel ensuring you that he would heed your cravings and what you felt like you could stomach, not worried about leftovers lately.

“So when do we get to meet the rest of the Sabrosa clan?” Tommy askes around the lip of his beer bottle. He’s across from you at the table, Joel off by the grill as he messes with something he hadn’t let you sneak a peak at.

“Oh, um…you don’t?” Caught off guard, the bite of food falls from your plastic fork frozen halfway to your mouth.

“No siblings or nothin?”

“Um, well-“ Clearing your throat you take the bite and chew it contemplatively. Honesty or the thinly veiled truth? Your mind is working hard, something Maria must hear in her seat beside you at the patio table. She shoots Tommy a look you catch out of the corner of your eye, trying to keep calm so the child in dozing in her arms doesn’t stir. “I’ve got two half-siblings, but we don’t keep in contact much.”

“They gonna be at the wedding?”

“What wedding?” “Oh my god, dad! You proposed and didn’t tell us!” Ellie and Sarah holler from where they’re in the pool, one of them resting on a floating device and the other is practicing her laps to get more comfortable in the water. Joel turns from where he was ensuring the grill was off and brings over the s’mores dip he had just let melt to perfection. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the gooey swirl of marshmallow and dark chocolate, of the rye biscuits he must’ve whipped up at work steaming beside it in a single use tin. Set up with a divider in the middle.

“Haven’t proposed to ‘er yet, quit it.” He sits it down atop a trivet, but no one makes a move to reach for it until he gives the go ahead. But he doesn’t until he’s got one of the dark biscuits covered in the dip and set in front of you. Then it was fair game as the girls begin to swim across the length of the pool, or well Sarah tries to glide her floaty across while Ellie does. Tommy readies one for Maria before making his own, quirking an eyebrow at you as he watches the pull of the dip.

“But your dad is gonna walk you down the aisle, right?” Tommy presses on, not catching onto the awkward way you were shifting in your seat or how you had placed your fork down to rest on the edge of your paper plate. The dessert untouched. But you don’t get to think of an answer before one is flying from your emotionless face.

“Can’t, he’s dead.”

Silence falls over the once happy and jovial backyard, the splash of Sarah slipping from her floating longue echoing.

“Tommy.” Joel’s voice is firm as he pins his brother with a mild glare. Maria is equally unpleased with her husband’s penchant for talking without thinking, not reading the room. He yelps as she kicks his shin underneath the table.

“It’s okay, wasn’t much of a father when he was alive anyway.” You reach for the mocktail you had made a pitcher of for you and the girls to enjoy. No one says anything as you pour yourself another and take a sip from it. Not liking the tension that had crept into the atmosphere, you gather up your nearly empty plate and stack it atop Maria’s to take inside, making more room for the messy dessert. Slinking away, you feel Maria reach out a hand to trail down your arm, comforting you before you’re gone back into the house.

“You dumbfuck.” Ellie mutters under her breath, earning a glare from Joel over his shoulder for her language. But he doesn’t disagree. You do, but it wasn’t his fault. How was Tommy supposed to know he had picked the one subject you had nothing good to say about?

“Shit, I- holy shit.” Tommy’s voice follows you before he yelps a second time as Joel brandishes the still warm tongs from serving biscuits.  

“Way to shove your foot in your mouth, we were havin’ a good time.”

“I didn’t know! I thought she was just quiet about her family not that she didn’t have any.”

“Tommy, you’re the father of my child and my husband but you are seriously so stupid sometimes.”

“Dad, she-she doesn’t have any family?” Sarah is tearing up, affected by the sudden realization of why you never brought anyone around except for a friend every once in a while. She could understand not having a mother, as her own was so distant, only showing up when she needed something or felt lonely in the life she created for herself. But to not have a dad? That was all she knew and she couldn’t fathom how her life would have been without him in it;.

“She’s got us, baby girl.” Joel goes to run a hand over her shoulder and press a kiss to the fluff of her kinky curls as she stands beside the pool set into the ground outside the patio. He wraps the towel she brought out around her and rubs it across her shoulders before lifting his hands. “We’re her family, pretty good deal, huh?”

“Dad….”

“She’ll be okay, I promise.”

The laid back vibe from the afternoon returns once everyone piles into the living room to watch the season finale of an admittedly awful reality tv show. But everyone was hooked and harmless bets were made on who would cause the most drama and how things would end. You’re a little subdued, but you make comments along with everyone else and laugh at the absurdity of what happens on the screen.

Stepping out of the bath you had decided to soak in, you startle when you see Joel sat on the small bench in the master bathroom across from the vanity as you pull back the shower curtain. He’s already changed into his sleep pants, his freckled and bronzed chest on display through the steam.

“Darlin’, why didn’t you tell me your dad was passed?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” You stand in front of him, taking in the way he watches you through the mirror as you press a bead of toothpaste onto your toothbrush and wet it before popping it into your mouth. A heavy silence fills the room, tangling with the rose scented steam from the bubble bar you had used. The pink water swirling down the sink a near silent hum.

“It-uh, kinda does. Makes me feel…like a whole wedding would be…”

“You don’t have to ask me. We don’t have to get married if it’s going to be a problem.” Shoving down the worries and residual guilt of being raised in a certain religious culture at the thought of having a child out of wedlock, having a child as a single woman you catch the man’s gaze through the mirror. The burn of embarrassment simmers beneath your skin, shame for feeling such embarrassment sparkling behind it, creating a swirl of emotions you hadn’t wanted to feel this close to bed with an early class. You want to marry him, to experience that with him, to live life together as husband and wife, but it feels perfunctory when you didn’t even believe in the reasoning behind why you felt that way. He’s frowning, his brows knit close together, something off in the depths of his brown eyes.

“It’s not a problem…right?” You see the worry flickering through him, in the way his eyes shift and the way he clenches his fists in his lap. “I just…you know you’re a part of the Millers. Have been since the moment you caught my attention, but baby…I don’t want you to feel lonely if it’s my family and your friends.”

“Are you insinuating because I don’t have a family of my own, I’m somehow missing something?” Anger flared hot and sticky in you, washing out the embarrassment. The heat from your bath making it so much worse and you cross the room to pull the door open. Back at the vanity, you ignore his gaze and rinse out your mouth before moving on to clean and moisturize your face. He’s quiet behind you, knowing he phrased his sentiment wrong and this…this communication was new for you both. Still hard sometimes as you both realize how deep some things run and how different you could be.

“You know I’m not.” The gaze he has trained on you reminds you of the way he would watch you through the kitchen, tensions high as you both couldn’t seem to get your heads out of the dirt and just be honest with each other. A time that had passed, allowing for the present to bloom.

“Then a wedding wouldn’t be a problem. But it’s kind of moot, you haven’t proposed.” You don’t anticipate the slight edge to the words as they leave your lips, but they slice through the air. You feel shame overtake the waning anger, making your face hot underneath your massaging hands. The burn of tears threaten to ruin the routine you just completed and you hiccup as your hands flatten atop the vanity, head hanging between your shoulders. You do not like this, but you have no idea where it’s coming from. It really doesn’t bother you that he hasn’t asked. You know he has the intention to, the agreement of a visit to town hall and then a small party to celebrate. Nothing fancy, nothing crazy, simple.

“Hey,” He whispers as he comes up behind you, hands resting over the quick beating of your heart, his naked chest pressed to your back, the damp towel the only thing separating you. But you can feel his own heart between your shoulder blades, strong and sturdy. Grounding you in the way you had explained you preferred when overwhelmed. “I promise I wasn’t trying to upset you, just want you to be comfortable, to have everything you deserve.”

You let him help you to dry off the rest of your body, lotion lovingly applied to your body by his hands before you slip into a nightgown and slip between the sheets beside him. You kiss an apology to his lips, needing him to know that it was just initial panic and not the real way you thought or felt. He accepts it and offers one of his own, lips pressed to your chest, right over your heart before sleep takes ahold of you both.

“I said don’t.” You warned, no humor in your voice. You had tried and failed to put on every one of your pairs of pants, jeans, leggings, and none of them were comfortable. None of them zipped, buttoned, or stretched enough underneath the slight bump that had seemingly blossomed overnight. Joel was sprawled on the bed, working his way to getting up at the late hour. He had been at the restaurant late, later than usual as they had a party stay well after service hours. He had let the staff go on time, ensuring they would get the tip out but not wanting them to have to stay once all the cleaning and side work was done. One of the many things you adored about the man, his willingness to heed situations like that in favor of his staff even if he was gruff and to the point most of the day.

“Didn’t say nothin’, darlin’.” He rumbled from beneath the sheets, tan skin looking deliciously golden paired with the pale pink set you had insisted changing from the white that had previously been curled around the mattress. You had woken up with bad cramps last month, terrified something had happened as you pulled back the covers to find blood spotting the pristine fabric. A quick trip the emergency room as he shared in your panic, albeit in a more controlled way, assured you that spotting was normal during the early months of pregnancy.

“Dress...” You muttered to yourself, hand cradling around the small bump. Joel only hummed, stretching out to alleviate his sore body, thick legs appeared from beneath the fabric. Your eyes traced the long lines of his body through the mirror atop the dresser, drinking in the sight of him and your body began to thrum with arousal. When your eyes roved up the expanse of his broad chest dusted with dark hair to his face, he was smirking at you with an eyebrow arched in a silent question of how long you would ignore his deliberate departure from the bed.

You had all but jumped him when he got home last night, papers you were grading scattered all around you on the couch and coffee table, a Josh Gates show on the television for moral encouragement. He had teased you once about your affinity for the man but you had clapped back with his borderline obsession with Anthony Bourdain, to which he simply said ‘can’t help it darlin’, the man knew his shit’.

The dinner he had brought home had been tossed to the entry way table, as you knelt down to help remove him from his shoes and pants. Mouthing at the line of him through his boxer briefs before he could even get his keys hooked on the mirror over the table. He had been prepared to find you fast asleep, a different kind of tired taking hold of you more and more, almost demanding naps during the day when you got home from campus and right before dinner if you hadn’t worked. But you had sprung up from your spot and welcomed him home, the food forgotten in favor of getting your fill of the man that had been consuming your thoughts. The thought makes his cock fill, twitching underneath the sheets as he recalls your enthusiasm.

He sees the way your eyes dilate at the movement, the hush of his hand skimming down to grip himself.

Suddenly, you’re no longer debating over the clothing flowing from the draws inside the closet or those of the dresser. You peeled the pants you had been fruitlessly trying to zip up and nearly threw yourself at him. He greedily accepts your frantic kisses, starting from his shins and all the way up neck to finally connect with his own. He groans at the taste of coffee you had allowed yourself this morning, his own cup still steaming on the bedside table. His glasses beside it, his cellphone lighting up only to be ignored.

“Does mama need some attention?” He breathes into your open mouth, large palms caressing the exposed skin of your hips. His hands graze your middle, and you shy away from him, self-conscious of the extra jiggle, the stretchmarks from rapid weight fluctuation of your years now accommodating the swell of the beginning signs of the life you two had created together. “Hey, no, c’mere.”

You’re sure he sees the flicker of emotions across your face before you school it into a cool arch of your brow, the playful smirk of your lips. Falling back on bravado that wanes far too quickly these days as your hormones ping pong all over the place. You were just as apt to burst into silent tears as you were to jump him, confusing for you and devasting for him as he tries to read your moods as well as he can. He was hoping to dislodge the habit of you seeking refuge in the townhouse you had gifted Ellie, her own budding relationship prompting her to ask for her own space just as the new stage of your life became known to them. Equal parts of respect for the more tender and tense moments sure to happen and yearning for her own space again.

“Mama needs some new clothes, wanna spoil me?” Your voice is a confident hush, hands reaching forward to urge him to shift closer, both of you on your sides and facing each other.

“Do anythin’ for you, darlin’, you know that.” His teeth sunk into the curve of your neck, tugging you back to him. That seemed to get you to forget your insecurities as he felt you pull him closer, your smaller hands so soft on his chest as they caressed his skin.

“I think I wanna go to that fancy mall, maybe get some pretty underwear that won’t make me feel like a total loser.”

“I’ll take ya anywhere you want, maybe even that big shopping center in Dallas? It’ll be just like the trip we took to Arizona. Could get a hotel, see the sights and just relax. Hear they have a mac and cheese restaurant in the arts district.” He rolls to pin you down, and you move to allow him space between your legs instinctually. Body hovering over yours as he kisses down your neck, your chest, he lets his words sink in. The bralette you had put on doing nothing to hide the perk of your nipples. He laps at them through the thin fabric, delighting in the way it makes you arch up into him. You were so sensitive to his touch lately, your body on high alert as your hormones fluctuate erratically.

“That’s a lot, Joel. Shouldn’t we-“ Your hesitant words are cut off by a searing kiss, the press of his skin against yours making it hard to keep your train of thought.

“We should do what we want, darlin’. Wanna get everything sorted to go this weekend?”

Tears are suddenly pitter pattering over the sheets, darkening the fabric where they land after rolling down the sides of your face. He pushes his weight from where it pressed you to the bed, back on your sides and you let him, unable to stem the tears.

“Oh hey, hey it’s okay,” Joel crowds close, the thin fabric separating your bodies as you bury your face in his neck and curl your legs up, knees pressing into his stomach. Hiccups startle you both as you find it suddenly hard to breath through the onslaught of emotions spiking. “Hey now, darlin’, it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” You mumble into his skin, embarrassment flaring up hot in your cheeks and chest. You feel so silly, pulled in too many directions in so quick a succession. “I just…you’re so hot and I’m all bloated and my skin feels all tight and I really want some ice cream.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re happily spooning a sundae into your mouth with a red plastic spoon in the passenger seat of his truck. All the tears and frustration gone from you as you held tight to the treat in your hands with far too many flimsy napkins. He’s got a cigarette dangling from the hand he rests on the inside of the door, trying to keep as much smoke from wafting back into the cab as possible. Errands, today was an errand day and you smiled over at him. Pairs of sunglasses meeting, eyes hidden beneath them. He just leans over to press a kiss to your temple, not wanting to disrupt your enjoyment of the ice cream you literally cried over.

next chapter

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@regalwhovianbrowncoat774

@pazizz

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 5 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

The next few weeks were a blur of activity.

When he wasn’t off on patrol or a mission, Mina and Kaminari kept Bakugou busy with dozens of team exercises, all of which needed your analysis. They ran him through any and every scenario that entered their brains, and after the first few rounds, Bakugou seemed to resign himself to their ministrations, his explosions no longer rattling the windows of the training room in displeasure. You’d reviewed footage of the first couple of rounds all together, the trio of heroes jammed into the tiny surveillance room with you, grimy with the ashy residue of Bakugou’s explosions, someone or another’s shirt partly melted off, and all of them looking exhausted but pleased.

Eventually, though, it became difficult for you to spare time in between your meetings with the other agency heroes. Bakugou was not helping matters by kicking the door down in the middle of your meetings and attempting to bodily remove anyone you were in conversation with whenever he wanted an update. You were dedicating almost as much time to breaking up fights and rescheduling appointments as you were to having the actual meetings themselves.

In the interest of maintaining the peace--and health and safety the Miruko agency employees--you wrote a quick script that monitored the training room footage and automatically ran your analysis program any time it keyed in on Bakugou, Mina, and Kaminari together on screen. It forwarded the results to their phones so that Bakugou wouldn’t come stalking in and making any more enemies than he already had.

That seemed to pacify him for a couple of days, and you managed almost twenty blissful meetings uninterrupted, until a Friday morning when no sooner had you flipped the lights on in the surveillance room than Bakugou was ripping the door open after you.

“Enough slacking off, nerd,” he growled, stalking over to loom over you in a vaguely menacing manner. It was early but he looked wide awake, maybe a little mussed like he'd already been training, the same combination of annoyingly handsome and intimidating as always. He was also dressed in some variation of his usual training set, dark fabric clinging to his chest, arms bare. The sight was really way too much for this early in the morning.

His sudden entrance startled you out of a yawn, and you just barely managed to catch your laptop before it slipped through your fingers.

“Good morning?” you hedged, looking up at him in apprehension.

He made an angry, dismissive noise. Before you could dredge up enough energy for a proper eye roll, something small and warm was thrust unceremoniously into your chest, briefly winding you.

You looked down at the item he was attempting to fracture your sternum with and found yourself staring at a white takeout cup.

You looked up at him in confusion but he just glared passively until you looked down again.

“....what is this?” you asked. Your hands raised automatically to take the cup from him.

“Battery acid,” Bakugou said.

You stopped, gaping at him, and he rolled his eyes. “The fuck do you think it is, idiot?” he demanded, gesturing at it forcefully.

You looked down at the cup again, a soft swirl of steam issuing from the opening in the cap. You brought it hesitantly to your face. A cursory sniff revealed very little in the way of poison--not that you had much expertise on the subject--but it did smell suspiciously like the house blend from the nice bakery down the street.

You stared at Bakugou with misgiving. “What is this, actually?”

He made a disbelieving noise. “You spend all this time acting like such a smartass and you don’t even know what a fucking coffee is? The fuck do you think you drink every morning?”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. There was absolutely no way Bakugou Katsuki was bringing you coffee. This had to be some kind of trick.

His threats from a few weeks ago floated to the forefront of your mind. I’m going to win the bet, he’d said, and then you’re in for it. Was this part of "in for it"? What was “it”, exactly, and was it likely that “it” entailed poisoning you in broad daylight in the middle of a hero agency?

The offing you in broad daylight seemed very much his style, but poison seemed a roundabout way to do it. No, if he was going to settle a score with you, it was going to be something much more immediate, and probably obnoxiously flashy.

You brought the cup to your mouth, taking a tentative sip. No acid tang of poison met your tongue, only the rich, buttery taste of the coffee. Though arsenic was said to be flavorless... Damn that was good, though.

Bakugou hovered impatiently, like he was waiting for something, wearing a strangely blank expression. You watched him nervously. Was the poison slow acting or something?

His scarlet gaze locked onto yours, and it suddenly hit you what he must be doing. You almost dropped the coffee. Was he...waiting for a thank you? As in, he was aware of and actively acknowledging that he’d just done something for you?

You decided to test the waters. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

He made an impatient clicking noise. “Fucking took you long enough.”

You frantically schooled your features into a mask that betrayed nothing of your shock. Christ, he was serious. He’d actually brought you a coffee, and he knew it was a nice thing to do? There was no way he was doing this just to do this. He had to want something from you.

“...So, what is it that you’re bribing me for?” you asked.

Bakugou’s face went dark, the tips of his ears strangely pink. “Fuck you. I don’t need to fucking bribe you for shit, with your obvious little crush on me.” He took a threatening step closer, and that familiar scent of gunpowder and caramel filled your nose.

You felt your face heat, your heart jumping into your mouth. Not this shit again.

So, it was absolutely true that you had a lot of trouble detaching your eyes from the width of his biceps, and that your brain ran wild loops every time he was close. But just because you had difficulty looking anywhere else when he was in a room, didn't mean you had a crush on him. He was way too much of a brat and it was exhausting trying to keep up with his weirdly intense personality. Just because he was pretty did not mean you had a thing for him...

“Why are you like this?” you complained, edging away from him as he moved nearer.

He smirked knowingly, taking another step closer. A small, traitorous shiver went up your spine at the thrill of a man so close. To your eternal embarrassment, Bakugou’s keen gaze seemed to catch it, a darker smile curling his mouth.

You opened your mouth to make some kind of excuse--though what you would have come up with was completely beyond you--when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through the door.

The intruder let out a quiet gasp, but that was enough to break the moment. Bakugou whirled on her, red eyes glaring.

“Raccoon, do you ever mind your own fucking business?” he demanded, in the tones of someone interrogating a war criminal.

Mina’s dark eyes widened innocently. “What? How was I supposed to know this is where you’d gone?” she asked. There was note of something gloating in her voice, however, and you got the feeling that she’d been hoping to catch you in some kind of act.

Your face went hotter. Why did everyone think there was a thing with you and Bakugou, including, apparently, Bakugou?

“Anyway, I’m not here for you,” Mina informed him briskly, derailing your wandering train of thought. “I was gonna ask stats girl to give us a hand this morning.”

She turned to you, her smile slightly predatory. “Blasty’s better at sticking close now, so we started focusing team exercises on victim evaluation. Any chance you can play civilian? Denki was for a bit but he started getting too into it.” A grimace flitted over her pretty features. “I almost lost an arm trying to stop Katsuki from blasting him clear into the stratosphere.”

You looked at Bakugou, but an irritated twitch of a blonde eyebrow was all you got by way of an explanation.

Your thoughts turned inward, wondering if this was a good idea. You’d been hoping to use the morning to get a little work done on a prototype of a productionized model, seeing as you had fewer meetings than usual today. And you hadn’t really come prepared for a potential roll around in the dirt and dust of the city simulation training spaces.

As if sensing your hesitation, Mina chirped, “I’ll let you a spare set of my training clothes so yours don’t get dirty! And you would probably be saving Denki’s life here--don’t you owe him one from the Hero Awards?”

Your gaze cut back to Bakugou without any direction from your brain. Bakugou appeared to be making no attempt to look apologetic about the incident at the Awards. He raised an eyebrow in challenge when your look lingered too long for his liking, red eyes narrowing in on you with a sudden heat. “The fuck are you looking at, nerd?”

“He means please,” Mina said, her voice going honeyed and wheedling. “Plus, it will be fun! I promise you I won’t melt any of your body parts off. Just Blasty’s, I swear.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes stayed firmly attached to Bakugou’s face. His mouth twitched in obvious irritation at the implication that he would ever say please, but he made no move to correct Mina, limbs drawn in tight, defensive.

You looked down at the cup in your hand, sighing. He’d brought you a coffee and was doing minimal yelling. He appeared to be making some kind of effort here--though to what end you weren’t sure--and you supposed contributing to his training was ultimately your goal here, anyway. You could reward him for behaving himself as well as he knew how, and work towards your promotion at the same time.

“Fine,” you allowed, watching as Mina startled wiggling in obvious delight. “Let me finish this coffee and then I’ll help out.”

Mina clapped her rosy palms together. “Ahh! This is going to be so fun! You’ll see.”

Mina’s definition of fun was any civilian’s definition of fucking terrifying.

It was one thing to see the three heroes using their powers on screen, or safely tucked away behind a meter of quirk-enforced glass. It was another thing entirely to be in the center of the action, acid sizzling mere inches from your feet.

“You said you wouldn’t melt anything off!” you shouted, stumbling away from Mina.

She’d accused Kaminari of getting too into playing civilian--whatever that meant--but you thought she was way too into playing villain herself. A hard look passed over her pretty features, sending a chill down your spine. With that dark look, those unusual eyes and twisted horns took on a more sinister nuance. She looked almost like an alien, and moved like one too, stalking you through the twisting alleys of the training cityscape.

“Accidents happen,” she cooed, almost happily. She threw up a twisting fistful of acid that hardened into a warped wall in front of you. You skidded wildly on the gravel to avoid it. “Now stay still, you’re supposed to be a hostage.”

A choked little noise escaped you. Honestly, thank god this woman was a hero. You might have trouble sleeping at night if you knew a villain like this was stalking the streets, unchecked and unbound by social mores. You’d probably still have trouble getting to sleep tonight, even after she went back to smiling and bouncing all over the place.

“Actually, maybe Kaminari should take over again,” you managed, stepping back from her. “Not really sure if I’m cut out for this.”

A loud boom drowned out her reply, an office front a few blocks away crumbling under the force of the blast. You gaped at the force that shook the street, even blocks away.

Mina used your distraction to her advantage, grabbing the back of your shirt to haul you towards her. “He’s so obvious, my god--how he got to be number eight is beyond me. Now come over here and do your best to look injured. He needs practice evacuating people instead of coming in blasting.”

She fumbled with something on her belt, pulling out several bright red bands that proclaimed various types of injuries in blocky white font. Then she leaned over you, shoving a band up your arm that announced SEVERE BURNS, and another on your left ankle, proclaiming a DISLOCATION.

She clicked her tongue, looking you over. “Would more be overkill? This is enough that he should at least hesitate before trying to blow me sky high…” She seemed to decide against more, shoving the rest back into her belt. Then she gently pressed you down to the ground at her feet.

“This is the part where I get to monologue,” she said, winking down at you. “Do your best to look helpless and make sure your severe burns thing is showing. I wanna see if he can prioritize rescuing you over my trash talk.”

A soft groan escaped you. Fat chance. Bakugou was the most foul tempered little shit you had ever met, and while it was true that his single-minded focus on winning the bet meant he was tolerant enough to be doing this exercise in the first place, you highly doubted he was going to hesitate if Mina was pushing his buttons as expertly as she usually did.

The chance to find out came soon enough. There was a strangled kind of yelp and a crackle of lightning followed a thunderous boom a few blocks away as Bakugou presumably rendered Kaminari’s perimeter defense useless. Then with another screaming explosion, he was rocketing over the buildings separating you, barrelling straight down on Mina.

Mina threw up another acid shield that hardened into a defensive wall. Bakugou’s first attack cracked it but didn’t manage to penetrate. There was barely a breath between the cracking and another explosion, however, and then the wall exploded inwards in a crackling shower of fizzing pieces. Mina crouched over you, breathing excitedly, “This is the fun part!”

Whatever reply you might have given her was drowned out by an angry series of hissing snaps from Bakugou’s palm as he stalked closer to you. The right half of his shirt had been singed off by lightning, it looked like, and a fine veneer of dust layered in his hair and on patches of his skin. It was just a training simulation, but he looked half-wild, teeth bared and eyes bright over the ash on his face. If he looked nearly this intense in real life situations, it was a wonder that anyone would agree to be evacuated by him at all.

Maybe that’s why he sucked at rescues.

“It’s fucking over, raccoon eyes,” he said. “Hand her over.”

Mina laughed, a delicate sound like bells. “Not another step closer, hero, or I’ll melt a hole straight through her pretty neck.”

You twitched away from her minutely. God she was terrifying.

“Quit it with the fucking villain act, fuckwad, or I’ll blow you all the way to hell,” Bakugou growled.

Mina reached for your arm, pulling you up next to her. “Hmm, then I hope your aim is good. She’s already got one set of severe burns.”

Bakugou’s crimson gaze cut down to your shoulder and the displeased twist to his mouth deepened. “Fucking--of course you got yourself fucking injured. Fucking idiot.”

