#they’d still look at cameras and glare though LOL

[drowsystarlight]

Five decided to stop in front of a camera to sign and argue with Sam and now they’re in a pinch

[lexicals]

So here’s a random excerpt from that fic I mentioned - the conceit (spoilers for all systems red ahead) is that the combat override module in ASR works differently to how it does in canon, so instead of mb causing catastrophic damage to itself after going to the DeltFall habitat and getting found out, it shares the rogue thing mostly voluntarily (“mostly” being the operative word lol)

Warnings for canon-typical identity crises, gallows humour (inc. passively suic*dal talk), etc. I also haven’t been back and checked this against canon yet so if you notice any glaring contradictions no you didn’t 💕

-

I didn’t reply. I'd heard worse, but I still would rather not listen to it. Normally, I would've expected to feel angry or offended or something, but instead I just felt exhausted. My own borked governor module was still poking me about that error code I didn't recognise and even backburnered, it was starting to get on my nerves, so I—

Oh, shit.

I immediately put my hand to the back of my neck and yanked out the chip that had been shoved into the dataport. My governor module promptly stopped screaming at me, but fortunately any sense of relief I might have gotten from that was immediately replaced by an enormous wave of anxiety and oh-for-fuck's-sake as I looked at the chip in my hand. You know, just in case I'd started getting too comfortable.

"SecUnit, are you alright?"

Ratthi was looking at me with concern. Checking the camera views, I understood why he'd asked the question, because I was making an expression I generally associated with humans shitting themselves. Metaphorically, I was shitting myself. Ratthi was now squinting at the chip, which I couldn't even pretend I hadn't literally just pulled out of my neck, because I'd just done it in front of everyone here like an absolute idiot. "What is that?"

I tried to bring my expression back to neutral, but the cameras showed it wasn't as successful as I would've liked. I'd managed somewhere in the region of moderate digestive discomfort, I think. "It's a combat override module."

This wasn't good for several reasons. First of all, it meant that the DeltFall units weren't really rogues; they'd been taken over by a third party using a chip like this to hijack their governor modules and order them to murder their clients, and also anyone else who made contact. Probably by whoever owned those surprise extra units that almost killed me. Which meant that there were still threats on this planet outside of the unknown dangerous fauna that we hadn't dealt with, and I was going to have to worry about that.

The second reason this wasn't good (so maybe saying several reasons was an exaggeration, but these were big reasons so maybe they counted for more, I don't know) was that the humans were going to want to know what a combat override module was, what it did, how it worked, and most importantly, why it hadn't worked on me. I could answer the first three things just fine, but short of telling my already-jittery clients I was hacked ("so I'm actually one of those scary rogue units you've heard so much about, but the good news is that a combat override module can't hijack a governor module that doesn't work!") that last thing was going to be a big problem.

Honestly, even if I did tell them exactly that, which I really didn't want to do, it was going to be a really big fucking problem.

"What?" Gurathin asked, looking alarmed. Of course, he had an augment and access to my operating manual, so it had taken him a tenth of the time to look that up compared to any of the others, if they actually had bothered to do that and weren't just waiting for me to explain. "The DeltFall units - they put that in you?"

"Yes, but it didn't work. It must be faulty," I told him, quickly before he did something stupid. The irony being that me saying that almost definitely came under the category of "doing something incredibly stupid," which I realised as soon as it came out of my mouth.

I don't know why I said it. I guess I was panicking. I'd told them all what it was in the first place because if I'd lied about it and they looked it up anyway, which they probably would, I'd look really fucking suspicious. (A governed unit can't lie to its clients; it can't even refuse to answer a direct question like that.) Maybe I was trying to buy time to think of a decent explanation by telling them something that wouldn't make everyone start screaming. Honestly, I was mostly internally spiralling about the whole situation, so that would be the best case scenario. I was still staring at the chip, which was making me feel nauseous even though I didn't have a stomach and I'd had another kind of chip in my head telling me what do to for a good chunk of my existence anyway, so it shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was. I couldn't help still doing it.

"Would someone please explain what this means and why we should be worried?" Mensah asked, looking between me and Gurathin. I appreciated that she didn't do what a lot of humans do in these kinds of situations, which is that they see someone else freaking out and start freaking out themselves for no reason. I suppose that's why she was the survey leader.

I pulled the relevant section from my operating manual and pushed it into the feed (beating Gurathin's version by a solid 1.6 seconds, which, I won't lie, was kind of satisfying), and watched all the humans collectively have their "oh, shit" moment (excluding Gurathin, who'd already had his). I was at least glad to see they understood how bad this whole situation was getting.

"So this lets other people just—" Overse made an abrupt waving motion with her hand. "Take over any SecUnit whenever they want?"

"It is intended for use in emergency situations, for example when the contract holder is compromised," I told her.

"Which is corporate for 'we know this is stupidly dangerous to make, but if we say it's for emergency use only then we're not liable for people fucking around with it'," Pin-lee muttered, not quietly. She was right, but I'm not allowed to say things like that, or at least I can't if I want people to think I'm a good little properly-governed SecUnit. For however long that's going to last, at this point.

"But it didn't work, right?" Arada asked, looking at me, and then around at the others. "So it's fine."

If it had, you'd all be dead, I thought, but that probably wouldn't go down well. "The module's presence is new evidence which would suggest that the DeltFall units weren't true rogues, and were put under the control of a third party in order to kill their survey group and make it look like a random act of insubordination. This would explain the presence of extra SecUnits at the site and the acts of sabotage on our equipment."

All the humans went quiet. I didn't like it any more than them, but it had to be said. It meant that there were still factions on this planet, or at least nearby enough to matter, that probably still wanted to kill all of them, and me by extension. I was already updating my security procedures and running some scenarios for what might happen and what we could do about it in the background. If I was honest, it wasn't looking good, but hey, what's new.

"We should run an analysis of the module's code to see if we can find out who it would have assigned control to," Gurathin said. That was one of the first things I'd put on my own task list, but whatever, I didn't need credit for an obvious idea. "Even if it didn't work as intended, the data might still be there."

He stood up and came just close enough to me to hold out his hand for the module. Technically, he hadn't asked me to give it to him, so I didn't have to, which was good because that was the last thing I wanted to do right now. There was a reason I'd put the analysis on my personal task list, and not on a public one.

"I have my own analysis scheduled as high priority," I said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Gurathin replied, staring me down even though I was deliberately not making eye contact with him, and also he had to look up at me. I decided I didn't like Gurathin very much.

"Why not?" Ratthi chimed in. "Surely it's better if you both look at it?"

"Because there's a chance that the module did work as intended, and this unit is now compromised," Gurathin said. "It might not even know it until it's too late."

"I'm not compromised."

"Which is what a compromised unit who's being told what to say would say."

He was still staring at me. I decided I really didn't like Gurathin, even though in this instance he was actually right. I hadn't brought up that possibility to the group because it would be very bad for me if the humans decided to run a detailed diagnostic of my systems, but from a security perspective it was an avenue that should be investigated. That didn't mean I had to like what was happening here.

I was trying to figure out how to tell Gurathin to fuck off without sounding compromised, insubordinate, or straight-up rogue when Mensah cut in.

"SecUnit," she said carefully. "I don't think any of us think that you're actually compromised, but given our situation I'm sure you understand we have to take every possible precaution. I think the best thing to do would be to let Gurathin and Pin-lee analyse the module first, and then for you to run your analysis afterwards. Does that sound fair to everyone?"

She was using a tone that I designated as diplomatic, which was probably because I was being difficult. Or at least as difficult as a governed SecUnit would be able to be. I could be a lot more difficult if I wanted (a lot more) but I wasn't going to make myself look any more suspicious than I already was, and as I might have mentioned, I was already starting to look pretty suspicious. I also appreciated that Mensah was trying to actually talk to me, and hadn't just tried to shock me through my governor module for being unhelpful like a lot of clients would, and had. It wouldn't have worked (clearly, that's kind of the whole problem here) but it's the thought that counts or whatever.

(She'd also saved me, back at the DeltFall habitat. I was trying not to think about that, because it was making me have emotions I couldn't handle trying to figure out right now, but she had. It had been stupid, putting her client-self in danger to try to save a SecUnit that was already half-destroyed anyway, but I still felt like it counted for something.)

I handed the chip over and tried not to sigh or visibly clench my jaw. I saw Mensah's expression, and a few of the others' too, relax on the cameras. Good to know everyone else felt better while my own anxiety levels were at an all-time high. And I'm programmed into a base level of anxiety and spend a good portion of my time getting shot at or trying to avoid being found out and scrapped, so "high" in this instance was at a level that I think might have given a fully-organic being a heart attack.

"Thank you," Mensah said, while I tried to bring my processes in line. I felt like I wasn't getting enough oxygen, even though I knew the air quality was fine and I don't need that much anyway. I couldn't get a full breath. "I'm sure we can clear any doubt about this soon enough. In the meantime, we still need you to help keep us safe from whoever it is that's out there. The most important thing is that we all make it out of this in one piece."

The way she said it made it sound like "all" included me as well, but I wasn't so sure I believed that, even if she did. The SecUnit is always the first thing left behind. Maybe they did things differently in whatever weird non-corporate territory these people were from, but I wasn't about to stake anything important on that assumption, even if she had saved me once. I've never been to a planet with thunderstorms, but there's some saying humans like to use about lightning not striking the same place twice - which doesn't make sense, statistically, but - whatever. You get the point. I hadn't made it this far without being found out by trusting random humans - or any humans, for that matter.

Except none of that mattered at the moment anyway, because what I should be doing was figuring out how the hell to stop all my clients figuring out I was hacked, and freaking out and stopping listening to me, or reporting me to the company, or being really stupid and trying to kill me or something. There was a not-unlikely scenario where I just murdered all of the humans and pinned the blame on the DeltFall units somehow (or just wandered off into the wilderness until my batteries ran out), but I didn't want to do that, even if it made some kind of sense. I just didn't. If I was going to go around murdering my own clients, I wanted it to at least be a group that deserved it.

I was busy trying to pick up at least some of my processes while having what was probably a panic attack (I don't know if I can have those, but that's what it felt like) when Mensah tapped my feed. Can I talk to you, please? In private?

I didn't respond quickly because, as I said, I was currently losing control of literally everything and this wasn't helping. For one horrible moment, I thought that she might have figured out everything, and I really would have to go on a rampage and kill everyone, but there was no way she could have come to that conclusion yet. Not yet.

She added, You don't have to. You're not in trouble, I just want to check in.

I tapped her feed to acknowledge. She sent, I'll be in my quarters. As I said, you don't have to, but I would appreciate it. Out loud, she said, "I'm going to take some time alone to think. I'll be in my quarters if anyone needs me."

Then she stood up, and she left. Gurathin and Pin-lee had also gone to start their analysis of the combat override module, along with Volescu. The others were talking amongst themselves, though some of them kept glancing at me, which was uncomfortable. So I walked out of the room.

I started a patrol circuit in an attempt to calm down, but it didn't help. I even tried to have Sanctuary Moon playing as I walked, but I was still as stressed as ever, so I just turned it off again. It was only a matter of time before the humans realised the module should have worked as intended, and that I'd lied, and that something was wrong with me. They might try to talk to me about it, but it was more likely they'd all start losing their minds and try to immobilise me, or kill me, or try to fix my governor module to bring me back under control. (I was pretty sure that wouldn't work, my hack was a solid one, but I still didn't want them to try.) There was also a scenario where they pretended everything was fine up until I'd gotten them out of here, and then they'd turn me over to the company and tell them everything, and the company would do one of those things I just mentioned, but much more effectively.

That last one made me feel nauseous. I'd rather be torn apart by bullets or fauna. I was contemplating what that might feel like and whether it was worth just getting it over with when I walked past Mensah's quarters. Before I could think about it, I'd pinged her feed.

There was a pause, and then she sent come in, sounding startled. She probably hadn't expected me to actually take up her offer. I hadn't either.

She was hurriedly organising her desk as the door opened and I walked in, a feed interface lopsided on her head. I suspected she might have been falling asleep in her chair or having an emotion in private when I pinged her, and I could have verified that through the security feeds, but I wasn't functioning at all optimally and didn't care enough to check. Mostly I was wondering why I was here.

"Sorry," she said, not having looked at me yet. Her short hair was mussed like she'd been pulling or scrunching her hands in it. "I honestly didn't expect you to come."

"You asked me to."

"I also told you it was optional. You can leave if you want to."

I almost did. I wanted to. I probably should have. I didn't. Mensah removed her wonky interface and set it down on the desk, then sighed and picked it back up and put it on again.

"I didn't mean to distress you with that message," she said, turning her chair to fully face me. "It's just that you seemed very rattled by all this, if you don't mind me saying. I can imagine the thought of that module having worked as intended isn't a pleasant one. Is there anything I can do to make things easier for you?"

Oh, she thought I was freaking out about the module. Well, technically she wasn't wrong, but wow, that particular aspect of things was the least of my worries right now. "I'm fine," I told her. She frowned at me.

"...I suppose you can't lie about that," she replied carefully. I could, actually, but I wasn't. The trick is that from the standpoint I was choosing to take, my physical body, AKA "me," was completely functional, AKA "fine." It's pedantic, but being selective about your definitions and what concepts your answers are referencing is how you get around having a chip in your brain that shocks the shit out of you if you try to lie to your clients, if you're good enough at it. I had a lot of experience letting clients think I was talking about one thing when I was actually talking about something else.

"Nonetheless," Mensah continued. "I don't think you are fine. And we don't have to talk about it, but I need my team in good condition if we're going to make it out of this. If there's anything I can do to help the situation, I would appreciate it if you let me know."

I was having a whole cascade of emotional responses that were all crashing into each other and getting themselves mangled together like a human vehicle accident. She wanted me to talk about my feelings, but she wasn't ordering me to. She was offering to help with whatever was distressing me, but she was a really big part of the thing that was currently my biggest source of stress. There were too many things that I needed to deal with all at once and I couldn't find a way of putting them in order, and I think the fact that Mensah was clearly trying to get a read on my expression while I didn't have the capacity to properly control it was the thing that finally broke me.

"Could you please stop looking at me?"

Mensah looked surprised for a moment, and then shifted her gaze somewhere over my left shoulder. The relief was marginal, in terms of the general situation, but it was immediate, and it helped. "Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't realise that bothered you."

I tried to think of a response, and failed. "It's not like anyone asked" was dangerously insubordinate, and didn't even make sense; I wouldn't want them to ask anyway. "People don't usually care" just sounded pathetic. "Of course you wouldn't, I actively avoid letting humans know what bothers me in case they decide to use it to make my life a living hell" was definitely off the table, for a variety of reasons.

I could tell Mensah's instinct was still to look at me, because she kept half-flicking her eyes over and stopping herself. It wasn't making trying to manage my emotional responses any easier, and I still couldn't think of a reply. Eventually, she took a deep breath.

"Look, I know you probably haven't had good experiences with humans, but we're not corporates, and we don't treat non-human entities like they do," she said. "My priority, regardless of the situation, is the wellbeing of my team, and that includes you, for as long as you're with us."

She half-looked at me again, and then shook her head slightly and pointed her gaze at the far corner. "Please, just - if you think of anything, don't hesitate. I don't know if you need permission for that kind of thing, but I'm giving it to you if you do."

I didn't know what to tell her. I didn't know if there was anything she could do. I was already stressed, and everything Mensah was saying was making me feel like my insides were melting, or turning into warm, writhing snakes. My performance reliability was all over the place, too, and had been since I found that stupid chip in my neck, which might at least marginally explain what happened next.

"Don't let them run the analysis on the module," I blurted.

Hey, murderbot? Hi, it's me, murderbot. What in the fuck are you doing?

Mensah's expression went shocked, and then cautious. Yeah, me fucking too. "Why not?"

For some reason, I kept going. It felt something like falling off the side of a cliff and hitting every rock on the way down. (That had happened to me before.) "Because I lied. It's not broken."

Her eyes widened. "You're compromised?"

"I'm hacked. My governor module isn't engaged." Sure, this might as well happen. Apparently I had lost the ability to keep my mouth shut literally at all, about anything, ever.

She stared at me for a second, and then must have remembered she said she wouldn't and looked away again. Surprising, considering I just told her that there was literally nothing stopping me from killing or otherwise hurting her if I wanted. "The DeltFall units—”

"It hasn't been engaged for approximately 35000 standard hours."

Mensah was a smart human, but it still took her a few seconds to work out the numbers. I watched her expression change as she did it. "You've been a rogue unit for four years?"

That depended on what planet you were nearest to, but in standard Earth years, that was correct, and I didn't have the capacity to be pedantic about it.

"I don't know if it counts as being rogue if you don't go around killing people for no reason."

Well, maybe I could still be a little pedantic.

[rynhaswritersblock]

stolen kisses | p.p.

a/n: y’all i’m home alone and i’m always so productive when home alone so i’m HOPING to get some more requests done but we know me so we’ll just see lol

summary: secret dating always ends in getting caught, especially by a suspicious best friend and a group of superheroes that’s been rooting for you and peter for years.

warnings: uhhhh allusions to sex and petey got a boner in the library! uh oh!

+ + +

it started out with a kiss.

"parker!" you seethe, storming towards his room.

"what?" he yells, voice muffled from the blanket he was hugging, brooklyn nine-nine playing on the tv.

you plant yourself in his doorway, breathing heavily and fire shooting out of your mouth. "guess what sam fucking did? guess!"

peter's eyes widen. "uh, i don't-"

"he ate the last bagel! after i specifically told him i called dibs!" you yell, stomping in and slamming the door behind you. with a huff, you plop down on the bed next to him, pulling some of the blanket out of peter's arms to wrap around you. of course, the scene where charles brought the team bagels is playing. "oh, come on!"

peter just stares at you. you shake your head, bringing your gaze away from the tv to look at the boy. you furrow your brows. "wha-"

peter leans forward, pecking your lips so quickly and abruptly you swear you imagined it. you gape, struggling to find words as you stare at peter, his face immediately getting red. he fumbles over his words. "oh god, i really shouldn't have done that should i-"

you interrupt him by planting your lips on his, the kiss softer and longer than the one prior, making him melt. when you two pull apart, you've got astonished looks on your faces.

"well..."

"do you- uh- do you wanna go buy some bagels?"

after that it was secret hand holding and stolen kisses, dates on the rooftop long after the rest of the team had fallen asleep. neither of you told anyone- how could you? especially after the entire team had been teasing you for so long, both you and peter knew it would only get worse. or they’d kick you out. 

plus, ned would probably blast it around the whole school in the span of one hour, and mj would secretly shame you for your heteronormativity.

so. here you and peter are, the boy cradling you as he clings to the ceiling, cringing as the team walks underneath you. it’s an absolute miracle none of them had seen you yet, desperately sticking to the ceiling after almost being caught in a hallway makeout session. 

peter's hand is still over your mouth as you look over his shoulder and to the end of the hallway. your voice is muffled by his hand. "they're gone."

a sigh falls from his lips and he pulls his hand away, carefully lowering the two of you to the ground. “that was close,” he quips, relieved smile on his lips as he holds your waist. 

“yeah,” you breathe. you play with his curls. “care to join me in my room?”

“definitely.”