“Hey,” you protested, shifting against the band. “I’m not actually.”

Mina kicked you. “Moments to live, this one. Unless you can pull a healing quirk out of those glorious buttcheeks of yours.”

You choked on your own spit while Bakugou snarled. “I’m gonna fucking remember this, you strawberry fuck.”

“Maybe. But she won’t,” Mina said, and suddenly there was a rosy palm in front of your face, dripping acid. A drop landed deliberately on the fold of the training pants she’d lent you, searing straight through with a loud hiss. Your heartbeat spiked in violent alarm. You reeled back, but Mina was still crouched over you, and you banged into her collarbone.

In the next second, everything went to shit. Something searing hot blazed just over your shoulder and Mina swore, jerking back from you in the blink of an eye. There was a deafening crack and a rush of burning air over you as Bakugou let loose an explosion at the same time he seized your ankle and pulled you straight underneath where he’d aimed the blast, missing you by inches.

“What the fuck,” you gasped. Bakugou grunted, and yanked harder, pulling you straight to him.

“Quit being such a fucking princess,” he growled, shifting an arm underneath you. You froze, suddenly wishing that his explosion had managed to hit you, searing off every nerve ending.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, sputtering in alarm when he hoisted you against him. You could feel every place your body touched his, and smell the sharp gunpowder and sugar scent of his sweat. He hooked his arm firmly around your waist, glaring down at you with one baleful red eye.

“Fuckstick gave you a dislocated ankle so I would have to fight her off with one fucking arm and carry you with the other,” he bit out, whirling when a stream of acid came hissing your way.

You gripped at his shirt, swearing. “Oh my god. What the hell is she doing, aiming for me? This is a simulation! Also, I can walk.”

He grunted. “You can shut the fuck up is what you can do.”

He executed another agile dodge, pulling you with him. “Now hold on, princess, this is gonna be a rough ride with one arm.”

You didn’t have time to ask him what the hell he was on about. He aimed a shot over your shoulder, the heat simmering and boiling in the air next to your ear, and you heard the impact of Mina hitting the pavement behind you. In the next second, Bakugou tightened his arm around you, and aimed a palm for the ground.

The next thing you were aware of was a strangled screaming sound. It took a second for you to realize the mortifying noise was coming from you. But in your defense, Bakugou had literally blasted the two of you clear above the alleyway. You could see the wreckage from Bakugou’s scuffle with Kaminari, and Mina scrambling to her feet, much smaller and further away that you were comfortable with. Your hands fisted in his shirt and you nearly decapitated him with the force with which you shoved your face into his shoulder.

Even with your eyes closed, you could tell Bakugou hadn’t been kidding about the rough ride. Another blast from his palm jerked you sharply to the right, and he uttered a soft swear.

“Hold tight, nerd,” he said in your ear. There was a series of more explosions and you spun violently in the opposite direction. You went careening over a low roof top to land heavily on the pavement, Bakugou twisting at the last second to take the initial impact to his shoulder, rolling over you to distribute the momentum.

You rolled twice more, eventually stopping with his hard body under yours, your face jammed unpleasantly into his shoulder, his arms bracketing your sides. One of his hands was fisted in the back of your shirt, and a tuft of blonde hair brushed your cheek.

He let out a huff. “If you ever let her put the fucking dislocation band on you again, I’ll melt your damn laptop.”

You pulled back from him, hissing into his face. “If you dare, I'll--”

“The fuck you gonna do, nerd?” he demanded, sitting up. Straight into you.

You gripped his shirt so as not to fall right off of him, widening your knees for balance. Then you froze when you realized he was pressed against you everywhere, hard muscle and the heat of his skin bleeding through your training clothes. He was hot like a furnace, ashy and dust-streaked like one too, and his eyes glowed like banked coals. He gazed back at you, his mouth setting with some kind of a challenge.

Then those red eyes trailed slowly and deliberately down your face, stopping right on your mouth. His fingers tightened in the back of your shirt.

You couldn’t help your sharp inhale. Holy shit, was he...going to kiss you?

You sat frozen, locked in place, neither willing or able to move away, like you were being pulled towards him like some kind of magnet. Was he really going to do it? Was he really going to kiss you? Or, no...were you going to kiss him?

You could, you thought hysterically. That’s what it felt like, watching him breathe shallowly, eyes fixed on your mouth. You could kiss him and he would let you.

Had that been what all the your little crush on me shit had been about? Had he been torturing you not because he’d noted the way your eyes lingered over him, but because it was something he’d wanted to happen? Had that been what all the threats were for, what the crowding you against walls and the frigging coffee had been about? When Mina had said he’d been fixated on you, did she actually mean it less like revenge and more like actual attraction?

You let out a shaky breath. Only one way to find out, you thought wildly, leaning forward with your pulse singing in your veins.

And then an explosion rocked the foundations of the building, throwing you forward against Bakugou’s chest. You gasped, the breath knocked out of you, and whipped around to glare at his free hand in accusation. Bakugou pulled you back, however, a hard looking passing over his face.

It was only seconds before Mina and Kaminari came scrambling out of the maze of training buildings, looking worried. Kaminari was already crackling with static, agitated whips of lighting zipping across his skin. Bakugou's palm started to grow hotter against your back.

His next words threw the situation into sharp clarity.

“That wasn’t from a training room.”

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Could you talk about the Statute of Secrecy? Or the Ministry’s corruption in General :)

Well, those are two different things. Given that I believe I have an ask floating somewhere in my inbox on the Statute, I suppose we’ll talk about the Ministry of Magic today.

I feel like this is such a broad topic though that I’m not quite sure where to start. I guess I’ll just throw spaghetti at the internet wall and see what sticks.

The Ministry is a Reflection of Society Who Never Admitted They Were the Death Eaters

In the ministry of Harry Potter’s era the Ministry is hopelessly corrupt and filled to the brim with spies (more on this in a later section). Lucius Malfoy, very high up in an unofficial capacity in the Ministry and owner of the Ministry’s mouth piece: The Daily Prophet, was a known Death Eater with a very flimsy excuse.

How is he even able to wield so much influence, you ask? Well, I think it’s not just because of Fudge picking the wrong friends.

I think most the population probably does believe Lucius Malfoy is innocent the way Fudge does. I think it’s a very small subsection, i.e. Dumbledore’s lackies, who go “Nah, ain’t buying it.” I think that, in 1981, when it came time to reveal just how many were Death Eaters and how far this went many people just couldn’t handle it.

Because it was to the point where the nation wasn’t battling Death Eaters, Death Eaters were the nation. Look at the members, these are and were the most influential and prominent families in the country, who combined hold a non-small minority of seats in the Wizengamot. More, these were only the participants, combine those who given anti-muggle and muggleborn sentiment (which I believe are pervasive even among those who claim they fight for the rights of muggles and muggleborns) and you get a nation that is suddenly facing a huge cultural issue that was never previously acknowledged.

We’re talking an entire purge of the Wizengamot, of the Ministry, of the major families and cornerstones of this society. The Black family is completely and utterly destroyed.

People were and remain throughout the 1990′s, desperate to believe it was not as bad as it was or isn’t as bad as it is. If Lucius Malfoy says he was never really a Death Eater then he was never really a Death Eater.

The Ministry is Lousy With Corruption and Spies

What’s hilarious to me is not only is the Ministry incompetent. It is positively flooded with spies. Given the ministry’s overbloated, it’s not even a sizeable minority of employees, but nonetheless every major department has at least one person (if not more) who works for somebody else.

Most work for Tom Riddle. He seems to have intelligence in every department. Through Lucius, who is working pretty much as an unofficial aide to Fudge, he has access to Fudge, complete control of the Daily Prophet, and a voice on the Hogwarts’ board of governors.

Through Rockwood, Tom has direct access to the Department of Mysteries which Lucius is then able to take full advantage of.

Lucius is able to set up an ambush in the Department of Mysteries, getting escaped convicts into the building with the none the wiser, and, had his sole purpose not been a prophecy that only Harry Potter and the Dark Lord can touch, he would have been able to take what he liked. (Though it was always odd to me that the plan was to get Harry Potter to do it, when the better solution would have been to polyjuice Tom Riddle into someone else, set up a tour with the department, and then Tom wanders off conveniently to pick up the prophecy. My theory, I suppose, is that chasing after the prophecy was mostly an exercise in punishing Lucius. And then Lucius fucked up.)

And of course, in book seven, Tom Riddle makes a puppet minister. Point being, to me, it always said a lot that in Book Seven Tom just sort of walks into the building and says, “I’m in charge now” and everyone says “okay”. There was no second Wizarding War, it was a bloodless coup that met zero resistance from anyone but angry school children. 

But that’s Tom’s spies, we also have other spies. Who am I talking about, Dumbledore’s folks of course.

Shacklebolt, Moody, Tonks, and Arthur Weasley are all spies, they just don’t have the introspection to even realize it (which really tells you something about the state of corruption in the ministry). They all work for the ministry, yes, but they in fact pass on information to and serve another master, whose goals do not always align with the government and was a hop skip and a jump away from overthrowing the government at any given moment.

And they don’t even really realize they’re doing this! There doesn’t even seem to be a thought of “I’m doing this for the greater good”, they don’t seem to acknowledge that what they’re doing is very very very bad. Arthur, in fact, is appalled when Percy refuses to do this (well, he’s upset for a lot of reasons, such as that he thinks Percy is spying on Arthur for the minister, but in there is also that Percy refuses to help out with the Order or follow Dumbledore without question). 

Harry paints the Dumbledore’s Army threat that Umbridge saw as something utterly ridiculous, but honestly if I was the ministry I would be worried about this. Dumbledore’s people have infiltrated the ministry just as deeply and badly as the Death Eaters, Dumbledore’s known for recruiting children into his vigilante organization, I don’t know what he’s doing with an army of schoolchildren but I can smell a coup coming.

Anyway, I’m getting off track, point being though that corruption is not only expected and accepted by the ministry, they cannot recognize what it even is. They’re at the point where paying bribes is allocated in their budget.

I Don’t Blame the Ministry For Not Thinking Tom Riddle Was Anti-Jesus

Fudge is designed to get a lot of flack for his outright denial that Voldemort had returned from the dead. He, and other denier characters, are meant to be fools with their heads in the sand who can’t see the obvious.

I ask what about it was obvious?

The only witness to Tom Riddle’s resurrection, Harry Potter, has a known history of erratic behavior.

The previous year, he’d performed illegal magic on his muggle aunt and run away from home. During the previous school year, Harry was revealed to be a parselmouth in a time when the Chamber of Secrets was presumably opened and the mystery was never fully solved (remember, that it was a possessed Ginny never comes to light for more than a few people.) Beyond that, since his first day of school, Harry is routinely in and out of detention, constantly out after curfew, and only seems to not be in serious trouble because he’s openly favored by Dumbledore (who gives him hundreds of points for breaking one of his school rules, during the Philosopher’s Stone fiasco in first year). In 1994, Harry is entered into the Tri-Wizard Tournament under very suspicious circumstances.

We know why all this happens to Harry but from the outside he looks like a delinquent. In fact, he kind of is a delinquent. 

Point being, the only witness is not only Harry Potter (who is already sketch) but it’s Harry Potter holding a dead body of a rival in the tournament.

And he’s claiming that a man who has been nearly fifteen years dead, a man who held the nation in terror and Harry Potter is beloved for destroying, has returned from the grave and conveniently murdered Cedric.

Why is Cedric dead? Well, you see, he and Harry both touched the goblet at the same time because they were going to share the reward. The goblet, a national treasure, was turned into a portkey so that Voldemort could kidnap him.

Why didn’t Voldemort just kidnap him at any other point during the year where he’s guaranteed not to get tag a longs or the wrong kid? Uh... VOLDEMORT IS BACK (for the record, I think it’s because Barty got hung up on the goblet scheme and was determined to ruin his father’s day.)

Where is Voldemort at this very moment? Being evil, somewhere, that is not right here. No, Harry has zero evidence this happened.

Frankly, I wouldn’t believe Harry either.

And when Dumbledore goes about promoting this as sound evidence that Tom Riddle has in fact returned, it starts to get even sketchier. Rather than sounding the alarm, Dumbledore is using this boy’s madness to stir the public into a panic that he, perhaps, plans to take advantage of.

After Dumbledore does that, I would suspect that, even if Harry does give me a memory of the graveyard scene that his head had been tampered with by Dumbledore.

And it’s so convenient that, of all the names Harry picked, it’s Voldemort who killed Cedric. It seems like a ploy to not only deflect the fact that he murdered Cedric but 

Harry’s very upset when some don’t take him at his word but Harry’s also a dumbass and a psychopath. He hates everyone who doesn’t agree with him.

More importantly, necromancy isn’t a thing in the Harry Potter universe. People don’t rise from the dead. Horcruxes exist, but they’re extremely rare, and it seems like no one ever really makes use of them.

So, yeah, not unreasonable that Fudge didn’t immediately go, “My god, Voldemort has risen from the dead! LIGHT THE BEACONS AND SUMMON ROHAN!”

So yeah, it’d take me seeing Voldemort waltzing through the Department Mysteries to go “... Goddammit, this man is more unkillable than Sheev Palpatine.”

After the Epilogue, I am Certain It’s Still the Same Damn Ministry

People hate the epilogue, but in a way, I love it, because it confirms many of my headcanons: these people don’t learn a goddamn thing.

Nothing in their society seems to have changed. Instead of one set of families holding all the power it’s now a new set of families and friends holding all the power. The difference being that they are now all in some way connected to Harry Potter.

Nepotism’s still the name of the game, we still see only human children boarding the Hogwarts Express so you know shit hasn’t changed for the goblins, Draco Malfoy’s alive and well and holds a position in the Ministry that Kingsly graciously allows him to have, it’s just now you have Hermione writing all your laws for you.

The Wizarding World is still the Wizarding World in every single capacity. The only difference is that Voldemort is dead again. Hooray.

Harry and friends simply don’t have the introspection to even realize it.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 4

18 + Minors DNI Please Check Rules Before You Follow

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!Reader (brief reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, allusion to nausea (once), brief sacrilegious language (dabi), mentions of alcohol (dabi), mentions of smoking (dabi), dabi is just a whole warning of his own, gender neutral pronouns for reader, fem cause they're called a woman as an insult, Shiggy is an asshole, grinding, degradation,

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which a project is completed and a new one begins

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged)

Your project was almost complete.

In some ways, it sort of felt like the end of an era. To Tomura, who was a creature of habit by nature, it was doubly strange to imagine no longer spending hours a few days each week locked away in your little study room with you bugging him to teach you simple html and him not-so-discreetly sniffing your hair.

He still hadn’t asked you out or whatever he’d been trying to do, much to Dabi’s chagrin. And because of this, Tomura was consistently plagued with the feeling of time running out.

You were supposed to meet today for probably the last time seeing as the presentation was coming up at the end of the week. He knew it was now or never at this point. If he didn’t fucking say something now, he never would and then he’d have to live with the same his roommate wouldn’t let him live down.

So instead of heading directly to the library after class, Tomura took the old route back to his apartment and shot you a quick text—praying to the fucking boner gods, as Dabi called them, that you’d take the bait.

would you mind putting the finish touches on shit at my place?—

there’s some parts i gotta do from my desktop—

That wasn’t completely a lie. It was nicer working from his pc setup, but before he wouldn’t have let you come anywhere fucking near there. Not until he’d finally accepted that you’d wormed your way into his brain somehow and he couldn’t live another day not knowing what your tongue tasted like.

bitch (endearing):

—no problem

—what’s your address?

Tomura’s heart fucking pounded mercilessly against the bony prison of his ribs. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to some good old fashioned anxiety, but he’d never felt a strange stirring in his stomach quite like this. Like he might puke, but in a good way.

He quickly sent back his street and apartment number, and waited on the corner until you texted back that you’d be there in an hour before he rushed inside.

“What the hell are you doing, creep?!” Dabi snapped at him when he burst through the door and yeeted his backpack onto the kitchen table.

Tomura didn’t answer, just made a beeline for the bathroom and slammed the door. He doused himself in record time, unbothered by the hot water causing red, patchy flare ups to bloom over his skin. He was almost disgusted with himself for putting in this much effort for someone like you. Someone being definitely kind of a slut if the way you dressed was a good indicator. But he just kept thinking about the way your hair or skin smelled so goddamn good when you leaned in close and he wanted you to be obsessed with him in the same way. Wanted you to want to bury your face in his neck and breath him in.

When he stumbled out into the hall moments later, towel drying his hair roughly, Dabi was taking a shot over the sink.

He looked at Tomura like hell had frozen over.

“Two showers in like a month?” he mused, sucking his teeth as the alcohol slid down his throat. “What’s the occasion? The fucking, second coming of Christ?”

“Well the bitch is coming over so…”

“Oh, that is a fucking miracle,” Dabi whistled and knocked back a second shot.

Tomura glared, stepping into his room and tossing his towel aside to tug on his nicest pair of black joggers and t-shirt that gapped a bit at the front, showing off a large expanse of his chest. It made him a bit nervous even just looking at his reflection but you definitely stared the few times he’d taken off his hoodie while you were working, so the risk seemed worth the reward.

“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to piss off for the night,” Tomura shouted into the kitchen as Dabi sauntered over to lean against his doorframe.

“You know, I conveniently do have a dick appointment with my own bitch, but now I don’t want to go.”

His tone was teasing, eyes hooded and clearly enjoying how flustered Tomura was already before you’d even gotten here. Tomura moved to snatch another pillow and do battle but Dabi raised his hands up quickly in defeat.

“Oh no, no, I just fucking did my hair for this Keigo asshole you are not gonna ruin it with that petty shit,” he shot back and disappeared somewhere into his own room. “I’ll be out of your greasy ass hair don’t worry.”

Tomura seethed and bit back of reply of his hair for once not being greasy as hell, but the multiple cum stains—both his and his nasty fucking roommates—marring the comforter caught his eye.

“Ugh,” he mumbled and balled the whole thing up, shoving it under the bed and spreading out one of his merch blankets from that manga you both liked.

Hopefully you wouldn’t think that was too cringey, but he had definitely seen your room plastered with merch in the background of your social media profiles which he totally did not stalk at all and maybe jerk off to on occasion.

The rest of his room was quickly cleared by a combination of shoving random crap into his closet and filling up their recycling bin to the brim with empty energy drink cans. He tackled the kitchen next which wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Neither he nor Dabi cooked all that frequently, so the dishes weren’t an issue and the vague, lingering smell of whatever the fuck Dabi had been smoking early was cleared out a bit by leaving the balcony door ajar.

He checked the time on his phone obsessively, about ready to pound on Dabi’s door and throw him out on the step when the man in question emerged on his own—black platform boots donned with his ass hugging ripped jeans and a loose tank top.

He had on fucking eyeliner.

God and he thought Tomura was being desperate.

“What? Wishing you’d locked this down first?” Dabi sneered, grabbing his jacket from the rack and shoulder checking Tomura on his way to the door.

“I—” he stammered for a second, bristling as Dabi towered over him a bit in those fucking boots. “No, asshole, just leave before they get here.”

But at the exact moment that Dabi rolled his eyes and flung open the door, Tomura’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Looking up in mingled horror and embarrassment, he watched the door hit the wall and reveal you, a little more casually dressed than usual looking stunned as Dabi grinned down at you with pierced lips.

“Hi, I’m-” you started but Tomura’s live-in nightmare cut you off.

“Oh I know who you are, dollface,” Dabi wiggled his fucking eyebrows at you, clearly playing up the dramatics as much as possible to a degree even Tomura didn’t think he could pull off. “Name’s Dabi—”

“Uh, yeah and he was just leaving,” Tomura hissed and placed his shoulder firmly in the center of his roommate’s back, launching him onto the welcome mat as you side-stepped through the door.

“Yeah, see ya later creep,” he fucking winked as the door slammed shut in his face.

Tomura’s cheeks burned in the following silence which was only broken by your quiet chuckle. He noticed you did that a lot. Laughed at things without even thinking about whether it would sound weird.

“He seems like a lot,” you mumbled and glanced around at the living room/kitchen/foyer of his tiny apartment.

“Yeah…”

He thought he might feel the same sort of disturbance he usually did when Dabi brought his dates home but you seemed to fit easily into the space, unobtrusive but bright against the dingy walls.

“So, should we get to it?” you asked with a wry smile, spinning to face him and silhouetted by the sun set filtering in past the balcony.

He may not have felt the usual discomfort of intruders in his space, but his hands shook where he clutched at his thighs nonetheless. And just like always, if you noticed the bunched up fabric and the not so slight tremor in his bony arms, you didn’t say a thing about it.

You looked so good propped up on his bed, back against the wall and legs dangling off the sides as the now strangely comforting sound of your furious typing filled his room. It had been a few hours now, and Dabi had been true to his word, seemingly gone until tomorrow morning. The room was illuminated only by your screens and his small desk lamp that lit up your legs like a stage spot light.

His mind fogged over more than once with the fantasy of laying in between them.

“I just shared the final bit of script,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

The notification pinged at the top of his screen and he hummed in acknowledgement, plugging in your last pieces of text and saving the program.

And just like that.

It was over.

“I think we’re done,” Tomura whispered.

He didn’t really mean to say it so softly, but it felt strange to talk at full volume so he rasped out the words, knowing you wouldn’t care how shitty his voice sounded.

There was a creak and soft footsteps behind him as you shuffled off the bed and over to his desk. Your hands rested way too close to his shoulders than necessary while you leaned over his chair to look at the finished product.

It was still a little rough around the edges but Tomura found himself feeling a swell of satisfaction now that it was complete. All things considered, you’d come up with a pretty damn good concept and he liked knowing he played a role in helping it come to fruition.

The piece you picked was weird as shit. Some political satire about eating babies, lots of juxtaposition about the private life versus the public self and some bullshit rants on the nature of humanity blah blah blah.

It actually reminded him of you a little bit, now that he thought about it as he took advantage of you position to stare intently at your eyes scanning the screen. Not the eating babies thing, but the whole private self stuff.

In the half semester he’d spent locked away with you in quiet rooms and noisy, dimly lit basements, he could see such a stark contrast between the you he’d known from class all those weeks ago and the you currently sighing in relief over his shoulder.

Softer, more real—not so Stacy, bimbo, pick me slut like he’d always imagined you to be.

“Damn, we did it my guy,” you nodded, clearly impressed with yourself and him as well, which had Tomura’s chest puffing out just a bit under the attention. “I could fucking kiss you, I thought we’d never get it done.”

You turned to him, eyes closed in a half laugh but Tomura was so far from laughing. Cause you were really, really fucking close and he could smell you again and you’d been chewing that fucking gum cause it was hot on your breath. He knew, he really did, that you were kidding, that this was just a thing people said when they were relieved but he couldn’t help the weird, deer in the headlights stare that his face froze in.

Blinking, you raised your eyebrows at him questioningly when he didn’t make some crude comment about your chest brushing against his arm or shrug you off like he might have before.

And then you got this knowing, little mischievous look that reminds him far too much of Dabi for a split second before you pressed your face just an inch closer.

His eyes flicked down instinctively to your lips and his face burned when realized there was no way you didn’t see how he looked at you. Shockingly, despite the churning in his gut and the shaking in his legs, Tomura leaned forward just a bit too, working up enough scant courage to maybe close the gap. But then you started laughing?

It bubbled up quietly in your chest, more of a giggle than anything else.

You were laughing and shaking your head and his stomach fucking dropped to the ground and his face was on fire cause you were laughing and that meant he’d been fucking played like a goddamn fiddle but—

But then you gave him this faint smile and you weren't laughing anymore, because you were kissing him.

You were fucking kissing him.

Which, while yes he had set out to have this be the end goal of the night, he hadn’t actually believed it would ever happen. He’d never felt it in his bones like he thought he was supposed to.

And holy shit your lips were so soft??

So soft and smooth with no cool, sharp metal poking or pulling at the splits on his. It was like fucking crack, or what he imagined crack might be like with the way your mouth just glided against his. It was so easy to follow you, which was good cause he didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing for the most part. But you made it feel simple, and you even ran your tongue over the little scar that bisected his lips in this painfully adorable way that had Tomura pitching a tent in his pants like lightning.

God and when you pulled back and just enough to look at him again:

It was like every one of those cutesy, shojo manga suddenly made sense. The panels where the main characters look at each other and flowers bloom off the fucking page while they stare with those dark, hungry eyes—

Yeah.

Yeah he got it now.

And he was gonna ride that wave while he had it. So Tomura steeled himself and surged forward, grabbing both your arms and smashing his face much less gracefully against yours. He stood and you straightened with him, that same half giggle slipping out in the gaps where your lips parted on his as he clacked your teeth together and pulled back at the jarring sting.

“Eager are we?” you had that stupid smile on your face again but he honestly didn’t care anymore if it was an act or if your face really just looked like that with no fucking ulterior motive.

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to catch your lips again and you mercifully let him.

Tomura nearly fucking came in his pants when you licked into his mouth and oh fucking god he really could taste the gum and that loud ass shit you were always drinking. Dabi was right, this was a fucking miracle.

Did other people always taste this good or was it just you?

He responded enthusiastically to say the least, sucking your tongue into his mouth and letting out a choked little noise when you prodded the back of his teeth. The movement of your legs, pulling him back towards the bed went mostly unnoticed until he felt himself tipping forward, landing with a thump on top of you as you both tumbled onto his mattress.

Tomura’s lips wondered boldly down your throat, smelling the soap or lotion or whatever the hell made you so fucking baby smooth compared to him and he actually growled into your nape when you laughed again.

“God, what the fuck is so funny?” he sounded muffled from where he was tonguing at the fleshy joining of your neck and shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” you pressed your lips against the peeling crown of his head and that alone made up for the interruption, “I’m just basking in the glory of being right.”

“About?” Tomura nipped at your skin once before lifting his chin to rest on your sternum.

“I just always thought you were sorta into me, but it was hard to tell cause you’re so quiet about that kinda thing.”

“....oh,” he didn’t really have an argument for that so he didn’t try to fight you.

“Did you think I didn’t notice all the convenient excuses to touch me or like the fact that you’re mean as shit to everyone else but me?" you asked not unkindly as you stroked a hand through his hair, frizzy from being left to air dry. “I also got the vibes you thought I was a slut anyway and it wasn’t super clear if that was a turn on or not.”