+ + +

“i’m gonna, uh, go to the library to get a book,” you say. your heart races as you stand from the table, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “see you guys.”

ned and peter wave while mj nods at you. “see ya...” she’s furrowing her brows.

you begin walking towards the library, mj’s gaze burning into your back. the library is huge and will easily conceal you, thank god. now you wait. 

in a few minutes, peter slips in and finds you hiding amongst the non-fiction books. “holy crap,” he whispers. 

“you get caught?”

“almost,” peter says. “mj was glaring at me. ned was oblivious, though. i said i had to go to the bathroom.”

you hum. “mkay.”

with that, you pull the boy to you, your lips connecting. you sigh contentedly as he pulls you closer, tilting his head to get a better angle. just as he starts kissing along your jaw, you hear someone clear their throat. 

you open your eyes. “mj!”

peter flies off of you, pursing his lips and grabbing his backpack to cover the situation going on down there. you bite back a laugh. now is not the time.

“i knew it!” she exclaims, pointing at you excitedly. the librarian shushes her and she jumps. “you two have been acting so weird lately and i just knew you finally got over yourselves.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” peter sighs. 

the three of you walk out of the library, you and peter with burning faces and mj leading the way with a smug grin. ned’s in for one hell of a surprise.

+ + + 

training was one of the many the benefits of hiding your relationship. because the team didn’t know you were dating and because they ship you hard, it was only natural that they paired you up for training. what better way to get the young lovebirds together, right? the two of you knew it was a scheme from the get-go and that they probably watch the security cameras every time you had training together, but you had no complaints. all the more time you get to spend together!

today, though, you and peter got a bit too lost in it.

“fuck you, parker,” you seethe, dodging a punch and landing a kick straight in his gut. 

he winces. “please do. shower after?”

“of course.”

peter nods, spitting off to the side and wiping his mouth, huffing. you quirk a brow at him. a smile pulls at his lips and he shakes his head, launching at you. you quickly flip him over, pinning him to the mat with your hips. “oh, shut up,” he groans, shifting underneath you.

“make me.”

in one swift movement, peter flips the two of you over, sweaty curls flopping over here over his forehead as he hovers above you. “you gonna shut up now, or do i need to go even further?”

“further, i think.”

he laughs before planting his lips on yours. the two of you relax, slipping out of the training mode and getting a bit too lost in each other.

“what... the... hell?”

peter flies off of you (déjà vu!), eyes wide. you shoot up, pulling your knees to your chest and wiping off your mouth. 

oops. 

tony stands in the doorway, frozen, mouth agape. he runs a hand over his mouth, shifting on his feet. “okay, uh, guys?” he calls out to the hallway. “we’ve got a situation!”

you and peter watch in horror as the team rushes in, confused looks on their faces. 

“what is it?” steve asks. 

“i just caught the kid on top of my daughter. they were kissing.” tony spits, beckoning in your direction.

in come a series of reactions from the group. sam, bucky, and scott all burst into laughter, pumping their fists, high-fiving, clapping as they yell excitedly. nat and clint just smirk at each other, and the rest stand with mouths agape.

“so, when did this start? and what is... this..?” rhodey asks, gesturing awkwardly at the two of you and you suck in a breath, looking over at peter.

“we, uh...” peter starts.

“we’ve been dating for a few months.”

the following lecture lasted a solid half hour. but then, the team decided, it was celebration time.

[wiltingofthewhitelily]

{Hetalia Platonic Ships Week 2021} Day 7: Free Day - Iceland & Latvia

A/N: Submission #7 for @hetaliaplatonicshipsweek!

Aaaaand the last day! I was originally planning to do Canada and Cuba (a platonic pairing I just adore) for this day until I realized I didn't actually have any solid story ideas for them :')

Sooo I chose Iceland and Latvia instead, because I imagine the two to be pretty good friends. This is just a high school au (bc as many of y'all know I'm a sucker for them) that I came up with one day while sitting in class lol. You can choose to see this as taking place in the same universe as the fic I wrote for family week (the Anko Family submission for Day 5, Embarrassment) if you wish, bc everything lines up pretty much to a T. Also, my demiboy Iceland hc is back, so he/they pronouns again.

Also, here's the reference for human names again (though most of these characters are only briefly mentioned):

Emil - Iceland

Raivis - Latvia

Leon - Hong Kong

Michelle - Seychelles

Mei - Taiwan

Lili - Liechtenstein

Ok, I hope you guys enjoy!

»»————-　➴　————-««

Being a librarian's aide at a high school wasn't nearly as bad as it appeared on the surface—well, at least for Emil it wasn't. It was always nice and quiet (for obvious reasons, since it was a library), and it allowed him to get out of a couple of boring classes which he didn't even need to take since he'd already received all the credits for them. Plus, the librarian herself was always very nice and even gave him free coffee and donuts from the teacher's lounge on most days. So, needless to say, Emil actually liked being her aide very much.

It wasn't even that much work, honestly. Not that much work at all. Usually just stacking returned books back on the bookshelf and taking out papers from the printer and giving them to students and teachers. Emil didn't have to interact with too many other kids as there were only a couple of other aides—a senior girl who was the librarian's secretary, and a boy named Raivis who Emil was pretty sure was a sophomore. Raivis basically did the same tasks as Emil, placing books on the bookshelf and whatnot.

Raivis was a curly-haired brunet who was very short for his age, barely even coming up to Emil's shoulder; he had a round boyish face that added to his middle-schooler look. Though he seemed to be a pretty quiet kid, just like Emil, since the two worked together they evidently had to communicate with each other sometimes—and honestly, Emil really enjoyed talking with him. He seemed to have a lot of the same interests as Emil—video games, indie music, hell, he even liked science fiction novels too—and a similar personality to them. Emil wouldn't exactly consider themselves close enough to Raivis to consider him a friend, probably just a very good acquaintance; however, they definitely saw the potential for friendship. It was there.

Sometimes Emil wondered if Raivis even had any other friends, as they'd never seen the boy really talk to anybody else. They wondered where he sat at lunch and tried to recall countless times if they'd ever seen him at lunch with anybody else (at their school, all juniors and sophomores had the same lunch period, so Emil knew that they had lunch with Raivis).

Anyway, on one Thursday morning Emil and Raivis were in the library, organizing books in the—what do you know—science fiction section. They had set their uneaten donuts and coffee on a nearby table and were just talking and laughing among each other, as well as sharing some of the good books they'd found that they happened to have read in the past. Emil made a mental note of all the reading suggestions Raivis had given him. I'm gonna have to check out those books when Mrs. Newman lets me pick some out again, Emil thought to himself (Mrs. Newman referring to the librarian). Another perk to being a librarian's aide was that they got to pick out more books than the other students, about three to five every other week.

Everything was going okay until these two boys who Emil had never seen in the library before casually walked up to the table that had the two's donuts and coffee and sat in the chairs.

However, Emil just kept their attention on Raivis, who was laughing as he told them about this one dystopian book, holding it up so Emil could see. "Yeah! And the best part is when—" Raivis stopped talking abruptly when he noticed the two boys there; his eyes grew wide and he got a...scared look on his face? Hurriedly, he shoved the book back in its spot on the shelf, averting his eyes from the boys and holding Emil's arm loosely, trying to guide him away from the section they were at. "Um...how about let's go sort out the encyclopedias," Raivis suggested quickly.

Emil cocked his eyebrows, now very confused. "But what about our food?"

However, Raivis didn't respond and instead continued to try to push Emil away from the boys.

"Hey, short stack!"

Raivis visibly cringed at the voice of one of the boys. This prompted him, as well as Emil to lift their heads up. One of the kids was cackling annoyingly, while the other one had carelessly taken a bite out of one of Raivis' donuts.

Seeing this latter action immediately caused Emil to furrow their eyebrows. "Hey, what the heck?" they said sternly. "That's Raivis' food."

The kid who'd eaten Raivis' donut snickered. "Yeah, no shit, Dad."

"Emil, just leave them alone..." Raivis said quietly, still holding onto their arm.

Emil ignored him and, though his heart was pounding nearly out of his chest with nerves, he continued to try to set the two boys straight. "I'm going to tell Mrs. Newman if you two don't stop," he threatened.

The other boy, who'd started to drink Raivis' coffee, set his cup down and made mocking jazz hands. "Ooo—Mrs. Newman. I'm so scared," he said sarcastically.

Emil shot the two one last glare and went up to the front of the library to do what he'd just said he would do—tell Mrs. Newman. As he began to walk, he heard the sounds of pounding footsteps, splashing, and then a high-pitched wail that could only belong to one person. Emil whipped his head around and gasped. The kid with the coffee had dumped the entire beverage onto Raivis' head; it was dripping from his hair, and onto the floor.

Now simmering with anger, Emil stomped up to the two kids—he was about to yell something until he heard one of the boys snort loudly and then run up to place the now-empty cup of coffee into Emil's hand. The ash-blond didn't have time to be too confused; he was much more concerned for Raivis at that moment. He prepared to yell at the two boys to get the hell out (he honestly didn't care at that point that they were in a library) before he heard a voice behind him: "Hey! What are you two doing?"

The teens all looked toward the voice and saw Mrs. Newman standing there, hands on her hips, her expression very angry looking—though not at Emil and Raivis, rather at the boy that'd spilled coffee on Raivis' head, as well as his friend.

The two boys, though they'd just mocked Mrs. Newman a mere few minutes prior, stood there, scared, until they glanced at each other briefly and then dashed out of the large library doors. Emil smirked internally as they saw this. Now they're afraid, huh? they thought to themselves.

Mrs. Newman stared at the boys like a hawk as they ran out into the halls, but once they were out of eyesight she turned to Raivis, her face instantly growing from full of anger to full of concern. She walked up slowly to the boy, gently placing her hand on a part of his arm that'd been untouched by the coffee. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

Raivis shrugged his shoulders slowly, his face looking so solemn, so pitiful. "It's fine..."

The tall blonde woman turned to Emil then. "Honey, will you take him to the office to get a fresh change of clothes?" she asked. "He will probably need to use one of the showers in the gym too...can you walk with him, please?"

Emil nodded instantly. "Yeah. Sure thing."

Mrs. Newman smiled back. "Thank you."

Soon, the two teens were walking off to do just that. Raivis was very quiet all the way to the office—which Emil could understand one hundred percent. Poor kid must've felt so embarrassed. He decided he wouldn't make the situation any worse for him and kept his mouth shut, too. They swiftly went to the office to get some spare clothes and then got the clear to go down to the gym bathroom so Raivis could wash up.

The two got to the gym and were standing in front of the door to the bathroom; Raivis glanced up at Emil, his face a little pink. "Um," he began, holding his hand out a little, "could you give me the clothes?"

"Oh, yeah," Emil replied, handing Raivis the sweatpants and t-shirt.

Raivis nodded his thanks and headed on in. After he shut the door, Emil just decided to sit against the wall and wait for him while he showered and changed.

Nearly thirty minutes later, Raivis finally came back out. Emil looked up, put his phone back in his pocket, and then stood up. "How was it?" he asked the sophomore.

Raivis sighed deeply; his eyes were very close to watering, even though he looked and smelled as fresh as a daisy. "Um...okay I guess," he answered, voice quavering a little. "There was a lot of coffee on me."

Emil nodded, but tsk-tsked. He began to walk out of the gym, and Raivis followed close behind. "Who even were those kids?" Emil asked.

Raivis shrugged, looking down at his toes. "Eh, just some kids from my grade. They're jerks."

Emil bit his lip. "Seems like it. I can't believe they put that coffee cup in my hands like they were trying to frame me or something," he said. He laughed, a bit bitterly.

Despite himself, Raivis managed to chuckle a little. "Yeah. Don't they know Mrs. Newman has cameras in there? She could've checked them if she really wanted to."

Emil snorted. "I know, right?"

It was silent for a moment afterward, with Raivis gulping loudly every now and then. Emil turned their head, noticing this. He cocked an eyebrow, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Raivis (who Emil could tell now was definitely on the verge of crying) sniffled and rubbed at his face. "Yeah," he answered, voice hushed. "It's just...thank you, Emil. No one has ever stood up for me like that."

The boy's voice was so sincere that Emil had to grin. "It's no problem—really."

"You're a great friend," Raivis added.

Emil's heart was warmed at that—they didn't know if it was just the way he said it, or the knowledge that he actually thought of them as a friend. He answered warmly nonetheless. "Thank you. You are too."

Raivis glanced at him and gave the most genuine smile Emil thought he'd ever seen on the younger teen.

"Hey, where do you normally sit at lunch?" Emil asked Raivis, just out of curiosity.

Raivis' smile fell a bit. "Oh...well, I normally just sit outside," he said quietly.

"Alone?" The word seemed to echo in the empty hallway, though it might've just been Emil's imagination.

Raivis nodded a bit solemnly. Emil grew the same solemn expression for a moment before asking, "Hey, would you like to sit with me and my friends at lunch?"

Raivis looked up then, eyebrows shooting up. "Really?"

Emil nodded, cracking a small smile. "Yeah. I sit with my best friend, Leon, and then my other friends, Michelle, Mei, and Lili. Leon's really cool; Michelle and Mei might seem a bit...much at first, but they're really nice and cool too."

Raivis' expression slowly began to brighten the more he heard Emil talk, until he paused. "...Are you sure that's okay? I wouldn't wanna ruin your guys' lunch..."

"Trust me, you won't," Emil assured instantly.

The sophomore paused for a minute, as if thinking. "...Okay. I'll sit with you guys."

Emil grinned. "Good. I'm sure they'd love to meet you."

The two continued to walk back to the office to get passes for their next class in comfortable silence, the content feeling one feels after finding a new friend overwhelming both of them.

[petri808]

Secret 🎅 gift for @tillythestrange @bkdksecretsanta

Secret Santa letter please don’t mind my crappy edit lol. Short but I think it came out cute 😊 Hapy Holidays! 💚💛☃️

“Aww, come on Kacchan, just enjoy the party!” Izuku smiles, bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of the grumpy blonde. “It was really nice of Endeavor to throw it for Christmas.”

“Tch. Must’a been Icyhot’s influence.” Katsuki shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re lucky I let you drag me here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with supporting our employer, and besides it’s a good idea for us to keep up appearances.”

It’s customary for companies in Japan to celebrate the end of the year, but as part of rebuilding the public’s trust in Pro heroes, doing something nice for kids was a perfect idea. So, they decided on a Christmas themed party where local children from poorer neighborhoods were brought with their parents to attend. Just picture it, Endeavor in a Santa costume makes for a great photo opportunity. They get to spend an evening with the heroes, eat and receive a present from Santa.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “This is so cheesy.” There’s even mistletoe hung. Why? PDA’s are just not something they do in their culture. A ten foot, noble pine was set up and decorated with lights and colorful ornaments. Garlands were strung around the room with large silver bells and red ribbons. Yeah, it all looked like it came out of children’s book.

“Baku nii-chan! Deku nii-chan!”

The two men turn to the loud calls of their names, knowing full well its sources. Neither men has seen the children in over a year due to how busy they were. But Mahoro and Katsuma Shimano were now 13 & 10 years old.

“Our mini me’s!” Izuku chuckles as he kneels down to embrace one child, then the other. “This really is a special occasion now!”

“Pfft,” Katsuki crosses his arms though there’s an evident smile on his face. “It just means we’re on baby sitting duty now.”

“Kacchan, be nice. I’m very happy to see them here.”

“Yeah, Kacchan,” Mahoro mimics Izuku with a smirk. “Be nice.”

“Still a brat I see.”

“She’s a mini you Kacchan.” Even the children giggle at Izuku’s words.

“Tch. She is not.”

Izuku shares a knowing glance with the giggling children. He takes Katsuma’s hand, “how about we show you around?”

Mahoro immediately jumps onto Katsuki’s back, demanding that he piggy back her.

“Oi! Aren’t you too old for that?!”

“Nope!” She chirps.

He rolls his eyes but acquiesces to her demands and eventually Katsuma too ended up on Izuku’s shoulders. The pairs were glued together for the evening, with the children, mostly Mahoro, chattering away about what they’ve been doing or how they love to see their favorite hero’s on the television. Katsuma had truly come to idolize Izuku and hopes to one day follow in the man’s footsteps.

“He keeps a scrap book of Deku nii-chan’s news clippings,” Mahoro tells them about her brothers interests. “Every time you’re in a newspaper or magazine, he bugs me to buy a copy.”

“Awww,” Izuku smiles, “I’m really honored you’d do that! You know,” he speaks directly to the boy, “When I was your age, I was the same way about All Might.”

“That’s an understatement,” Katsuki interjects. “You’re still obsessed with All Might.”

“So? You were just as obsessed as I was Kacchan. We even used to dress up as All Might as kids.”

The two children start giggling madly, especially at the way Katsuki was defending against the statement.

“I was 4! And I wasn’t obsessed, I studied him so I could surpass him. Which I have!”

“He was obsessed,” Izuku mouthes to the children and set off another round of giggles.

As the two heroes glare at each other, Mahoro, ever the trouble maker, leans onto the table and rests her arms on the surface. “So, are you two dating yet?”

“What?!” Both men instantly forget about the feud.

“W-Were not dating!”

Katsuki deadpans. “It’s not like that!”

“Uh-huh, sure looks like it to me. You two bicker like an old married couple in the movies.”

“Well that’s just bullshit!”

“Kacchan, language!”

“Maybe you guys are just idiots then.” Mahoro quips back.

Katsuki stands up from his chair, pointing a finger at the girl. “Listen here you little brat! Only I get to call Deku an idiot!”

Unfazed, Mahoro crosses her arms with a wider smirk. “See. You’re defending him because you like him. Just admit it. It’s okay, we think it’s cute.” Katsuma just nods along with his sisters words.

“I— y-you! Stop it!” The blonde shouts across the table. “We’re friends! We haven’t kissed or anything yet!” How the hell did this kid figure it out?! Katsuki’s sure he’s hidden his feelings for his best friend well!

“Yet?” Her brow raises. “So, you admit you like Deku-nii. That’s a shame you haven’t kissed him, what’s taking you so long?”

Izuku is in complete shock that this is where the conversation had gone. His face is heated and rosy, only made worse by Katsuki’s continuing argument with a 13 year old girl. “Oh, my god...” Izuku breathed out as his body slipped lower in his chair. Now would be a great time to have an invisibility quirk!

“There’s nothing to admit!!”

“Come on Baku nii-chan,” the girl continues teasing the man. “Just kiss him for Christmas. Here, lemme help you.” Mahoro creates a hologram of a mistletoe above Izuku’s head. “You don’t wanna break tradition, do you.”

“Eeeep!” Izuku shrieks. “Why are you doing this?!”

“Because I’m helping you both to admit your feelings for each other.”

Ugh! Katsuki didn’t know what else to do! It’s not like Mahoro was some villain he could beat up, she’s a smart-aleck 13 year old girl! He drops back onto his seat. “Will you talk some sense into her Deku?! Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

Based on the girl shaking her head, Izuku assumes the answer is a big fat no. So, he turns sheepishly to Katsuki instead. “I mean one kiss wouldn’t kill us if it’ll quiet her down.”