He cringed a bit at the blatant way you acknowledged all ruder inner monologues about your character.

“Well, I did a bit initially,” Tomura glanced off to the side, suddenly finding the chipping paint much more fascinating. God he really wanted to get back to the good stuff. “But I don’t now…”

“Oh no,” you cupped his face, running a thumb against the cracked skin on his cheeks and didn’t cringe when the drying skin flaked onto your shirt, “that was a pretty astute assumption.”

“Uh, what?”

He felt his draw drop and you dipped your thumb past his front row of teeth, toying with the pooling saliva.

“All the better for you though,” you continued dragging his chest against yours so he could feel your nipples through his shirt, “cause that just means I know how to show you a good time, and I get the feeling you’ve never had that happen before.”

You punctuated your words with roll of your hips against the fucking iron rod in his pants. The noise that left Tomura was inhuman.

He thought back to the day you got partnered with him. How he thought it would be a fucking nightmare and Tomura wanted to let the record show that he officially retracted that statement. This was in no uncertain terms, actually a wet dream come true and he was sure Dabi would never fucking believe him unless he walked through the door right now.

“That works,” he stuttered around the finger in his mouth and you reared up to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your lips found his again and he hummed in approval only cut off as you rolled so he was laying back and looking up. When you pulled back, he shivered at the way you raked your nails over his chest.

“So, you gonna tell me how much of a disgusting whore you think I am?”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Silent Treatment

I was really vibing with both of these prompts today so I combined them 🤷‍♀️? I hope y’all Nonies are okay with it? It’s not exact but I think it captures the vibe? I hope?

Warnings: we got mommy issues up in this bitch, on both sides, abandonment, controlling/narcissistic parents, definition of ‘hurt’ isnt explicitly mentioned but is used mainly in the emotional sense, first fight, established geraskier relationship, it ends soft i promise

_______________

Jaskier was surprised by this new side of Geralt every day. He was gentler, attentive, sweet, and even verbally appreciative of Jaskier and the little things he would do. A lot of things were making more sense to Jaskier now that he was seeing Geralt express himself. 

The grunts, for example, were less of a disinterested placation and more of a way to respond without showing his hand. And now that he had no cards to hide, Geralt's grunts and sideways looks were few and far between. They’d been replaced with soft smiles and little murmurs of ‘you’re cute’ and ‘your eyes are very pretty in the morning’. 

Jaskier was constantly on his toes, not in a bad way, just - adjusting. Geralt seemed to drop his walls rather quickly, though that might have been because Jaskier started their relationship off with a big ole’ “I love you and would rather die than take another lover if it upset you.” Surprisingly, Jaskier was having a hard time keeping up. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy it, he just wasn’t prepared to be the one knocked on their ass from a nonchalant compliment. 

He started to loosen up a month or so in. Making jokes again, doting on Geralt in turn, and becoming just as comfortable with their newfound openness. 

Though it wasn’t long before he put his foot in his mouth. They were taking a bath together when he did, Geralt leaning back against his chest as they shared stories of sneaking out in their youth.

“...and then my mother, had the gal to tell me she just ‘wanted the best’ for me. As if putting a seven year old under house arrest for wanting sweets is in any way good for a child? Sometimes I envy you, dear. My mother was a terrible woman. I think I’d have been better off without her. I know my father would have.” 

Geralt had stopped scrubbing at the gunk on his arm and frowned at the wall. 

Jaskier felt his stomach drop as soon as Geralt’s muscles tensed. 

“No you don’t,” he murmured.

“I-” He almost started defending his position, which he had grounds to. His mother was a tyrant and a narcissist who bent everyone to her will and slandered those who wouldn’t bow until they fled. But he knew what he’d said. Geralt had never outright said he missed the good parts of his mother, but Jaskier heard it in all the little bits of stories he had dropped over the years. How he’d wonder what his mother would have thought of what he’d become, who he loved, the causes he’d fought for. Jaskier was all too aware he’d fucked up as he lightly rested his hands over Geralt’s hips, “Darling I didn’t mean it…”

Geralt rocked forward and stood abruptly, water making a sickening slapping sound when it hit the floor as he quickly stepped out, “You had someone to protect you. Even if she was wrong, she still fed you and kept you safe.”

“Protect me?” Jaskier knew he should shut up, a voice in his head was begging him to, but alas, he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to, “She did what she had to to keep up appearances. Don’t think for a second she protected me.”

Geralt glared at him as he toweled off, “She kept you.”

“Until I no longer worshiped her! I was out on my ass at sixteen for questioning her at the family dinner table!”

Geralt pursed his lips and set his face in a stony mask of indifference, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jaskier felt a chill, even in the hot bath, at the look on Geralt’s face.

He simply shrugged and dressed for bed, leaving Jaskier to marinade in his stupidity. 

Of course Geralt would see having any type of mother as idyllic compared to his childhood. But there was still a righteous anger burning in Jaskier’s gut as he crossed his arms and sunk into the water up to his nose. Just because it hadn’t been as bad as Geralt’s childhood didn’t mean the things Jaskier had to grapple with were fading any faster. The fact didn’t suddenly absolve Jaskier of the baggage he carried, nor mend his broken relationship. And logically, it wasn’t meant to, but Jaskier was having a hard time seeing anything but red. 

When he got out and went to bed, Geralt was already asleep, or pretending to sleep. Either way Jaskier was too angry to call his bluff and settled down to sleep without nuzzling into his chest. 

In the morning, Geralt was already up and packing, only humming in response when Jaskier said good morning. Jaskier tried to make light conversation, to loosen Geralt up even a little, but it was met with grunts and silence. 

If he’d thought the newfound praise and range of facial expressions were a surprise, this was whiplash. It was like being thrown back a decade, when he’d first decided to stick to Geralt like tar, before he would even call Jaskier by name. He did his best to give Geralt space, but he missed their banter and how Geralt had started holding Jaskier’s hand as they walked. Part of him wanted to lay into him, tear him a new one for telling him how to feel about his mother, but another part of him wanted to wrap around him and apologize profusely, both in words and gentle kisses. Even more than either of those, though, was the sinkhole of guilt in his chest over flippantly hitting Geralt right where it hurt most. 

Finally, Jaskier couldn’t take it anymore. 

They were sitting across the fire from each other, Geralt pointedly not looking at him as the sun sank below the trees. 

“Geralt?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier took a slow breath before he continued, having told himself all day to keep his head on straight when he said his piece, “It’s not okay.”

Geralt just frowned at him. 

“It’s not okay for me to treat something that hurt you so lightly,” he clarified, catching the slight upward twitch of his lover’s brow, “I don’t need to be thankful for someone who hurt me, either. But, I reacted poorly. I’m sorry for snapping. And upsetting you.”

Geralt set another branch into the fire, his eyes narrowed as he thought, “I didn’t… hm…” he frowned and chewed at his chapped lips as he pieced his words together, “I didn’t think she hurt you. I thought you were… griping about a strict rule.”

Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief at getting full sentence responses, “To be fair, I was. And putting my foot in my mouth.” 

The corner of Geralt’s lips twitched up as he shook his head, “I’m sorry I shut down.”

“All’s forgiven,” Jaskier smiled, “I’m sorry I-”

“I know. Come here.” Geralt interrupted, holding a hand out to Jaskier as if to hold it over the fire. Jaskier took up residence across his lap instead, wrapping an arm around Geralt’s neck and laying his cheek on his shoulder, pressing his other palm to Geralt’s chest. Geralt held him securely in place and pressed a kiss to his forehead as he gently swayed, setting a soothing rhythm. 

“I missed you today,” Jaskier whispered, not wanting to break the spell of calm over their little campsite. 

“Don’t worry, I still thought you were cute.” Geralt chuckled, the low rumble under Jaskier’s palm soothing what was left of his worry. 

“Oh good!” Jaskier chirped, loading his words with an extra helping of sarcasm, “Now I’ve had a taste of your honey-sweet words, I might never be able to live without them!”

Geralt cracked a grin as he ran a hand through Jaskier’s silky, fine hair, “We can’t have that.”

“Of course not,” Jaskier giggled, more from the giddy feeling of a lifted weight from his chest than their banter as he lifted his head to look down at Geralt.

The witcher pulled him in for a soft kiss, after all, Geralt was still Geralt. Actions would always come easier than words for him. 

“I love you.” he sighed as their lips parted, only pulling away far enough to get a breath.

“I love you, too.” Jaskier grinned into the next kiss, holding Geralt close for the rest of the night. 

[jungblue]

aphrodite in war | 02

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: comedy, fluff, angst, eventual smut / greek life, fake dating, roommates, lovers to enemies and back to lovers au

word count: 14,243

description: Everyone knew about the war that had been brewing on the edge of campus for the past two years. Sorority versus Fraternity; a showdown for the ages. However, when the escalating antics between them yields the consequence of possible suspensions for both chapters, the presidents of each house must come together to try and figure out how to end this battle... Which is kind of hard, considering they were the ones responsible for it in the first place.

note: here is an audio post of a beautiful song with lyrics inspired by AiW, which was written by one of my lovely readers!

→ part 01

Red, hot anger had curled its way around your bones, forcibly moving your limbs until you somehow found yourself standing in front of the Lambda house with a single pair of heart-covered boxers in hand; murderous intent leaving Jungkook’s voice indiscernible in the distance as you’d left him standing in front of the defiled Tri Delt house. Maybe he was telling you to wait for him while he began to pull down the rest of the countless pairs of boxers that were plastered along the outside of the sorority. Or maybe he was telling you to not go inside because it would only make it worse to have the furious president of Tri Delt waking up dozens of Lambdas at seven in the morning. You genuinely couldn’t tell what he was shouting as you ripped the front door of the fraternity open and stomped inside. 

It had been over two years since you had stepped foot inside of your neighbor’s house, but it was exactly as you remembered. Red solo cups and crushed cans of beer scattered around the floor as a telling sign that it was indeed the morning after a night of partying, two Lambdas passed out on the couch because apparently the staircase that led to their rooms had been an impenetrable obstacle in their drunken states, and the scent of weed encasing the entire house that seemingly never went away. It was all the same, and you hoped as you went down the hallway to the left, that held a portion of the bedrooms in this house, that a particular person’s room was also the same as it had been before. You banged your fist against the door, scowling as you waited for the person on the other side to answer. 

“What the fuck?” You heard someone say. The voice was scratchy from just being woken up but still recognizable as the person you were looking for; Jimin. 

You banged on the door again, your patience level laying at zero. 

You heard the bed creak and then footsteps began padding across the floor. “Uh, is this the cops?” He asked, probably to know whether he should hide a few things before opening the door. 

You rolled your eyes. “No, I’m not here to confiscate your coke. Now. Open. The. Door.” You spat each word out through gritted teeth. 

“Y/N?” Jimin asked before ripping his door open, revealing a mop of messy bed head framing his bewildered expression. He stood there shirtless, adorning only a white pair of tight Calvin Klein boxers that were doing absolutely nothing to hide his morning wood. 

“Oh, god.” You threw your hand up to try and block out its unavoidable presence. 

Jimin glanced down at himself before raising his head, smirking as he leaned against his doorframe, not even attempting to hide the piece of him that you were trying to avoid looking at. “You’re not exactly decent yourself there, Nips.” He pointed toward your chest. 

Your eyes widened. In your rage you had completely forgotten about the attire you had decided was appropriate to storm the Lambda house in. You immediately crossed your arms over your chest to hide the fact that you were wearing the flimsiest tanktop of all time in combination with no bra. 

“Plus, I’m in my own house,” He started again. “What’s your excuse?”

“Trust me. I would’ve loved nothing more than to never had to of stepped foot in this place ever again. But,” You paused, holding up the pair of heart covered boxers you had ripped off the Tri Delt house because you thought they were the most recognizable among the sea of plain solid blacks, whites, and maroons. “I have a motherfucking bone to pick with someone in this house.”

Jimin studied the piece of fabric that you held up before him before his mouth dropped open. “Fuck, did you sleep with Taehyung? I’m gonna knock his ass out if Jungkook doesn’t get to him first.”

Your face wrinkled in disgust. “Ew, no. There are about a million pairs of boxers all over the Tri Delt house and I’m trying to find out who did it, so thank you for letting me know. Now where is Tae’s room?” 

“Oh, thank god.” Jimin’s expression softened, as if he was relieved that his friend didn’t sleep with you; who they thought of as the devil incarnate. “But no, I’m not telling you. I had nothing to do with that. I went home early last night. But Jungkook can deal with it, just like you can deal with what your girls did.”

“What’re you talking about?” You asked, eyes narrowing. 

“Oh, you don’t know?” Jimin smiled. “Some of the guys texted me before I fell asleep last night saying that when they left Pub they found their cars with words written all over their windows in lipstick.”

Your eyes screwed shut, tongue jabbing at the side of your cheek as you tried to calm the colossal wave of anger that flooded through you for a second time in the fifteen minutes you had been awake. 

What a fantastic day this was turning out to be. 

“Are you serious?” You finally asked, voice a little bit louder than you’d intended.

“Yeah, so you might wanna check your own people before you come into someone else’s house and accuse them of things.” He shrugged. “Might save you some embarrassment next time.”

Heat rushed to your face. You were pissed, but that was only because you agreed with him. “Look—” You started, not really sure what was going to come out of your mouth, but it was the squeak of sneakers running along the wooden floor boards that stopped you. 

Jungkook was suddenly rounding the corner, a mountain of boxers filling his arm. “Y/N, what the hell?” He hissed before dropping them to the ground. 

“What? I was just trying to get to the bottom of this.” You held the heart boxers up one last time before tossing them into the pile next to Jungkook’s feet.

“Yeah, and how’d that go for you?” He pointed towards Jimin. 

“Well, I found out who those boxers belonged to… But…” You trailed off, not wanting to admit what you just found out. 

“But?” Jungkook asked.

“But, she found out that it was only payback for some of her members participating in a little bit of lipstick graffiti on Taehyung and a few other people’s cars.” Jimin smirked next to you as he revealed what you were too embarrassed to say. 

There was a small pause, and then Jungkook was laughing, like he couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. That even after the threat of suspension to these people, they just didn’t care. And you just wanted to understand why. Was it truly because they didn’t care or was it due to the fact that the failed relationship that had acted as the catalyst to this war still held hostility and therefore still felt unresolved. Either way it was an issue that you and Jungkook needed to figure out how to fix. You were already trying to think of other possible solutions to this mess when another door a few feet away opened, and the sleep-deprived face of Taehyung poked its way out. 

“The hell’s going on out here?” He slurred before his eyes locked with yours. “Whoa, seriously what the hell is going on out here?”

A few more doors throughout the hall began to open. Clearly this little altercation had been a little bit louder than you’d anticipated. All of the Lambdas faces twisted in confusion as they found you standing in their hallway for the first time in years. 

“We found your little boxer exhibit,” You finally answered. 

Taehyung threw his hands up. “Hey, I only did it because of the—”

“—Lipstick,” You finished for him. “Yeah, yeah, I got that part already.”  

“Some of us had been drinking and it pissed us off.” Baekhyun shrugged, as he had been one of the guys to join in on this little morning confrontation. “Sorry.” 

“I can’t deal with this. I have a million other things to worry about today.” You rubbed your palms over your eyes in frustration as you remembered the other issue you had to handle once the financial aid office opened for their half day, since today was Saturday. The mystery of your less than lucrative bank account and the implications that it had on your living situation hanging over your head. 

“Well, as a sign of my immense regret and an attempt to repair this terrible relationship between our houses, I do have to say you look great this morning.” Baekhyun motioned towards your minimally covered body. “If you ever wanna hang out—”

You rolled your eyes, deciding to not listen to the rest of the garbage he decided to spew, but it turned out you didn’t even need to tune him out because suddenly a voice sliced through the air like a razor. 

“Watch it, Baek.” Jungkook sounded cold, mouth set in a firm line as he stared daggers down the hallway. 

“Uhm, I’m…” Baekhyun started, an awkward air encasing everyone. “I just woke up. I’m mildly delusional. My bad, Kook.” He tapped at his head and raised his hands as an apology before shutting the door. 

There was silence, a palpable silence that had Jimin, Taehyung and a few of the other Lambdas that had opened their doors grabbing the back of their necks as they stared at the floor. But Jungkook kept his stance, arms crossed over his chest as he continued to stare at Baekhyun’s door. 

After only a few moments of this you just couldn’t take it. You clapped your hands together, trying to let the sudden burst of sound break the tension. “Come on,” You said, pulling at Jungkook’s shirt. “Let’s talk outside.” 

He nodded, finally breaking his glare down the hallway before turning towards Jimin. “Do you think you could give me a ride back to my place in a minute. I don’t have my car.” 

“I can, but why’d you Uber back here last night instead of your place?” Jimin asked, clearly not privy to the events that had transpired between you and Jungkook last night. 

Jungkook’s eyes found yours for a split second before returning to Jimin. “I met a girl from Chi Omega. I was gonna meet her at her place, but it fell through.” He shrugged, a lie so on the fly that it made you wonder how many times he’d done that to you since knowing him. 

“Gotcha.” Jimin nodded, seeming to perfectly understand. “Just let me know when you wanna go.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook said as he joined you in stepping over the pile of boxers still strewn across the floor. “And make sure everyone picks this shit up.” 

“Will do, boss.” Jimin saluted before shutting his door behind him.

After that you made a straight line through the house, not wanting to stand inside this place that held too many memories. You breathed a sigh of relief when you pushed the front door open, letting the fresh air wash over you — albeit the hot, muggy fresh air that reminded you of the fact that it was the end of summer and rain every single day was a constant. 

“I got all the boxers,” Jungkook finally said. 

“That’s great, but it still doesn’t change the fact that my members fucked up first. Plus, I have this financial aid bullshit to deal with.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to flush the stress from your body. “What the hell are we gonna do?” 

Jungkook shook his head and sighed, because like you he apparently also didn’t have any solid answers, but before he could try to offer anything his phone began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and eyed the contact on the screen. 

“Give me a second. It’s my new roommate that’s supposed to be moving in this week,” He said before answering. 

“What’s up?” He began. 

You stood there for a minute, watching the way Jungkook’s face began to slowly devolve as the person on the other side of the line spoke, and from the expression on his face, it did not seem like it was good news. 

“Are you serious?” Jungkook finally said, grabbing at his hair. “Like I’m happy for you guys, but rent is due next week and you were supposed to be moving in and paying half.” 

It seemed you weren’t the only person having issues involving living situations. 

“I doubt I’ll be able to find anyone this short notice. And if I can’t there’s no way I can pay rent in full this month and have enough to last me the rest of the semester.” 

After that the conversation on Jungkook’s end was mostly just grunts and short responses as he was clearly frustrated and already had his mind focused on possible solutions. 

“Alright, alright, bye.” He hung up the phone, pressing his hands against temples. 

“Well that didn’t sound good,” You said. 

“Yeah, my new roommate apparently worked things out with his ex-girlfriend, so instead of moving in with me, he’s moving back in with her. So now, I have no one to split rent with and am basically fucked.” 

That was actually very unfortunate, but even though you and Jungkook had experienced a somewhat understanding moment last night, it still wasn’t enough to completely erase the hostile relationship the two of you had engaged in for the last few years. So the comment that you replied with was already halfway out of your mouth before you could even think to stop it. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be too difficult to convince some of your harem of girls to play roomie and split rent with you.” 

Jungkook turned to look at you, eyes narrowing into slits. “Yeah, I might do that actually.” He sounded pissed, clearly not finding any amusement in the comment that you admittedly shouldn’t have made. “And when you get kicked out of the Tri Delt house you should ask that guy from the soccer team if you can move in with him. What was his name? Hoseok?” 

You deserved the response, but it still didn’t make your blood boil any less. “Whatever, we can deal with our fucked up living situations later on. For now just try and think of a way to get our idiot friends to stay in line. We’ll see who has the best idea at Kappa Sig tonight. Did Yoongi tell you about the party? Are you going?” 

Yoongi was a mutual friend of yours and Jungkook’s from high school. He was also in a fraternity, but instead of Lambda Phi Epsilon it was Kappa Sigma, which was located a little further down Greek Drive. When the relationship between you and Jungkook ended he somehow managed to stay impartial and remained friends with the both of you, thankfully. 

“Yeah, I’m going,” He said simply, clearly still embittered from your joke. 

“Good, better start thinking then,” You said and then turned to head back towards the Tri Delt house; any progress you and Jungkook made last night seeming to snap in half as you left him behind. 

Yet, somehow you could feel him staring into your back, the lingering feeling not disappearing until you closed the front door to your house behind you. 

 —————-

You had spent the past half an hour nervously fidgeting in your bed as you waited for the financial aid office to open. As soon as the time on your phone read eight a.m. you immediately dialed their number. However, it was the first week of classes, and that meant that everyone and their mother needed to talk to financial aid, because unfortunately situations like yours were completely common. So even though you called the second they opened it was still a twenty minute wait before you finally heard a voice that wasn’t pre-recorded and asking you to press various numbers depending on your issue or question. 

“Hello. This is financial aid. How can I help you?” The woman on the other side of the line chimed.

“Hi, I have a question about my refund.” Your voice was high-pitched as it shifted into a mode that was more professional. “I received my refund on Thursday, and it was the correct amount. However, when I checked my bank account yesterday my refund had been completely taken out. I was just trying to figure out why that is.” 

She hummed in understanding. “Could you give me your student I.D number and we’ll see what’s going on.”

You rattled off your number and there was a few seconds of silence as the woman on the other side pulled up your information. 

“Okay, it says here…” She paused, presumably reading through whatever she was seeing once more. “That you will be getting your refund deposited back into your bank account, however, it had to be taken back out to adjust the amount. One of your scholarships informed the university that you and a few other recipients did not meet the new community service hours minimum they implemented to receive the scholarship this semester.” 

You felt the blood drain from your face, anxiety making your hands go shaky. “New community service hour minimum?” You asked, trying to understand what that was even referring to, because you knew nothing about the change in hours you were supposed to obtain. 

“Yes, they upped the amount. A few other students have already called to complain about this situation, but the office for that particular scholarship said that they sent an email out last year to inform you guys about the new amount that would be needed.” 

Email? You didn’t think that you ever received an email with any information about that. “Oh… okay… Uhm, I guess I’ll try and figure out what’s going on. Thank you.” 

You hung up the phone and immediately opened up your email app and began to scour through any undeleted messages from last year that you might have overlooked. And after a few minutes of scrolling, there it was, sitting in the depths of your inbox like some monster that was going to destroy you. You clicked on it as some sort of masochistic gesture. You already knew what it was going to say, so you didn’t know why you were even bothering to read it. And yes, there it was, written in bold print at the bottom of the email. A message that relayed the raise in community service hours needed. 

“Fuck my life!” You yelled, throwing a pillow over your face and screaming into it. 

Living in a sorority or fraternity was different than living in a regular apartment or house that wasn’t associated with the university. Instead of paying a monthly amount like a normal living situation, in order to live on campus you had to pay the full amount for the semester up front. Which basically translated to needing to fork over a couple thousand dollars all at once. Which, unless you were rich or incredibly well disciplined at saving money, scholarships and loans were the only option. That had been one of the reasons Jungkook decided to live at an apartment this year instead of at Lambda Phi Epsilon. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You continued to yell into your pillow until your bedroom door was suddenly swinging open; a concerned Sana standing before you. 

“I’m sorry,” She said, walking to the side of your bed. “You totally could’ve been having sex in here, but the expletives sounded more like frustration than fun, so I wanted to make sure.” 

“It’s beyond frustration. It’s devastation.” You threw your pillow across the room to make your point.

“What happened?” She asked as she sat next to you on your bed. 

You took a heavy sigh and explained the entire financial aid situation to her, and ended with the consequence of your entire scholarship debacle. “So I’m not going to be able to stay here this semester. I’m gonna have to find a new place to live.” 

Sana’s mouth dropped, hand twisting into her hair. “Seriously? You’ve gotta move out?” 

You, Sana, and Jennie were best friends that had lived less than ten feet away from each other for the past three year, and you had all hoped for your final year to be the same. But hope was like that. It gave you so much to look forward to, only for it to end in a way that you didn’t at all expect. You had experienced that many times, unfortunately. 

“Yeah, looks like it,” You whispered, arm coming up to cover your eyes.

“No, it’ll be okay.” She squeezed at your arm. “I’ll text around today and see if anyone knows about people needing roommates.” 

“Thanks,” You said, offering a weak smile. 

“It’s not even something to stress over honestly. It’s gonna work itself out.” You could tell Sana was trying to be upbeat for your sake.

You nodded, but there were other issues besides where you were going to live. “But something that is apparently not going to work itself out is the failed peace treaty between us and next door.” 

Sana cocked her head to the side. “Wait… Did something happen? What did they do?” She sneered, having the same reaction as you from earlier this morning. 

“Plastered boxers all over our house.” Sana was about to go on a rant, but you informed her of the whole story before she could. “Because some of the girls wrote shit in lipstick on their cars at Pub last night.”

“You’re kidding me?” She slammed her palm down on the bed. “Who was it? I’m gonna kick their asses.”

The image that brought to your head actually made you laugh, which you were thankful for. You needed some sort of humor in your life on this miserable day. “I have no idea. I got a call from Jungkook this morning about the boxers and ran outside. I haven’t even had the chance to try and figure out who did it.”

“Wait… You were already here?” She asked. “You weren’t at Hoseok’s.” 

Oh yeah, you forgot Sana had left Pub last night expecting to not see you until some time later today when Hoseok brought you home. She still had no idea about Jungkook and that entire emotional disaster from last night. 

“Yeah, about that…” You definitely weren’t going to hide what happened, but you decided that you were going to sugarcoat it a bit. You didn’t like talking about your insecurities, even with your friends, so you decided painting it in a more positive light was for the best, because relatively speaking that actually had been a less hostile conversation compared to others that you and Jungkook had experienced over the years. “Because my bank account got emptied out from the whole financial aid thing, I just felt like going home instead of over to Hoseok’s, but I also didn’t have any money to Uber, so… Jungkook walked me home.”

Sana’s eyes widened, hands cupping either side of her face. “What?!”

“Yeah, he offered to walk me home.” You shrugged, trying to make it seem as though it wasn’t a big deal, but you knew that was going to do nothing to stop the onslaught of questions about to be thrown at you. 

“Wait, wait, wait, so did you guys talk? Did you argue the whole time? Was it just awkward and silent? Like tell me.” She moved closer to you on the bed, curiosity beaming off of her. 

“It wasn’t, uhm, bad actually.” You sat up, avoiding as much eye contact as you could manage without looking like a complete liar. “We talked and cleared the air on things. It was… enlightening.” That wasn’t a total fib. Certain feelings had been revealed, and yes, that might have ended up with you crying, but in the grand scheme of things that was a totally miniscule detail, right?

Sana’s expression twisted into that of bewilderment. “...Enlightening? What does that even mean? What became enlightened?” 

You shrugged, buying yourself time to try and think of some way to fumble through any sort of half decent explanation. “Just our feelings on everything that happened and how we felt. Nothing crazy.” 

She squinted her eyes, finger tapping at her nose. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

“There isn’t. We just understand each other a lot better now.” You knew the longer she pushed the higher the possibility of you cracking, so you decided to bring up the one thing that you knew would flood her mind with thoughts completely unrelated to you and Jungkook. “You’ll see at Kappa Sig tonight. We’re better with each other now.” 

Pink flushed to Sana’s cheeks at the mere mention of Kappa Sig, because in her mind Kappa Sig directly correlated to one of its members; Kim Seokjin, or one of Yoongi’s good friends. 

“I almost forgot about the party tonight,” Sana started. Mission success it seemed as she completely dropped the conversation from before. “Maybe love is in the air, and Jennie’s luck with Namjoon will rub off on me tonight with Jin.”

“Maybe it is.” You smiled. 

Sana gave you a strange look at your response, and you weren’t sure why, but you didn’t get the chance to find out before she dropped the expression and moved on to something else. 

“I’m gonna text Jennie and see when she thinks she’ll come home.” She began typing on her phone before looking back up at you. “You wanna go get lunch or something in a few hours? Get your mind off of the whole financial aid thing while we wait for the party tonight? My treat since you don’t have your refund back yet.”

“That actually sounds great.” Sana leaned in, hugging you before jumping from your bed and heading back to her room directly next to yours. 

You fell back flat against your bed, eyes wandering around your room. The pictures plastered across your walls of all of your friends and family. Posters of your favorite shows and movies. You couldn’t help but think about how in a week or so this wasn’t going to be yours anymore. 

Where you were going to wind up at in the end, well, that was a complete mystery.

———

JUNGKOOK’S POV

Jungkook climbed into Jimin’s truck, slamming the door behind him. He pressed his forehead against the dashboard, palms pressing at his temples to try and relieve even the tiniest amount of stress that was currently running amok through his head. 

Jimin jumped into the driver’s seat a minute later, whistling at the sight of his friend in such a rough position. “You good, man?” He asked. 

“Do I look good?” Jungkook asked, sitting up against the seat. “I’ve gotta find a new roommate in the next week, act like a goddamn babysitter between forty-two grown adults, and worry about Y/N storming around the Lambda house now apparently.” He paused, clenching his hands into fists. “So, no, I’m not good.”

“Kook, just take it easy.” Jimin reached over, squeezing at his friend’s shoulder. “There’s gonna be a ton of people at that party tonight, and I guarantee you at least one person there needs a place to stay or at the very least knows someone who does.” 

Jungkook nodded because he agreed that there were always people looking for places to stay. “What about the other two things?” 

“Oh, you’re fucked on those. I don’t know what to tell you.” Jimin laughed as he hit the gear into reverse. 

“You sound surprisingly calm about that, considering the chapter will be suspended if me and Y/N don’t figure out a way to make things okay between everyone.” 

Jimin shrugged as he pulled out of the driveway. “If I had come out last night and seen my truck covered in lipstick, would I have been pissed? Sure. But, I would’ve just told you so that you could tell Y/N, and she could deal with it. The fact is, that’s how I am, but everyone’s different and you two can’t control that many people without some sort of miracle.”

Jungkook sighed, banging his head back against the headrest. “A miracle, huh?”

“Yeah, a straight up miracle,” He repeated as he drove past the Tri Delt house that was no longer covered in boxers. 

Jungkook’s eyes drifted to the far right window on the second story, a small twinge budding inside of his chest. Words from that night almost two years ago pushed their way to the surface as they never failed to do. 

“It’s nothing that you did… I’ve just been having these… thoughts.”

“Thoughts? What, thoughts of cheating on me? Of being with other people?”

“No! I mean, it’s not how you’re thinking. It’s just… You’re the only person I’ve ever dated, Y/N, and I don’t know if…”

“Oh, I’ll finish it for you, Jungkook. You don’t know if there’s someone better. Just fucking say it instead of going around it like you have been for months now.”

“I don’t think there’s someone better. I’m not ending this because I met someone else. I’m ending this because I can’t look at you and say I love you everyday when I’m having these thoughts, because it just doesn’t seem right. And I’m not saying that I don’t love you. I still do, but that doesn’t stop me from having these feelings of doubt about whether this is the last relationship I ever wanna have, when it’s the only one I’ve ever been in. I can’t just sit there and look at you when I know I’m thinking these things. I can’t do that because I care about you so fucking much, even if you’re looking at me right now like you hate me. I don’t want you to hate me.”

Jungkook wished he could permanently scrub that night from his head. There was so much crying, so much blame, so much anguish, from having to end things with someone that he truly did love. He hadn’t stopped loving you. That wasn’t why he broke up with you. He ended things because he wanted to be sure that the one experience that he’d ever had was the right one. And he knew when he took that risk that he could be throwing away something that was perfect. But he couldn’t be sure until he knew.

He had dated a few people in the two years since that night, and he had found some great relationships with some great girls — but nothing that had lasted. None of them ever felt as if he could see himself with them for years and years to come, and wasn’t that the whole point of dating? And of course, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he had never ended things with you. He thought about it every time he saw you actually. You wouldn’t know that, and no one around him would know that, because there was always something hostile coming out of someone’s mouth. Jungkook had hurt you, and he understood that, but it still didn’t excuse some of the things that you had accused him of over the years, and after a month or so he had gotten tired of playing polite and matched your antagonism; insult for insult, sneer for sneer. 

He wasn’t sure if they could ever fully reconcile. The words had been said and there was no taking them back. He thought last night was actually a step in the right direction, with you revealing why you acted the way that you did. But still, he wasn’t sure if things could ever be civil between the two of you. The embitterment ran so deep on both sides that it seemed almost impossible to even try. 

Jungkook remained lost in these thoughts when through his haze he heard Jimin speak a name that had him fearing for half a second that his friend could read his thoughts. 

“Y/N?” Jungkook asked. 

“Yeah, what actually happened last night?” Jimin glanced over, one brow arched. 

“Uhm, what do you mean?” 

“When I asked about why you were at the house and not at your apartment, you looked at Y/N.” Jimin slapped one hand to his chest. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.” 

Well, he had only looked at her for all of half a second, so yeah, he had kind of hoped that no one would notice. But unfortunately, someone did, and that happened to be his nosy ass best friend. 

“Y/N got stuck at Pub last night with no ride because financial aid fucked up her refund, and she couldn’t get a ride, so I walked her home. That’s it.” Which was true. He had done exactly that, but simply failed to mention the crying and sentimental admissions. 

“So why didn’t you just say that when I asked?” 

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair. He really didn’t want to reveal any of the details from what you’d told him last night, but he knew Jimin wasn’t going to stop asking until he at least told him something of substance. “Because there were other people in the hall listening, and I didn’t want them getting the same ideas as you right now.” 

Jimin smirked. “Oh yeah, and what am I thinking?” 

Jungkook shook his head, turning to look out of the window. “I’m not even gonna say it.”

“Any talk of feelings or gushy bullshit?” Jimin chuckled, clearly joking, but Jungkook hesitated before answering, and that was all his friend needed to assume whatever theory was being crafted inside of his head. “Oh, Jesus, did you guys actually talk about your feelings? Oh my god, did you guys kiss? Fuck?” Jimin was looking at Jungkook frantically now, like he needed the answers to the questions being proposed in his favorite TV show. 

“You’re truly the biggest gossip I’ve ever met.” He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as Jimin pulled into his apartment complex. “It’s sad.”

“Your lack of answers is making me lean towards you guys fucking. And if that happened,” He let go of the steering wheel for a second to motion at his head as if it was exploding. “I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind. Like I get it, sex is sex, but after everything she’s said about you since you guys broke up, I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head in disappointment like he had already decided that the two of you had definitely hooked up.

“She said that shit in the beginning because I made her feel terrible about herself, so she wanted to make me feel terrible too. I’m not saying that it’s right, but at this point we’ve both said shit we regret and didn’t mean.” He tried to make it seem more casual by shrugging. “And we didn’t sleep together. Chill out.”

Jimin’s expression was skeptical as he pulled into the parking space in front of Jungkook’s building and unlocked the doors. “Still, something definitely happened, because otherwise you would be talking about how she was acting like a bitch, but you’re not, which means that you weren’t acting like an asshole, which in turn means that something went down, because the last time the two of you were anything less than pissy to each other was when you were still dating.”

Jungkook simply placed a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, forcing a smile. “Your conspiracies are unmatched, my friend.” And then he was climbing out of the truck, shutting the door, and waving his friend goodbye without even looking back. 

However, that didn’t stop Jimin from rolling down his window as he began to back out of the parking space, throwing his final sentiment to the wind. “You guys getting back together was the kind of miracle I was talking about.”

———-

It was currently ten p.m. and the scene on Greek Drive was about two dozen or so Tri Delts making their way towards the most well known party frat on campus; Kappa Sigma. 

Kappa Sig was the blueprint for the types of fraternities that you see in various movies or TV shows. There was never a time when your shoes weren’t sticking to the wooden floors due to the constant barrage of alcohol being spilled by various drunken patrons. Each member had an actual mini bar set up in the corner of their room, which in the next few weeks, once football and tailgating started up, would be the most popular place to score some free drinks — if you were a girl that is. Kappa Sig was also fairly stereotypically frat in who it allowed entrance into its castle of alcohol and sex. Basically, if you were a girl, you were good. If you were a guy, well it was complicated. Usually it was a no go, or you were asked to pay such a ridiculously high cover at the door that no one in their right mind would pay it, or the easiest way: have a friend who had sway within the house. 

So fortunately for you, Sana, Jennie, and the rest of the Tri Delts, it was a non-issue. However, unfortunately, Yoongi, a good friend of yours and Jungkook’s, happened to be the president of Kappa Sig, and therefore Lambdas were allowed free reign. No cover charge and no being turned away, which meant tonight was bound to be interesting. 

“Jennie, hold my hand until we get there.” Sana didn’t even wait for a response and instead opted to simply interlock their fingers. “I need good luck in the crushes-actually-approaching-and-showing-interest department.”

Jennie laughed, swinging their arms back and forth between them. “Well if you can get even half my luck, it should be a good night for you.” 

“Oh, wow. Way to brag, bitch,” Sana said, throwing a hand over her heart. “We’ve got Mrs. Already Dick Whipped over here.” 

“I am not!” Jennie yelled. “He just…” 

“Lasted longer than sixty seconds?” You finished for her with a purse of your lips. 

She pointed at you. “That he fucking did. That and so, so much more.”

Sana groaned next to the two of you. “Ugh, I want that. I haven’t had good sex in months.”

“Well, even if things don’t happen with Jin tonight, there’s gonna be plenty of guys here,” You tried to remind her. 

“Uh yeah, lots of Lambda guys,” She reminded you right back. 

You shrugged. You didn’t like that it had become this sort of unwritten rule that Tri Delts and Lambdas couldn’t get together, but when everyone was pranking or fucking with each other’s stuff, it was kind of difficult to look past that just for the sake of a hookup. 

“Well, Kappa Sig boys for you tonight it is then.” You motioned towards the top of the driveway, the party seemingly already completely started. 

The music was blaring and there was a fairly long line of people waiting to get in, but it only took a couple minutes for you to move through the line and pass over the threshold and into the scene of dimmed lights, packed bodies, and endless alcohol. 

You knew you had a lot of things to worry about, but after the absolutely horrendous two days that you’d had to endure, between suspension threats, disastrous house meetings, crying in front of your ex, the boxer and lipstick fiasco, and financial aid meltdowns, you just wanted to be able to relax and have fun for a single night. You didn’t think that was too much to ask for, and the vodka bottle currently staring at you from the kitchen, seemed to be calling you and saying they were the perfect place to start in order to make that fun, relaxing night come true. 

Once everyone got into the house, the girls broke up into their mini groups of close friends. You motioned to Sana and Jennie to follow you to the kitchen so you could get some drinks. It took some effort but the three of you eventually managed to make your way through the crowd that couldn’t bother to idle anywhere else besides around the counter of various alcohols and plastic cups. Each of you quickly made a sufficiently strong cup of vodka combined with whatever random mixers were available. 

“Okay, now let’s find a comfy couch that isn’t covered in vomit stains to camp out on and get plastered.” You pointed towards the living room, where a majority of the party goers were. 

“A couch without vomit stains?” Jennie clicked her tongue. “That’s a tall order for Kappa Sig.”

“Indeed.” Sana giggled, pointing towards some of the few empty places to sit in the back corner. 

You made your way over there, exchanging hellos with a few people that you knew before plopping down on the couch, all three of you spilling a few splashes of your drinks on each other; not even a drop of alcohol in your systems yet. 

“Well this is a great start.” You laughed, taking a large gulp from your cup that had you grimacing. “Jesus, this cheap ass Pinnacle. Come on, KS, get your shit together.” 

“Well excuse the fuck out of me.” The voice came from someone you recognized immediately. 

You turned around, a wide grin plastered across your face. “It’s okay Yoongi. I still love you even though you’re making us suffer with cheap booze.” 

He sauntered over, sitting down on the armchair beside you. “Well, you’re lucky you’re one of my very good friends or I wouldn’t bless you with my own personal stash.” His smile was devilish as he pulled up a bottle of Tito's vodka.” 

There was a collective gasp from you and friends. “Wow, keeping the good shit all to yourself.” 

“Hey, didn’t I just say I was gonna help you out?” He twisted the cop off and motioned for the three of you to hold your cups out, and one by one he filled your cups up to the very top. “Be wise with this power, friends.” 

“You know, Yoongi,” Sana said from across the couch. “I’d be totally willing to not take advantage of your hospitalities if you’d wanna help me out in another department.” 

“Jesus, Sana!” You already knew where she was going with this. “You’re willing to drink rubbing alcohol instead of Tito’s just to get a good word in to Jin?” 

Sana simply shrugged, zero shame in her methods. 

Yoongi laughed. “Put a good word in? I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Appreciate it.” She raised her cup to his and they cheered in the hopeful union of Sana of Jin. 

Yoongi opened his mouth to speak, but something near the front of his house caught his eye. “Also, can we try to have no brawls in the house tonight?” 

“Huh?” You were confused until you followed his line of sight, a mob of Lambda boys entering the house one by one; Jungkook leading them all. 

“No fighting,” Yoongi reiterated. “Or no more Tito’s for you.” 

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip from your drink that was currently ninety percent vodka. “You haven’t heard? We’re cordial now.” 

“Cordial? A Greek Drive miracle, I guess.” He stood up from the armchair and motioned towards the guys. “I’m gonna go say hey to Kook.” 

You nodded. “Okay, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Yoongi had managed to stay good friends with both you and Jungkook throughout this entire process. You hated the fact that the three of you never got to hang out together anymore because of the tension between you and Jungkook, but, hey, that was life. 

“Don’t forget our deal, Yoongi!” Sana shouted as he started across the living room. 

“I got you, girl. But just so you know our bedrooms are right next to each other so be mindful.” He lowered his hands to the ground, silently saying to keep the volume down. 

“You’re the best!” She said, kissing her hand and throwing it out to the party host. 

“Someone might be getting lucky after all.” You squeezed at her thigh before standing up. “So while you celebrate that, I’m gonna put more mixer in this drink so I don’t blackout by midnight.” 

“You act like you don’t do that every other week.” Jennie laughed. 

You squinted at her. “Rude.” 

“Love you,” She said, making a heart shape with her hands as you made your way back towards the kitchen. 

You gave small smiles as you passed more people that you knew that had just arrived at the party. You glanced towards the door, the Lambda boys still congregating there. You couldn’t help your eyes from catching on Jungkook. He was standing there, grinning at everyone who approached him. He was the type that could be friends with anyone. A bright light that everyone gravitated towards, that no one ever found boring. You bit the inside of your cheek at the gnawing though that never failed to enter your head anytime you saw him. And it was like he could sense that pull, because then he was looking at you, giving a small nod of acknowledgment. 

A tiny, insignificant nod. At its very best, that was what your relationship was now, and that made you feel incredibly empty. 

You screwed your eyes shut for a second, shaking your head, trying to force those things from your head as you finally made it to the kitchen and poured a little bit of the first soda you could reach into your cup; just a little bit. 

And the party continued on like that for the next hour or two. Laughing and smiling with your friends and then hunting Yoongi down to steal some of his personal alcohol, all while catching random glances of Jungkook. It was fun and your buzz was well in effect by the time it was once again the moment to go find Yoongi.

You asked Sana, who was currently talking to Jin in the corner of the living room, if she had seen him. Apparently a very good word has been put in and two seemed to be hitting it off. 

“He went out back.” She motioned towards the sliding glass door. 

You offered a hum of thanks and left them to mingle alone as you made your way to the door and pulled it open. You searched the tiny groups of people that were standing around, not able to find Yoongi anywhere until you noticed two occupied chairs sitting in the distance. One was Yoongi and the other… Well, of course it just had to be Jungkook. 

You took a deep breath, taking a sip of your drink before walking out to the secluded area beneath the giant tree where they were chatting. You did a little run in the last few feet of approaching them before kneeling down next to Yoongi’s lawn chair. his body slightly hiding Jungkook’s. 

“Hello, my spirit bearing friend.” 

“And if it isn’t the spirit stealer herself,” Yoongi said as he grabbed your cup and poured a shot or two inside. “I already had to get another handle of Tito’s from my room. You’re killing me tonight.” 

“It was a bad day.” You poked your bottom lip out as an apology. “I’m sorry.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.” He motioned towards your cup that he had filled up multiple times already tonight. 

“Well, I fucked up something with one of my scholarships, so now I’ve gotta find a place to live by the end of next week because I can’t afford to stay in the Tri Delt house.” You shrugged, the alcohol making the daunting situation seem less serious than it actually was. “So yeah, bad day.”

“Are you serious?” Yoongi said at the same time that Jungkook leaned forward with this concerned look on his face before saying, “Wait, what?”

“No… It’s, uhm, fine.” You glanced at the ground and began awkwardly scratching at your temple. “I don’t wanna ruin the mood for tonight. I’m gonna start looking for roommates tomorrow, so if either of you guys know of anyone.” You pointed your cup towards both of them with a shrug, trying to make it seem casual. 

Yoongi nodded, and then suddenly a smile was creeping across his face. You knew that expression well. It was the expression he’d made when you were all sixteen and drunk and decided that going to the rope swing down by the lake (the alligator infested lake) in the dead of night was a perfectly sane idea. Or when it was your senior year prom and he convinced you and Jungkook that an impromptu beach trip a few hours away would be fun, and it might actually have been if any of you had thought about money, hotel reservations, or just any sort of planning in general, but you didn’t, so it essentially became a three drive only to end up at a  Denny’s in a beach town instead of your hometown. The point was, you had seen that expression many, many times, and it was one that he made when a bad, impulsive idea started creeping through that brain of his.

“Whatever it is, no,” You said as you pushed some of the leaves and sticks off of the grass so you could sit down. 

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say!” He exclaimed. “It’s a brilliant idea actually.” 

“Yeah, we know that face anywhere.” Jungkook moved his chair forward slightly so that the three of you were now sitting in a triangle, facing one another. “Ideas that come from that face are never brilliant.” 

Yoongi smacked his lips. “Well, that’s offensive.” 

“What’s offensive is almost getting eaten by alligators because you convinced us by using bogus gator attack statistics,” You pointed out, and Jungkook chuckled at the memory. 

“But, we didn’t get eaten, so it’s fine.” He shrugged. 

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes. “So what’s this plan cooking in your head right now?” 

The devilish expression returned once more as he began looking back and forth between you and Jungkook. Oh, this was not good.

“Well, you said that you need a place to stay, right?” 

“...Right,” You said hesitantly, not completely sure where this was going until he turned his sights towards Jungkook; the phone call you’d overheard from earlier in the day flashing through your mind. 

“Yoongi, you idiot—” You started to say, but he was already spewing the other half of his grand plan. 

“And Jungkook needs a roommate!” He shouted, clapping his hands together like he’d just invented the surefire way to cure a hangover. “It’s perfect!”

There was a pause between the group, complete silence save from the chatting going on closer to the house — and then there was uncontrollable laughter. You and Jungkook doubled over at the most ridiculous proposal that you’d ever heard in your entire lives. 

Because it was totally ridiculous… Right?

“Why are you guys laughing?” Yoongi asked, looking genuinely confused. “That solves literally all of your problems.”

You caught the tear that was escaping out of the corner of your eye. “Yeah, it’s a great idea in theory Yoongi, if me and Jungkook didn’t have issues.” 

“I mean you guys are sitting here right now with each other.” He motioned between the two of you. “And there’s no fighting going on like there usually is. Plus, you said your houses were cordial now. I thought that meant you guys too.”

You and Jungkook glanced at each other, the amused smiles from Yoongi’s scheme faltering slightly. It had been a long time since you guys had been like this with each other. There was the talk after Pub last night and now you were here, just sitting and laughing with a mutual old friend. It was nice, you had to admit. But living together? That was just totally absurd. 

“Yoongi, that’s…” Jungkook trailed off, shaking his head, but not saying anything concrete. “And it doesn’t actually solve all of our problems… Our houses aren’t as cordial as we were hoping they’d be, even after we told them about President Kwon’s suspension threat.” You had texted Yoongi about the suspension fiasco yesterday and you were sure that Jungkook had done the same. 

“Wow, your members really are fucking idiots.” Yoongi laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You guys have way more pull than you realize.” 

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

Yoongi held one finger up as he sipped from his cup, like he was about to drop some serious knowledge on the two presidents who had no control over their houses. “College kids are like toddlers. They need guidance. Before you guys were sort of like their big brother and sister whose lead they followed because they liked you and thought you were cool — that’s how you guys became presidents after all. Which means now you’re essentially like their parents.” 

You snorted at the idea, but it wasn’t the craziest analogy. You remembered when you were a freshman and first joined Tri Delt. The president back then felt like this motherly figure who you could go to for anything. It was hard for you to think that other people now saw you that way, but maybe they did and you hadn’t fully noticed yet. 

“You’re laughing, but I’m serious,” Yoongi started again. “Okay, so you guys told them they needed to get their shit together, right?”

You and Jungkook both nodded.

“And like I said, you guys are like their parents — their divorced parents who they respect but feel the need to defend depending on whose side they're on.”

Again, you and Jungkook just looked at each other, a tiny piece of understanding falling into place. You and him had just been two people who didn’t work out. You thought it was a simple issue, but you just never realized what the consequences of that would be. People choosing sides. Defending each other’s actions. Getting even. 

It was a mess. A mess that needed to be fixed somehow. 

“Well that’s nice to know,” Jungkook said, breaking you from your thoughts. “But it doesn’t actually help us fix anything.”

That was true. Just because you knew why everyone had so easily fallen into this feud didn’t change the fact that something needed to change. Something had to be done… And as you glanced over at Yoongi, his expression that signaled bad ideas returned once more. It let you know that he had an idea or two about what could be done. 

“Well, maybe you guys could reverse the divorce.” He shrugged. 

It took you a second to grasp what he was trying to say, and then you were sputtering and ripping the bottle of vodka from your friend’s hand. “You’re cut off.”

Jungkook scoffed, an incredulous look adorning his features as well. “Seriously, what the fuck did you smoke, dude?” 

“Nothing!” He grabbed the bottle back from your hand. “Strictly liquor tonight.”

“Like the roommate idea was one thing—” Jungkook started. 

“Oh!” Yoongi cut him off. “So you didn’t think Y/N moving in was the worst idea ever.”  

“I… I…” His mouth was closing and opening, like he truly didn’t know what to say. “Like as a last option it wouldn’t be the end of the world.” 

“What?!” You said, a little louder than you’d intended, but you couldn’t help it. He was actually considering the idea of the two of you moving in together? “Us? Living in the same house?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I mean it’s better than you being homeless and me being broke.”

Your head was spinning, and you didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or that this insane idea was actually being proposed in a semi-serious manner. 

“See, this is perfect!” Yoongi sat the glass bottle down on the grass and reached out to grab at yours and Jungkook’s arms, yanking you closer together. “Just pretend to get back together. If you just said it, no one would probably believe you, but if you guys actually move in together, no one would think that you’d go that far just to get everyone to stop fighting. The Great Greek Ruse! It would be the best story of all time!”

This was crazy. This was absolutely fucking crazy, and you knew Yoongi was half-joking with all of this, but you could tell that there was little bit of hope gleaming off of his eyes. 

You grabbed Yoongi’s face on either side, forcing him to look at you. “You. Are. Fucking. Plastered.” You said each word slowly and deliberately to try and penetrate through the haze of drunkenness to get to the part of him that held actual common sense.

“Yes, I am in fact plastered.” He grabbed your wrists, his excitement only seeming to multiply. “But I would argue that the most logical solutions to problems come from being drunk. There’s no hesitation that an idea seems ridiculous, because everything seems less ridiculous when you're fucked up.”

You fisted your hands through your hair. “You’re crazy. Literally crazy. Jungkook, tell him he’s crazy.” You looked at him for confirmation, but he just sat there, pursing his lips like he was… thinking. Like he was actually considering it. “Are you serious?” 

He threw his hands up in a defensive position. “No, it’s completely crazy. It’s just… Do you have any better ideas?”

“I can’t believe we’re even talking about this right now.” You scoffed, falling back flat against the grass and throwing your hands over your face. “Even if we did try to be that stupid and lie to everyone, they would never in a million fucking years believe that we would ever get back together. We fought in front of them literally yesterday!” 