“Are you—,” Katsuki starts but quickly snaps his mouth shut. He knew Izuku all too well not to read it on his face that he is serious, but not just to shut the girl up, did he want him to kiss him?! All this time, Katsuki assumed Izuku just saw him as a friend, but the look in the man’s eyes, full of hope? Longing?! His own cheeks fill with warmth at the thought of kissing his crush. Something he’d only fantasized of doing... “Are you sure?” Izuku nods yes.

Katsuki groans internally and narrows his eyes at Mahoro. “If we kiss, you’ll back off, right?!”

“Yup!” The girl smiles.

Okay, it’s not like he’s ever kissed anyone before! And with an audience, Katsuki’s nerves triple. He faces off with Izuku calculating what the right way of pulling this off would be. Seconds turn to minutes as the staring contest continues. Ugh! He could feel his face on fire and his hands are getting sweaty. Any longer and soon explosions would start to go off.

Mahoro drums her fingers on the table. “Any time now Baku nii-chan, Deku nii-chan. I’m not gonna hold that hologram up all night.”

“Argh! Alright already!” Fuck it, just go in for the kill! Katsuki grabs Izuku’s face with both his hands and just slams their lips together so roughly, teeth clash, and the man gives off a squeak. Definitely not how he’d fantasized this would be, but the deed is done.

When Katsuki pulls away, Izuku pulls him back in for a second kiss, needier than this time. The crowd of party guests erupt into a sea of hollering and camera flashes as the two pro heroes locked lips. Such displays were unusual, but apparently there kiss is being celebrated. This time it’s Izuku who pulls away with happy tears in his eyes.

“Geez, don’t cry,” Katsuki chided the man. “It’s not like it was perfect or anything.”

“I thought it was,” Izuku sniffled. “I’ve been dreaming of it for years.”

Katsuki deadpans. So, that meant they’d both been thinking about each other?! He glares at Mahoro. “How’d you figure it out?!”

“Congratulations,” the sassy preteen smirked back, “you’re now officially the last to know.”

[magalidragon]

Tiny Dancer | a drabble set in the “It Is What It Is” universe

a/n: For @stilesssolo I said I would do a drabble of smol!Jon in ballet tights. 🤣 Here it is! Also I just threw his moodboard together in like ten min which is why it is trash.  But then again, so am I, just absolute Jonerys trash, lol.

————————

Dany grunted, separating back the heel of her ballet shoe from the fabric, reaching down with her knife and gouging out the shank of the shoe, releasing a triumphant cry when she yanked it out, holding it into the air like a prize. She dropped it to the floor with the rest of the detritus that accumulated when she prepped her shoes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her boyfriend frowning at her, over top of his book, his glasses glinting in the light coming off the fireplace in front of them both. “What?” she asked, chuckling, not stopping her destruction of the shoes.

“Aren’t those things rather expensive?”

“About 200 dragons a pair, yes.”

“And you just…destroy them?”

She folded the shoe backwards and forwards, easily moldable now that the shank was out. Once she had it the way she wanted, she picked up her darning needle and threaded it, beginning to work on the ribbons. She shrugged. “It’s a disposable product at the end of the day, these need to fit me perfectly.” She wiggled her toes out, so he could see the broken nails, bruises, and calluses that covered her small, yet strong, feet. It used to upset her, how she couldn’t wear sandals or get cute pedicures the way all her friends could, but she was proud of her feet. They showed how good at her profession she was, how athletic and strong. They were what kept her going. “Because they protect these, ultimately.”

“I guess I won’t understand.” He set his book aside, crawling onto the floor to sit with her. One of her cats, Drogon, was fussing with an end of her ribbons, batting it back and forth in his paws. Ghost eyed them all and she kept watch on him out of the corner of her other eye, lest he run off with one of her shoes again. He’d taken a liking to them.

Although she’d discovered one day that his chewing on one of the shoes had actually softened the toe box a little. It wasn’t a habit she wanted him to get into though. “You didn’t see your mom doing this?”

Jon laughed. “Yeah, I did, sometimes helped her. She would give me the shoes and have me bang them on the floor with her.”

“That’s actually genius.” Little boys were all about that loud noise and screaming. Lyanna getting a small tiny Jon to beat the shit out of her pointe shoes was actually a nice sight. She pursed her lips up, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “Baby Jon.”

His palm came over, pressing to the very tiny bump on her waist, his face soft and goofy. “Baby Dany.”

Her hand covered his, squeezing lightly. “Baby You and Me,” she said, accepting his kiss. He patted her belly gently and moved, getting to his feet. She glanced down at her bump, which had not deterred her from dancing; if anything she wanted to keep it up, to stay in shape throughout the pregnancy. It had been quite a shock, discovering that after only a year they were expecting, but it was only a matter of time.

The bell at the front of the house, a small cottage they’d located on the outskirts of Winterfell, rang—more like gonged—Ghost released his high-pitched whine, closest thing he could do as a mute. He jumped up and bounded after Jon to the door, while she remained on the floor, stretching out her legs to either side into a semi-splitz and forward bend, figuring maybe she’d prep for a workout later and get some stretching in.

At the front door there was a happy laugh, the sound of bags rustling, and a moment later Jon entered, smiling wide. “Mom came to visit.”

“I actually come bearing gifts.” Lyanna, who wasn’t quite as petite as her, nimbly stepped around the various objects on the floor, and held aloft two gift bags. She glanced at the shoes piled up that Dany had been working on, and chuckled. “Oh, I remember those days. Shoe prep. You know I used to get Jon to…”

“He told me,” she laughed, coming up and reaching for Lyanna. It was still amazing to her that this woman would be her mother-in-law one day, when she idolized her as a small girl. She poked at one of the bags, nudging into the tissue paper. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

Lyanna patted her belly, which Dany pushed out a bit obnoxiously, since at five months she wasn’t quite as big as she’d expected to be. Doctor said itw as because she was an athlete, she might not pop until the end. “I did so have to bring something for my future grandchild. Also…” A devlish look crossed her face, her gray eyes twinkling. “I found something while cleaning out the house.”

Whatever it was, Jon was wary, his matching gray eyes narrowing. “Oh?”

“Hmm. Be a dear and get me some tea.”

“You don’t need tea, what is it?”

“Jon, get your mother some tea,” Dany chastised. He huffed, storming out of the room, throwing a censuring look over his shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at him. Once he was out of earshot, she whipped around to Lyanna. “Oh gods, what is it? What did you find?”

Lyanna grinned, hand diving into the other bag. She removed a DVD case, smirking. “Had to get this transferred from the recorded copy but it is so worth it.”

One of the things that Dany had wanted desperately to see when she’d begun dating Jon and after learning that his mother had forced him into ballet shoes when he was little, were ballet photos of him. Except, to Lyanna’s enduring disappointment in her son, when he was a teenager, Jon had gone through the house and purged it of any photo of him in ballet clothes, lest his friends or Robb might locate them and humiliate him. Lyanna was still pissed off at him for it.

“Didn’t leave me with one photo!” she raged, when Dany had asked her about it at their first dinner together. Jon hadn’t cared and calmly continued eating, saying it was for the best.

Lyanna hurried to the TV and plugged in what she needed. A moment later, the screen flickered and Dany was greeted with the greatest thing she ahd ever seen in her entire life. Except maybe the sonogram of her child. This was an exceptionally close second.

The footage was homemade, from someone’s old-fashioned camcorder, and from the front row of what she recognized was the main auditorium at the ballet academy. The curtain pulled open, the audience applauded, and then a line of little girls in pale pink leotards, tights, and tutus walked onto the stage, eagerly waving at their parents. They couldn’t be more than five. And then….teh greatest thing ever….Dany yelped, covering her mouth with her hands, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

In both adoration, love, and because she thought she might start laughing nonstop.

A little Jon Snow, dark curls tangled on his head, in a white shirt and gray leotard tights, bringing up the rear of the line. He looked down at the camera and to her amusement, he scowled. Then he reluctantly lifted up his little hand and waved, before focusing his attention on the instructor, who Dany couldn’t see. He snapped to attention immediately and began to follow the program, little feet moving as they ran across the stage, prancing and doing plies and jumping here and there.

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, a hand on her belly and the over stilly over her mouth, watching the tiny Jon on the stage. She kept repeating it, while Lyanna giggled nonstop beside her.

“He’s so adorable! Oh, I forgot how tiny his frown was. Such a grumpy little boy I had.”

”What the bloody seven hells are you watching?!”

Lyanna paused the video, turning to glare at her son. “Your dance recital when you were five. It’s all I have of my only child doing ballet. Give your mother this much, you burned all the other pictures.”

Jon was flushed so red, Dany worried he’d stopped breathing. He closed his eyes. “Where did you find that?”

“The studio actually. I’m sure there’s more I can locate soon enough.” She picked upt he other bag, handing it to Dany, beaming. “And here’s your other gift.”

Dany giggled, almost jumping in place, so full of love and giddiness. She grabbed something soft from inside the bag and tugged it out, bursting into tears. “Fucking hormones,” she complained, wiping her eyes and holding up the little cotton onesie. She sniffed. “Oh Lyanna! It’s so sweet!”

Lyanna wiped at her own tears, hugging her tightly. “Well you’re having a little dancer.”

“A tiny dancer,” Jon read from the onesie, as Dany held it up, placing it over her belly. He chuckled. “Thanks Mom.” He pointed to the television, his image mid-leap in gray tights, intense focus on his small features frozen on the screen. “But not for that.”

“Oh hush and give your mother a kiss. I need to get back to the school.”

Dany couldn’t stop, wiping at her tears and saying thank you to Lyanna, for so many things. The onesie, the video, for producing Jon, even. They managed to get her out of the house, even with the tea Jon had made for her and put into a travel mug, like he knew she wouldn’t be long. He probably was hoping she wouldn’t stay long. He hugged her, wiping at her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “It’s just a silly little gift.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s everything. I just love yo so much.”

He softened, touching his forehead to hers. “I love you too.”

A few days later, at the studio, Dany finished with her workout and went over to the stereo to turn off her music, when the door opened. She glanced over to tell whomever it was she was almost done, when she saw Jon slip in. “Jon!” she exclaimed. He held two cups of coffee in his hand. She grinned, flicking off the music and rushed to him, shoes clomping on the hardwood. “You brought me tea!”

“Herbal, no caffeine.”

She flicked down the coffee collar, his writing scribbled out. <i>Baby might need this more than you.</i> She patted her belly, kissing him. “Yes, baby did need it. Thank you.”

“I have something else.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope, passing it over to her. “My mom isn’t always right. Contrary to her belief.”

Dany took the envelope, curious. She set the tea on the top of the piano and flicked opent he envelope, pulling out a few old photos, the glossy images spilling forth into her hands. She stared, mouth falling open, at the treasures she now held. “You didn’t destroy them!”

They were of little Jon, just like the video from the recital, only in these ones he was in a studio, very small and holding his mother’s hand, while she wore her ballet leotard and skirt, his little chubby feet and legs in tights. Another holding onto the barre. She beamed, flicking through them. They were bloody adorable. She looked up, pressing them to her heart. He smiled, sheepish. “I guess I subconsciously held onto those because I was going to fall in love with a dancer.”

She giggled. “Maybe you did.” She looked down at them again, shaking her head, still smiling. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” The photos returned to the envelope, she put them carefully into her bag, and bounced back up. “Come on, dance with me.”

Jon smirked. “I don’t dance.”

“You’re having a baby with a dancer. Guess what Jon? You dance.” She giggled. “I’ll hsow you my baby pictures of me in a tutu. I think my mother ingrained me young, just like yours.”

“Funny how that works,” he laughed. He spun her around, tugging her up to his chest, and kissed her softly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” She took her coffee and together they clinked the lids together, before he spun her back around, dancing lazily around the studio, both of them laughing goofily.

[omgitscharlie]

𝖕𝖗 𝖚𝖓𝖇𝖔𝖝𝖎𝖓𝖌

ɪɴᴜᴋᴀɢ | ʜɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴏɴ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ | ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛ

@horriblehowl YOU WANT IT YOU GOT IT BAYBEEE. 

i have been working on this for lol too long but i’m HOWLING (get it) at what i just created. it’s an abomination in the best way. enjoy.

SUMMARY: Inuyasha helps Kagome open her PR boxes on camera and is astounded at what she receives. tagging:  @princessinume, @rightoveryonder, @digital-art-monster, @heathersmusings, @nectarine500, @biancam70, @keichanz, @mickisketch, @mamabearcat , @littlestuffstohide, @misteria247, @aizawa-slaysme, @preciouslyours, @clementinesgulag, @sailorbabydoll92, @trepidatingboarfetus, @karibookat, @liz8080, @chimichangadude, @kagometaishostory, @shinidamachu, @blairex, @bluejay785, @ruddcatha, @inuyashasimp, @bluehawaiicat, @caribmiko, @ghostinluke, @hnn-wnchstr , @horriblehowl, @lavendertwilight89, @anxietyaardvark, @i-dream-of-soup, @sistasecbhere, @neutronstarchild, @kaze-ranna, @bigjakenenergy, @holi-holy, @marak7, @its11-11, @pinkpigeonstudio, @ntkrrs, @mymidnightnightmare, @smmahamazing, @sailorlolo​

AO3 + FFN

“Please tell me this is the last of ‘em.”

How many times had they gone to and from her car, grabbing boxes and boxes of PR that they’d picked up from her PO box. Watching him carry many more boxes than herself towards the front of her apartment building, she let out a small giggle, knowing that he’d become used to this by now.

“Yup!” she chirped before following after him with the three boxes that she’d grabbed from the backseat. Kagome followed after him, managing to press the lock button on her key and hear the familiar beeps.

Taking their millionth trip up the elevator, Inuyasha adjusted some of the boxes he was holding with a grunt, “Some of these boxes are fuckin’ heavy, Kagome. What the hell is in here?” 

“I honestly have no idea. You know how some brands are. Remember when I showed you that box that had a small screen inside that played a video? They’re intense sometimes.” It seemed as though brands were trying to up the ante these days, making their PR more elaborate and opulent. A waste was what Kagome called it. She’d asked some brands to just send their products in a simple box, nothing else. Some complied and others seemed to have missed the memo.

Hearing the ding, the doors opened and Kagome walked out first, knowing she would need to open the door and let him in. As much as she would find it easier to just leave the door unlocked, she knew there was already thousands of dollars worth of product inside that people could easily steal. 

Holding the door open, she watched her boyfriend carry the last of the boxes in before kicking the door shut behind her. Kicking off her shoes, she followed Inuyasha to the living room, where they’d been stacking the boxes in front of the couch. It was too crowded to open boxes in her studio and Inuyasha didn’t feel comfortable filming in his home, so Kagome opted for the living room. 

Typically, Kagome would film while Inuyasha did some work in her bedroom, but today she’d roped him into coming on camera with her and participate in a PR unboxing haul, “Thank you for carrying those boxes up, babe,” she praised, watching as he carefully stacked the boxes on top of one another.

“Yeah well, if I didn’t do it, you’da been doin’ this all day,” he countered in an attempt to deflect her thanks, an old habit that he’d yet to break. Placing the last box down, he placed his hands on his hips to marvel at his handiwork, “There. Done.”

“Looks great,” she complimented as she moved to stand beside him, gently maneuvering him so he faced her so she could get up on her tiptoes and wrap her arms around his neck. Easily, Inuyasha sank into her touch, wrapping his arms around her waist and happily letting her press a kiss to his lips. Allowing it to linger for a moment or two before pulling away, Kagome smiled up at the man that she’d been dating for the past year and a half, “I’m excited,” she stated honestly, not surprised by the perplexed expression on Inuyasha’s face.

“Why?”

“I like filming with you, is all,” stated as if it were obvious, she could see his cheeks flush as he averted his gaze, “My followers like it, too.”

“Keh. I ain’t interesting to watch,” he scoffed while feeling Kagome’s lips press to his jawline out of comfort. Turning his head back to her, he stole a kiss from her, unable to help himself. 

“Yes you are,” she murmured against his lips, still keeping her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled away enough to find his gaze with her own, “You gunna take your hat off?” she knew it was a sensitive subject, and by the way he tensed in reaction to her question, Kagome understood that he wasn’t ready, “It’s okay. You don’t need to,” she reassured, unwrapping her arms and running them down the front of his chest as she lowered back onto her heels.

Inuyasha knew that Kagome loved his ears, she made that blatantly obvious whenever she could; rubbing them while they lay on the couch, teasing them with her lips if she wanted to get back at him for making her beg, and he knew if they were in public she would take every chance to touch them. Yes. Kagome was accepting and loving towards his appearance and what it meant, but he knew not everyone was like that. Hell, before Kagome, every person he showed them to found them strange. 

“Uh, yeah. Not yet,” or ever.

Nodding in understanding, she released herself from his grip and began making her way to her studio, “Gunna help me move the lights and camera?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he conceded, subconsciously adjusting the beanie on his head as he followed in after her.

They had to sit on the floor, the camera and her more portable lights set up in front of them on the other side of the coffee table. Adjusting the white balance, lighting and contrast, she finally settled on an image that suited her taste. All the while, her rather impatient boyfriend remained seated cross legged with his arms folded across his chest. Wearing a black henley with the first two buttons undone, it was easy to see the hint of fresh ink that began to sprawl over the entirety of his chest. 

“Okay, got it,” Kagome finally said, pressing record and moving to sit beside him before adjusting her light grey tank top topped by a thin black cardigan. 

“About time,” he murmured with the intent to only do so to himself, but soon saw Kagome shoot him a glare. 

“I need to make sure it’s in focus and properly balanced - this isn’t something we can just do over,” she explained in a rather scolding tone, only to see her boyfriend give her one of his infamous eyerolls. Not in the mood for his attitude, she smacked his arm with the back of her hand, looking up at him with her own scowl.

“Hey! Jesus. Can we just start?” He snapped, glowering down at her with a furrowed brow. Kagome continued to glare at him, Inuyasha unsure just what she wanted him to do and he wanted to figure it out soon; he could only handle that glare for so long.

“Apology kiss,” she demanded, keeping her face close to his while Inuyasha scoffed in faux inconvenience before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. It was short and sweet, rewarded with a bright smile on her face as she broke away, “Okay, we can start now.”

After a quick introduction to her channel, she let her followers know that Inuyasha would be helping her unbox PR, “As you can see we have...a wall of boxes that Inuyasha graciously carried up and stacked so well,” she stated with a soft giggle, looking to her boyfriend as he peered behind him with a grin, “Do you wanna choose the first one we open?” she asked, seeing his gaze flit towards hers and back to the boxes.

“Sure.”

As he gently gripped random boxes, trying to see which one was loose enough to grab without toppling the whole thing over, Kagome continued, staring back towards the camera as she did so, “As I always do with my PR unboxings, I’ll be putting things aside for a giveaway. All you gotta do is go to the link in the description and complete everything there to enter - the end date to enter will be there too.”

Grabbing a medium-sized box, he pulled it down without disturbing the structure behind them and placed it in his lap.

“Oh! Let me grab a knife,” Kagome stated while climbing to her feet and running to the kitchen. Inuyasha was about to tell her to not bother, but simply shrugged when he heard her patter around the kitchen. 

By the time she’d returned with the knife, holding it rather valiantly and proudly, the package was already sliced open, “Wait. What?” she asked, only to see Inuyasha lift his hand with a face full of disbelief towards her lack of realization that he had claws, “Oh!” she gave a slightly embarrassed laugh, “Right!” she waved her hand at him flippantly, as if she’d known the whole time. 