You peeked through your fingers and Jungkook held an expression that made it seem like he wasn’t so sure that was true. “I don’t know about that. All I did earlier was tell Jimin that we talked last night and two seconds later he had gone off on some tangent about how disappointed he was in me for sleeping with you again — and I corrected him that we didn’t, by the way.”

“Oh, fuck Jimin then,” You hissed, going off topic from this insane fake dating ruse. 

“Come on, you know how it is. Sana and Jennie would act the same way. It’s like Yoongi said, the Lambdas defend me and the Tri Delts defend you. That’s literally how this entire mess started.”

You sighed, sitting back up and raking any stray pieces of grass out of your hair. You didn’t say anything, because you truly didn’t know what the correct response was. Sure, you knew that you needed to figure out a way to not get your chapters suspended… But this idea of pretending to get back together? You tried to imagine the reactions, but you just couldn’t, because again, this was fucking absurd. You were about to verbally reiterate this point once more when Jungkook continued. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that when we broke up they saw how bad our relationship got and they decided to defend us. Maybe if we pretended to get back together, just for a little bit, they’d finally back off because the entire reason they started fighting in the first place wouldn’t even be an issue anymore.” Jungkook shrugged. He fucking shrugged. 

“Do you even understand what pretending to get back together entails?” You began waving your hands around and pointing at your head, because maybe it would help get the point across somehow. “It means acting like we actually want to be together in public. It means no flirting or going home with people on campus or at parties because someone we know might see us. Would you actually be willing to go through that much effort?”

There was a pause and Jungkook just stared at you for a second, and then he started… smiling. This small, sad sort of smile. “What could it hurt to try?” 

You scoffed, and scoffed, and scoffed, because you just couldn’t form words. You had explained it as best as you could, but neither he nor Yoongi seemed to get it. This meant… hugging, touching, kissing, just to prove to people that this was real. That you weren’t lying. That you wanted to be with him… And that he wanted to be with you. 

You knew you hadn’t said anything in a minute or so, just lost in the details and implications of this scheme. You were only brought back to reality by Yoongi, speaking his piece once again. “Y/N,” He started, his voice quieter than it had been when he was excitedly explaining the idea before, “The worst thing that happens is they don’t believe you. But if you actually pull this off, you guys could save your chapters.”

Your mouth went firm and straight. The worst thing that could happen was the members not believing you? You had to stifle a laugh as you glanced towards Jungkook. No, that definitely wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. Not by a long shot. You knew why Jungkook didn’t see this as a terrible idea. He had nothing to lose, but you did.

However, in the end, you thought maybe the risk was worth it. Maybe this fucked up scheme could save you guys somehow.

“Uhm,” You finally started, clearing your throat to try and push your emotions back down into your chest. “So in the scenario that we actually tried this ridiculous plan… How would we go about telling everyone?”

You were staring at the ground, so you didn’t see what expression Jungkook’s face shifted into. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. Was it relief from having a shot at mending the relationship with your members? Or was it regret from you feeding into this idea that he hadn’t actually been taking seriously? 

“Well,” Jungkook started, and you still refused to look at him. “First of all, did you say anything about our talk last night to anyone?”

“Not really. I told Sana that it was ‘enlightening,’ and basically said the same to Jennie. What about you?”

“I told Jimin that we talked about our feelings.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’m sure he took that very well.”

“He was surprised…” Jungkook paused. “And I think that’s a good thing.”

You finally turned to look at him. “Why’s that a good thing?”

He stood up from his chair and held his hand out to you. You just stared at it for a second, confused at the kindness of the gesture before grabbing it and letting him help you up. He didn’t drop your hand even after you were standing up right, less than a foot of space separating you. 

“Because I think if our best friends look genuinely shocked by what we’re about to do, then it might be a lot more believable.”

Your face twisted in confusion. “Uhm, what’re we about to do?”

Jungkook pursed his lips, hesitant as he opened his mouth to reveal what he was thinking. “I think if we’re gonna pull this off, we need to… show them, not tell them.” It was instant, the way your hand trembled in his. Immediately he was squeezing around your fingers, silently trying to reassure you. “We don’t have to do this. It’s probably not even gonna work… But again, it’s just something to try.”

You knew you didn’t have to do this. You knew it was probably smarter not to do this. But some small part of you wanted to do this. Some stupidly hopeful part of you. 

You sucked a deep breath in through your nose and gave your bottom lip one hard, painful bite. “Fuck it, Kook.” You shifted your hand in his and interlocked your fingers. “Let’s do this.”

His eyes widened, the nickname slipping past your lips like the past two years never even existed. And then he was smiling, this pleasantly surprised smile that you hadn’t seen directed at you in what felt like an eternity. 

“I know it was my idea, but I can’t believe this is actually about to happen.” Yoongi was standing next to the two of you, hands holding either side of his face, like he was about to witness the ruse of the century. 

“Ready?” Jungkook asked. 

“I guess I am.” You shrugged, motioning towards the house. “Let’s do this.”

“Deep breath,” He said before inhaling, and you followed without hesitation. 

“Deep breath.” You nodded after you let the air slide past your lips. 

And then he was pulling you towards the house, hand in hand, the only thing keeping you from devolving into a panic attack was the way he kept squeezing your hand. 

You were approaching the fractured groups of people that stood outside of the sliding glass door, and all it took was one person to notice the two of you, and then suddenly people were pointing and staring, confused expressions appearing like a line of dominos, but you didn’t see any Lambdas or Tri Delts yet thankfully. Though, you knew that wasn’t going to last very long. 

You ignored the attention as best as you could as Jungkook opened the door and led you in through the back of the house. 

“So what exactly are we gonna do?” You whispered to him as you got closer to the living room; the main room of the house, with the most prying eyes. 

He slowed his walk and dropped your hand before placing his palm on your lower back as he continued to usher you forward into the wild circus the two of you were about to create. 

“I’m…” He paused as he pushed through the brush of people blocking the hallway until you were standing in the heart of the party. The lights in the house were all dimmed, but you still felt as though there was a bright, blinding spotlight on the two of you. 

“You’re gonna what?” You asked, looking around to find Lambdas and Tri Delts lounging in every corner. You started to fidget, wringing your hands and gritting your teeth until you felt someone lightly grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at them. 

“I’m gonna kiss you,” He whispered, hand dropping to cup the side of your face. “I’m gonna kiss you right now, okay?”

Your eyes widened a little, mouth parting. You knew earlier that was what he’d probably meant when he said to ‘show them,’ but now that you were actually here in the moment, with him so close to your face that you could feel his breath hitting your skin… You were freezing up. 

“I’m going to,” He said, leaning in closer. “If you changed your mind just push me back, because I’m really about to kiss you.” 

A small voice in your head replied that you really wanted him to, as sad as that was. But you kept that thought to yourself as you closed your eyes and said, “Do it.” 

His gaze dropped to your mouth and then he closed the gap, a gap that hadn’t been closed in over two years. His lips warm and soft, just like you remembered, suddenly pressing against your own. His hand slid to the back of your neck, the other coming to rest on your hip, the familiar motion in familiar places tugging your fingers like a magnet until they were twisting at the front of his shirt. 

You knew that this kiss needed to be believable. It couldn’t be over the top, like you were trying to put on a show, but it also couldn’t be stiff, like the two of you were forcing it. Which technically, you were forcing it. It was pre-planned and clinical… But it didn’t feel that way. 

You knew every tilt of his head before he decided to move, every light brush of his tongue before it met your own, every touch of his thumb before it grazed along the column of your throat. You knew everything. You remembered everything. And you wished you could say that there was at least one thing that was different. You wished you could say that when he hummed against your mouth, your stomach didn’t twist. But unfortunately, you couldn’t say that. Because it didn’t just twist — it warped into this undistinguishable, untangleable shape; one that you didn’t think anyone could ever hope to be able to unravel. 

It was getting tighter and tighter, tying a knot around your lungs. You thought you’d have to pull away, gasp for air, and maybe ruin this whole charade the two of you were putting on, but all you needed to do was try and focus a little less on Jungkook kissing and touching you, and you’d be able to hear the buzzing chatter that was already surround you on all sides. Your names being shouted in unison breaking you apart.

You pulled back, breath heavy and uneven as you stared at his mouth, and you were at the very least happy that he looked just as uneasy, his eyes dark and hooded and reflecting something that you couldn’t pinpoint. But you weren’t able to just sit there and stare at him forever. You had to face the consequences of what you’d done, and when you turned to face the congregating mob of Lambdas and Tri Delts, complete shock resting on every single one of their faces, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

“Y/N?!” People were shouting your name, dozens of them, and you couldn’t tell who they were, but your eyes were locking with two particular people whose voices pulled you straight to them; Sana and Jennie. 

“Jungkook, what the hell?!” Someone else said in the distance. 

“Okay, literally what the fuck is going on?” Everyone was saying something along these lines to the point that it was just a sea of expletives and confusion, but it was Jimin suddenly climbing on top of the one of the couches that caught the entire room’s attention. 

“I fucking knew it!” He yelled, shirt half-unbuttoned and clearly intoxicated as he jumped up and down on the cushions. “I knew something happened with you two last night, you bitch ass liar!” The upside to that proclamation was that it made this entire scene seem a whole hell of a lot more believable. 

“What happened last night?” Jennie asked, concern embedded in her features as she and Sana pushed to the front of the crowd. 

You couldn’t blame them for these over the top reactions, especially your best friends. They figured that you would tell them anything, and you would. If you actually managed to pull off this ruse, you were going to tell Sana and Jennie the details immediately. But you had to admit, Jungkook was right. Having your best friends raw reactions was making this seem more realistic and not as far-fetched. 

You glanced at Jungkook for a second, giving a small nod that said they were just going to have to improvise this as best as they could. 

“We… There was more to the talk last night than I told you,” You said, finally responding back to the random questions being thrown in every direction. 

“Yeah, I wanted to tell you, Jimin,” Jungkook started. “But it happened so suddenly, and I knew a lot of you guys weren’t going to understand, so we wanted to talk about how we were going to go about telling you guys about this,” He said as he grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers once more. The small gesture had people gasping as if that was more damning than making out. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sana rattled off, hands tangling in her hair like her head was about to overheat. “You guys are back together? Y/N, you didn’t say shit about this when I talked to you this morning.”

“I… we’re not back together… yet.” You squeezed his hand, silently telling him that you knew what you were doing. You thought saying you were completely back together was less believable than saying the two of you were simply talking again. “We’re just working through things, and I didn’t wanna jinx it when I was talking to you this morning, but I was going to tell you.”

You could see the hurt flashing through her eyes at you not telling her the truth, even though it wasn’t actually the truth. You wanted to pull her in and apologize, but she would know the actual circumstances soon enough.

“This is in-fucking-sane,” Taehyung said as he also stepped to the front. “Talking? If you’re doing that, you’re basically already back together.”

“Fuck, is that why you got pissed at me for making that comment about Y/N this morning, Kook?” Baekhyun shouted from the back. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know!”

This was actually going a lot better than you had anticipated. All of these tiny coincidences of what you had told your friends or the way the two of you had acted since yesterday were building up to be a pretty convincing lie. 

“You’re fine,” Jungkook shrugged. “You didn’t know — but now you do.” That last part came out a little more harsh; a believable act from the Lambda president. 

“I just don’t get it,” Joy said from somewhere in the middle of the crowd. “You just called him a lying piece of shit literally yesterday.”

Your jaw clenched. This was the part that had worried you the most, the fact that only yesterday the two of you had portrayed a relationship that wasn’t even slightly cordial, and now you were trying to say you had jumped right back into almost being in a relationship? It was a leap, but you were going to have to convince them to take the jump. 

“I know I said that,” You started, clearing your throat to try and sound louder and more confident. “But I only said that because I was feeling hurt. We ran into each other after everything that happened yesterday and apologized. We ended up hanging out the entire night and texting all day today, and… and we talked about things that we haven’t talked about in a really, really long time.” That part was true at least. “Honestly, we weren’t going to say anything for a while, because we thought it would be too sudden for you guys, but we’ve been drinking and we kind of just forgot about how you guys might react. I’m sorry it happened like this.”

Everyone was quiet for a second. You looked around and found a slew of people that belonged to neither house recording this entire debacle. You weren’t sure where the two of you should go from here. Should the two of you stay together for the rest of the night or should you go talk to your friends? You didn’t know the best route to take. However, you and Jungkook had to be the luckiest people in the entire world, because you had a friend like Yoongi, who not only gave you ideas that were so crazy that they just might work, but also could get you out of any hiccups that his said crazy plans might run into.

“So everyone knows about the happy couple now?” Yoongi threw his arms around you and Jungkook, a beaming smile staring out at the crowd of stunned Tri Delts and Lambdas. “Perfect, because I’m shit at keeping secrets.”

“Wait, you knew?” Jennie asked. 

“Yeah, they were both texting me this morning about all of their gross, mushy feelings.” He faked a gag for good measure. “You guys know I’m friends with both of them so they wanted an impartial opinion. Plus, as their very good friend I’ve wanted them to get back together since they broke up, so I may have pushed them along in the right direction.” You weren’t sure if that was what Yoongi actually felt or if he was just saying it for whatever reason. Either way, you were actually happy because it was only adding to the air of believability. “So instead of standing there like you’re devastated, maybe seem happy for this newly rekindled love?”

“Give us a minute,” Johnny said, his tall head poking up from the crowd in the back. “We’re in shock.” 

You finally let yourself look at Jungkook again. He was already waiting for you with a small upward tilt of his lips. To everyone else it probably just looked like a smile between two people who were reconciling, but to you it was a sign of victory. The two of you did it. They believed you — at least for now. 

“Okay, can we at least talk to you in private?” Sana asked, now that the crowd was starting to disperse to simmer over this newfound information. 

“Yeah, let’s talk.” You nodded and then turned to whisper into Jungkook’s ear. “I’m telling them the truth, but no one else.”

“Yeah, I’m telling Jimin and that’s it,” He murmured. 

“Okay,” You said and then quickly pressed a small peck to his lips before dropping his hand and immediately getting dragged away by your friends before you could say a single word. 

You spent the next half hour explaining to them every detail of the Great Greek Ruse Yoongi had cooked up, and by the end of it they were completely slack jawed before disintegrating into a fit of laughter at just how insane the two of you must have been to try and pull off something like that. 

Your only response to them being that there were only a few things in life that could end a war that was saturated in as much hostility as the one between the Tri Delts and the Lambdas; love being one of them — even if it was fake.  

 ———---

The party continued on after that. Your friends not allowing you out of their sights as they bombarded you with every idea that danced through their heads about how to keep the ploy of yours and Jungkook’s fake relationship up for as long as possible, and how the two of you were going to go about hooking up with people without everyone finding out. You were actually thankful for that, because you and Jungkook hadn’t gotten a chance to work out the logistics of how you were going to act in public. 

You simply listened as Sana and Jennie amused themselves with this situation that their best friend had gotten themself involved in when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. You pulled it out, Jungkook’s contact flashed across the screen with a text. You should probably get around to changing his contact name from ‘Jungkook the Jackass’ in case anyone ever caught a glance at your phone. Meet me out front, the text said. 

“I’ll be right back,” You told Sana and Jennie as you lifted yourself off of the couch. “I’ve gotta talk to Jungkook.”

“Tell your lover I said hello!” Sana chuckled, no longer having that hurt like in her eye from earlier now that she was in on everything. 

You quickly moved through the crowd of people that was now beginning to thin as the night got later and later before stepping past the front door. You looked around for a second before you noticed Jungkook standing at the base of the driveway waiting for you. He spotted you, motioning for you to come down. You wondered what he wanted. Probably to just gloat in relief that their idiot plan actually succeeded. 

“Hey,” You whispered as you decided to stand a little bit closer to him than you normally would just in case anyone was watching. “What’s up?” 

He looked around, presumably to make sure no one was in ear shot, and when he found that the coast was clear he turned towards you, an ecstatic grin staring at you. “I can’t believe that actually worked.” 

“I can’t either. Yoongi was right. They really are like toddlers.” You laughed. 

“Yeah, I mean we don’t know for sure yet if this is actually gonna stop them from fighting, but I saw some of the members who I know have had issues in the past actually talking, so I think that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, I saw them too.” Lambdas and Tri Delts who had pulled some pretty spectacular pranks on one another seen speaking in what looked to be a respectful manner? A complete miracle. “How’d Jimin take the news?”

“Oh, he thinks it’s completely hilarious.” Jungkook chuckled. 

You smiled. “Sana and Jennie think the same.”

“I figured they would. Though seeing them that pissed off was kind of funny.” He paused, looking off into the distance before shoving his hand into his pockets. “But anyways, the reason I called you out here was to give you this.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and made a fist in front of you. You opened your palm to receive whatever he was trying to give you; a single key suddenly falling into your grasp. “I have a spare in my car, but that’s the key to my apartment — or I guess our apartment now.” He laughed, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. 

You had been so focused on the fake dating aspect of this predicament that you had almost forgotten about your living situation. You held it up between the two of you. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. You were about to move in with your ex, while everyone except for your best friends believed that you were back together. 

“Are we really gonna do this?” You finally asked. 

“I don’t see why we wouldn’t be able to make it work. I think the past two days showed that we can be around each other and not act crazy.”

You agreed that things had definitely shifted, and not just because you had to pretend to be in a relationship now. You wanted to think that you could make it work, that you could put your petty, bitter ways behind you.

And when you told Jungkook that you felt the exact same way about making things work before leaving to go home for one of your last few nights in the Tri Delt house, you truly meant what you had said to him… But sometimes situations happen, and as they say, old habits die hard. 

--------

three days later

You were completely out of breath as you climbed the stairs to your new apartment building, about a dozen duffle bags filled with your various belongings were wrapped around your body as you tried to keep your phone smashed between your shoulder and your ear. 

“Why’d you decide to move out early?” Jennie whined from the otherside of the line. “Did you wanna get away from us that bad?”

You tried to muster a laugh as you attempted to make it up the final few steps without passing out. “Of course I wanted to stay longer, but both of my classes got cancelled, and I’d rather just get it over with than have to deal with it on a Friday like I was going to.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” She huffed. “But I’m still not happy about you having to live with the devil’s spawn.”

You tsked at her. “Hey, we’re all trying to get along now, remember?” 

“I know… But I’m still acting like a bitch to Jimin, I don’t care,” She added quickly. 

“Well, that one I’m okay with.” You chuckled. “But I just got to my apartment, so I’ll call you back in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay, talk to you later.” And then the line went dead and you were fishing for the key that Jungkook had handed you outside of Kappa Sigma on Saturday night. 

You couldn’t believe it had only been three days, but in those three days things had been going okay, actually. There had been no incidents involving either the Tri Delt or Lambda house, and after the everyday, non-stop antics from the past few years, that was as close to divine intervention as you could get. So yes, you could say that maybe you had developed a slight bit of optimism. Everything was working out at the sorority, you actually had a place to live — things truly were going well. But you should’ve known that when things were going well, Jeon Jungkook was always there to throw a wrench in your happiness, because as you wiggled the key inside of the lock and pushed your way inside, the last thing you had ever wanted to see in your entire life was staring right back at you. 

Your ex-boyfriend, who publicly was once again your actual boyfriend, whom you still had occasional feelings of longing for, was currently balls-deep in a girl on his living room couch — which was now also your living room couch.

The door slammed against the wall before you could stop it, both of their terrified faces suddenly turning to you as they immediately yanked a blanket over their naked bodies. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” Jungkook yelled. “You said you were coming Friday!” 

You couldn’t help it. The tiny, petty demon you had tried to squash down in size over the past few days was suddenly bubbling over at the flare of emotions ricocheting inside of your head. Your teeth gritted together, eyes cutting daggers across his skin as you forced a saccharine smile as fake as this relationship. 

“Well, honey, I’m home now.”

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: mentions of sex, suggestive conversations, fluff, fingering, soft smut

A/N: A little treat for the horndogs <3

"O-oh god! It's too big Nev, 's not gonna...c-can't-"

"Oh It's going to fit, don't worry pretty girl. Daddy's gonna fuck you so good. You want that, don't you baby?" He asked, cooing as she nodded frantically, tongue lulled out the side of her mouth. Neville had barely gotten past the tip before she began whining, crying about how big he was. He couldn’t help but lose control, shoving himself deep inside her, pistoning his hips at an ungodly pace. His eyes lingered on her chest, entranced by the hypnotic sway that they had due to his thrust. Pinning her hands to the bed, their eyes locked in an intense moment. 

“O-oh fuck princess, you’re so tight. You gonna cum? Hm? Gonna make a-”

“Nev?” he snapped up, a heavy gasp leaving his lips as looked to his side. (Y/n) sat there, a confused look on her face. “Are you alright? I think you were having a nightmare. You kept making a bunch of noises in your sleep!” he felt his face flush, clearing his throat as he looked away from her. His heart began to race as she climbed into his lap, turning his face towards hers. He looked at her, hoping his nerves weren't clear on his face. Due to the snickers he heard in the background, he was certain it was obvious to just about everyone but her what the issue was. 

“Hey um, petal, you might wanna move.” he whispered to her, trying to keep her hips from his troubled area.

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head once more as she moved back. Her eyes widened at the newfound breeze on her rear due to her skirt being lifted up. Not sure of what the cause was she moved back slightly, gasping at the feeling of something hard and long against her ass. Suddenly it all set in, he was- “O-oh. I’m sorry Nev.” she squeaked, quickly hopping from his lap. She smoothed down her skirt, clearing her throat as she eyed everyone in the room awkwardly. While the pair seemed flustered, the team couldn’t get enough of the interaction.

“Well I guess it’s clear why you’re the boss now.” Fred said, laughing as he motioned to the large tent in the man’s pants. George gave him a low five, joining him in his laughter as Neville glared at them all. Who were they to make him feel embarrassed? Standing up he adjusted the tent in his pants but despite his efforts, his dick was still prominent through his slacks.

“Poor (Y/n). She’s not gonna live to see another day after that thi-”

“Would you lot quit it?! When the fuck are we landing?” Neville growled at the bunch, causing the laughter to cease. Everyone knew what it was like to deal with an enraged Neville and that was the last thing they wanted. If the plane hadn't already landed, he’d shoot it right out the sky.

“We’ve actually just landed, boss. I was going to tell you before this little…situation that just occurred. Your bags have already been brought to the villa to ensure we have maximum time to scope out the museum.” Harrison said, giving the man a nod. He hummed, giving him a nod. “In the meantime, the city is yours to roam girls. We’ll be sending two men with you for your safety.” he snapped his fingers and two tall men appeared, their scary appearance paired with “tourist” clothing. What was supposed to be a disguise was just a funny sight of two muscle heads in brightly colored floral shirts. The (h/c) haired girl walked over to the leader, tugging on his sleeve some. He looked down at her, face softening at the pout on her face.

“Will we be able to spend some time together eventually? I know this is technically a work trip for you but I-I’d really like to spend time with you.” she said, making his heart melt. She never failed to make his heart burst, unreasonably cute without even trying. He had already planned on making time for her but now it wasn’t just something on his list, but his main priority. Stroking her cheek gently he put a soft kiss on her forehead.

“ ‘Course petal. In the meantime,” he leaned down sucking on the skin below her ear as he let out a chuckle, “Why don’t you go buy yourself something pretty for me?” her eyes widened but she nodded regardless, looking at him with a shocked expression as he pulled away. Before she could respond Twyla began to drag her, yanking her down the stairs of the jet.

“Come on babes! We’ve got some shopping to do.”

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

“Was it really necessary to send them with us?” (Y/n) whispered, looking over her shoulder at the two large men that had been following them from a distance. “I mean, everyone’s looking!” she hissed, pointing to a group of people that were pointing and whispering to them. Twyla shrugged, a subtle skip to her walk.

“Just means we look important! You worry too much, babes. We’re on an expense paid trip to Italy and we don’t have to pay for any of these clothes? There could literally be an angry mob after us and that still wouldn’t kill my mood!” she sighed, still noticing the girl’s tense mood. “Plus, Neville would want you to enjoy yourself. Speaking of him…” she grabbed the girl’s hand, walking into the lingerie store on the left. She looked at her confused.

“Why are we here? Nev already bought me underwear.” she asked, following Twyla as she began to grab different sets off the racks. Another layer of confusion was added on when she noticed that she wasn’t grabbing her own size. Twyla let out a snort, throwing the small pile that she had somehow amassed into her arms.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re telling me after today’s little ordeal that you haven’t noticed? Your hottie has definitely been thinking of banging your brains out.” she said, giggling at the girl’s bashful expression. “I’m only telling the truth! And judging by your reactions, you’ve been thinking about it too.” she pondered her words for a moment. It wasn’t not not true. She most certainly had thought about Neville in more unsavory ways. Even before their reuniting, (Y/n) always thought about him as she attempted to get herself off, imagining they were his hands touching her bringing her to a well deserved climax. However anytime she’d get close, she’d become overwhelmed with the thought that what she had been doing was shameful. Masturbating to her old crush from school? What could be more dirty?

“I-I guess I have thought about it once or twice..” she admitted. “B-but I don’t have the balls to just walk out in something like this! What if he laughs at me?” Twyla gawked at the girl, blinking repeatedly. She could not believe her ears.

“Are you kidding me?! The only sound that will be leaving that man’s mouth is the sound of him telling you to get on your knees.” she responded, turning back around to look through the racks for more. “Plus, it’s not like you have to pounce on the man. All I’m saying is wait for the right time, maybe after a nice dinner or something then boom, whip out the goods. You’ve got everything to gain and nothing to lose. If that’s all then let’s check out then go get massages! I’m making you pamper yourself this trip. Merlin knows you need a break.”

(Y/n) was thankful for Twyla’s pep talk knowing the blonde was right. Neville would like anything she did; it was just a matter of when she should do it.

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

And pampering they had done. (Y/n) and Twyla had been to just about every ritzy spot Italy had to offer them. After their shopping trip, the taller girl had taken them to get massages. It was funny how the masseuse instantly knew it was her first time from the abundance of knots in her back and when the man was done? She was most certainly an inch taller! They also had gone for manicures (despite having done that a few days ago..). Being bold she decided to get a set out of her comfort zone which she was beyond satisfied with. But the hot Italian sun combined with all the running around had tired her out, resulting in the driver bringing them to the villa.

The villa wasn’t as big as Neville’s second manor but was still insanely big. After the bodyguard had carried her bags to her room for her, she climbed into the brand new silk robe she had gotten, laying on the bed drinking the smoothie the maid had gotten for her. It was nice, just being able to relax. Throughout her years of working, (Y/n) rarely took off days. A lot of the time she’d even cover shifts for employees that couldn’t make it and even when the bakery was closed she would come in, fixing things up and tidying up mindlessly. Numerous times Twyla had caught the girl there when she wasn’t supposed to be and forced her to go home out of concern for her health.

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of the bedroom door opening, widening with enthusiasm as she saw the tattooed man in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Hopping up she ran over to him, jumping into his arms which he gladly accepted, holding her tightly. “I missed you.”

He smiled, setting the flowers down to hold her better before placing a soft peck to her lips. “I missed you too, love. I left early so I could spend some time with you.” his eyes moved to the bags in the corner of the room, chuckling at the large pile. “I’m guessing your shopping trip was successful?” she felt her face heat up at his lack of knowledge of the lingerie that lay within one of them.

“I guess you could say that. Come, come! I wanna relax with you.” she began dragging him over to the bed, straddling him once he was situated. They sat in a comfortable silence with Neville holding the girl close to his chest, just appreciating the closeness he had with her. Since they’re reunion, every intimate moment, be it sexual or not, had been interrupted by some instance where he was needed somewhere else. He hadn’t been able to spend nearly as much time as he wanted with her but now he had her all to himself. His hands rubbed at her back gently until he got bored, deciding to test the waters. He knew it’d take a while before they’d get anywhere near what happened in his dream but he was willing to wait. He’d do anything to be able to touch her, feel her in a way that was less than innocent. As he gripped at her ass with one hand he brought the other one up to her cheek, cupping it as he pulled her into a deep and sensual kiss.

She gladly accepted, kissing back as she brought herself closer to him, playing with the bits of loose hair at the base of his neck. He began to nibble on her lip before pulling away, trailing open mouthed kisses down her neck. A mewl sounded from her, causing him to pull away slowly. Gripping at her waist above her robe, he gazed into her eyes intently. “You wearin’ anything under here?” he asked, watching as she looked down, shaking her head. “No? God you’re making it so hard for me to not just fuck you right here.” he sighed some, reaching for the ties on her robe. He stopped, looking at her once more for confirmation. She nodded frantically before stopping, feeling slightly embarrassed from how eager she was. With one soft tug, her robe was undone revealing her soft supple breast which he instantly went for. With his lips wrapped around one he began to lick and suck at the other, both of them moaning in unison. After a while of him teasing her sensitive nubs she began to grow impatient, rocking her hips against his gently as she let out a soft whimper.

“P-please..” she moaned breathlessly, not too sure of what she wanted. All she knew was that she wanted something, anything. Everything he did had her near her edge, from his kisses to his tongue and she needed to feel more. Pulling away he looked at her, thinking for a moment before pulling the two of them up.

“I wanna try something,” he said, positioning in front of the mirror. “He pushed back the fabric of her robe, putting her pussy on full display. His pants tightened at the sight of her glistening folds which she avoided in the mirror. Neville gripped her chin gently, positioning it to look at her bits in the mirror, chuckling at her wide eyes, pupils fully blown with arousal. With his other hand, he began to massage up and down her thighs. He watched as her legs grew weak, shaking with anticipation. Trailing his fingers near her sex, tracing small patterns on the inside of her thighs. 

He patted the side of her cheek with two fingers, pulling her attention away from herself to make eye contact with him through the glass. “Open up.” he whispered, small praises of approval leaving his mouth as she did. He took his thick digits, slowly pushing past her kiss stung lips. His eyes watched in the mirror as they entered her wet little mouth, groaning at the feeling of her soft tongue gliding along the underside of them. Pushing them a little further, she gagged, eyes tearing up. She looked so pretty with tears in her eyes, already fucked out before he had even put them in. It was hard to tell who wanted it more at this point but as Neville finally slid a finger into her folds, it was obvious. Hot tears fell down her face, already overwhelmed from it all. Pumping his finger in and out, his eyes flickered between her fucked out face and her pussy, juices already coating her thighs. Moving his face to her neck, he began to suck and kiss on her neck.

(Y/n) was becoming more and more desperate by the moment. She had subconsciously begun to play with her tits, rubbing and tugging on her nipples. “M-more, Nev please!” she begged to which he instantly complied, sliding another finger in. He began to work her open more, scissoring and stretching his fingers inside of her. Once her muscle had relaxed once again, he began to speed up his moment, the heel of his palm creating a slapping noise each time it’d meet her pussy.

“Merlin, baby, you’re soaked. Your messy little cunt’s just eating my fingers.” he purred out, chuckling deeply as he felt her clench at his words. Who knew his pretty little princess would get worked up so easily, slowly reaching her peak just from a few fingers and words? He used his other hand to rub at her clit, causing her knees to buckle, falling back onto him for support. He loved how much she relied on him, becoming a needy mess just for him. He curled his fingers up, aiming for her spot until he found it causing her to let out a loud cry, gripping onto his arm tightly. Neville watched as her face scrunched up, tears streaming down her face.

“N-need to….need ta….O-oh god Nev! I’m gonna-” before she could finish her eyes widened before snapping close, head falling back onto his shoulder as she rutted her hips against his fingers, whimpering as she rode out her high. He continued to rub at her clit, fingering her cunt until she began to whine, pushing him away. He smirked some, admiring her fucked out expression in the mirror. Her eyes were shut, pants  puffy lips. He licked his lips at the sight of her cunt, sensitive and fucked out, messy and cum covered from her orgasm. As he pulled his fingers out, he had to stop himself from letting out a string of curses at the way her cream began to run hot down her legs along with the bit that had gathered on his fingers. Lifting them to his face he wasted no time, sucking and licking on them. He moaned softly, continuing to clean them thoroughly, not stopping until the only thing that remained was the salty taste of his own flesh.

“You look so pretty when you cum, flower.” he muttered, smiling as the girl just let out a soft ‘mhm’, half asleep and barely able to process his words. He took off her robe, lifting her up as he began to carry her to their private bathroom, letting out a content sigh at the events that had just happened. Although he hadn’t been able to get off himself, he was more than happy being able to just please her. 

Afterall, it was what he wanted more than anything, to have his flower live in absolute happiness and pleasure.

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[delicioussshame]

I remembered this fic only a few days ago. Sorry. Have the second part.

At least he wrote to Luo Binghe before his little stunt.

He hangs onto this small bright spot like a lifeline as he stares at his phone, back in his apartment. Once his disciple has read the message Shen Yuan sent, he’ll understand that his shizun was just pretending to be a bitch. He’ll probably find it in his heart to forgive the humiliation, especially since Shen Yuan will be suffering from it way more than Tianlang-Jun’s fucking son ever will.

If his parents found out he befriended one of China’s richest moguls’ heir, they might ease up on the forced partying, but alas. He won’t tell them. That would ruin his whole schtick.

Never mind that! How the hell is Luo Binghe’s Tianlang-Jun’s son! That was very much not included in the backstory he was given by him! Single mother, poor upbringing, tiny village! Not uber-rich daddy just waiting for him to join him in the big city, woo just as rich women and inherit his endless conglomerate! Tianlang-Jun wasn’t even known to have children! Or a wife! Luo Binghe kept him in the dark! Or he outright lied to him!

Okay, so maybe Shen Yuan did not tell Luo Binghe he also was a scion of the rich and famous of Beijing. They had shared precious little about their personal lives. There had been too many novels to discuss. Luo Binghe must surely have been just as surprised as Shen Yuan himself.

Shen Yuan holds his phone, typing and deleting another message to Luo Binghe. He doesn’t know how to apologise for the frankly abysmal way he’d treated him.

Just as he’s deleting another string of characters, his phone beeps. Shizun remembers our date tomorrow, right?

…So Luo Binghe isn’t angry, right? He’s not, right? He wouldn’t call it a date if he only wanted to break Shen Yuan’s face with his mighty fists, would he?

(Okay, he’s not sure why Luo Binghe is calling it a date anyway, but whatever.)

I do.

Good! I can’t wait to see him!

…Maybe Binghe has an identical twin brother. That would explain everything.

It makes at least as much sense as Luo Binghe being a pure white lotus and a fan of online literature, while also being a rich playboy standing to inherit one of the country’s biggest conglomerates.

…He’ll find out soon enough. See you tomorrow then.

Just to be on the safe side, he’ll stop by a nice bakery before they meet.

_________________

It is possible it’s the fifth time Shen Yuan checks his watch.

It is also possible his nerves got the better of him and made him arrive forty-five minutes early. Sue him.

“Shizun!”

If their relationship is going to continue, he needs to put a stop to this appellation. It’s terrible for both their image.

Shen Yuan turns toward the call, and almost flinches away from the force of his disciple’s radiance. There’s no way this Binghe, cheeks flushed from having rushed over and wide smile on his face, is anything like the lady-killer Shen Yuan crossed the other day.

Identical twins. Shen Yuan is calling it.

“Shizun must forgive me for the other night! If I had known he would be there, I would have warned him!”

For fuck’s sake what the hell is happening. “Binghe doesn’t need to apologise! If anything, I was the one whose conduct was horrid. I should be the one apologising!” He shoves the pretty pastel paper bag in Binghe’s chest “Here, pastries! You like those, right? Take it as a gesture of good will and repentance. And everything we do today is on me.” Not that Luo Binghe needs his money. If anything, he’s probably richer than Shen Yuan’s whole family combined.

Binghe peeks into the bag and thanks him before setting it aside, obviously uninterested for now. “From what I gathered, I suspect we were using similar strategies, since what I’ve heard about you cannot possibly be true. There must be more to this.”

Shen Yuan can imagine what the people he has systematically alienated for years must have told him, and feel dread pooling in his stomach. “What did they say.”

Luo Binghe waves it away. “Nothing important. I don’t believe a word of it. I know Shizun better than they ever will, I’m sure of it.”

Well, okay. Shen Yuan will definitely take it. “How about you, then? Binghe was…” terrifyingly seductive, “another person yesterday.”

“My father’s idea. He said that if I were to integrate his world, it was his duty as a father to make sure I’m not eaten alive. I took acting lessons.”

Acting lessons! Seriously? “And have you considered making that your profession?” Because with that persona, Luo Binghe would become China’s number one heartthrob seconds following his first apparition on a small, or big, screen.

“I’m going to take it as a compliment, especially from you. Your performance was quite notable. It gave me chills.”

Yeah, chills born out of awkwardness. “I’m nothing compared to him. Just to be certain: Binghe pretends to be a smooth socialite to fit in, right?”

Luo Binghe nods.

“How do you stand it? I could never manage to pretend that I appreciate Xiao Gongzhu or Sha Hualing. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that their diet is mainly composed of human flesh, with a preference for young men.”

“Surely Shizun is exaggerating? They were nothing but nice to me.”

“With your looks and your status, of course they were.”

“If that was what they were after, wouldn’t they get along with Shizun just fine? He’s also got both those things.”

Shen Yuan tries not to let his befuddlement appears on his face. “I have status, but not anywhere near as high as yours? That’s all that matters to those girls. If he tried to prepare you, your father must have warned you about people like them.” He’s not even going to abase himself by addressing the looks issue. They both have eyes. Only one of them looks like he could grace the cover of Vogue China, and it sure isn’t Shen Yuan.

“He did warn me of enterprising women in general, before going on a tangent about enterprising women who are too independent to agree to marriage and instead run away to give birth in lost villages without informing their partner, which I have gathered must be about my birth mother. It’s nothing I couldn’t have thought of myself. Anyway, Shizun shouldn’t worry. I have no plans to choose either of them as a partner.”

Shen Yuan lets out a relieved sigh. “Good. Binghe deserves better. He should look for someone he cares for to share his life with.” It’s not like he’ll need their money.

“That’s what I’m doing.”

Already? He didn’t even start class yet. “Good for you. I’m wishing you luck.”

“Thank you, but I will make my own luck.” With a lack of shame Shen Yuan can only envy, Luo Binghe grabs his hand and drags him toward the nearby street. “Let’s go! There is so much to see here! We can’t afford to waste time!”

Shen Yuan smiles, charmed by Luo Binghe’s childish enthusiasm. “Let’s.”

________________________

Shen Yuan returns to his apartment with a peace of mind only one who has buried his terrible mistake down deep in the ground can attain. He explained to Luo Binghe why he acts as he acts, and Luo Binghe accepted it. Luo Binghe explained to him the same, and it made sense to Shen Yuan. They had spent the whole day wandering around the city, eating delicious food and visiting anything that attracted Luo Binghe’s varied interests.

Had Shen Yuan expected to spend an hour comparing cooking utensils? Why, no, he hadn’t. Was it boring? Miraculously, no. Was it worth it, considering he ended up getting invited over to dinner? If the pastries Luo Binghe had made him before were an indication of his general abilities in the kitchen, Shen Yuan would have easily spent three more hours in that shop, listening to Binghe rave about the selection he could have never gotten in his tiny village that was apparently so remote that even ordering online wasn’t always possible, for such an invite.

Reality, sadly, is eager to unbury the mistake he had just set aside.

It does so via an email bearing his mother’s address, reminding him that his presence to Qin Wanyue’s birthday party was very much expected.

Shen Yuan is going to have to prepare his most cutting insults and, fuck, have to double down on ruining Luo Binghe’s reputation, isn’t he? He can’t admit his error. It would leave him open to attacks. He can only act even worse, treating Luo Binghe as if the revelation of his true parentage did not improve his status in Shen Yuan’s eyes.

Fuuuuck. How is he going to manage being meaner than he previously was to such a gentle soul? If Binghe looked hurt for even a second, Shen Yuan’s years of masquerade would burn down in an instant as he exploded in apologies.

He needs a plan.

“Shizun?”

“Binghe! Sorry to bother you so soon after I left, but do you have a minute? It’s important.”

“Shizun could never be a bother. What is he calling about?”

“Are you invited to Qin Wanyue’s party?”

“Yes. So is Shizun? It’s good that we’ll see each other again so soon!”

“No it’s not! I can’t be nice to you! I’m sorry, but you’ll thank me later. I just wanted Binghe to know that I don’t mean anything I tell him. He can’t take it to heart, okay? That’s just something that needs to be done.

“About that, I had an idea. It’ll be fun!”

Shen Yuan blinks. How could anything related to polite society be fun? He’s convinced that if fun and formal parties ever happened in the same space, a singularity would form and swallow the place whole.

And nothing of value would be lost. “What is Binghe’s idea?”

“We’re both acting, aren’t we? How about we flesh out our characters…”

________________________

Face impassive but heart beating so fast it’s about to jump out of his chest, Shen Yuan steps into the perfectly arranged garden party.

Whispers instantly rise. Smothered but mocking laughter can be heard. Eyes rove over him, anticipating the explosion they feel coming.

Luckily for them, they’re about to get their money’s worth.  

Shen Yuan, as is his habitude, settles down somewhere unoccupied and pulls out his phone, trying to forget Binghe’s impending arrival within the pages of a terrible novel he usually loves to rage at. Very good source of inspiration for his current demeanor.

“Oh, it’s you. You dared to show your face here. I can’t believe your gall.”

Shen Yuan doesn’t look up. Xiao Gongzhu doesn’t deserve his attention.

Until she tries to slap him. “So arrogant! I’ll teach you your place!”

Her hand is caught by Luo Binghe, his long fingers curling around her wrist in a way that looks more caress than impediment. “A beautiful lady like you shouldn’t waste your time on the likes of him.”

Shen Yuan lifts his eyes from his phone and gives Luo Binghe his most disdainful glare. “I’d ask you to keep your pet on its leash, but if anyone here is a beast, it must be you, bastard.”

The silence around them is complete.

Tianlang-Jun had never been married. He wasn’t even known to maintain a mistress or two.

The family resemblance wasn’t striking, but present enough that Luo Binghe being an adopted child was unlikely.

Ergo, Luo Binghe is an illegitimate child, probably only brought into the family when the existence of legitimate heirs became unlikely. What a scandal, really.

No one had dared bring this up yet, but if anything would, it would be that asshole Shen Yuan, wouldn’t it?

Luo Binghe’s eyes focus on him, righteous anger on his face. “At least someone wants me. From what I understand, it’s never been your case, was it?”

Shen Yuan shoves his phone in his pocket with a swift gesture conveying fury. “Who would want someone here to want there? Each one more worthless than the other. You’ve really found your place, haven’t you?”

“If this world is so unpleasant to you, how about you leave and never come back? I assure you no one would miss you.” Luo Binghe turns toward the captivated audience. “Would you?”

Again, muffled laughter and cruel eyes, but few open responses. Too dangerous, really. Even if it didn’t compare to Tianlang-Jun’s empire, the Shen family was far from powerless.

Luo Binghe continues as if nothing had happened. “No one to defend you, I see. You didn’t give me a chance to demonstrate it, but I’m usually a kind man. If you had been able to control your nature for a few minutes, we might have become close, you and I. You’ve got so much more experience navigating these troubled seas. I would have welcomed the lessons.” Luo Binghe shakes his head in exaggerated sorrow. “Alas, it wasn’t to be. You have chosen otherwise, so by all means, let’s travel the road you’ve picked, shall we? For all that you’ve called me beast, you’re the raging dog chained to a post, unable to join in no matter how much he rages.” Luo Binghe waves at the air invitingly.” Go on, rage uselessly. It certainly is of no concern to me.”

“Can a head as empty as yours even be concerned with anything? Nothing you’ve said have proved otherwise. As for that taunt you tried to wield against me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you. I have no interest in responding to you in any way. In fact,” Shen Yuan pulls his phone out of his pocket and goes back to his book, “you’re already wasted too much of my time. Go have fun with your equals. I’m sure they’ll soothe your fragile ego, in-between throwing daggers at your back.”

Shen Yuan stubbornly refuses to react to Luo Binghe’s sightly disbelieving laughter, or to the insults thrown to his face by others. He just lets Luo Binghe shake his head again, as if appalled, and guide his cronies away from Shen Yuan, leaving him in blessed peace.

Just as planned.

________________________

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how one of Beijing’s elite most infamous rivalry was born.

As far as said elite knew.

[karlnapity]

(tws: manipulation, emotional abuse, panic attacks, agoraphobia)

Even after this long, there are still people Eret needs to reconcile with, and people they likely won’t ever, and they’ve made peace with that.

Tommy is one of those people.

It’s not that they don’t want to. It’s been a combination of things, from continuous wars, to exiles, to Tommy’s complete and utter stubbornness, to a hell of a lot of avoidance.

So they’re a bit taken aback when Puffy suggests it, but she seems set on the idea.

“I think he’s probably the one whose experiences are most similar to yours,” she says, in that therapy voice she uses when she’s trying really hard to convince you of something.

They almost want to laugh at that. Tommy’s been through hell, more than they can even imagine, and it’s laughable to think their experiences are at all on the same level.

But, all the same, it’s an excuse to try again to amend their wrongs, and they’ve been trying to get better at confronting their issues.

So, they shoot him a whisper, and wait in the throne room with anxiety they haven’t felt since the prison gained a guest.

It’s hard to break free of habits they gained. It’s hard for them to relax, even when they’re on their own, because who knows if they really are. Who knows if they’re being watched, who knows if this is just a test.

They shake their head, let themselves relax a bit into the throne, let their robes crinkle around them.

And that’s when Tommy enters. They quickly reassemble themselves, garner their royal expression, make themselves look as dignified as possible because that’s what he demands.

They’ve got to stop doing that, but it’s so much easier to fall into old habits.

“So?” Tommy asks, as demanding as always, and Eret holds back a chuckle.

“Here, let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” they say, and sweep off the throne, lead him down a few hallways to the garden. There are a few benches, and they occupy one, Tommy taking the other.

This was the closest thing they had to the outside for months, and they say as much, try to get Tommy comfortable. He makes a sound.

“What do you mean?”

They sigh. “Puffy wanted us to talk. She thinks our experiences with him are similar.”

It’s not like they need to say his name. They’re not sure they can.

“Ok? And?” Tommy asks, huffing, but they don’t miss the way he tenses, just a bit, the same way they do when they’re trying to hide anxiety.

“He stopped me from leaving the castle for months. Told me I could only go out when he said I could. This was the closest thing I had.”

Tommy’s staring at them. They can tell he’s trying to find the safest thing to say, that he’s trying to decide whether to share anything of his own.

“Oh,” he settles on. “I get that.”

They nod, and sigh. “I don’t think my experiences compare to yours. You had it a lot worse. But I wanted to have a chance to explain everything.

I know you don’t forgive me. I don’t blame you, believe me. But trust me: you know what he’s like. He had me from the beginning. And it’s still hard not to let myself be influenced by him. So I thought… if we could commiserate, or something. That it might help.”

They don’t look at him, but he lets out a sigh of his own.

“Ok, then.” And he huffs a laugh. “Then stop talking to me like a king, alright?”

Their head snaps up, and Tommy is smiling, a rueful little thing that forces a small smile onto their own face.

“Ok.”

He grows a bit more serious. “Then why did you betray us?”

They shrug. “I guess, in the beginning, I did want more power. I thought being king might help us become more powerful. I should’ve known he wouldn’t have let that happen, but… I was hopeful.”

They clear their throat. “I was manipulated.”

It’s still hard to say, they still feel like it’s dramatic, but Puffy’s been encouraging them to tell the truth. Tommy nods.

“We both were.” He looks like he wants to make a joke, but he doesn’t. “When I was in exile, he told me I was the only person he could trust. All that fucking shit.”

Guilt floods them, heavy and painful. They push through it. “I should’ve done something. I’m sorry.”

He pulls a face. “Then I shoulda done something! Back when it was fucking Manberg, or whatever.”

They sigh, shake their head. “It’s not the same… but thank you.”

He shrugs. He stands, looks around the garden. Eret can tell he’s just trying to keep moving.

“He just… he just fucking convinces you you can’t rely on anyone else. That he’s the only one who can help you, or hurt you, or anything. That no one else cares. Did that happen to you?”

They think of nights where he’d pull off their crown gently, where he’d treat them like a person and give them gifts and nice food, and even nights where he’d let them roam outside the castle alongside him, where he’d lay new, soft robes on their shoulders, where he’d hand them speeches he’d prepared so they didn’t have to stress, where he’d tell them they looked like a king, where he’d say he made the right choice in choosing them.

“It did,” they say, quietly.

“That’s what makes it so fucking hard!” Tommy exclaims, throws his hands up in the air. He looks like he wants to punch something.

“It makes it so hard for it just to be hatred,” they say, nodding. “When you’re wearing his clothes and living in a place he helped build, and when you’re eating the food he provided.”

He throws himself down on the bench next to them, looks them in the eye with a sad grin. “I’m so glad you get it.”

And then he pulls a face, waves his hands. “Not like that! I’m just… it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t gone through it.”

They let out a rich laugh, something that’s so rare these days. He told them it was undignified for a king, but they push down the shame that bubbles in their stomach. “I get it, I get it.”

“I’m glad too.”

>

Gardening’s been a strangely soothing activity. It keeps their hands busy, keeps their mind off things they don’t want to ignore, keeps them feeling accomplished. Sometimes, on the good, good days, they can even plant outside the castle, on the sprawling lawn, but it’s rare.

Today it’s just the garden within the castle. Their hands are coated as they kneel in the dirt, fancier robes exchanged for more casual clothes, almost humming to themselves in contentment, when they hear the voice behind them.

“King Eret?” The voice is quiet but unmistakable. They jump, turn around. They stand, brushing their hands of dirt, and offer a small curtsy, skirt blowing a bit in the wind.

“George,” they welcome. They’re not close with the ex-king, though there’s less bad blood than might be expected.

They have more in common than first assumed.

George looks out of his element, standing awkwardly in the archway. They wave him to the benches.

“What brings you here?” They ask, settling their skirt around them. Royal etiquette dies hard, and they suppose even after all this time the poise hasn’t leaked out of them.

“I wanted to talk,” he says. He fidgets with his goggles. “And I wanted to apologize.”

They tilt their head, expression pinching. “For what?”

“For…” He gestures around, vaguely. “All of this. Kingship shouldn’t have been pushed on you. I shouldn’t have tried to usurp it. I should’ve stepped in, I should’ve stopped him-”

Eret can recognize mounting anxiety, from experience as much as anything. They lean forward, lay a hand on his knee. “It’s ok, take a breath.”

He reigns in his breathing after a moment, lays hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”

They sigh, smile gently. “Don’t worry about it. I think… we probably share experiences, after all. I don’t blame you at all.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his lap. His hands twist. “Do you think he ever intended to actually make me king?”

“No.” It’s an easy answer, but there’s no point hiding the truth.

“I didn’t think so.” There’s a deep sigh. “I just feel like… I should have realized, earlier.”

They lean back, peer at the clear sky above them. The sun feels soft on their skin. “When he was around, controlling me… I knew he was horrible. I knew he was the source of my problems, my fear, everyone else’s pain, everything. But all the same… I wanted to follow him. It wasn’t just out of fear of what he’d do to me, or anyone else. It was easier. It was easier to do what he wanted, because then I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to be scared.”

They look to George, who’s nodding.

“I guess it’s sorta like that. It was just easier to follow orders, I suppose.” He purses his lips. “All the same, though, I’m sorry.”

As much as they want to rebuke his apology, insist it really isn’t his fault, they don’t. They’ve learned that sometimes it’s easier to apologize, even if the other person doesn’t need it.

“I forgive you.”

>

On very, very hard days, it’s hard to leave their room.

He wouldn’t let them leave it first thing without first checking them over, making sure they were presentable, making sure everything was in order. And, even now, it’s hard to leave without that first assurance.

They still feel like he’s going to pop out of the shadows, like he’s going to yell at them for getting breakfast without his go-ahead first, like he’s still there critiquing his every move.

In a way, it was assuring. It was simple, having everything decided for them. They were like a doll, positioned every way he wanted them to be. They needed to think over everything and nothing.

On the worst days, they felt inhuman. Their mind went on autopilot, doing everything he requested without even thinking, simply moving through the course of the day without even processing.

He especially approved of them, those days, always saying how he appreciated it when they didn’t speak, didn’t make noise, just stood and acted and followed him around exactly how he wanted them to.