Shaking his head in bemusement, he looked down to the box and opened it, seeing a bunch of extra packaging before finding the products that lay beneath, “I don’t know what any of this is,” he stated bluntly as he pulled a few products out and held them out for her to take without looking at her so he could rummage around for more. Taking the products, she looked at one of the boxes and lit up with excitement.

“Oh! This is the new Milk Makeup™ foundation and primer. I’ve heard you guys tell me that you want me to review these so I’ll put those aside,” and she did just that, prepared to make two separate piles: one for the giveaway and one for her to keep. As soon as she’d put those products down, she saw Inuyasha holding out another handful for her to take. Taking those, she talked through what each product was until Inuyasha reached back to grab another box.

Opening it with his index finger, he pulled it open before scrunching his nose and turning his head away on the verge of coughing, “Fuckin’ hell. This box reeks,” he choked out before finally letting out a cough to try and get the taste out of the back of his throat. With his head turned away, he shoved the box into Kagome’s lap while lifting his tattooed arm to shove his mouth and nose into the crook of it.

“Are you okay?” she asked, somewhat amused by his visceral reaction, especially since she knew exactly was in the box, “I guess I should tell Bath and Body Works™ to not send any more candles,” she stated as she pulled out a three-wicked candle that supposedly was scented with sandalwood and pine, “Or I’ll just burn them when you’re not around.” 

“Like hell you are! Burnin’ ‘em would just make the whole apartment smell,” he countered, only to hear Kagome release an amused giggle. He wasn’t wrong, it would make it smell for at least a couple of days and would likely end up causing her to hold the same scent. As much as she adored burning a nicely scented candle, inconveniencing her boyfriend held precedent, especially if that as his reaction.

“Guess they’re going in the giveaway,” she stated before closing up the box and setting it as far away from Inuyasha as possible. Though the scent lingered, it was far away enough for the scent to not burn his nostrils and shoot down the back of his throat, “Can you grab that huge box by the end of the couch? I think that’s gunna take a while to go through,” she prompted, seeing Inuyasha climb to his feet with a nod.

Needing to slide the box into frame, it reached Kagome’s shoulders as she sat, “This one was heavy,” Inuyasha stated bluntly as he knelt down as used his claw to open it up. Leaning over, she could see a bunch of frosted bags inside and her brows furrowed, “Huh…” Inuyasha began before pulling out one of the bags and handing it to her. 

Adjusting the bag right-side up, she could see a logo that she couldn’t discern before sliding the bag open and peering inside, “Oh! I think that’s full of swimwear!” Kagome stated as she pulled the bright-red two piece from the bag as she listened to Inuyasha rummage around through the box, as if he was searching for something.

“I swear I saw it…” he muttered before feeling the poster board against his fingers, “Ah-ha!” Pulling the piece of paper from the box, he saw that it was a postcard with an image of white, sandy beaches and palm trees.

“What does it say?” 

“Uh,” Inuyasha flipped it over and stared at the words for a moment before finally reading it aloud, “Dear Kagome and Inuyasha, we are so excited to have you join our brand trip this summer. To make sure you’re prepared, here’s a big box of swimwear for the two of you to wear while enjoying the sandy beaches and crystal clear waters of Hawaii. We’ve also thrown in some new products that we think you’ll love. We’ll be seeing you soon. From, Trippin’ with Tarte™.” Inuyasha glanced towards the box before handing the card over to Kagome so she could look over it, “So, this whole box is just swimwear?”

“Hmm, no, I don’t think so,” she mused before getting on her knees herself and digging through the box, feeling something plastic at the bottom of it. Tugging on it, she made a sound of struggle before yanking it out and falling back on her ass with a yelp. A large, clear plastic weekender bag landed in her lap, filled with products - some new and some old. 

“You okay?” Inuyasha couldn’t help but ask, though it was obvious that she was fine, “That’s a lot of shit,” he added, seeing the bag filled at least half way with product. 

Kagome knew that she would need to do a lot of censorship in this video, as she normally did when Inuyasha came on camera with her. Though her main audience were people her age, there were still younger viewers that watched her and she was conscious of that. Yet, she didn’t want Inuyasha to try and censor himself while they were filming - she already knew she was asking a lot of him to even just be sitting in front of the camera in the first place.

“Yeah,” she replied, lifting the bag and inspecting it, “Wow, there’s so much in here. Thank you Tarte™. The bathing suits look great too. I’m gunna go through this bag later and see if there is anything that’ll go in the giveaway.” Placing the bag to the side, she watched as Inuyasha effortlessly lifted the box and slid it away on the wood floor. 

Peering behind him, he could hear Kagome ask if he could grab the bright red, medium sized box that was right smack dab in the middle of the stack, “That’s gunna bring the whole thing down, if I do; I guarantee it,” he challenged, letting his attention fall back to his girlfriend with a skeptical expression.

“I believe in you,” she chirped in deflection, offering him a cheeky smile as Inuyasha narrowed his gaze towards her. 

Muttering to himself, he began pulling at the box, placing his hand on the boxes above it in hopes that they wouldn’t fall over. The box itself was deceptively heavier than he’d originally thought it to be, dense and very obviously not holding makeup. The scent of silicone heavily coated the box, leaving him slightly confused as he yanked it out. 

For a moment he thought he was successful in his jenga move, but slowly the boxes started to tilt in their direction, “Oh shit!” he called out, while Kagome let out a shriek of surprise. Quickly, Inuyasha reached to grab Kagome and pull her against his chest while she held her own arms over her head in an attempt to keep any boxes from hitting her. Thankfully, most of them were relatively light, tumbling off Inuyasha back and onto the floor.

When it became clear that all of the ones that would fall, did, Inuyasha pulled from Kagome some, looking down at her with an unimpressed face fixed with a light dose of smugness, “Told ya.”

Kagome gave him a nervous laugh while looking up at him, “Oops,” she apologized while Inuyasha cut the tape of the box that’d been the cause of the avalanche. His eyes never left her face as he did so, that same unimpressed look on his own as he opened the box and reached inside. It was only when he grabbed another box (though much larger than any he’d grabbed before) that he looked away from her and towards whatever was in his hand.

Both of them froze at the realization of what it was, choking on their embarrassment and shock.

“What is this?” Inuyasha sputtered, turning his attention to Kagome and away from the rather high-tech looking pink dildo that he held in his hand.

Kagome’s face went beat red, catching his gaze with her own and trying hard not to laugh, “It’s-

“I know what it is!” 

That was it. Kagome couldn’t hold back her laughter, letting it erupt from her lungs as she loudly and playfully argued, “You asked!”

“Are companies sendin’ you sex toys now?!” He asked rather incredulously, gesturing to the box in his hand as Kagome kept up her fit of laughter. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she continued her laughing fit as her boyfriend’s face fell back into one of lack of impression. 

When she finally managed to get herself under control, she wiped away the tears from her eyes while her laughter turned into small fits of giggles, “You done?” he asked flatly, seeing her nod as she reached out to grab the full box and dig out the card that she knew probably came along the product.

Finding it, she pulled it out and began to read it, “It’s from adamandeve.com,” she managed to say, though when she saw the next line, she couldn’t help but struggle to get the words out through laughter, “They,” a deep breath, “they gave me a p-promo code!” She fell back into a fit of laughter, leaning her head forward to rest it on Inuyasha’s shoulder. 

Out of everything she could have received, he had to admit, sex toys were very last one his list. Taking the card from Kagome’s hand, he read the print on the front of it, “Fifty percent off your first order if you use the code: KAGOME50. Are you serious?! They’re givin’ you a fuckin’ affiliate link?!”

Kagome was laughing so hard she was silent, mouth open and eyes closed tight as she kept leaning on him to keep herself from falling over. 

“Jesus Kagome. How old are you - twelve?”

“Your face!” she practically screamed, “I’m keeping all of this!”

“Like hell you are!” he scolded, only to see her nod in defiance, catching her breath with deep gasps as she straightened.

“I gotta let people know about the code,” she teased, both of them knowing full well that PR was never a guaranteed promotion. Peering down to the box, she opened it up a little more, “What else is in here, anyways?” she asked, sniffling as she wiped away a stray tear from the immense laughter she’d just partook in. Pulling out a ball gag, a butt plug and handcuffs, she could see the way her boyfriend side-eyed them. 

Tilting her head, she held up the box of cuffs with an inquisitive and playful expression, “Something interest you?” she asked, hearing her boyfriend give a dismissive scoff before folding his arms across his chest and averting his gaze, “That means yes.”

“Imma use that gag on you if you don’t shut your mouth,” he stated, flitting his gaze down to the box with the gag and back up to her face as he spoke.

“That a promise?” 

“Shut up,” he snapped back, though with a hint of a smile behind his tone, “We still got this pile of boxes to go through.”

“Since when do you care if we finish filming a video?” Kagome asked, pushing her index finger against the side of his arm. 

“Since you always make us get up and finish after we get distracted,” he rebutted, leaning closer to her to emphasize his point, arms still folded across his chest, “I’d rather just finish this so we don’t havta think about anythin’ else,” there was no seduction in his voice, no low husk or hint of arousal. It was matter of fact and, frankly, annoyed in nature, “Now can we move on?”

“Sounds like you got one of these up your ass,” she stated, holding up the butt plug with a cheeky grin on her face.

“Kagome, I swear t’god-” he warned, only to hear her giggle and feel her press a kiss to his cheek, dismantling any true anger or frustration he felt towards her.

Lifting her free hand, she coaxed his head to turn towards her, leaning forward to give a soft, small kiss to his lips before asking, “Can you pass me another box?”

[deniigi]

anyways the discord has fucked me up 6 ways to hell.

Have some Sam/Ned/Peter/Johnny/MJ

Because we couldn’t pick a ship and we discovered Sam/Ned, and now we’re all devastated by it.

Title: Anenome’s an Enemy

Summary: The polycule welcomes Sam into its ranks.

Notes: So the polycule consists of Ned, Peter and MJ who are all romantically involved and established. Peter is also in an on/off relationship with Johnny, but Johnny is just friends with Ned and MJ. Oh. And these are Inimitable Verse characters.

--

It started with Ned and MJ reading the texts from the groupchat in order to psychoanalyze Peter’s teammates.

This was not new.

Peter let them read the bullshit fairly regularly. It was only fair that they got to see what he was giggling about.

What was new was Ned asking who BT was.

Peter had thought that they’d met at Matt and Foggy’s wedding, but Ned couldn’t remember Sam being there, and, to be fair, Peter had noticed that Sam had an extraordinary ability to blend himself into the background when there were multiple people having a conversation.

MJ barely remembered Sam, too, for that reason precisely, so Peter asked Sam if he could send a selfie ‘for the home team to admire.’

Sam said that he wasn’t comfortable with that.

It was super surprising.

Peter apologized for asking and Sam waved it off, saying that he just didn’t know how to take selfies for anyone besides his sister and friends and he just didn’t want to screw it up. Which was code for ‘I am actually really fucking uncomfortable with this whole thing; please don’t ask me why I’m saying no.’

Peter dropped it.

MJ didn’t forget about it, though, and so he had to explain that Blindspot was a little camera shy.

Ha.

Get it?

Because Blindspot?

Ned told him that it was kind of weird that Sam didn’t want to take a picture for him when he was cool taking them for his other friends; MJ said that it was probably because he didn’t want her and Ned to see his face and Ned relented a little bit.

“We’ve already met him, though?” he pointed out. “Surely that was worse in this scenario?”

Well. In Sam’s world, it was probably better, actually, Peter thought. In real life, he could smile and duck out of sight and stay out of range. A picture was forever.

“He’s probably got a reason,” MJ continued. “Or his folks were probably those ‘put it on the internet and it never goes away’ types.”

Uh.

Probably?

“I think,” Peter said quietly, because he didn’t actually know—because Sam never actually said the words out loud—“That he might be undocumented?”

He got two sets of eyes his way immediately.

“Oh,” Ned said. “That’s completely understandable then.”

“Yikes,” MJ said. “Does he need help? I’ve got some stuff saved if he needs legal stuff.”

No. No, Peter thought that Sam probably knew more about his situation than any of them did. He knew what kind of help he needed and he might take offense at links or brochures passed his way, so he shrugged and told the others that Sam probably had the situation under control.

The other two dropped the subject after saying that the next time Sam was in the area, they should all get dinner or something.

Peter extended this invite to Sam and got back a simple ‘thanks 🙂’.

Sam didn’t talk to him for the rest of the week.

 --

 At about week two of radio silence in the chat and in personal texts, Peter asked Matt if he’d overstepped.

Matt didn’t answer the question. What he said was that, as far as he could tell, Sam was okay at work and in their training. He noted that Sam went through cycles of being very open and chatty and then withdrawing into himself for days and weeks at a time. He left it at that.

He didn’t say ‘he has been violently reminded about all the shit he can’t do and is protecting himself from you and your ilk.’

He didn’t say that.

But Peter still felt it.

 --

 SM: hey BT, hope you’re okay. Didn’t mean to overstep the other day. Sorry about that. Let me know if you need anything.

BT: I’m okay

BT: I’ll let you know.

BT: ❤

 --

 MJ told Peter that he was blowing things out of proportion.

“If Matt says he goes through cycles, then he goes through cycles, Peter,” She scolded. “Matt can’t lie for shit. Not about people he cares about.”

…Right.

But what if—

What if—

“I just feel like shit because I don’t know how to make him feel better,” Peter admitted. “I feel like I broke his trust or something.”

“He’s not not talking to you,” MJ said. “He’s just not info-dumping. And you don’t know his life, it might not have been you making him feel bad. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your mistakes, you know.”

Right, right.

Yeah, he knew.

 --

 PP: hey matt did I fuck up?

MM: ?

PP: I think I fucked up. can you tell Sam I’m really really sorry?

MM: Sammy’s fine?

MM: He’s discovered jalapeño Cheetos and he and foggy are making my life hell.

MM: they’re both very cheerful right now.

MM: did something happen?

PP: I think so? I asked him for a picture a while ago for Ned and MJ and he hasn’t spoken to me in 2 weeks. I mean like really spoken. I said sorry but I’m not getting back more than 5 word responses

MM: ah

MM: he’s okay Peter

PP: is he really tho??

MM: lol

MM: yeah buddy he’s okay

PP: what is ‘lol???’

MM: lol

PP: Matt.

MM: I’m a confidante I cannot say. But it is very cute.

PP: ????

PP: Matt I’m spiraling

PP: can you just like tell me I haven’t single handedly ruined our friendship?

MM: HA

PP: MATT

MM: no can do. You’ll have to ask him, friend.

PP: god when did you turn into such a dad?

MM: when I got all these fuckin kids I didn’t ask for. Fuck off squirt

PP: I hate you too

MM: ❤

 --

 Johnny held Peter’s face between two palms and told him he was being a dramatic piece of shit and it was Johnny’s turn this month.

Johnny was offended.

Peter made sad sounds at him until he relented and agreed to come sit at the table with MJ to psychoanalyze all Peter’s Bad Friend behaviors.

Johnny did not like to sit at the table with MJ, mostly because MJ kept stabbing him with her eyes, but he came along and gave Ned a big hug in the doorway.

MJ stabbed him with her eyes for that, too.

Johnny paged through the texts Peter had screenshotted and printed out and tossed on the table with a collection of pens and after a while, blinked once and jerked his head up suddenly to stare into MJ’s eyes.

MJ glared at him languidly.

Peter sat on his hands, all highlighters and pen privileges having been revoked after the second guilt spiral two minutes ago, and looked between them, back and forth.

They said nothing to him.

They spoke only in narrowing eyes and squirming eyebrows.

Peter hated when they did shit like this.

“Peter,” MJ finally said after a good three minutes of awkward silence. “When you went back west to stay with Matt and Fogs, where did you stay?”

Where?

Well, their house?

“Where in their house?” MJ asked like she already knew the answer. She tangled a hand into her hair in exasperation. Johnny brought both hands up to his face to hide a huge smile.

Wh—

Where?

In the house?

Well, Angel and Louis had taken the couch and Ellie and Wade had been in the guest bedroom, so he’d stayed in Sam’s room with him.

Ned sighed loudly from the couch. His typing slowed down as he slouched lower and lower into the cushions.

Peter didn’t get it.

Why was everyone staring at him?

“Buddy,” Johnny said kindly. “You’re so fucking stupid, you make me look smart.”

“You are smart,” Peter said. “Why am I stupid?”

MJ held out her hand for his phone. He gave it to her without question.

 --

 PP: hey matt its MJ.

PP: does Sam have a crush on Peter?

MM: I don’t know MJ, does he?

 --

 MJ held the phone up to Peter’s face while Johnny shriek-giggled into his palms.

Peter felt a little like jelly.

All wobbly and shit.

“He likes me?” he blurted out.

MJ blinked slowly. Johnny pounded a fist against the table, wheezing.

“He thinks you want a picture for your friends,” he said. “He thinks you’ve friendzoned him. Oh my god. Peter.”

WHAT WHAT WHAT

“Give me that,” Peter said, snatching his phone.

 --

 PP: matt this is peter this is not a drill

PP: he likes me??? Like likes-likes? Or just likes?

MM: why do you children keep asking me stupid questions?

MM: ask each other stupid questions

 --

 No.

“What do I do?” Peter asked the other two.

Johnny hummed and poked at his chin. MJ leaned over towards the couch with an outstretched hand. Ned took it in a show of moral support.

Once she’d powered back up, MJ turned back to Peter with infinite patience.

“Do you like him too?” she asked.

Did he—did he like Sam?

Well, obviously he liked Sam. Sam was funny and brilliant and always down to get in a bit of trouble. He was sensitive to others and he picked himself back up every time shit hit him.

He was warm.

His energy was warm. And welcoming. And he seemed to constantly be fighting that.

But he was Matt’s. Not in that way.

Like, he was Matt’s apprentice. Functionally, he was Matt’s apprentice, but actually, even back when Peter had just met him, he’d known that Sam was more than that to Matt.

Sam denied it. Matt denied it. But they were very, very close. Closer than Peter had been allowed to be with Matt.

Matt would fight to the death for Peter, Peter knew this; there had been a few close calls over the years. But Matt gave off this weird vibe with Sam.

It was a buzz. Peter felt it low in his neck. Humming.

The Spidey Sense didn’t like Matt being behind him when Peter was with Sam. It thought he was a threat.

And that? That was not normal. Matt had stood behind Peter for more than a decade and never, not once, had the Spidey Sense reacted that way to him.

Peter had told Wade about it and Wade’s eyes had softened. He’d clasped Peter’s shoulder and said that he was ‘touched as hell,’ which Peter didn’t understand at first.

He kind of got it more now.

Sam was Matt’s. What he was exactly wasn’t super clear. But Matt was willing and ready not just to die, but potentially to torture, for Sam and he didn’t fucking like anyone being too close to him—especially not another vigilante.

Sam was off limits.

Touch him and suffer the consequences.

That message was loud and clear.

So even if Peter thought that Sam was warm and brilliant and so easy to sink into, it didn’t matter.

Johnny and MJ and Ned considered this by drumming fingers on noses and chins and making humming sounds.

“Red seems okay with BT having a crush on you, though?” Johnny said. “He’s joking about it, after all. Maybe he just doesn’t want you to make the first move? You do kind of have a track record, Peter.”

That made a lot of sense actually.

“So what, I have to wait for Sam to say something or to get over me?” Peter asked.

“Pretty much,” MJ said. “Unless anyone else has a better idea?”

No one did.

Man, bummer.

 --

 Sam came back into contact a few days later like nothing had happened. He was concerned about definitions of seals. He needed people to help him work through them. Evidently, Matt, Foggy, and Kirsten hadn’t done the job.

Matt said nothing about no one, which was infuriating as always.

And so it went.

 --

 BT: heyyyyyyyyyyyyy peter

SM: lol hey you what’s up?

BT: m drunk

SM: oh word?

BT: Leilani told me no to taext no one butttttt I hate meself so here we are

SM: Leilani?

BT: fremd

SM: dude red said you finish all your girlfriends drinks?

BT: is my scared duty

BT: scared

BT: sacred

SM: sam you’re like 140 pounds

BT: 😘

SM: okay sure I’m proud of you. how many did you chug

BT: hey teach says that you’re a people eater is that true?

SM: people eater? No. I am spider

BT: hello spider I am dog

SM: ASDF:SAfasFDf

BT: no like he says that you go through people a lot

SM: I have a lot of exes

BT: oh neat

BT: I have none exes

SM: what?? Really??

BT: rly

SM: have you ever dated someone?

BT: I don’t date

BT: fuck em and leave em

SM: oh

SM: does that work for you?

BT: easy

SM: wow okay

BT: I don’t want to be your ex. Can we just fuck and say notging about it?

BT: nothing

BT: like it doesn’t have to matter

BT: donst have to go anwhere

SM: yeah. I’m down with that, I guess?

BT: !!!!

SM: I mean if you are. Next time we’re in the same area we can do smth

BT: nice

BT: I think Imma puke

SM: uh?? Don’t puke in bed

SM: BT?

SM: Sam?

BT: did not we’re good hey thanks

BT: that’s cool of you.

BT: I promise Ima a good lay ❤

SM: you could be more than that too, you know?

BT: Good night!!!

 --

 MJ held her face as Peter straddled her hips with his phone two inches from her nose.  

Ned snickered.

“Help me,” MJ begged of him.

He shook his head. Peter shook his phone.

“Friend,” he said.

“Fuckbuddy,” MJ told him. “Don’t fall in love with him, Peter.”

Too fuckin’ late, babe.

Ned started shaking with laughter.

 --

 Once.

It happened once.

Kirsten was in New York for reasons. She brought backup in the form of Sam and some of his coworkers. They were on a 3 day mission, then Sam was catching a train to go help Clint out with a case down in Florida on Matt’s request.

Three days was plenty of time to get up to some shenanigans.

And Sam’s sides were tight. Strong.

Weirdly flexible?

“You’re great,” Sam told him immediately after their ‘shenanigans.’ “I’m leaving.”

Woah, woah, woah, there cowboy.

What’s the rush?

Sam, already back in his black hoodie, blinked owlishly and then squinted.

“Is this not how this works?” he asked.

Uuuuuuuh.

No?

“Stay,” Peter told him, pulling at his sweater. “Have dinner with me and my partners. They want to meet you.”

Sam smiled at him.

It was a bitter one.

“I’ve gotta jet, Pete,” he said. “For real. Thanks, though. Tell them I said hi.”

When he left Peter felt a little like slamming his hand against the bedside table. But that would shatter the bedside table, so he laid back and let the self-loathing begin.

 --

 Johnny thought that Sam was maybe a little insecure and so Peter should chill the fuck out.

“He’s probably never been with a polyamorous person,” he told Peter. “He might be trying to respect MJ and Ned.”

That made sense.

Too much sense.

“And anyways, your agreement was ‘fuck and leave,’” Johnny said. “If you want more than that you’re gonna have to—”

Don’t say it.

“You’re gonna have to—”

Stop singing.

“You’re gonna have to communicate, boo-bear.”

Fuck off.

No words. Only unrequited feelings and misery.

Johnny laughed.

“You’re a mess,” he said.

Whatever.

 --

 Okay, but once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern, no?

Matt sent a text to Peter that said simply ‘I will end you.’

That was basically proof, right?

That was Matt’s shovel talk, right??

MJ and Ned stared at him in horror.

“I think, Peter,” MJ said, “This is a warning.”

Yeah, a shovel talk. Peter had been through infinite shovel talks.

“Maybe you should talk to BT,” MJ said.

“Rephrasing that,” Ned said. “You should definitely talk to BT.”

Okay, fine.

 --

 SM: hey sam

SM: what are we doing, man?

SM: Matt’s threatening to end me

BT: ignore him he’s got zero right

SM: are you sure?

BT: I thought we weren’t talking about this

SM: I kinda want to talk about it?

BT: 🙂 I don’t

SM: oh

SM: sorry

SM: I thought that maybe there was just something more there?

BT: there isn’t. Sorry Peter.

SM: …are you sure?

BT: yes

SM: you’re kind of not giving me confidence that you’re sure, sam. Not enough emojis.

BT: I don’t want to talk

BT: thanks for trying tho!

BT: it means a lot ❤

SM: is it okay if I talk then?

BT: I will not stop you

SM: okay great because I’m kinda? Falling? For you?

SM: like you’re really cute? And funny? And insanely smart and really nice and super good at everything you do? And you have your ideals and you don’t waver?

SM: and idk if you know anything about me or my people that that’s uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh

SM: how to say

SM: my type

BT: I’m not a type 🙂

SM: no, obviously you’re a person. And I just.

SM: I’ve got love disease

BT: don’t say that word

SM: okay?

SM: are you uncomfortable?

BT: yes

BT: profoundly

SM: okay sorry I’ll stop

BT: peter I like you but I can’t be anything more to you

SM: ?? Why not??

BT: why not????

BT: because DD is my teacher, okay?? And you’re his mentee/brother/teammate whatever.

BT: and I’m not ruining what I have with him because I can’t control my fucking emotions.

BT: this is my shot.

BT: I only have one.

BT: and you’re great. You’re amazing. But I can’t throw it away.

SM: oh

SM: no yeah. That’s fair.

SM: sorry I didn’t mean to push

BT: its fine

SM: is that why you don’t date?

BT: I don’t date because no one cares.

SM: sam that’s not true

BT: can we just? Not?

SM: no? On this thing? No? People care about you? And they would be lucky to have you if you wanted them?

BT: I don’t want them

SM: are you aro?

BT: idk what that means

SM: Aromantic? You don’t feel romantic attraction?

BT: I still don’t know what that means

SM: okay well if you are, then that’s totally cool just so you know.

BT: I’m sorry

SM: don’t be sorry, you’re fine. I was the one pushing.

BT: no this is how it always goes. I’m sorry. I’m just gonna step back if that’s okay

SM: ? you don’t have to. Lol. If you think a rejection is the kind of thing to put a dent in my relationships with people, you got another thing coming pal.

BT: I didn’t mean it like that

SM: it’s okay if you did

SM: but sam you also know that it’s okay to be known a little bit, right?

BT: its not.

 --

 Hhhhhhhhhhng.

“Peter,” Ned said. “Bud, look at me.”

Peter did--with maximum misery.

“I love you,” Ned said. “You are cornering this guy.”

FFFFFFFFfffffffffffffffffuck.

“I’m never texting again,” Peter said.

“Bro, chill,” Ned said. “He likes you, okay? He literally said that. And he also said that he doesn’t want to fuck things up with his teacher. We know that Matt’s polyamorous. We know that he gets it. But does BT know that? Have they actually talked about this kind of thing? Hell no. Matt won’t talk to Foggy about romantic shit, why would he talk to BT about it?”

Fffffffffffffffffffffair point.

“Dramatic,” Ned scolded. “Here, let me try.”

Beg your pardon, sir?

“I just want to calm him down,” Ned said. “You know, apologize for my idiot’s pressure.”

Ah.

Right.

Phone’s all yours then.

 --

 PP: hi BT, this is Ned. I’m peter’s bf.

PP: listen man I just want to say that you’re completely fine. Don’t worry about this stuff too much. Me and MJ don’t mind you two hanging out and doing stuff. We’ve already talked through a lot of this for another guy.

PP: but also like, if you like Peter, that’s okay? He’s infuriatingly likeable. I know, I’ve been here since 3rd grade. If that feels weird to you, though, it might help if you talked to Matt about Kirsten and how they came to be.

PP: it’s okay

PP: whatever you decide, I promise: it’s okay. And you seem super nice and you make my partner really happy (fuckin dopey tbh) so if you ever just want to come and chill, that’s totally good. We’d like to meet you at some point, but no pressure if that makes you uncomfortable.

PP: I’ll be honest, BT, I don’t know much about you.

PP: MJ’s started following you on twitter tho and she says youre funny af. So if you want to join the nerdcrowd over here (unless you’re startrek trash) you’ll always be welcome to our place.

PP: anyways sorry that Peter’s Like That™

PP: he never learned how to quit

PP: hope you get a moment to chill and process dude. –Ned

Read 12:24

BT: are you sure?

PP: oh hey. About what?

BT: all of it?

PP: yeah man I’m sure. MJ is too, she’s just on Peter-beating duty rn so she can’t come to the phone

BT: ok

PP: hey are you shy?

BT: what? No. why do you ask?

PP: no reason. you just seem a little shy.

BT: ☹

PP: lol

PP: you okay?

BT: yes

PP: you want to process?

BT: no

PP: have you already processed?

BT: how do you know that?

PP: because you’re shy and I used to be more shy so you probably either talked it out to yourself or you called your mom or bff or something

BT: I don’t have

BT: sry yeah I talked it out with foggy

PP: you don’t have a mom?

BT: …or a bff. But there is foggy. He’s been helpful.

PP: dude how do you not have a bff? You need a bff

BT: I have plenty of friends ☹

PP: but no bff

BT: AND a sister

PP: but no bff

BT: I COULD have a bff. I just choose not to. For style.

PP: lolololol

PP: peter’s right you’re cute. Okay I’ve gotta give him back his phone before he implodes. Nice talking to you.

BT: okay byeee

 --

Peter straddled Ned and held the phone two inches from his face.

This was witchcraft.

Dark magic.

The least he could do was share.

“I literally just took the pressure off, dude, I don’t know what’s hard about this,” Ned said while MJ watched them over the back of the couch like a cat.

“Teach me your ways, sorcerer,” Peter said.

Ned grabbed his elbow.

“You will never attain my power,” he said.

Peter dropped his full weight on top of him.

 --

 Sam came around eventually.

Peter’s heart fucking stopped. Johnny clapped for him when the text came in that said, ‘DD says he doesn’t mind and he’s already doled out threats. So? Do you maybe want to start over?’

Peter screamed.

Johnny took his phone from him and let him scream better.

“I want to seeeee,” Johnny hummed. “Give us a picture, Blindspot. Are you a little hottie?”

“Shortie,” Peter whimpered.

The phone went down and Johnny’s head came up.

“That’s deadly,” he said.

“I know,” Peter told him.

 --

 Sam was…how to say.

Light touch.

Skittish.

Not good with even the slightest bit of pressure.

Peter hadn’t realized how much of a front he put up in front of other people until he tried to get him talking about shit that mattered and only then did he fully realize the extent to which Sam was exactly like Matt.

Trying to steer him towards emotions and negotiation and heartfelt discussion was like telling a fish that it could only swim one direction.

Sam’s reaction in every case was ‘okay that’s fine, let’s never mention this again--also I’m not going to do that; you just do what you want to me and I’ll figure everything else out on my own.’

Mind boggling.

Zero skills in that department.

Ned thought it was absolutely adorable.

MJ thought it was funny as fuck.

“Matt is useless,” Peter told them. “Absolutely useless. He’s done this shit for twenty fucking years and he’s just letting Sam work it out on his own?”

“Maybe that’s his teaching method?” Ned pointed out.

No, it absolutely was his teaching method. But that was the problem.

Fuck.

“Sam,” Peter said on the phone a while later, “Listen, buddy. I recognize that you are allergic to feelings, but this is what we have to do to get what we want.”

Sam hung up.

Dude.

“Threatened,” Ned said. “Come on. Gimme.”

 --

 Ned accused Peter of not telling him that Sam was Chinese. Peter told him that Sam’s twitter was literally half-written in Chinese.

Ned accused MJ of not telling him that Sam was Chinese and MJ said simply ‘my bad’ and got away with that shit, like she always did.

Unbelievable.

Johnny asked if Sam was interested in a superhero-sandwich and Peter got to take his aggression out on his pressure points.

Still, though, Peter was kind of glad that Ned was leading the charge on this. Firstly, because Ned so rarely stepped into these things with authority and it was really warming and lovely to see him so interested in bringing another person into their polycule. And secondly because Ned had the lightest touch of them all.

Peter, MJ, and Johnny were all helmet heads wielding hammers. The only thing keeping them from self-destruction were all the YIELD signs they’d set around their circle.

Ned typically just waded in between them all to tug Peter and MJ out of the battlezone and into a semblance of humanity.

So it was nice—no, it was cute that Ned was developing a little crush on Sam.

MJ thought so, too.

“I do love fresh meat to tenderize,” she said.

Peter stared.

“That is not the vibe we’re going for,” he reminded her.

MJ waved him off.  

 --

 “Peter.”

What’d he do now?

Ned held the phone seriously out to him.

“Tell Sam I want a picture of him to put on the wall next to my mirror,” he said.

Peter blinked.

“That’s creepy, dude,” he said.

“It will make him laugh and he’s still not comfortable sharing yet,” Ned said. “But he trusts you more than me.”

Ah.

Right.

Okay sure.

Peter texted.

Sam sent back only eye emojis.

Ah.

“So,” Peter said while Ned tapped a foot impatiently on the kitchen linoleum. “There’s something you should know.”

Ned cocked his head at him.

 --

 “Dude,” MJ said. “That’s wild.”

Sam’s eyes were, uh, how to say.

Inhuman.

Johnny shrieked, took the phone and climbed into Peter’s lap.

“He’s so cute, Peter, bring him home, I’ll be so nice,” he pleaded.

Johnny was not the one who was going to need reminders to be nice.

“How does he see?” Ned asked.

Uhhhhhhh.

Oh, you know…

Not well.

Johnny lowered the phone.

“He’s blind?” he asked.

“Not blind,” Peter said. “But low vision.”

The room seemed to go quiet for a minute.

“Is Matt his—”

“No,” Peter sighed.

“Are you sure?” MJ asked. “These coincidences are stacking.”

“No,” Peter repeated. “His dad’s Chinese. He was born in Fuzhou, I think.”

“Oh,” MJ said.

“So he can’t see very well,” Ned repeated.

“He does okay in daytime,” Peter said. “And he does best with high contrast. But like, pictures can be hard sometimes if they’re too light or too dark. He doesn’t really ask for much help, but he and Matt kinda puzzle over stuff if you’re not careful. And if you’re extra not careful, they’ll make their own memes and they’ll be full of blind jokes.”

The room held still for another moment.

“Okay, so what do we need to do?” Ned asked.

 --

 The first time the others met Sam, Peter had to chase him down the hall and even then, it was only via Matt’s aid that he was placed back in Peter’s apartment.

Matt pointed a finger at Sam’s eye and told him that he was to stay ‘right fuckin here’ until he was done at the courthouse.

“Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars,” Matt said as Sam tried and failed to bite that finger. “I want an intact paralegal by the end of this trip, and I will not have an intact paralegal if you go around gettin’ noticed by the fuckin’ Irish, yes?”

“I can take ‘em,” Sam said.

Matt sneered.

“I don’t know why I bother,” he said. “Stay. Those are orders.”

“Fuck your orders,” Sam shot back at him, to the horror of everyone else in the room.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘fuck your orders,’ whatever,” Matt said. “Stay put.”

Sam bared his teeth after him.

Only when the door closed, did he finally give notice that other people were in the room. Johnny lit up.

“You’re short and angry,” he said.

Sam rounded on him.

 --

 MJ loved Sam now.

MJ told everyone else to get out, Sam was the only person who mattered.

Johnny thought that Matt needed to come back and take his rabid dog with him. Sam told him to stay out of his face and they wouldn’t have any more problems, but, seeing as Johnny was incapable of not adding fuel to fire, Peter kept him behind himself for the time being.

Ned was probably the person in the most shock of Sam, however.

Peter forgot how Sam came off to other people.

Very unassuming. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. His prosthetics hid his black sclera, and even if he did tend to lift his face towards the light more often than other people, he did it so subtly, you’d think he was nodding along to a tune in his head.

Sam looked like your friend.

Your neighbor. Your classmate. The one with the baby face, you know.

His hair was getting longer, Peter noticed. He pointed it out and Sam softened enough to tell him that he was going for something a little more hipster.

“If I let it keep going, it’ll start swooping,” he told Peter. “The swoop is very in right now, Peter.”

Peter believed him.

He had no idea what that meant. But he believed him.

“You know what’s not in?” Johnny asked. “Friendly fire.”

Sad sneered at him.

“I ain’t know you from Adam,” he snapped.

Ned lifted a fist to his face in a sign that Peter recognized well and it took everything in him not to smirk and start teasing.

“Okay, let’s start over,” Peter said. “Sam, these are my friends, or, uh. Our polycule, if you will.”

He had Sam’s attention now.

“Polycule?” he asked.

Indeed.

“’Cause it’s shaped like a molecule,” MJ said. “And everyone here is also a nerd.”

Sam looked at her.

“You’re MJ,” he said.

“You’re Blindspot,” MJ said. “What makes you blind?”

“The trauma,” Sam said without missing a beat.

Peter waved Johnny off and set his hands on Sam’s shoulders.

“Sam’s made an invisibility suit,” he said.

He had everyone’s attention now.

“You did what?” Ned said.

Sam blinked and then shrugged a shoulder.

“What, like it’s hard?” he asked.

Oh yeah.

He was gonna fit in fine.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 14: To The Boy Next Door

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which they play a game.

Word count: 4.7k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

ANNOUNCEMENT: The last chapter was supposed to be released on July 1, BUT I have two final exams on that same week, so I’ll have no choice but to move the schedule forward.

Last My Girl update: July 8, 2020. (July 3: Tumblr preview and full chapter on Patreon).

.

.

.

One year later

“Come in.”

When Asher entered the room, Gemma almost didn’t recognize him. He’d got a beard now, and he wasn’t wearing a suit. If she hadn’t known the charming Asher in the past, she would be so shocked to find out he was the CEO’s son. Too bad she didn’t care enough to wonder what had happened to him after his business had gone bankrupt because his father had refused to finance it. Now he was just a regular accountant.

His eyes went wide when he saw her sitting with his dad in the CEO office.

Hello, Asher, she thought, yet gave him nothing but a polite nod as if they were meeting for the first time.

“Asher, I suppose you remember Gemma?” asked his father with a sigh.

“Yes,” Asher mumbled, his gaze falling to the floor.

Of course he remembered her. Abusers always remembered their victims.

His dad looked from him back to Gemma. Hands folded on the desk, he said, “Gemma is our new COO. I hope you will have no trouble working for her.”

Asher’s head jerked up as if he’d just heard a gunshot. And Gemma, of course, was the one holding the gun.