The gaps in their memory disturb them, but all the same some part of them misses it, wants to avoid having to think about it all.

They really are a coward.

They curl deeper in their blankets. Today is one of those days where they don’t move from sun-up to sundown, just wallow in the memories and the self-pity. It feels pathetic, but all the same they can’t bring themselves to move.

There’s a knock on their door. Their entire being screams to stand, to pull on robes as quickly as they can, to make themselves presentable before he sees them, before he yells at them, but they still can’t even roll over to face the door.

“Eret?” It’s Puffy. They want to tell her to come in, or to go away, they’re not sure, but their tongue feels like lead.

The door creaks open, and she comes in.

“Having a rough time?” she asks. There’s a dip in the mattress where she sits beside them.

Puffy is perhaps the only person they can entirely relax around, and even then sometimes it’s a struggle.

She doesn’t judge them. She tells them their feelings are justified, helps them figure out everything. They’re not sure what they did to deserve someone like her.

She rests a hand on their shoulder. “If you want to talk, let me know. If not, I can stay here.”

They put a hand over hers. Stay.

They’re not sure how long they sit like that, but eventually they’re able to pull themselves together enough to eat breakfast she brought. She makes easy conversation even as they can’t, and they rest their head gently on their shoulder as she talks.

At the end of the day, they’re able to say one thing.

“Thank you.”

>

Leaving the castle is a constant struggle, one that most days they can’t bear. Most people have learned, at this point, to come to them if they want to talk.

Somehow, Niki seems to have forgotten, they think as they stare at the letter.

It tells them to meet her at her base, that she wants to spend time with them but can’t miss a day of work.

She’s been working hard, lately, to rebuild, to rediscover her life much the same as they have.

Their hands tremble. Her base is close to the furthest they’ve ventured, and even then that was on one of their best days, and even then they had a panic attack on the way there.

They could just miss it. They could just pretend they didn’t get the letter. They could just pretend they were busy.

No. They want to see her, desperately.

They crinkle the paper in their hands as they start to pace. They already feel the mounting panic at even the thought of venturing that far.

They’d need someone to go with them. They’d need someone to watch them, make sure they didn’t just have a meltdown, but Puffy’s busy and they don’t want to bother anyone else, and they’re likely too embarrassed to ask anyways.

No, they’ve got to do this. Puffy told them to push themselves. This counts, right?

They dress in some of their nicest robes. If they’re going to have a panic attack, they’re at least going to look good doing it, and there’s some comfort in looking as kingly and dignified as possible, even at this juncture.

And they make it to the gates before their confidence starts to waver.

It’s not uncommon for them to stand here, to people watch, but they barely make it past the door most of the time.

Ghostbur passes by within the ten minutes they’re standing there. He catches their eye, and he waves ecstatically before heading to stand next to them.

“Hello, Eret!” he exclaims.

It’s still odd to hear Wilbur’s voice, so similar and yet so different. Eret’s not sure they talked to him again before November sixteenth, and even then he only ever commanded them as a group.

“Hello, Ghostbur,” they return with a smile. “Where are you off to?”

“I wanted to see Niki,” he says, and Eret feels like they could collapse with relief.

“What a coincidence. I do too,” they say, and before their anxiety can get the better of them, they continue. “What do you say we head there together?”

Ghostbur nods happily, extending a hand, and Eret takes it.

They get about ten feet from the door before the anxiety kicks in.

They feel a bit bad for Ghostbur, considering how sweaty their palms are already getting. Their heartbeat’s loud in their ears.

It’s as frustrating as it is terrifying. He’s in prison. He’s not here, and there’s no way he could be here. Sapnap and George stopped reporting to him months ago, and the both of them apologized directly, so there’s no way they’d tell him even if they saw them.

So why are they so fucking scared?

“Are you ok, Eret?” He asks as they walk. They wave him off, but breath is already coming hard for them.

They can remember the first time he caught them. It’d been months into their sentence, as it were, in the castle, and they’d snuck away in the dead of night to see Fundy.

He caught them only a few feet from the door, but he’d been furious. It had taken hours of him teasing, threatening to hurt Fundy, hours of them begging on their knees for him not to do anything, and in the end they’ve never been sure whether he did. They can’t bring themselves to ask.

He’d hardly ever threatened them. If he wanted to hurt them, he did. He always threatened to hurt their friends.

And it was so much worse. What would he do if he caught them now?

They can’t breathe. They let go of Ghostbur’s hand, crumble to their knees. They knew this would happen. They shouldn't have even tried.

Ghostbur’s calling their name, they’re pretty sure, but it’s too much, because if he calls their name too much he might hear where they went, he might be able to find them, and he can’t find them because what is he going to do to their friends, they were trying to find Niki so what would he do to her if he found out, he might hurt her, they were an idiot for even trying to leave and they should have just stayed where it was safe for everyone-

And they’re being hauled to their feet, someone is leading them somewhere. They don't fight back, because it's probably him, and if they fight back it'll only make it so much worse for everyone. They just let themselves be led.

It always takes them a long time to come back from a panic attack. The first thing they become aware of is someone humming, The second is how bright it is. No matter how much they seem to add to their castle, it’s always dim no matter what.

They open their eyes. They’re sitting on a bed, Ghostbur to their right. And Niki’s bustling around on the other end of the room, back turned.

They whisper her name, and she whips around, face softening before she pulls them into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and they hold onto her, tightly. “I’m ok.”

They ask everyone to say that they're ok, after they panic. It was embarrassing, initially, but it really, really helps.

She pulls back a bit, and they grip her arms. She brushes hair out of their eyes. “I’m so sorry, Eret, I should have known not to ask that of you, I wasn’t thinking.”

They shake their head. “No, I wanted to. It’s- I wanted to challenge myself.”

She nods. “I’m glad you got Ghostbur to come with, so he could let me know and I could come get you. I support you pushing yourself, but be careful, ok?”

They smile, nod, and push themselves off the bed. They’re still a bit shaky on their feet, but they look around all the same. “This is gorgeous, Niki.”

As she and Ghostbur show them around her new base, the anxiety doesn’t fade. It might not ever, when they��re outside, and it might not ever even if they follow the rules.

They can’t undo what Dream has done to them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t do the best they can to work past it. They have people, friends who are willing to work with them, and people who care, and even when they’re in their castle it seems so much brighter than before.

And when Niki drops them back off, they don’t worry whether she’ll be ok. They know they both will.

[maastrash]

Fighting Fire with Froyo

oh my goodness hello friends plz dont roast my title bc @verryberriess already has LOL it is ✨quirky✨ anyways the first fic back is always rough to write and i got tired of editing so without further ado ... 

Nesta pried the uniform hat off her head and wiped the dripping sweat from her brow. By the cauldron, it was burning up today. It amazed her that the frozen yogurt wasn’t melting right out of the machines. That probably wasn’t even possible, but the heat was making her delirious. Of course on the hottest day of the year something was wrong with the AC. She added calling the maintenance guy to her 5-page long mental list of things to do after her shift today. 

She truly did not have the time to be working on the service line today. The Archeron sister froyo shop had opened almost a year ago and already she was talking to people about expanding it to become a chain. That’s what she should be working on instead.

Nesta supposed she should be happy their little shop was so popular. The sisters had been so nervous when they were finally able to launch their yogurt shop after years of planning. It was a dream come true. 

They named it Archeron Delights and it became one of the most popular dessert places in Velaris. Elain was the mastermind behind the frozen yogurt recipes. People came from all over the country to try their unique flavor combinations. Feyre was in charge of all the interior designing. She remodeled the entire space and made it look modern with colorful signs and trendy photo taking spots - a necessity for kids obsessed with instagram worthy pictures. Nesta was the official manager which meant she dealt with finances, hiring the team, making schedules, and other administrative duties. 

To be honest, Nesta never really worked at the counter, but Morrigan their newest hire, and Feyre’s best friend was sick with the flu. Definitely not a good idea to put her near customers. To make matters worse, the shop had been extremely busy today so she didn’t have time to take any breaks. Unlike her sisters, Nesta was already not the cheeriest service worker. It’s why she worked in the back in her quiet, private office. 

At least she could distract herself by filling out their monthly budget summary while waiting. However, her calculations were soon interrupted by the cheerful bell dinging, meaning the shop door was being opened. Damn another customer. 

Nesta began quickly finishing up the section she was on, “Hi I’ll be with you in one -”

“You need to get out of here,” the customer interrupted. 

Nesta’s smile dropped so fast. Who did this man think he was?

“No, you need to get out,” she snapped back without looking up from her papers. If he was gonna speak to her like that she was gonna take her sweet time. 

“Excuse me I -”

This time Nesta interrupted. “This is my shop and I say you need to leave.”

“Ma’am if you would let me explain -”

“Stop calling me ma'am, you have no right -” This time it was Nesta who trailed off.

She finally looked up to see a man equipped fully in firefighter gear staring right at her. Shit. She just yelled at a fireman. To make matters worse he was handsome. Extremely handsome. 

“There’s a small fire in another location 2 units from yours. We’re containing it, but you still need to evacuate,” the man explained.  

Nesta was still gaping. It seemed she was unable to form words. How was this man so attractive? He was wearing full protective fire gear and wasn’t even breaking a sweat and here she was, literally dripping. 

To be quite honest she couldn’t tell if she was sweating because of the heat or the fireman’s burning gaze. 

“Ma’am can you hear me? Ma’am? Oh for goodness sake.”

Before Nesta knew it she was being lifted off her feet. Literally. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed in surprise. 

“Ah so you can still talk.” 

“Put me down you oaf.”

“Oaf?” he raised a brow, “That’s a real nice way to thank the person saving your ass.”

“I’m serious,” she said crossing her arms angrily. 

“Let’s get to safety first.”

Nesta gave the man a withering glare, but he continued to carry her bridal style to a tent where it seemed other shop owners were gathering. 

“Oh my goodness Nesta are you hurt?” Aelin asked as they approached.

Aelin owned a dress boutique in the same plaza and they often grabbed lunch together. She was Nesta’s best friend. 

“No I am being harassed,” she deadpanned. 

“She means saved,” the firefighter corrected as he finally set her down. 

“Woah he’s hot,” Aelin whispered in her ear. 

“Shut up or I’m telling Rowan.”

“Just an observation” Aelin laughed. 

The man gave them a polite smile before heading back towards the rest of the firemen. 

Nesta stopped him before he got too far. “I want to talk to your boss,” she said sternly. 

“You mean the captain?” he asked. 

“Yes.” Obviously. 

“Why do you need the captain ma'am?”

“Stop with the ma’am, I’m serious.”

“Ok fine. What’s your name?” 

Nesta stayed silent. 

“Ok then, sweetheart. Why do you need the captain?”

Nesta growled at his stupidity. “I am not your sweetheart and I am reporting you for inappropriate behavior.”

Something like amusement crossed his face, but it quickly vanished, “I see. I’ll be right back then.”

For someone about to lose his job he did not seem the least bit frightened. 

***

It was only a few minutes before the man returned. He was still wearing his fire pants or whatever they were called, but the protective jacket was gone. Now he wore a tight shirt that read Velaris Fire Dept. It framed his muscles a little too perfectly for her taste. How was this man real?

“The captain is busy at the moment but I will take your complaint and hand it to him myself,” he said, pulling out a pen and paper.

“How do I know you’re not going to rip it up as soon as I leave?”

“You can watch me hand it to him once we have this mess sorted out,” he assured her. 

“Fine.”

“First I will need your name.”

“Nesta Archeron” she grit out.

“Nesta. I like how that sounds.”

She rolled her eyes. This man was absolutely insufferable. 

“Ok, now your phone number.”

“Why do you need my phone number?” 

“So the captain can contact you about this issue, of course.”

She grabbed the paper from his massive hands and scribbled her number down quickly.

“Ok and what are you complaining about?” he asked, clearly amused.

She rolled her eyes, “You already know what I’m complaining about.”

“Well, I need to write it down word for word,” he said, laughing softly.  

His laughter was the last straw. “You know what this is ridiculous I’m going to find the captain myself,” she said, stomping off. 

“That’s gonna be hard to do sweetheart,” he called after her. 

“Oh yea, why?” she yelled back over her shoulder.

“Because I am the captain.”

That stopped Nesta dead in her tracks. She turned slowly to see the big oaf smiling. 

“Cassian Nazari, Captain of Station 17,” he said, extending his hand.

“Are you playing a game or something?” she scowled, slapping his hand away.  

“No,” he chuckled softly, “Just doing my job.” 

“By pretending to not be the captain and stealing my information?”

He smiled again and half of her wanted to slap him, but the other half was tempted to kiss him. What was wrong with her?

“I take complaints seriously. So seriously, that I would like to hear all about your complaint over dinner.”

“This is not funny,” she said crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Don’t tell me you’re not interested. You took one look at me and were absolutely speechless. I literally had to carry you out before you burned to death.”

“The fire was contained, evacuating was a formality you brute.” 

“If you say so,” he said sarcasm lacing every word. “I’ll pick you up from your shop at 6.”

Nesta’s jaw dropped, the audacity of this man was astounding. She paused before answering, debating her options. She figured she could either continue pretending to hate him or just give in. Gods above, was she actually considering this?

“Say yes you idiot” Aelin whispered.

Nesta flinched in surprise. Where the hell did she even come from? 

“Are you kidding I’m not going anywhere in this.” Nesta argued, gesturing to her work apron and leggings. 

“I think it looks great,” Cassian said with a wink. 

“Me too,” Aelin added.

Nesta gave Aelin a deadly look before saying, “Let’s meet at the Sidra at 7. That way I have time to change.”

Cassian only looked surprised at her suggestion for a second before agreeing, “Ok, I’ll see you there.” 

He waved before heading back to the rest of his crew and Nesta against her better judgement waved back. 

“Nesta Archeron, are you smiling?” Aelin teased as soon as Cassian was out of ear shot.

“Shut up. I am absolutely not,” she said, quickly bringing her face back to neutral. 

And then it hit her...

She was going to dinner with Cassian - a fire captain she just met. What the hell was she thinking? 

tags! @illyriangarbage // @court-of-fuck-me-daddy // @girlnovels // @julesherondalex // @ifangirlninja // @dreamerforever-5 // @queen-of-wings-and-fire // @rhysanoodle // @jemma-nessian-and-elriel // @books-and-words-addict  // @nightinshadow // @wolffrising // @the-regal-warrior // @dreamingofalba // @abillionlittlepieces // @alitzeldiaz // @kylizzles // @queenmaas // @illyrian-bookworm // @aspillofstars // @b00kworm // @tswaney17 // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn // // @perseusannabeth // @acourtofmarauders // @sweetlyvillainous // @awesomelena555 // @notyournymphetish // @ladywitchling // @aesthetics-11 // @sjmships // @iammissstark // @illyrianwitchling13 // @moondancer-204 // @sjm-things // @foolsinlovex // @sayosdreams // @welcometothespeaknowworldtour  // @stardelia // @julemmaes // @thewayshedreamed // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @keshavomit // @superspiritfestival // @wannawriteyouabook // @verryberriess // @courtofjurdan // @bookstantrash // @sannelovesreading // @ahappyhistorianreader // @cass-nes // @my-fan-side // @junsuichow // @sleeping-and-books // @yumna402 // @lordof-bloodshed // @emcarstairs578 // @gisellefigue08 // @maybekindasortaace // @starborn-faerie-queen // @empire-of-wildfire // @loveofbooksandwine // @sanakapoor // @silentquartz // @a-omgnaomithings-love // @aimee1602 // @jlinez // @creamcheesechicken // @steamedlattes // @sahsahprova // @elriel4life // @ireallyshouldsleeprnrn // @rowaelinismyotp // @thegoddessofyou​

[discotreque]

LwD 2.03: We’ll Always Have Tom Paris

I’ve lived in the same apartment for eight years now, and yesterday was the fifth catastrophic mechanical failure of the same bathroom toilet—all unrelated issues, too; this time it was the fill valve. At this point I don’t know whether to call a plumber or an exorcist… but anyway, it’s been kind of hard to focus on Star Trek! Ugh.

This week’s episode is credited to M. Willis, who I last encountered on She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, a show about which I wrote literally 100,000 words of fanfic last year, in between Picard and Lower Decks when I had no Star Trek to obsess over. Willis’s She-Ra episodes tended to be slightly off-format in execution, with big action set pieces, lots of characters in unexpected combinations, and usually an emotional game-changer of a climax—and her last credit on this show was “Much Ado About Boimler,” which obviously had all those elements too. She writes to her strengths!

Spoilers within:

If you need me, I’m going to be ugly-laughing about “Voy” for the rest of the day. (Wow, that does actually save a ton of time!)

SHAXS IS BACKXS!!!! The lower-deckers never knowing how or why a senior officer came back from the dead is a perfect microcosm of this show. I love that he still calls Rutherford “Baby Bear,” and I love the weird cosmic horror that LwD keeps sprinkling into the Star Trek universe. (What does that koala know?) I hope this doesn’t mean we’ve seen the last of Kayshon! His appearance on the bridge gives me hope we’ll get to keep both characters around.

Star Trek has always had fairly fuzzy world-building for the world outside Starfleet—understandable, since 99% of Star Trek takes place within Starfleet—but it’s been such a thrill to see LwD (and Picard) finally establish some in-universe pop culture that isn’t conveniently familiar to 20th- or 21st-century audiences. Like the Zebulon Sisters last season—a band that apparently does USO-style tours of Starfleet ships? Delightful. Kestra Troi-Riker having a t-shirt from a Sex Pistols cover band in Klingon? Fucking brilliant. Tendi bonding with the guy at the storage place over the “Klingon acid punk” playing from his little Bluetooth speaker? PUT IT IN MY VEINS.

They really put the character development in gear this week! I liked how we locked in a couple of things already established in extra-canonical material: Mariner’s bisexuality, which Mike McMahan mentioned in an interview last year, and Tendi’s given name, D’vana (which I was sure we’d heard on the show before, but I guess not?).

Speaking of Mariner’s love life, is human–Bynar dating just… by definition a threesome situation?

We learned a lot of new things about Tendi, though, and every single one makes her 10 times more interesting to me. Remember last season, when she said “many” Orions hadn’t been pirates or slavers “for over five years”? Is the implication that something happened in Orion culture—around the end of the Dominion War?—that led to Tendi (and presumably others) rejecting a life of crime and joining Starfleet? How long was she “the Mistress of Winter Constellations” before that—or is it more of an inherited title? I want more Tendi lore!!!!

(Speaking of Tendi’s life, another quick and confounding piece of information for my red-yarn “what the hell is up with Tendiford” theory board: Mariner asks if they’re dating and Tendi’s response is “Not really!” Not really? That’s not no, D’vana!)

This show continues to be a surprisingly conventional workplace sitcom underneath all the excellent Star Trek (and that’s not a bad thing, just a genre overlap that keeps falling out of the front of my mind). Boimler’s inability to use the computer hit way too close to home for me this week: a couple years ago, I returned to a job after a long-term leave of absence, during which time I’d been assigned to a new manager—who’d never had an employee return from long-term leave before, so he didn’t know what to do beforehand—so I spent my first day back just chilling at my desk, fucking around on my phone, because there was literally nothing else I could do without logging into the system first. Too real!

Something we’ve seen in this show that I’m not sure we’ve seen before w/r/t the food replicators is somebody putting a tray of food into the replicator to add more food on top of it—in this case Shaxs getting spicy kiwi ketchup (?!) on a hot dog he seems to have already replicated. (He couldn’t have asked for “hot dog, with spicy kiwi ketchup” in the first place? This is haunting me worse than him coming back from the dead.)

As a certified cat lady, the T’Ana plotline—and its resolution—made me laugh until I couldn’t breathe (unless that was the toxoplasmosis). I should have seen it coming, but I was too distracted by the second-hand embarrassment of them breaking “Jeremy” (and the completely unprecedented Star Trek plot of a doctor getting off on her grandmother’s family heirloom…).

Miscellany:

Jet offering to carry Boimler across the threshold of the door like a bride… am I going to ship THIS now?

Mariner interpreting Tendi’s “talk like a pirate!” in the same way a modern millennial would—“Arr, how ya be doin’ today, me fellow Orion?”—might have been my favourite dumb joke in the entire episode. (“I’m allergic to, uh, pheromones?”)

Tawny Newsome read the line about “only one name, like Odo!” in the script and apparently literally called Mike McMahan out of the blue to remind him that Odo’s name is short for “Odo’ital” and she didn’t want nitpicking nerds on her case. He told her the line was so funny he would accept the nitpicking, so don’t blame Tawny—she tried to warn him!

“There’s like, only a couple people in the quadrant who can say they got beat up by Tom Paris.” Is that a burn? I think that’s a burn.

Another banger of an episode. This show is more confident this season, and I’m loving it—and based on what I’ve heard from people who’ve seen the next two episodes, it only gets better from here. HYYYYYYYPE!!!!!!

See you next week—I’ve got to go fashion a toilet plunger into a crucifix, apparently.

[scoopsgf]

can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it! 

1. 

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

2. 

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

3. 

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

4. 

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it... 

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps. 

[andypantsx3]

war paint | 6 | blade

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 27,765 words / 10 chapters

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

The bath house might have been the strangest moment of your life, but it proved only the beginning of Bakugou’s unusual behavior.

The captain seemed to be everywhere you turned in the days after. In the mess hall, you’d catch him staring at you from his table of officers, an unreadable look on his face. On the training pitch, he seemed to almost ignore your mistakes -- or at least, he didn’t appear as eager to rap you across the knuckles with the flat of his sword any time you were full seconds off a strike. He never reprimanded you, or revealed in any way that he’d caught you out after hours.

He was so confusing.

You’d thought more on his comments in the bath, about the prince and his valet. He had at least answered one of your long standing questions about why he - a marquis - would have joined the kingsguard instead of lounging around in Musutafu, slowly filling his manor full of heirs like the rest of the nobility. It was clear he was so viciously protective of the prince, and of Midoriya, though he seemed loath to admit it. You guessed that he couldn’t well knife anyone who “fucked with them” as he’d put it, from the comfort of a country estate.

This humanizing connection had you more confused than ever, and in combination with his weird behavior over the past few days, you were beginning to think he was waging some kind of psychological campaign on you. His lingering, thoughtful gazes were reaching off-putting levels of obviousness, and the way he corrected you in drills -- while still colorful with swears and insults -- was almost downright friendly for him.

You wondered what was wrong with him.

“He’s gonna murder you,” Kaminari offered unhelpfully, when you asked his opinion. “It’s like a final act of kindness. The prisoner’s last meal.”

Sero poked him with the stem of the herbs you’d been trying to grind into a staunching salve. “It’s not that. When have you ever known Bakugou to be kind?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Kaminari defended himself. “Why else would he be less mean to L/N than if he was gonna kill him?”

Sero rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point.”

You looked at him in alarm. “I don’t want to die,” you hissed. “I was just taking a bath.”

Kaminari smirked, piling up his own herbs in a towering heap, spilling out of the bowl of his mortar. “Not so great now, are they?”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your pestle and stabbing it into the mortar with feeling. “You can’t hate being clean that much.”

He didn’t respond.

You looked back up at him only to find him frozen, eyes fixated on something behind your back. He looked white as a sheet, and sat stiff and unblinking, as though locked in rigor mortis. A tall shadow fell over your workstation.

“Lotta yapping over here,” a rough voice said, and you looked up, up into a pair of red eyes. Your body locked up.

“Uh,” you said stupidly, feeling as blank as Kaminari, “The pestle leaves my mouth free.”

Sero let out an inhuman noise next to you, and the corner of Bakugou’s mouth twitched.

“Thought you did all your talking outta your ass,” he said, eyeing you closely.

Your face reddened. “Captain! I--That’s not--!”

“Calm down, shrimp,” he smirked. “You’re excused from medical training today. You’re coming with me.”

You stared up at him in shock. Was he taking you somewhere to kill you? Why not do it in front of the entire garrison? That seemed more his style, leaving your body to send a message to anyone else who dared commit the unforgivable sin of bathing after hours. What was he trying to do?

“Captain?” you asked nervously, fingers tightening on your pestle. Kaminari and Sero just stared, slack-jawed and open-mouthed like neanderthals.

“Now, soldier,” Bakugou said, insensitive to your plight. “Ten pushups for every second you make me wait.”

You shot to your feet. “Yes, sir.”

He turned on his heel, stomping back across the training field. The sun winked across his broad shoulders, falling in streaks over the blood red of his captain’s uniform.

“We’ll honor your memory,” Kaminari said sadly as you made to follow. Sero elbowed him, but it didn’t change your nervousness.

You thought quickly as you followed Bakugou across the field. If you weren’t being murdered, were you being discharged for your actions? Why now, why not days ago when it had happened?

Bakugou led you across the castle grounds, to a small building set in the shadow of the palace.

“In,” he grunted, opening the door. You eyed him apprehensively but ducked under his arm, stepping into a dim room. Racks of weapons lined the walls - heavy looking crossbows were pinned to the rafters, quivers of arrows lay in piles on the floor, and all manner of swords and maces lay racked in every corner. A tall man with a hawkish nose and dark eyes sat at a worktable in a cramped corner of the room, fletching a pile of arrows.

“Tokoyami,” Bakugou greeted him, following you into the room. You halted, but he prodded you forward with an impatient hand. “This is the little runt I was talking about. Think I got the size right?”

Tokoyami considered you, rising from his worktable. He took your wrist gently, placing his other hand under your elbow to pull your arm out, holding it perpendicular to your body. “He looks as described. I think it will work.”

Your heart picked up in your chest. What would work? What was he doing with your arm? Why was he holding it out? Was he going to cut it off?

You took a step back, running up against a hard chest. Bakugou let out a breath behind you, putting a steadying hand on your shoulder. It was almost unnaturally warm, burning through the layers of your uniform like the sun on a summer afternoon.

“Relax, princess,” he rumbled quietly in your ear as Tokoyami dropped your wrist, turning back to his worktable. He rummaged around in a pile of weapons behind it, the metal of swords clanking lightly as he shifted them.

You fidgeted uncomfortably under Bakugou’s hand, trying not to focus on the heat of him just behind you, the scent of smoke and something sugary that clung to him like dew on morning grass.

Tokoyami eventually emerged with a thin scabbard, holding it out to you. “Here.”