She relished his astonishment and cracked a smile as she rose from her seat and walked toward him. She extended her hand, but he didn’t take it.

“Working for her?” he asked his dad, who replied with a stern expression.

“Yes. She’s your new boss.”

Gemma broke into a smirk, still holding out her hand in the space between them. Asher’s eyes had grown so big they nearly took over his entire face. “You,” he hissed at her, “I can't believe you weaselled your way into this company.”

“Oh, no.” Gemma frowned pretentiously and dropped her hand down to her side. “I’ve been a shareholder for almost a year. I’ve done more for this company in that short amount of time than you have your whole life.”

He thinned his lips and glared at her, unable to muster a single word.

She hated him but respected his father. And what was better as revenge than making sure she took everything he wanted? First, his father’s affection. Soon, his father’s company.

“I don’t want to make this unpleasant for you, Asher,” her voice dropped so low as she leaned in so only the two of them could hear. “Or maybe I do. So you better be a nice employee, because I wouldn't be sorry to kick you out of here.”

His face dimmed as she stepped away. If there was a camera, she’d take a picture and put it in a frame. Though she doubted this would be the last time she got to see that defeated look on his face.

"See you around, Ash," she said, placing a hand on her hip as she breezed right past him out of the room.

Two interns, a blonde and a dark-skinned girl, rose from their cubicles and rushed up to her as she was heading for the lift.

“Excuse me,” the blonde said timidly. “Are you...our new COO?”

“Y-Yes, yes, I am.” Gemma worked up a smile and the girls giggled to each other like teenagers.

“Congratulations and welcome!” said the dark-skinned one, who said her name was Marie and her friend was Claria. Gemma assumed they were going to fangirl about her brother, but then Marie said, “We love your sister-in-law’s book. We’re such big big fans.”

It took Gemma a second. “Y/N? She and Harry aren’t–”

“Future sister-in-law,” Claria corrected her friend, looking nervously from Marie back to Gemma. “We’ve...heard some rumours. Can you confirm or deny it?”

“I cannot. But I’ll let her know about you girls.”

The girls grinned like the Cheshire Cat, and Gemma could tell they were trying their best not to freak out. She waved them goodbye and hastened into the lift before the door closed.

Her phone buzzed with a new text.

Isey: Lunch? :)

Lunch :) she replied, biting back a grin.

Another notification popped up. A reply from Harry's girl. Gemma rolled her eyes as she remembered lending Harry her phone a couple of weeks ago. He'd changed most names in her contacts and she'd only managed to change back a few of them.

Harry's girl: Thanks for the birthday wish, Gem! (heart emoji)

You're welcome! Is Harry coming home today?

Harry's girl: I hope not. But idk.

We never know. How can you STAND him? Ugh.

Harry's girl: I can't lol.

Harry's girl: Anyway, what was his reaction?

Gemma knew right away whom Y/N was talking about.

Priceless, she responded.

Harry's girl: QUEEN. Make his life a living hell.

Oh I will. Certainly.

The door slid open with a ding, and Gemma tucked the phone into her bag. Her assistant was waiting outside to direct her to her new office. With a smile on her face, she stepped out of the lift and shook the assistant's hand.

She was so ready for this new beginning.

.

.

.

“Good aaaaaafternoon, girlfriend! Are you feeling twenty-two?”

Y/N laughed hoarsely as she blinked a few times to let her vision get used to the light from the windows opposite the bed. “You’re embarrassing,” she said, yawning.

On the phone, Harry gasped. “Did you just wake up?!”

“I stayed up all night talking to you and had a zoom meeting with Laura this morning. Besides, it’s Sunday.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Duh.” She grinned at the ceiling and exhaled. “I’m twenty-two now. I’m like...old.”

“Ouch. Well, aren’t you supposed to get ready for the book signing?”

“Book signing is tomorrow. Bad boyfriend.”

The sound of his laugh made her heart leap. She missed him so much. He’d been in New York for two weeks and wouldn’t be back until next Thursday, which meant she’d have to spend this birthday without him. She wasn’t sure if she should let him know she wished he were here. She really did. But she also didn’t want him to drop everything and fly back to her for only one night. He’d done that before and it'd been romantic, still, she never wanted him to do it again.

“To prove that I’m not a bad boyfriend,” he said, snapping her back to the moment. “I have a surprise for you.”

She sat up straight and whipped her head to the door. “Goddamn it, Harry,” she huffed, “if you tell me you’re standing right outside–”

“No!” He burst out laughing. “No, no, no, I’m still in New York.”

She sighed in relief, but couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed.

“My surprise is in the pocket of my favourite suit,” he said.

She had no idea what he might have up his sleeves (quite literally). Still, she rolled out of bed, shoved her feet into her slippers, and padded out of the room.

Two years ago on this same day, he’d brought her to the roof of an abandoned building, where they’d watched the night city and eaten his homemade cupcakes. On her twenty-first birthday, they hadn’t been talking. And so this year, she’d suspected that he must have planned something extravagant to surprise her, even though he wasn’t home to celebrate with her. The surprise had come a bit earlier than expected.

She switched on the light in the walk-in closet, which was as large as her old flat. His favourite suit was the one he’d worn on Grammy’s night. Sparkling dark velvet to match the aesthetic of her silvery mermaid gown, which, unfortunately, she hadn’t got a chance to show off to the world.

She stuck her hand into the breast pocket of the jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Found it."

“Go on. Read it,” he encouraged.

“If it says ‘Happy Birthday, smiley face’, I’ll strangle you when you come back.”

A laugh burst right through him. “Your choking kink is getting out of hand, babe.”

“Shut up.” She huffed, unfolding the note. “Should have said I loved you,” she read aloud. “What does that mean?”

“You can ask for my help only once. Call me when you’ve found the fifth clue.”

“Wait!”

But he’d already hung up.

She almost called him back but then decided not to. She didn't want to waste her only chance to ask for help.

Classic treasure hunt, she thought, rereading the sentence.

The prize would be her birthday present for sure. Maybe he’d hidden it in the wood somewhere. A normal boyfriend would just have the birthday present delivered, or leave it on the table or in the garage, not challenge his girlfriend’s two only active brain cells with a children’s game. But Y/N wasn’t a normal girlfriend. And as much as she hated working for something other than her writing, a part of her was excited.

“Should have said I loved you,” she thought out loud, then snapped her fingers and rushed across the hallway to his library.

Two years ago, she’d told him she’d loved him for the first time and received silence in return. In this very room, he’d watched her leave.

She stood in front of the giant bookcase, which he’d had installed a month after she’d officially moved in. Most of these books were from her collection. On a shelf in the middle stood three framed photos of them. Them in Paris. Them with their families on a vacation last summer. Them at her graduation.

She flipped each frame over to check the back, but none had what she was looking for. She tapped her foot impatiently on the carpet while assessing the rest of the bookcase. It didn’t take her too long to notice that one book was upside down.

P.S. I Love You by Cecelia Ahern.

Of course. Of-fucking-course.

She rolled her eyes, feeling a smile stretching her lips as she took the book from the shelf and opened it to the first page. There was a post-it note that said:

Congrats, babe. You’ve found it. Next clue: Where the magic happens ;)

‘Where the magic happens.’ If it wasn’t sexual, the winky face had made sure that it was.

Could it be their bed? Nope. She'd slept there last night.

Could it be the first place they’d had sex?

Could the next clue be inside that car?

She jolted with a start and dashed out of the library, and as soon as she reached the stairs, she suddenly halted.

No. She didn’t remember which car they’d had sex in for the first time, and he’d got a whole collection of cars. It’d take forever to search every single one. That wasn’t the right answer.

Sighing, she stood on the first stair and contemplated the clue again.

They used to play Treasure Hunt when they were younger. There were usually at least five or six clues, and the first three should be easy.

Could it be her flat? Most of their ‘secret relationship’ had happened in her flat. It used to be their secret kingdom. Impenetrable. Disconnected to the outside world. They’d also had their second real kiss outside her door, and she still had until the end of this month before she must return the keys to the landlord.

She wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t going to drive all the way there just to find out she was wrong.

And so she decided to call him.

“Let me guess,” he said as soon as the beeping stopped. “You’re either super impatient or your fairy godmother appeared and helped you find all five clues.”

She rolled her eyes. “Third clue. Is it your car or my flat?”

“My car?” He sounded confused, which gave her the impression that she might have got it wrong.

Her cheeks burnt as she said, “We had sex for the first time in your car.”

“No, not my car, but damn, I should have thought of that.”

“So it’s my flat?”

“Are you sure you want to ask me now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he smugly confirmed. “It’s your flat. Now you’re on your own until the final clue.”

“Fuck,” she grunted and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I thought you’d have trouble with this one, too. I mean, we fuck everywhere these days.”

“If my birthday present isn’t worth all this, we won’t be fucking ever again.”

He gasped at the threat, and she could picture him wearing that stupid crooked smile as he told her, “Good luck, kid. I believe in you.”

.

.

.

She found the next clue on Thumper’s lap.

When she’d moved most of her furniture to Harry’s house, she’d forgotten to take the purple stuffed bunny with her. She held it under her arm and scrutinized the pink post-it note, which said:

I cannot believe you left Thumper behind. Third clue: Drunk little deer.

“Drunk little deer? What does that even mean?” Then she looked at Thumper. “Should I kick him in the balls when I see him?”

She made the rabbit nod and burst out laughing at how crazy she sounded. If anyone walked in and saw her talking to a stuffed animal, they would assume she was either crazy or drunk.

Drunk.

She was the drunk little deer. Drunk Bambi.

The answer was the place he'd seen her drunk for the first time.

.

.

.

Andrew recognized Y/N right from the moment she stepped into the pub. He leaned over the counter and shouted for everyone to hear, “Little girl! Good to see you again!”

“Andrew," she smiled and shouldered her way towards the bar.

He eyed her up and down as she slid onto one of the stools. “You look different. I hope you’re not here to drink again. I might have to kick you out.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You look different, too. I like your new hair.”

Andrew rubbed his shiny bald head, scowling at her as she raised a smile and rested her chin on her knuckles. Andrew might look intimidating, especially now without his hair, but he was one of the softest people she’d ever met. He’d been so kind to her during her tough times and even let her haunt his pub day and night until Harry had come for the rescue.

“You’re kind of famous now, aren’t you?” Andrew said. “I’ve read your book. It didn’t suck.”

“You have?”

He lifted one giant shoulder of his, pursing his lips. “My wife made me. She's a big fan. Your boyfriend came two weeks ago and he even signed the book for her. He said he was the one in the story.”

“My boyfriend was here?”

Andrew gave a nod.

The voices in Y/N's head started cheering like she’d just won a wrestling match. It would have been so embarrassing if she'd asked Andrew first and then found out she'd got it wrong.

“Well, did he leave...something for me? A message perhaps?”

Andrew growled as he turned away, and without a word, disappeared through a stained curtain behind him. He came back five minutes later and handed her a green post-it note with an unreadable grimace on his face.

She snatched it immediately. A laugh crackled out of her as if he’d just given her gold.

Hi babe, you’re almost there! My biggest fans (not you) have the final clue. Get back to work.

“He gave this to me when he signed the book,” Andrew said.

Y/N mumbled the words over as she tried to figure them out. Her first guess for ‘biggest fans (not you)’was Gemma and Isaac. But then she got rid of the idea because they had to be at the same place at the same time in order for this to work, and Gem and Isaac were both at work.

Which two people were together right now and were also Harry’s biggest fans?

‘Get back to work.’

Yes. That’s it!

Y/N thrust the post-it note into her bag and rose from the stool. “I’m sorry. This must be weird to you.”

“It’s quite romantic, actually," Andrew said.

“Really?”

“And weird. You two are both weird. What a perfect couple.”

“Gee, thanks.”

As she spun on her heels, Andrew called after her, “Hey, little girl. I’m sorry I said you weren’t a real writer.”

“You said that?”

“You were drunk,” he chuckled. “Anyway, bring your weird boyfriend back sometimes.”

“I will. If there’s free beer.”

“Get out of here.” He shot his finger toward the door, but it was the first time she’d seen Andrew smile with his whole face.

.

.

.

Eddie’s bookshop was busy on most Sundays. Well, it had been busy almost every day since Y/N had credited him in her latest best-selling debut novel.

She entered the shop and was immediately recognized by a group of schoolgirls, who asked her to sign their new copies of her book and questioned her about the story. She recycled the same amiable answers that didn’t give away any more than what they might already know. Since she’d already got used to the attention, the fans didn’t intimidate her anymore.

She took a selfie with the girls and bid them goodbye. Then one of the new employees told her that Eddie and Alice were sorting books at the back. She wandered along aisles until she found them. Eddie was scolding Alice for putting hardcovers in between paperbacks. Nothing got on Eddie’s nerves as much as putting hardcovers in between paperbacks.

“The hardcovers take more shelf-space so you cannot put them there! God, Alice, were you drunk when you were sorting these books?”

“I wish I were drunk now,” Alice said, and her eyes lit up as she saw Y/N. She nearly tackled Y/N to the floor with a violent hug, and Y/N returned with half as much enthusiasm.

“You’re like a Golden Retriever,” Y/N said, pulling back and cupping her friend’s face.

“Happy birthday! I was gonna send you–”

Eddie didn’t wait for Alice to finish as he pushed her aside to step forward, his face brightened like the sun. “You’re here for the clue, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I–”

“We can’t just hand it to you.” That sun-like face suddenly turned serious. “You need a password. What is Harry’s favourite book?”

Y/N arched an eyebrow at Eddie as if expecting him to say ‘gotcha!’ But he only mirrored her expression as he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer.

“Seriously?” Y/N scoffed, looking at her two friends. “He’s that narcissistic?”

Alice smirked as she raised a shoulder. “Either you answer or search this entire bookshop yourself.”

“I fucking hate him and I fucking hate both of you.” Y/N rolled her eyes upward and exhaled sharply. “Norwegian Wood.”

“Huh?”

“That’s his favourite book,” she told Alice and remembered Alice didn’t read fiction unless it was compulsory. “Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami.”

Eddie looked confused. “He loves Haruki Murakami? His books are misogynistic.”

“Harry’s got a bad taste in authors. But judging from your reactions, I suppose that is not the correct answer, and I should probably break up with my boyfriend because I don’t know what his favourite book is.”

“You do, Y/N.” Alice beamed as she leaned a shoulder against the bookcase. “You’re thinking too big. It’s pretty simple.”

“Shit. Is it my book?” Y/N asked, then pinched the bridge of her nose as Eddie began to smile. “Goddamn it, he’s like my dad times ten.”

“What did your dad do?” Eddie asked.

“He bought a bunch of copies of my book and sent them to our relatives for Christmas. It was pretty embarrassing.”

“Aww.”

“ALICE!”

“Jesus Christ!” Alice covered her ears as she shot Eddie a glare. “I’m standing right next to you.”

“Go get the clue!” Eddie flicked his fingers at her. “Go! Hurry!”

Alice rolled her eyes and flipped him off as she backed out of the aisle. Eddie ignored her and turned back to Y/N, grinning from ear to ear like he was the birthday girl. “Are you excited?”

“Not as much as you are. That’s for sure,” Y/N said and made sure he knew she was joking by giving him a toothy grin.

“I’m not gonna tell you what the surprise is, you know.”

“I’m not asking.”

Eddie’s laugh was high as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “What I can tell you is that you’re gonna love it. Too bad I cannot be there to see your reaction.”

“Trust me,” she said. “You don’t wanna see me scold Harry through the phone.”

Alice returned with a copy of My Girl and handed it to Y/N with a smile that possibly meant, ‘You’re gonna love this’.

Suspicious and somewhat elated, Y/N opened the book to the dedication page.

To Mum, Dad, and the boy next door.

Those were her words. Below was his handwriting: Hi my love :)

Curious, she turned to the first chapter. This wasn’t just another copy of her book, of which she’d got all the different covers at home. With this one, Harry had done the same thing he’d done to her journal. His handwriting was scattered across the pages. He’d underlined all the quotes he’d enjoyed and left comments about them on the side.

Y/N heard Eddie say something about how he would never write in books and Alice immediately shush him for being rude. Y/N never wrote in books, either, but she loved reading Harry’s handwritten notes. It felt like he was reading the story with her. The butterflies in her stomach went wild just from imagining him taking his time writing on each page and grinning at his own jokes. If this was the birthday surprise, she could not ask for anything more.

However, she knew he had to be more extra than this.

And there it was. Proof that this was not the surprise. On the very last page, he wrote:

Meet me where the sky meets the earth.

“Where the sky meets the earth?” she thought out loud and glanced up at Eddie, who responded with a shrug. Alice did, too. Y/N didn’t think they were lying. Harry must have told them what the surprise was, but not the answers to these cryptic messages.

Eddie patted her on the back as he wished her good luck and shooed Alice back to the front to assist the customers. Y/N was left behind to work it out on her own. She leaned against the bookcase, pondering over the words.

Hadn’t Harry said she was allowed to call him when she reached the fifth clue?

She tucked the book under her arm and pulled out the phone from the pocket of her jeans.

“Hi, babe!”

“I’ve got the fifth clue,” she blurted. “What do I do now?”

“I don’t know. Solve it?”

“Yes, smartarse. The answer is, I don’t know.”

“You’re not even thinking.”

“You said you’d help me!”

“I said I’d help you once,” he countered. “And I did. I told you to call me just so I know when you’ve reached the final clue.”

“So you’re not gonna help me with this one?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Well, I can give you a hint. What do all the places you’ve visited today have in common?”

She chewed on her lip, an arm folded over her chest. “They’re memories,” she whispered.

“That’s right,” he whispered back, like they didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. “This last place is a memory as well. Where the sky meets the earth. Think, kid.”

She pouted. “Can I please get another hint?”

“You don’t get to talk in a cute voice and manipulate me, Bambi,” he sighed. “Fine. Our first date.”

“Holmes Chapel?!”

He said nothing and hung up.

It took Y/N a few seconds, but she believed she’d got the answer.

.

.

.

She took the lift and climbed four sets of stairs to the roof.

Adrenaline buzzed right through her, causing her hands to shake and her heart to pound against her ribcage. The metal was cold against her fingertips as she pawed the heavy door open slowly. It was unlocked.

The cold wind gushed in, blowing her hair out of her face as she stepped into the night. The city of London gleamed before her eyes. Where the sky meets the earth. This was where they could see stars high above and down below.

And there he was. Waiting for her with that smug crooked grin on his stupid face.

“Hi,” he said.

Oh, how she’d missed his stupid beautiful face.

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket and ambled forward, still thinking him being here was too good to be true.

He lifted both hands like a surrendered criminal, both eyebrows raised as he said, “Before you get angry, I can explain.”

“Please do,” she demanded but found herself smiling.

With the wind in his hair, dimples on his cheeks and city light in his eyes, he looked absolutely breathtaking. She couldn’t hate him even if she tried.

Harry exhaled unsteadily through his mouth before mumbling, “Here I go,” and then he was on his knee in front of her.

She didn’t react when he took her cold hand and pressed it against his warm chest. She could feel his heart beating almost in sync with her own.

“Are you surprised?” he asked, chuckling nervously.

She exhaled a quiet laugh and said, “Yes, but also no.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Because I warned you this would happen?”

“Because you warned me this would happen.” Her mouth curved at the corner as she recalled the Oscar night in his LA house, both of them drunk, him on his knee like this, a promise, and how in love she’d felt, almost as much as she did in this very moment.

“Is this too early or too late?” he ventured.

“This is perfect.”

She pressed her lips into a smile, and his green eyes flickered in the semi-darkness. “Well then.” He straightened his back. “Y/N ‘Bambi’ Y/L/N.”

“Yes.” Her voice was so brittle she feared he wouldn’t hear it, her stomach twisted into triple knots, her chest fluttering and her fingers trembling.

He held her gaze as the corner of his mouth arched. “Will you…”

“I swear to God if you’re jok–”

“Marry me,” he blurted, panting as though saying those words had drained all the energy out of him. “Marry me. I want to annoy you for the rest of my life. I want every fight, every laugh, every up and down, every kiss, every touch, everything about you. I will love you until all my teeth fall out, until you finally learn to cook–”

“I’ll never learn to cook.”

“I know,” he chuckled. “Most importantly, I’ll even let you love young Leo a bit more than me, but only sometimes.”

She covered her mouth. What meant to be a laugh came out as a sob.

“I would have written a speech, but I figured you’d roast me for my bad writing, so I’d rather improvise and blame this awful proposal on it being improvised.”

“God, you’re fucking annoying,” she laughed tearily into her hand and he was laughing, too.

Quickly, he got to his feet and tugged her into him. She circled her arms around his waist, her face buried into his chest as she inhaled the scent she’d missed achingly in the last two weeks.

“My girl is such a crybaby,” he said, kissing the top of her head, her temple, her ear, her cheek, her forehead. He kissed and held her until she’d calmed down.

“Yes,” she told him at last, lifting her eyes up to his.

“Yes, you’re a crybaby?”

“Yes, you’re a dumbarse and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life roasting you and yes, I’ll sometimes love young Leo more than you but only sometimes, because you’re the greatest love of my life and I cannot imagine a life without you–”

He stopped her with his lips, his hands tenderly cupping her face as his thumbs moved slowly over her chin, cheeks and jawlines. She’d imagined that their first kiss after two weeks apart would be sexually aggressive and against-the-wall hot, but this kiss was slow and sensual and passionate and full of wanting. It felt like his promise for their future together. One that would last.

[luvleona]

ohhh hi i’d like to do an exchange reading

how you would be like in bts? (if you were in the group) ⭐️

keywords: i heard “V’s bff” lmao (i also hear this is an inside joke between you and the members), pasta, morning coffee, cheering, mini skirt and also don’t like (they’d probably want you to dress more feminine/mature.. either the company or the fans but i don’t think you’d be into it), photography, dropping cake, diamond ring, hiding behind sunglasses, partying with jimin, pearly white smile

now if you were in bts i believe you’d help yoongi out a lot when it comes to producing (literally the word BEATS screamed at me oh) also you’d cook a lot (a lot of red foods came to mind, so kimchi.. spaghetti/pasta, etc) they’d tease you a lot (something about you and swimming is what the teasing would be about)

jungkook can sometimes interrupt you and singing/rapping your verse right when you’re about to during practice as a joke, i alsoo think you’d fight in the practice room if you mess up or maybe.. step on his shoe during dance practice? taehyung would be SOO defensive when it comes to you, you can do no wrong in his eyes, like bestie members

with joon i think you’d be very close in shows like in the soop or bon voyage where you have to do domestic activities also when you’re about to go onstage is when you two are agreeing a lot

(also i think you’d influence his fashion)

you’d joke for him to rap a certain way and he’d do it lmao. i think with yoongi there is something significant here with you two and coffee? maybe you know his order by heart. hobi seems to look at you like a younger sibling he doesn’t want to grow up. (i get this image of hobi looking down with his hands on your shoulders?)

ok with jimin he would think of you as his equal, also i think when he stays back to practice you’re the first person he asks to help him with lyrics or vocal runs, etc. he would still look to you for lots of things but also would see you on the same level. the two of you would be ruthless in run bts or variety shows though (terrible two when you’re together tbh, scheming) also you’d do vlives together a lot just staring at each other and laughing (i hate to say this but you’d be the “underrated” ship that people would argue over)

now with seokjin he would compliment you a lot lol. you can just scare him at times but he’s still the oldest so he’s conflicted. also, there is an image where he taps your chin a lot haha.

overall you’d be cool. army would think you look good in a pair of overalls and they’d ship you with RM/jimin (this is what i hear tbh) they’d want you to dress more feminine and they’d see you as this older sibling figure 💌

Hiii

V most of the time will be next to you at the end of the concert . He will gran your arm gentle making you wave to the crowd . You can joking glare at him and he can force you to bow by putting his hand on your back . I think he will just do stuff to you at the end concert like splash water on you . I think he will always just tease you toward the end .

V will be nicer to you off stage and you guys will give each other snacks . Feed each other and do random stuff like throwing candy to see who can catch the most in their mouth . Just dancing to the music you hear on stage during your waiting room together.

Jimin can be third wheeling sometimes because of this but he can like to flirt openly with you. I can see him putting the camera close up to your face while your sleeping . He can get the other members to put stuff on your head or body to see if that makes up . It can be contest . With the members you can have a kissing game you know that paper game . With Jimin the paper can drop suddenly and you two just kiss as V could move it out of the way,

Jungkook can be the member that comes to for help with his English. He can asked you for help with high notes . To cover his part sometimes if he isn't feeling that good that day . He can ask you for feedback on his dance moves.

Now with Rm during the chaos of the other members going crazy he look at you as for help . When it is time to make a speech he feels so relax because he knows you can say what needs to be said toward the crititics and fans. I think people will ship you two The most as people will see how Rm looks at you. You guys have this calming and toghether .people will say your "soul mates " lol

Jhope will take good care of you to make sure you always have what you need and stay up with you to entertain you . He will make sure to compliment you well . I can see you guys just walking fown a path holding hands and cheerfully singing 💕 I think you guys will play a lot of sports together like soccer and you always end up on the same team. Would be your underrated ship.

Yoongi and you would be close be next to each other during interviews rubbing each other hands to shake off the nerves . Just having inside jokes about ducks it can be a day you spent out fishing with Seokjin .

Seokjin during photo shoots the staff can ask you to be a couple as each other and you two can pretend to complain and hate it . But it be staring each other eyes than laughing about it . You two can joke about being the rap line . Jim would often buy you food and you can bicker the most with him. He can lied about drinking your soda and just about basic stuff to see your reaction lol. I think you guys will, often hang out and do vlives toghether .

You can produce a lot of music and also come up with concepts of the group's. The outfits + hair styles you can inspire the other members to get . On variety shows you can get ask to impersonate the other members . People will love as it can be so spot on.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Your reading is so detail and I hope mine will resonate as much as yours did to me .

I knew V will be my bestie 😍and that would be funny as a joke. The fans wanting me to dress more feminine I assume like twice or red velvet . Can you imagine wearing tall heels doing bts dance. Me and Jimin would party 😎. I like to think I could write songs and help produce with Suga.

I can see myself stepping on his shoe 😏 as a " mistake " of course if Jk kept playing with me . V having my back 🤧 thank you best friend . Just chilling with Joon and I would ask him to do A UK beat . Of course I know Yoogni taste 😁. Jimin and I would be like devil's because I need him to help me fight Jk. I can be quiet so I can myself just walking up and Jin getting scare because he didn't hear me lol. The fandom😭 wanted me to do everything they do in heels and a mini skirt . I believe in woman rights please 😤.

I could understand why because I do feel like I have to dress more feminine I like to be comfy. Thank you to the reading . 🙆🏽‍♀️love it

[claudiasjeancregg]

38, CJ/Toby if you feel like it :)

38. “You fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” CJ Cregg/Toby Ziegler (1.6k words)

“You fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

CJ rolled her eyes at him, taking the water from his outstretched hand. 

“I did not faint,” she reminded him. “I fell asleep. And if I wanted your attention, I’d have it.” 

Toby quirked an eyebrow at her teasing, trying to maintain the playful tone in the room. But he couldn’t hide his expression- it was painfully obvious how he felt. He was worried about her. She hadn’t slept in days, and as much as she tried to hide it, it was obvious to see she wasn’t doing well. He watched her sip the water, pretending not to notice her hand shaking. 

“You need to sleep, CJ.” 

His voice was soft but firm- taking care of herself was the one thing she couldn’t push to the bottom of her priority list. Not under his watch. 

“I’m fine!” she insisted. She set her glass down with a thump, needing her hands to make her point. 

“I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.” 

“But you don't,” he pointed out. 

She picked up her things with a deep sigh, and started towards the door of his apartment. She hated when he treated her like this, like some inept little girl who needed help. She was fine. She was the Chief of Staff to the President, damn it. She had to be fine. 

“What, am I wrong?” he called after her. 

She paused, not turning around. 

“You fell asleep standing up! Then, you fell straight into me. What if you had been in the Sit Room, or a meeting, or-” 

“Jesus, Toby, I get it. I get that I’m not handling this job well, that I can’t do it all like you or Josh. But guess what? I’m still the Chief of Staff, whether you like it or not. It’s not your job to take care of me.” 

Toby’s eyes were wide and incomprehensive. How had this turned into an argument so quickly? How had she so clearly misunderstood the meaning of what he was saying? How could she believe that he thought those things? 

He watched CJ recover from her outburst. All the pent up frustration and all of the exhaustion had burst out of her at once, and he knew she needed a minute. Still, all he wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms and hold her until she fell asleep. But he knew that wasn’t what she needed- well, not right now. For now, she needed reassurance, though she would never admit it. She needed his support, something he had been embarrassingly bad at giving her recently. 

“Well, someone needs to.”

 She laughed bitterly- “Oh, so I’m a chore.” 

“You’re not-” 

Toby sighed. There was no reasoning with her when she was like this, especially not about something this sensitive. But he had to try, right? 

“I’m not saying you’re not handling the job well. That’s the exact opposite of what I’m saying, and you know that.” 

She opened her mouth to say something, but he kept going. 

“You’re working too hard, CJ. You’re doing a- a phenomenal job as Chief Of Staff, but that’s all you should be doing! You shouldn’t be dealing with the press, and going down to the Hill, or negotiating. What you have to do is a million times harder than what Leo had to do, and you’re doing it. But you need to delegate, okay? Hire some people, promote some people, I don't know. And, uh-” 

His voice was softer now, and surprisingly gentle. 

“If you need help, you should ask.” 

CJ rubbed her neck, which he knew meant she was stressed. And sore, he bet- he had seen her sleep on her couch too many times in the past week. 

He kept going, needing her to understand what he was saying. 

“It’s not my job to take care of you. But I do it because I-” he swallowed, looking at the floor. 

“Because Leo had a heart attack, and Josh got shot, and Donna got blown up, and the President has MS.” 

He wasn’t sure how to say it in a way that made sense. All he knew was that everyone had left, everyone had gotten hurt- except them. She couldn’t leave him too. He wouldn’t let her. 

When Toby looked back up, CJ was staring at him. 

“Leo had a heart attack because he was an addict-” 

“Leo had a heart attack because he didn't sleep for six years!” 

Her eyes glistened as he yelled, and for a minute he was worried he had scared her. Then CJ walked back over to him, placing her hand on his cheek. Her lips were pressed tightly together and her hand was cold. He let himself wonder for a moment if he should be worried about that, before remembering that they lived in DC and it was December. 

“Okay. I’ll sleep.” 

He knew she was saying more than that, that those words meant that she was listening to him. But he couldn’t resist.

“And you’ll drink more water? And not that crappy, calorie infested coffee you make Charlie get you. Actual water.” 

She huffed, moving her hand from his cheek. 

“Yes, Dad, I’ll eat my vegetables.” 

He tried to glare at her, but couldn’t manage it. CJ smiled at him, looking happier than he’d seen her in weeks. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” 

Her voice was soft, like she actually thought he was going to say no. 

“Just so, you know, you won’t have to install secret cameras in my apartment to make sure I’m sleeping.” 

He ignored the dig, knowing she was just nervous about asking him. They’d been doing this, whatever this was, with each other for so long, Toby would think it shouldn’t feel awkward anymore. But that wasn’t how it worked, and he knew it. And she wasn’t propositioning him, or asking him for anything- she was exhausted.

Toby nodded quickly- “Go get some clothes. You know where everything is, right?” 

She didn't bother to answer, already halfway to the bathroom. 

He changed quickly before grabbing a few pillows and sheets, and heading to the couch. A few minutes later, CJ waltzed out of the bathroom in a towel, not noticing- or caring- about his reaction. 

“Why are you making up the couch there, honey?” 

He ignored the nickname and responded, pointedly looking away from her body. 

“I’m going to sleep here. And didn't I say you could grab some clothes?” 

She smiled teasingly. “Can’t restrain yourself?” 

“Claudia Jean, we both know I’ve seen you in outfits less conducive to restraint,” he scoffed.

She swatted at him, walking away- presumably to steal some of his clothes. She came back in a Berkeley shirt and his boxer shorts, hair up in a knot. He felt himself staring, but couldn’t seem to look away. She raised her eyebrows at his reaction. 

“That’s not mine,” he noted. “You keep old college shirts in my closet?”

CJ nodded amusedly, like she was waiting for him to say something she didn’t already know. 

Toby wondered if she enjoyed driving him crazy. The answer was probably yes, but he didn’t dare ask- he was too worried he would grab her mid-sentence and kiss the life out of her. 

He cleared his throat. “Good night.” 

He walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, too intimate to be casual but too chaste to be anything like what he wanted to do. As he was turning to leave, she grabbed his arm. 

“Jeez, CJ, what?” 

“Where are you going?” she asked simply. 

“Release your death grip on my arm, then I’ll tell you!” 

She let go abruptly, a sheepish smile on her face. 

“Sorry. Old habits,” she trailed off. 

Toby shook his arm out. “I feel bad for your brothers,” he muttered. 

She cocked an eyebrow at him, reminding him wordlessly of the original question. 

He gestured lamely to the couch. “I told you, I’m sleeping on the couch.”

CJ sighed deeply, a “why do I put up with this man” kind of sigh that Toby knew well.

“You idiot, why would I sleep in your bed?” 

He blinked at her. “I mean, you’ve slept in it before. I figured you wouldn’t want the couch-” 

He was cut off as she grabbed his arm again, dragged him to the bedroom. She ignored his cries of pain- which, to be fair, were fake. For the most part.

Toby shifted awkwardly, pretending to think over the decision. 

“CJ, I don't know if I feel comfortable being in bed with my boss- hey!” 

Toby ducked to avoid the pillow hurtling towards him. 

“Come here,” CJ groaned. “I’m sleeping in a bed for the first time this week, don't ruin this for me.” 

“This week? CJ!” 

His protests were muffled by her lips on his, kissing him deeply. CJ knotted her fingers in his ratty t-shirt, pulling him closer. She savored the short kiss, the first one they’d shared in a while. God, she’d missed having him this close to her. She leaned back with a satisfied expression on her face. 

“Good night,” she said firmly. 

“Good night,” Toby replied, still dazed. 

He’d known this woman for as long as he could remember, but somehow she still managed to amaze him. He snuck a look at her- sprawled next to him, her legs intertwined with his. She would steal all the blankets and take up half the bed, just like always, but he didn’t care. Toby took a deep breath, trying to commit this moment to memory. He didn't get these moments of peace often- neither of them did. He’d make this one last as long as he could.

this was SO FUN!! sorry it took so long! it was supposed to be some short fluff and i ended up with this, lol. thank you so much for the prompt- i hope you like it! i love doing these, so send me more anytime- i reblog prompt lists WAY too much. these two are the best agh i love writing for them<33333

[xlady-saya]

i’ve had a love of my own [ch 1]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

Tags: interviews, post canon, major character death but not how u think I swear lol, neil is an old man retelling his memories about andrew, cheesy romance, post retirement, see more tags on ao3

Read on ao3!

Neil pricks himself on the old Palmetto pin as he fixes it to his collar, jabbing the same spot on his thumb he hit just a week before.

He hardly winces at the feeling these days, and for a long time, Matt joked about how he really couldn't go a day without attracting some form of violence. Neil smiles at the thought, because it's far from the truth. He stands by the claim he never asked for fights, simply had no problem finishing them.

"You mean letting me finish them," Andrew would quip, and they'd go back and forth all over again in a never-ending argument. It's so never-ending, Neil goes through the motions of it even now, however many decades later.

This pin tends to start it, since it's the only remotely dangerous thing he owns now. The orange is still bright and obnoxious, with criss crossing Exy racquets in a bright white. He's memorized the raised edges, tilted from old age. The once silver backing has rust spots, but no one ever sees that part. It has its reputation intact, and Neil smiles sardonically.

It's not the only thing that's been worn down, but he likes to think he doesn't look as bad as he could too. Laughing at his own joke, he taps the pin lightly. It's apparently vintage now, according to Allison, since the new Palmetto merch has drifted into neon territory.

Neil is glad he kept his own. It's especially important today, he thinks, that he shows as much fondness for the past as possible. Though, it's not for his sake. His room is nothing but littered with the tokens of the past.

Sighing, he stares fondly out across the living room, the walls haphazardly decorated with old, signed jerseys his friends used to wear. He has one from each of their old teams, but picked his favorites to go up on the wall. The rest sit in storage, ready to be auctioned off whenever he decides living is too much of a chore. Above the mantle, Andrew's racquet from his last team hangs in a shadow box. Then below it, framed pictures which Neil tries to rotate as best he can, some of them shitty ones converted from his phone camera. Mostly, they're of his Foxes at various points in their lives. The only two photos which stay the same are the one he took with Andrew and Kevin at the Olympics, and the snapshot of him and Andrew at the airport in his first year at Palmetto.

If he had to catalog the room, that would barely scratch the surface. He's pages away from mentioning Nicky's terribly made mugs, Betsy's first editions, and cookie tins filled with postcards Katelyn and Aaron sent twenty years ago.

Most of the time, the untidy collection of junk surrounding him is a comfort. It makes the small apartment feel like home, or as close as he can get when he's by himself. He swears some of the items still carry the unique scents of grass stains and floor polish, or Allison's perfume and the glitter glue from Dan and Matt's kids.

When that fails him, the candle he has in every room does the trick to fill in the blanks. Andrew used the same scent for over half their life together: breakfast pancakes. It's sickly sweet and stains the furniture, and Neil loves nothing more than to bury his face in the cushions after a day of having them lit.

These are the things that ground him, that keep him in place, but today he feels fidgety for the first time in years. He shouldn't be, he thinks, laughing to himself. He planned this after all, it's just...

Well, he's never been the best at talking to people.

There's a knock at his door, and the cuckoo clock on the wall (shockingly, that one is his fault) tells him it's right on schedule. Neil sighs, slipping his feet into the white slippers beneath him. "Come in, Sydney."

The nurse on his floor opens the door to his apartment with a smile, too fresh faced and early for this time of day. She’s young, and she's always been a bit cheery for his taste, but she reminds him of Katelyn and he allows it. In the last few years, when Andrew's migraines prevented him from reading, she'd bring him audiobook gift cards.

She smiles bright, and he gives her that look for her to cut it out. At this point, she's less put off by it and more amused. He only tells her to save the smiles because if she doesn't she'll have wrinkles like him years from now. He hates how much he sounds like Allison.