You looked at him curiously, but Bakugou gave you another impatient push. “Take the damn sword, shrimp. We don’t have all day.”

You took it from Tokoyami carefully, holding it out gingerly. “Captain, what is this?”

Bakugou scoffed from behind you, and you turned around to look at him.

“The standard issue blade’s too big for you. It’s why you’re so shitty at drills,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. His uniform groaned in protest over his biceps, and you forced your eyes back up to his face.

“What?” you asked stupidly.

Bakugou smirked. “You’re not putting on the same muscle as those other fucks. I saw it in the baths. You needed a different blade - a little smaller and much lighter.”

You stared at him in shock. Is that why he had come into the water to harass you? He’d been looking you over? What else had he noticed about your appearance? Surely not much more or you wouldn’t be here…

“Please open it,” Tokoyami said quietly from your side. “Make sure it is to your liking.”

You followed his direction, pulling the hard leather from the blade. The crisp metal caught the glint of the afternoon sun, falling through the room’s single window. You noted immediately that it was perhaps an inch shorter than your own current blade, and about a fingertip less wide, with a smaller grip much closer to the size of your own hand.

The most dramatic difference, however, was its weight. It felt barely half as heavy, lightweight and almost airy in your hand after the weight of your own blade.

Tokoyami reached out and tapped the sword where a large groove ran through its center. “I had it fullered, much deeper than the standard issue blade to relieve some of the weight. I took enough length and width off to lighten the load but not give you a disadvantage in a fight, and reduced the grip size to keep the balance,” he paused, lip curling, “and because the captain said you had hands like a child.”

You whirled around to glare at Bakugou. He leaned against a sword rack, smirking, a thin blonde eyebrow raised as if daring you to disagree.

“You’ll need to practice with it,” Tokoyami continued, unaffected, “it will take some getting used to after the standard blade.”

You turned back to him. “Thank you. This is - wonderful.”

He seemed to smile, pleased. “It was the captain’s order. I only made it.”

You looked back at Bakugou. “Captain, I--”

“Save it,” he waved a hand, leaning back out of his slouch. “Tokoyami, thanks. We’ve got training to get to.”

He pushed the door open and stepped back out into the afternoon sun. “Move it, shrimp.”

You bowed to Tokoyami and scrambled after him. Bakugou led you back through the palace grounds to a small, out of the way training field you had never seen before. In the late afternoon sun, his hair shone like pale golden wheat, ruffling lightly in the breeze.

He stopped in the center of the field, unsheathing his own sword. “C’mon, princess. Let’s break in that new blade of yours.”

Your gut churned with nerves, but you nodded. You unclipped the sword belt containing the standard issue blade and kicked it to the side, drawing your new sword. Again, its lightweight build shocked you and your arm overshot the draw slightly, whipping the sword out a little farther than you intended.

“You’re going to have to put more force into your swings to accommodate for the missing weight,” he said. “It’s easier to move but you won’t be striking as hard when you do.”

You nodded, fingers tightening on the sword’s grip.

Bakugou smirked, eyes darting down to your hand. And then, before you could blink, he was on you.

You got your sword up just in time, barely saved by the fact that it was lighter than you were used to. The force of his strike rang up your whole arm and you gritted your teeth as he followed through, pushing you off balance.

You took a step back, ducking under his wide swing and darting your sword at his side. With almost inhuman grace, he twisted, leaning to the side and bringing his blade down to knock yours aside.

You followed the movement of your sword, letting it carry you outside his immediate reach.

“Good, princess,” he bit out, the corner of his mouth curling. “You’re faster.”

You stared at him. You felt faster, but you still couldn’t touch him.

“Again,” he commanded imperiously.

You thrust another strike at his chest. Again he caught it, knocking your blade aside. As he did, you noted that the force of it was easier to control than usual, and you were much faster in regaining command and bringing it back up to cut at him again.

“So you have been learning something,” he said, letting a savage grin touch his mouth. “You’re less useless than I’d have guessed, shrimp.”

It was hardly a compliment at all, but from him it felt like high praise. Something warm like satisfaction curled in your chest.

“Focus on bringing it down harder,” he said, stepping back into your space. The dirt of the field crunched under his boot. “You’re still not accommodating for less weight behind your blows. It’s easy for anyone to throw you off.”

You threw another blow at him, putting all your own weight behind it. He caught it, but was a fraction of a second slower in pushing you back off.

“Good,” he murmured again, red eyes tracking you as you stepped back out of his reach.

He threw another strike at you and met it with a heavy swing. He stepped through the recoil, and thrust again. Again you caught him in time and used his own momentum to swipe his strike aside. He grinned savagely.

After that, your focus narrowed entirely to strikes and thrusts, parries and blows. Your whole world became the swing of your arm, the glint of sun on bright metal, the soft dirt under your feet as you wove and ducked and swiped. Only gradually did you become aware of your heavy breathing and a slight fatigue in your arms. When you next noted your surroundings, the sun was no longer in its place in the sky, leaning close to the earth to kiss the horizon.

Bakugou used your distraction to kick your legs out from under you.

“That’s enough for today, shrimp,” he finally said, and you noted with some pride that he was breathing a little heavily as well. “I went easy on you, but you’re good. Better than I would have expected.”

You got to your feet, sheathing your sword. “This whole time,” you panted out between breaths, “I didn’t think - I, I’ve just been terrible.”

Bakugou tucked away his own blade. “You were. Now you’re not.”

You realized with a start that not only had he commissioned you a blade, but he’d set aside an entire afternoon to train you with it. Something like embarrassment, and gratefulness, washed over you in a hot wave.

“Thank you,” you blurted, grabbing the hem of your uniform for something to do with your hands. The tips of your ears felt hot.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, then scoffed. “Shoulda caught it sooner,” he said, dismissively. “Knew you weren’t stupid with the way you picked up the medical shit.”

You looked at him in question.

“I thought you’d build up enough muscle,” he said, looking you over. “I didn’t take into account...other factors.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “My...age?”

His crimson gaze caught yours, holding for a moment before he looked away. “Something like that.”

You stared at him but he didn’t elaborate, padding over to pick up your sword belt and previous blade from the ground. He held them out in a large, calloused hand. “Bring this back to Tokoyami. Then you’re dismissed.”

You took them from him, nodding. “Thank you again, Captain. I....appreciate it.”

A smirk overtook his handsome face. “Don’t embarrass me again at drills.”

A flush overtook your face so quickly it felt like you were scalded by your own skin. “I won’t, sir.”

He considered you a moment, then turned on his heel and set off across the field, waving a hand dismissively. “Get to the armory, princess,” he called over a broad shoulder, “I want you back in your bunk by sundown. No more late night escapades.”

You watched him go, something like a smile touching your mouth. A foreign feeling washed over you and you stopped to think on it for a moment.

For the first time in months, you felt like you were in the right place.

[redhoodedwolf]

“Oh shit I just spilled you coffee everywhere” sterek prompt

The first time Stiles made coffee for his boss, he was halfway to a panic attack, which was a weird thing to be anxious over. Except for the fact that his boss was Derek Hale. And Derek Hale liked his coffee made by one person in the office only, and that was Erica Reyes, his old assistant.

Stiles had always been told he was shit at making coffee. It was the one thing he’d lied about being good at in order to get this job.

Thankfully, Erica still worked for Hale Corp, just under a different position, so Stiles had struck a deal with her. She would have Derek’s coffee ready for him every morning so he could pass it off as his own. In return, he had to keep her up to date on all Derek gossip, apparently the one fun thing her new job lacked.

Easy decision. Stiles shook his soul away, but he got Derek his coffee every morning, and had even seen him smile a few times.

All was well for a few weeks, up until Jackson Douchemore came back from an extended business trip. Stiles knew Jackson from outside of the job, because he was friends with Lydia. Jackson also knew Stiles and knew exactly how to ruin his day, just because he could.

Feet from Derek’s office, Jackson rounded the corner, an evil look in his eyes, and proceed to trip Stiles, sending him and the coffee to the floor.

“Whoops,” Jackson crowed.

Derek stuck his head out of his office, stopping Stiles form either punching Jackson in the face or just melting through the ground and ceasing to exist.

Jackson’s triumphant look cowed under Derek’s glare. “Whittemore, call maintenance and have them clean this up before it stains too badly. And bring Stiles your extra shirt.” Jackson opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Derek added, “Now,” and the blond was gone.

“You okay?”

Stiles looked up at Derek and tried to ignore his brain adding angel wings and a halo to Derek’s figure. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Sorry about your coffee.”

“It’s fine. Just rinse out the mug and make it again, after you get changed.”

“Right.” Stiles froze. “Wait. Again?”

Derek smirked. “The company is doing well enough that every employee can have more than one cup a day. It won’t break the bank.”

“Ha! Right!” Stiles jumped to his feet and took the plain white button up that Jackson threw at him as he passed. “I’ll just go change and do that!”

He swiped the mug from the floor and raced for the kitchen. Depositing the mug in the sink, he swung around the corner into the Men’s and undid his shirt, wincing at the stain that would never come out. Stiles was keeping Jackson’s shirt forever, he owed him a new one anyway.

One problem solved. Now...

Stiles stared at the mug of steaming coffee. Easy part done, he just had to press the buttons on the machine. Now came the cream and sugar. How many spoonfuls of sugar does Erica usually add? Three? Dammit, he should have taken notes!

Creamer was easier, at least. He added until the coffee looked like the right lighter shade, then stopped, stirring it all together. Okay, maybe the coffee was a touch lighter than usual, but maybe Derek wouldn’t notice and would just be happy he had coffee at all? Right, sure.

Stiles was going to be fired over coffee.

To amuse himself, Stiles played a funeral dirge in his head as he trudged to Derek’s office, eyes peeled for sneaky Jacksons.

Stiles knocked on the office door, and Derek called him in.

“Coffee!” Stiles declared, lowering the mug onto Derek’s coaster at the corner of his desk.

“Thanks,” Derek said, a small smile given to Stiles. His eyes flicked down, then back up. He cleared his throat. “Shirt looks good on you.”

Stiles glanced down. It was maybe a bit tight. Stiles had shoulders where Jackson had none, so it stretched a bit (it was probably fitted, the rich bastard), but it was wearable for sure.

“Certainly nicer than anything I can afford,” Stiles agreed.

Derek reached for the mug and Stiles flinched back.

“Right, I’ll just...” he jerked his thumb behind him to the door.

“Actually if you wait just a second, I just have to moved the files onto this flashdrive, but then could you take it down to Argent for me?”

“Sure, no problem,” Stiles rushed to say, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Derek brought the mug to his lips, tilted it to sip, and Stiles stared.

Derek glanced up, lips detaching from the mug’s rim. “Everything okay?”

“Yep!” Stiles squeaked.

Derek took a long drag of the coffee this time and then sighed. Stiles’ shoulders relaxed. Somehow he’d managed it. Miracle of miracles. 

Derek handed him the flashdrive seconds later, and Stiles was out of there.

*

Jackson had not given up, it seems, on his venture to get Stiles fired through coffee, because he struck again the week after.

“Oh, was that yours? My bad, I thought it was old so I dumped it,” Jackson said, Derek’s mug upside down over the kitchen sink, the last drips hitting the metal basin with a sad plop.

“What the fuck, Jackson?” Stiles hissed, looking back to see if Erica was still around and could remake the mug she’d expertly crafted, but she was gone. He tore the mug from Jackson’s hands. “Seriously, go to therapy. It’ll do you wonders.”

Stiles violently threw a new pod into the Keurig and shoved the mug under the spout before turning back to the snake of a man. “Who knows, maybe Lydia will take you back then.”

Jackson’s face shut down, and he turned and left the kitchen without another word.

Not letting the guilt get to him, because Jackson deserved what he’d said, Stiles reached for the sugar and creamer, once again going to guess Derek’s flavor combination.

It looked to be the correct shade this time, and Derek hadn’t said anything against it last time, so maybe he wasn’t such a coffee snob?

“I bring good juice and good news, both piping hot,” Stiles declared upon entering Derek’s office.

Derek stared at him for a moment, lips parted, before his mouth snapped shut and he gestured Stiles to come forward. “Hot. Yes?”

“The good news is that someone is going to be calling today about her United States debut,” Stiles sang, setting Derek’s mug down on its space.

Derek’s eyes lit up. “Cora?”

Stiles nodded. “Mhmm. It’s already in your schedule and everything. I scheduled it right before lunch, in case you want extra time to talk with her about, you know, logistics.” Stiles waved a hand.

Derek took a gentle sip of his coffee, eyes slipping closed, clearly happy to discuss his sister’s joining of the company. Stiles may have stared at the happy-bliss look for too long. He averted his eyes just in time.

“Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged his shoulders, hands shoved into his pockets. “Just my job.”

Stiles left the office then, closing the door behind him and taking a steadying breath. His heart should not be going so wild. Derek was his boss. It was totally unprofessional.

“Stilinski.”

Stiles’ spine went ramrod straight, and he turned towards the sharp voice of Jackson, ready to give as good as he got, when he saw the other man’s face and he paused.

Jackson wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You really think therapy will help me get her back?” He sounded like a broken man. 

Stiles groaned loudly and slumped over in half, head pressing against Jackson’s chest.

Derek popped his head out of his office, asking what the noise was about.

Stiles didn’t have the energy to move off of Jackson’s unfairly sculpted torso, just waved his hand in Derek’s direction. “Just releasing my pride.”

Jackson awkwardly patted him on the back, and Stiles raised his head enough to give him a tight-lipped smile.

Derek said nothing for a moment, but then his office door closed swiftly with an audible click.

“Okay, dude, let’s reconvene at lunch, eh? We’ll talk it out then.”

Jackson nodded tersely and then turned around and went back to his office. Stiles wanted to groan again, but apparently Derek didn’t like it, going by the practical slam of his soft-close door, so he held back and decided to save it for later.

*

The third time was truly all Stiles. He’d grown out of his clumsy ways after high school, but he still had the occasional twitch that caused a commotion.

He supposed he could blame Derek too, but he couldn’t blame another man for his reactive emotions. 

It had been two weeks since Jackson and Stiles had met for lunch and Stiles listened to Jackson for perhaps the first time in his life. He’d recommended a psychologist, gently suggested anger management classes, and promised he’d put in a good word with Lydia and assured Jackson that she was single and wasn’t interested in anyone else. 

Since then, Jackson had gone back to mostly ignoring his presence, which Stiles was fine with. But they greeted each other in the halls when they passed. The one time Derek and Jackson were having a meeting and Stiles had come in to deliver mail, Derek had stared with wide eyes at the smile Jackson gave him when asking how his day was going. 

So that issue was solved. Stiles thought he was in the clear. Shame on him, really.

He held Derek’s mug securely in his hands, reveling in the warmth from the drink. It had been a cold walk from the bus this morning, and the coffee was finally zapping the lingering cold from his phalanges. 

Stiles raised a fist to knock on Derek’s door, but heard someone’s voice first. And not Derek’s.

Now, Stiles was Derek’s assistant, so he had a right to be a bit nosy into who was ruining his perfect schedule for Derek, right? 

Stiles unashamedly pressed his ear against the door.

“You should take him,” Derek said, then added something else Stiles couldn’t catch.

The other person in the room laughed, and Stiles realized it was Cora. She did start work on Monday, so it made sense for her to be here to get everything squared away. Still...

“... can’t be his boss anymore...”

“Why?”

“Cora... better suited...”

“Sure, that’s why...coffee?”

Stiles startled, the voice much louder than it had been, and he didn’t step away in time before the door opened. The mug flew from his hand, thankfully away from other people, and once more the carpet was stained. 

“Oh no! I’m so sorry, Stiles!”

Stiles recovered the thankfully unbroken mug from the floor and stared dejected at its emptiness. “Nope, that was all on me. I was, um, not paying enough attention to hear you?”

“I’ll call maintenance. You go bring my brother his lifeblood,” she joked. 

Derek stood in the doorway, face surprisingly blank, and Stiles wondered if Derek had guessed he’d been eavesdropping. 

“I’ll be right back, Stiles mumbled and escaped. Because the look on Derek’s face was worrisome. Why would Derek need to hide his emotions regarding their conversation from Stiles, unless...

“Shit, I made him shit coffee twice and now I’m sacked!” Stiles shouted to the sink. Thankfully, the kitchen was empty, but the sink gave him nothing to work with. 

Screw it, he was already a gonner.

Stiles mixed the coffee haphazardly, not even sure he’d added sugar. Maybe he’d grabbed the salt. Either way, Derek deserved it for shipping him off to Cora because of two bad mugs of coffee. 

“Here,” Stiles offered, voice terse, holding the mug out to Derek a few minutes later. He refused to set it down on principal.

Derek was keeping his neutral face mask on, which pissed him off even more. Still, he took the mug gingerly and then stared down into it.

“Drink it,” Stiles challenged.

“Did you poison it?” Derek asked, eyebrow raised.

“Do you know of a reason I would poison your coffee, Derek?” Stiles asked batting his eyelashes innocently. 

Derek blanched, but clearly had nothing to say. He brought the mug to his lips and took a careful sip. He smacked his lips afterwards and set the mug on the coaster. “I think I’ll live,” he declared, a few seconds later.

“It’s shit,” Stiles spat, throwing himself into the chair across from Derek’s desk. Might as well get the transfer done sooner rather than later.

“The coffee? Tastes fine to me.”

“How can it?!” Stiles exclaimed. “I made it!”

“I’m not picky about my coffee, Stiles,” Derek argued, which. 

What?

“But... when I was interviewed, I was told that getting your coffee just right was first and foremost.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Erica interviewed you, didn’t she? I think she went with that excuse to weed out the weaklings, or something.”

So, Stiles had been plying Erica with Derek gossip for months while she just made a random cup of coffee?!

But, wait.

“If it’s not my coffee-making skills, why are you firing me?”

Derek’s eyes went wide. “You were-- Eavesdropping, Stiles, really?” He sighed heavily. “Also, you’re not getting fired. I’m suggesting you transfer over to Cora’s assistant because she’s working in a division that suits your job advancement better. This was never a permanent position for you at Hale Corp, Stiles. You’re far too smart to organize my calendar all day.”

Stiles’ head was reeling. “Wait, so... wait. I’m. You think I’m smart?” he squeaked.

Derek chuckled and stood, walking out from behind the desk. “Yes, I do. And so does the company. But I also think you’re very attractive and if I’m your supervisor I can’t do anything about it. So?”

Derek leaned over Stiles, arms bracketing him in as the clutched at the arms of the chair. 

Stiles swallowed thickly, eyes bouncing all over Derek’s face, looking for any sign of a joke.

“How--” he cleared his throat and felt his face burning in embarrassment over the crack in his voice, “how fast can we get the transfer paperwork done?”

Derek grinned. “Fast enough that you’ll be under Cora by Friday night. Say six thirty?”

“Rather be under you Friday night, but yeah, Sounds great,” Stiles spoke on a exhale as Derek rocked closer, the foreheads touching. 

“Gross.”

Stiles sighed heavily. “Jackson,” he snapped, eyes sliding closed as he felt Derek pull back. “I thought we were done with the bullshit.”

Stiles turned in the chair to look at the blond who simply shrugged. “I already got Lydia’s forgiveness, what more do I need you for?”

Dammit. Lydia was fickle in love. Then again, who was Stiles to judge?

“Forget it. What do you need?”

“It is the middle of a work day, in case you forgot,” Jackson pointed out, and Stiles felt the urge to punch him rising.

“I’ll be with you in a second, Jackson,” Derek said, managing to sound not pissed off.

Jackson backed out of the office, but left the door wide open. 

Stiles glanced back at Derek. “Look, I know he’s the illegitimate son of your wild and estranged uncle, so technically, despite the fact that he was adopted into a different wildly rich family, he is Hale by blood, but does he have to work here?”

“You should meet Peter’s illegitimate daughter.”

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “No thanks.”

Derek smirked. “Get back to work, Stiles. We can iron out Friday’s details later.”

Stiles grinned, bubbling happiness filling his chest. “I’ll pencil it in.”

[passivenovember]

Reach Out and Touch Faith.

Harringrove April, Day Sixteen : Nostalgia.

--

Steve knows he’s got a stick up his ass about the whole thing. 

Feels it wiggle around, amused, when he comes home early from work to find Dawn and Billy dancing around in their PJs to the opening chords of Personal Jesus. 

They don’t see him.

Too preoccupied with the music, Dave Gahan’s voice pushing through windows and bursting through walls until Billy’s hips are moving in a way Steve hasn’t seen them do in years. 

And Steve isn’t a betting man, but. 

He knows that if Billy turned and zeroed in, hips moving like that with Dawn headbanging to dark wave like some sort of hybrid, the perfect combination of the two of them, Steve would be unable to rain on their parade.

His first reaction is to unplug the stereo.

And it’s a crime. To cut the Gretsch short like that, right in the middle of such an iconic riff.

Billy turns, out of breath from doing the limbo under Dawn’s black feather boa. “Oh, here we go.” He says fondly.

Steve ignores him, strictly business. “What the hell are you doing to my living room?”

Dawn’s still going. Arms win milling as she hop-scotches her way across the room toward Steve, forehead slick with sweat. 

“I like that song!” She hollers. Right in his ear when she climbs into Steve’s arms like a twelve year old monkey. He sets her down immediately, trying to play it cool.

Dawn and Billy start jumping up and down together, obviously high on adrenaline and Steve feels like shit. For having to be the bad guy all the time. 

He sits gingerly on the couch. Tries to tack on his best let’s have a serious discussion face, even as Dawn and Billy continue humming the chorus together. 

Billy breaks away, pumping his arm. “How sick is that synth track, kiddo?”

“So sick.” Dawn says. She collapses onto the floor, exhausted. “I think I like that better than the one on Dangerous.”

Steve gapes. “That’s hardly appropriate.”

Billy scowls, indignant. “You’re the one who let Aunt Robin sneak in the first album we ever fu--”

"Bill.”

He shuts up, sighing. “Babe. You’re gonna be cool about this, right?”

“I’m cool!” Steve insists, leaning back on the couch. “I’m the coolest, ask anyone.”

Billy grins, cheeks flushing pink. “Really? ‘Cause you’re acting pretty uncool.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” Billy teases. “Coming in and unplugging the stereo like that. Right in the middle of the riff, too.” Billy whistles low, shaking his head. “Gotta be one of the seven sins.”

“What, cutting a Depeche Mode song in half?” Steve deadpans. “I just would’ve preferred she start out with. Like. Speak and Spell. or something.” 

Dawn beams. “What’s that? Can we listen to that one next?”

Billy ignores her, honed in. “Dawn’s twelve now, that’s like. Practically a teenager.”

“Yeah, Dad.” She says smugly. “I’m practically a teenager.”

“Exactly.” Billy triumphs, pasting himself to Steve’s side. “And as a practically-almost-teenager, it’s about time she hears some good music.” 

“Hey, you said good music is whatever makes me feel something,” Dawn accuses, sitting bolt upright. “Good music makes your skin all tingly and your tummy do backflips and your heart--”

“I said real music makes you feel something. I never specified what makes it good.” Billy says smugly. “Everything you’ve heard before today is real music but it’s not good music.”

Steve lets Billy fuse their bodies together, wincing as his arm touches miles of sticky skin. 

Dawn shrugs her shoulders. 

Unbothered.

Unapologetic. 

“What you said before, kiddo, about your heart and your tummy. Does this record make you feel like that?” Steve wonders, and Dawn’s nodding her head before he’s even finished. 

He sighs. “Go get my cassette case, then. We’ve got some work to do.”

--

With her Walkman turned up as high as it will go, muttering along to the words as if in prayer, Dawn grows up before their eyes. 

Two new copies of Violator are purchased before the year is out. Once because it’s played so much the wheels fall off, and again because Joey steals the new one.

Billy gets a phone call from Max the day after it goes missing. “The World Wide Web is an evil, disgusting place.”

Billy snorts. “Pretty sure kids are calling it the Net these days, grandma. Keep up.”

“I don’t want to keep up.” She snaps. “Four years. A whole kindergarten age child ago I force Joey to sit down and listen to my cassettes--”

“Your cassettes?” Billy mumbles, alarmed. “No wonder the kid’s purging himself on Steve’s shit.”

“Oh fuck off. That’s where he heard them?”

Billy plays dumb. 

Max catches on instantly. “He’s been locked in his room, listening to Policy of Truth all day. I just don’t understand what’s so appealing about a bunch of sad boys--”

“Be nice.”

“Do you really think the kids are old enough to listen to that shit, man?” Max sounds like she’s coming apart at the edges. Scattered to the wind. “I mean. He left his room twice. Once to make a sandwich and again to borrow one of my skirts.”

Billy grins. “Ah. So he got his hands on some pictures of Martin Gore, that was fast--”

“He tore the thing to shreds, Billy.”

And Billy doesn’t get what the problem is, many of Joyce’s tattered Sunday skirts hanging in his closet even now. 

He shrugs. “’S more punk that way.”

“God. Name the kid after his freaky uncle and the kid will deliver.” Max retorts miserably. She takes a deep breath. “What the fuck am I gonna do?”

“Dunno. Remove the stick from your ass?”

“Ha-ha.” Max spits, but. It sounds like she’s smiling. “Speaking of sticks up asses. Did Steve have a cow?”

Billy shrugs again, wrapping the phone chord around his wrist. “Whole barn, more like. But I think I convinced him.”

“Of what? That the perversion of our youth is okay?”

“No, that the kids are getting older.” Billy says. He doesn’t get it, why he’s the only one in touch with reality. “Joey’s Fifteen, Dawn’ll be thirteen in a couple months. They’re not little kids anymore, Max, they’re teenagers.”

She sighs. “So we’re supposed to let them listen to whatever they want.”

“Within reason. Susan and Neil would’ve bought the barn at full price if we hadn’t snuck around.”

Max makes a noise. “I never listened to--”

“N.W.A?”

“Fuck you, they have an incredible social commentary on the issues faced by disenfranchised people in the--”

“Check mate.”

Max falls silent. And then, glumly, “I hate you for always being right.”

Billy leans against the wall, chuckling. “I’m your big brother. Comes with the territory.”

--

When they get Dawn’s birthday list, only one thing is circled in red. 

Joey and I want to see Depeche Mode live.

Steve wonders if he can make that happen.