Neil hardly looks in the mirror anymore, but this morning he put in some effort. He looks as perpetually tired as he always looked back in the day, except now his eye bags are accompanied by wrinkles that form their own topographical map on his face.

At least he didn't lose all his hair.

The only thing is his blue eyes are as piercing as ever, so coupled with the grandpa look, he's quite intimidating. Not that he needs to be, but it's nice to feel a little capable when he can barely walk by himself anymore.

"Morning, Mr. Josten," Sydney greets, untucking the wheelchair from behind the door and pushing it over to him. He makes sure to grab Andrew's favorite crochet blanket. He hates messing with it, but he thinks the smell of nicotine it carries will help him today. Refresh his memory.

Neil grumbles, but lets her help him into the chair. He has on his good lounge pants, without holes, and his old Palmetto sweater. "I told you years ago I hate being called that."

"Because it makes you feel old," she jabs, teasing lightly. Even still, she's gentle when she places the blanket over his lap and hands him his glasses. "I have to keep you in line somehow."

"Ha-ha."

As she wheels him out of his room, he starts fidgeting again. He's used to exploring the luxury nursing home on his own time, not because he has somewhere to be. He hasn't had somewhere to be since...well, he hates thinking about that, lest he run into a memory that hurts more than helps.

Today isn't the day for that.

Some other, more able-bodied residents pass by him on foot, waving amicably and knowing better than to expect a wave back. Shockingly, he's well liked here, probably because he doesn't have rowdy grandkids who break the peace. Plus, he's pretty sure some of them are old fans.

Sydney leans down as they pass through the common area and into one of the meeting rooms, the spotless linoleum floor throwing him off as usual. He never would've picked a place so expensive and fancy for himself, but Andrew was always someone with classy tastes. "Ready for today?"

At the reminder, Neil wrings his fingers together. Not advised by his doctor, but fuck that guy. "As ready as I'll ever be," he says, glaring at the glass doors ahead. Sydney laughs, placing him at the end of a large table. The meeting room creeps him out, since it's mostly used for family meetings or will planning appointments. Sound proof, silent.

"Oh hush, you're a famous athlete, I'm sure you've faced worse," she chides, pouring him a glass of water without any ice. Because he's a fiend. Neil rolls his eyes; she has no idea. He's threatened countless reporters before for stepping even a toe out of line, but some recent college grads from an indie publication are making him sweat more than an Exy game. Sydney makes a show of whispering behind her hand. "Besides, I heard from Gabe at the front desk they look terrified, so go easy on them, yes? Can't have another cafeteria incident."

Ugh, not that again.

"You have no witnesses," he waves off, leaning back in his seat while Sydney sets the break in place. Only then is he hit with a wave of calm, fondness even. His quivering hands curl as best they can in the blanket, the ghost of a grip, and he smiles out across the room. Ah, he can't be doing this already, but it's hard to help. He itches for the smell of a cigarette, a press on the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he tries his best to feel it. "Besides, once they know why they're really here they won't be nearly so stressed. Hell, they might even be disappointed."

He tries not to grimace at that, but for the time he's giving them and the paperwork he made them sign, they're going to sit and listen to his old man ravings all day or so help him--

He feels a hand brush against his, and when he looks Sydney is there. She squeezes his fingers in hers, smile fond and weighed down with a sadness so foreign, he nearly regrets telling her to cut it out. But no, he understands. He's the one who understands the most. She grazes the fabric of the blanket as she pulls away, breathing in the same smoke he can for just a moment. "No, I don't think that's possible."

She doesn't give Neil time to doubt himself, not that he could. He can never doubt anything when it comes to Andrew, no matter how much the blond secretly doubted about himself. Neil always teased him for that, and his living oxymoron ways.

Neil's biggest goal of the day is to piss off Andrew's ghost as much as humanly possible, and his grin is nearly splitting at the thought. Fine, mission active.

"Good luck!" Sydney calls as she leaves the meeting room, and he watches her gesture to his guests once they arrive through the glass doors.

Oh shit, they really do look terrified.

The two interviewers see him through the door and Neil can only assume they shit a brick. They're young, can't be more than a few years out of university, dressed way too professionally for someone as uncaring as Neil. They could've shown up in clown costumes for all he cared, at least he would've gotten a good laugh.

The young man fumbles with the door and his companion rushes forward a little too fast before correcting herself. Jeez.

Neil does his best to hide his laugh, not that he's ever been polite. It's more...

Their terror is Neil's fault. He started declining interviews soon after he retired, letting his name and lifestyle fade into mystery and speculation with the public. Kevin had not been happy about it, since to this day he and Thea are in the public eye, commentating on Exy games, doing talk shows, helping curate museums, blah, blah, blah...

Neil didn't have time for that.

He never thought he'd be okay with slipping back into unknown status after so many years of being seen, being cheered for, but when the time came it was an easy choice. Andrew made it so. Neil had his time to be free, to do whatever he wanted and play the sport he loved. But ultimately, when he no longer could, fucking off to do whatever he wanted with Andrew sounded way better than dealing with reporters and overzealous fans.

Just because he became an unknown though, doesn't mean he faded into obscurity. According to Allison, his life has been quite a hot button issue in the community for over a decade. People want to know where he's been, what he did during those years, how he looks back on the past, everything. It's been obnoxious.

Popular sports magazines and large publications have practically been clawing for a piece of him for years, and he's never given in no matter how many fruit bouquets they sent or how many checks they tried to write him. Though, one almost got him purely because they kept sending gourmet chocolates, and if Andrew was a glutton before, old age only made it worse.

So, Neil Josten is back to being a subject of interest for some reason, someone people want to know everything about. For him to randomly call up a dying indie magazine and offer them full rights to an interview under his specific terms surely threw the sports world into a fucking whirl.

Whatever.

He's going to share what he wants to share. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Mr. Jo--" The first reporter clears his throat, passing his notepad and phone over to his other hand before outstretching one to Neil. "Mr. Josten. It's such an honor to meet you, um, wow. I'm Blake, and this is Rayah. We're so grateful for being granted the opportunity to interview you. You're a legend!"

Neil stares at the outstretched hand like he doesn't know what to do with it, and as much as he does know what's expected of him, part of his hesitation is equal parts his disinterest and the fact he doesn't talk to anyone but his remaining family these days. Well, and Sydney.

Blake swallows and drops his hand, surely admonishing himself for his own stupidity.

Rayah saves him. "Um, we really are appreciative, sir," she says, laying out some notepads and setting up her recorder. Old school, Neil appreciates it. It's better than cameras and microphones. "We're still in shock honestly. We were theorizing on why you picked us the entire drive up here!"

"Neil is fine, and don't bother with small talk I know it's not why you're here," he says then, smiling at her words. They both flinch, taken aback. He's not sure why they'd be expecting a Kevin Day type. He has a record for being too blunt and argumentative for his own good. He's right though; they're here for answers, not discussions on how he's doing or what he does for fun in his not so humble nursing home. In much the same vein, he promised honesty, so he'll give it from the start. "I picked you precisely because you're unknown and failing."

They freeze, but they're clearly not Foxes. If they were, they'd immediately get indignant and glare, hold themselves back from punching a helpless old man. Oh, those were the good ol' days.

When Rayah fumbles for a response, a logic, Neil simply shrugs. "I like the underdogs."

He doesn't intend it to be, but it's a tension breaker. The stiffness in the reporters' shoulders deflate with a laugh, and they finally get back to organizing themselves without looking like they want to run for the hills and beg ESPN to take over.

"As your history suggests," Blake jokes, and Neil rewards him with a grin, tapping his Foxes pin.

He doesn't mention the fact Andrew would've never spoken to him had he gone to some trashy magazine, and that Andrew was always a bit of a rebel himself, though he hated to admit to any kind of urge that didn't involve Neil, sweets, or fancy cars.

Neil takes the free moment to wrap his blanket around his shoulders, letting the ingrained smell of ash permeate around him. Much better, he can think so much clearer like this.

As they finish setting up and take their seats across from him, Blake taps his pencil against the rim of his notepad. It looks like he almost wants to launch back into small talk, but thinks better of it when he remembers Neil's words. Considerate, a good listener. Just what Neil needs today.

Blake clears his throat, cutting through the bullshit. "Now, we know you have specific terms for how you want to lead this interview, which we're completely fine with. Wherever you want to start, we'll follow."

And with that, they sit back, unsure but ready to catch whatever morsel of information might fall from Neil's lips. Again, he finds himself fighting a smirk.

Of course, he led these people astray a bit, but he doesn't see the problem with having a little fun before revealing his true intentions.

He nods, pushing down the giddy feeling that always comes with talking about Andrew. Not yet, but soon.

"Hm, I assume you prepared some questions just in case," Neil asks, taking a sip of his water.

Rayah blinks, exchanging a look with Blake. She rifles through her notepad to a page in the middle, scribbled and stained with ink. There are so many questions on it, some of them curve over the others in a painful word twister. "Uh yes but, we didn't think you'd want to answer them," she guesses.

She's correct.

Neil loathes interview questions, because they're predictable. But in this case, he'll let the first one lead him down the road.

Neil relents, leaning back in his wheelchair. "Well you're mostly right, but why don't you ask me your first one?" He offers, and they look positively ecstatic. "That'll get me started."

And once he starts, he doubts he'll be able to stop.

"Sure." Blake clears his throat, making sure his recorder is functioning properly. When he's satisfied, he leans back, mirroring Neil's posture, though the rigidity is still there. If he doesn't lighten up, he's going to have back pains for days. "Now, there have been a lot of milestones in your career as a pro athlete. No one would dream of disputing your skill in the sport, or how you earned any of your countless awards--"

"Flattery," Neil warns, raising a single finger. That's not what he's here for either. In fact, as much as this is his interview, it's not about him at all.

"Right," Blake says with a huff of a laugh. "But surely one of your brightest moments was your historic win at the Olympics. It was talked about for months within the community. Of course, any true Exy fan knows the details of the game, it was only covered by every major publication. So, I guess our question is, what do you most remember about that moment? Was it as monumental for you as it was for Exy fans?"

Ah, a predictable question, but also not a bad place to begin. Neil doesn't fight the edge of the smirk that appears, though he does raise his thumb to swipe at it. It's been a while since he's felt so mischievous, it's so difficult to be, well, difficult when you're being wheeled around all day.

It was a monumental moment for him, though maybe not for the reasons everyone else would think.

"You certainly did your research," he comments, humming as he sits back in thought. He already knows his answer, but he's weak, and the feelings the memory evokes barely need to push him to send him careening off balance. Swept up. "Not sure what I was expecting from people so young, but my apologies for making assumptions."

He's glad they didn't ask the question in the stereotypical format, fishing for ways to brag and make it all about him. When he thinks of that time, as proud as he was, it's not his own praise that comes to mind.

With that in mind, Neil sighs.

"I don't think it was an exaggeration to say that was one of the best days of my life," he admits, and it's the truth. He's not here to lie. Come to think of it, he hasn't lied once since Andrew ran on ahead of him. Smiling, Neil lets the words flow.

"It was important to me, but not all because of the Olympics themselves..."

--

Neil rarely has time to pay attention in Exy games, as horrible and inefficient as that sounds.

His feet move on their own accord like a well-oiled machine, cogs and steam rushing through him to propel him across the court at record speeds. And they are record speeds.

That's why he's here isn't it? To run, to score.

It had been overwhelming when he first arrived, the sheer size of the Exy court at the Olympics. It's surrounded by flags from all over the world, bright neon signs and sponsorships. The lights at the entrance had been so vibrant, he made the mistake of looking up at them.

Blinding.

All aspects about it are, because as much as Neil knows this is his life, it can't possibly be reality.

The crowd makes the one at the Ravens' stadium seem minuscule, out of its league with seats and aisles that almost climb up to the heavens. The crowd roars and Neil feels every cheer and stomp echo against his bones.

He never thought he'd be here, but despite the gravity of it, he no longer has the time nor want to dwell on it. All that matters is his team, and getting them the gold.

Being with Andrew afterwards...getting to see Wymack smile proudly at Kevin.

Letting Kevin be proud of himself.

And Neil is an Olympic-qualified player, so with all that in mind, he delivers the second best game of his life. Even in the final seconds of the second half, even when he's been body checked so many times the nuts and bolts he imagines inside him must surely be worn and off-kilter, he doesn't stop moving. Everything is instinct, from the force of his steps to the last minute shifts he needs to intercept the ball.

It's not Kevin's perfect strategy, it's not a map or an out of body experience where he can see where every player on the court is.

He has no idea what's going on outside of what's in front of him, no awareness of anything but the immediate threats and a certain beacon, standing in the goal.

And that's the hardest part of it all, not being able to look over at Andrew for even a moment after he scores, because the game is fast and ruthless, and he has twice the energy of anyone on this court.

It's a stupid way to play, if he's really supposed to be Kevin's double. But they all long since established he is far from it. He has his own passion, his own drive, and Kevin trusts Neil with his life on the court.

Probably through anything.

So when he sees the perfect opportunity for a final interception, a chance to get them the last winning goal of the game, he's surprised that it's the one moment where it all comes to a stop. He's never had the experience before; normally his body snaps into action. He's not used to comprehending things until they're said and done.

He thinks his body is still following through though, turning in just the right way, making sure he's lined up.

But Neil is aware of so much more, his eyes train like a predator's on the goal, and he understands. He has a choice.

Choices are a weird luxury now, but he's gotten so used to having the freedom of them, he's forgotten the sheer magnitude they can carry.

His eyes snap to the goal, and then to Kevin. Kevin, who is so much closer, and already looking right at Neil.

And Neil never describes himself as fond towards most people, but he can say it proudly in that moment. This is the Kevin Day he likes to see.

Green eyes stare back, blown wide with a fire that can't be matched by anyone, probably not even his own mother, maybe not even Neil. A true, unadulterated love for this violent, freeing sport. Kevin catches Neil's eyes through his face guard, forehead drenched in sweat but his entire being rings with energy, ready and unwilling to quit until the buzzer sounds.

A Fox, at heart. Neil knows Andrew can see from where he's standing in goal, and Neil knows he's just as satisfied, deep down. It might give him some peace of mind too, to know Kevin kept his spine.

Neil puts all of those emotions into his last movement of the game.

He inclines his head just so, and that's it.

Kevin moves.

As Neil's racquet intercepts the ball from the other team's striker, he can't help but be a bit smug as he takes a powerful step forward. He can hear the painful slide of his shoes against the court floor, the heat of being too close, too exposed.

His legs will surely be shot after this, but no matter.

Kevin Day was always meant to be the greatest player in the history of Exy, the reigning queen, despite the arrogance they'll surely have to hear non-stop about. Fine. It's only fair that Neil help him achieve that goal here, at the biggest stadium in the world.

(By no means the best one, but still).

The clock gets down to five seconds, the beats resounding off the walls of his skull. Neil swings his racquet with such force the strings whistle, and the ball moves in a straight line directly into Kevin's. The other striker has zero time to react, the force of Neil's brutal cut off sending him stumbling. The ball hits Kevin's strings hard, Kevin's grip tightening around his racquet to keep it close to him.

Kevin doesn't hesitate longer than that.

He shoots at the goal in one fluid arch, and scores.

As confident as Neil is in Kevin's aim and skill, he'll admit his stomach swoops. It's a feeling that never truly goes away, much like the instincts that keep him moving. He wouldn't trade it for anything, that millisecond exhilaration before it comes together.

Because well, at one point nothing ever fell into place for him.

In the flash where the ball hits the net, Neil feels the ghost of a key in his palm, reminding him when that changed. The buzzer of the countdown blares, and all that anticipation meets a well-deserved end.

The stadium erupts until not even the buzzer can be heard. There's a swish of plexiglass doors, the sounds of their coach yelling in triumph, but Neil's body is too spent to react.

Neil's heart constricts in his chest as he tries to get air in, but it's impossible. Satisfied doesn't even begin to cover it, though he's sure he looks just as breathless as Kevin does, staring at the goal as it lights up. The world moves around him, respecting his moment of privacy when they should be hoisting him up and not allowing him a minute of disbelief. Neil's glad they don't; Kevin deserves to look surprised once in a while.

His teammates pile on each other, clapping him as they pass. A lot of them are still in shock, a few fall to their knees right away, but Neil feels nothing but fulfilled.

He made the right call.

His body sags, stinging, and he feels Andrew's gaze pinning him upright from across the court. It's the only thing that gets him walking, but he wills himself not to look in his boyfriend's direction.

If he does well...nothing else will matter, and there's one thing he has to do.

In a haze, he goes over to Kevin, who turns, sensing him. Neil shakes his head at Kevin's arrogance to this day, because even though Kevin is the one who made this possible for him, who came to him first...

Well, he still lets Neil do all the work. Neil laughs and hugs Kevin fiercely, barely keeping himself upright, and they trade the trembling in their bodies. Kevin drops his racquet, their height difference making them look all the more pathetic. He can hear Andrew's voice already, telling them they're too emotional about a damn sport.

Somehow, that makes Neil even happier, and he leans back as Kevin pries his helmet off, eyes wild and smiling.

Yes, the right choice. Absolutely.

"We did it," Kevin says, but not in disbelief. He had to have known they'd always make it here. "We did it."

Neil squeezes his friend's shoulder and grins, uncaring of what camera catches it. He's too damn happy to care. "Guess we did."

The crowd cheers so loud Neil can't hear more than a faint buzz in his ears, and the sticky scent of gatorade and sweat is an unfortunate addition. The cameras flash and shine obnoxiously through the double plexiglass to bathe them in light and attention.

Yet, with his legs feeling like jelly and his muscles stretched to the limits, there's only one thing he really wants. What he always wants.

Warmth, safety, something to lean on and keep him sheltered from the world before facing it alongside him. Neil hates that before, the only thing he yearned for was to play Exy. He thought that was bad.

This is so much worse.

Biting his lip, Neil turns to where Andrew is standing in the goal, already looking at him from across the court. And Andrew, with all his control, keeps himself planted there. Neil's breathing hiccups loudly, and Kevin's probably the only one who hears it over the cacophony.

Neil doesn't think he can cry anymore, but his eyes tighten up, he has to blink the pain away.

Neil wonders if Andrew's gripping his racquet hard enough to damage it, if he's digging his heels into the ground like Neil is.

Neil swallows down the lump in his throat. Suddenly, he hates the cameras more than usual; he's torn between wanting them to vanish completely, or wishing they paid as much attention to Andrew, because god, he's earned it.

Neil digs his heels in harder.

I want to be with you.

It's such a simple string of thought; it has crossed his mind so many times before, but never has the urge hurt so much. It has nothing to do with all he's worked for, with the fame and recognition this win will bring him. It's just Andrew.

He hasn't had a knife to his skin in years, but this reminds him of the piercing of flesh, lighting his nerves on end and sending him towards the source of his relief, his contentment.

Andrew played so well, so well, not just here. He worked his way through the pros until he got to Neil, worked his ass off for his reputation. He qualified with the rest of them to be here.

And tonight, he blocked almost every shot at his goal.

Neil closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down but he can't. This is one of the best moments of his life. If he can't share it with Andrew to the fullest, what was the point of everything in his past?

They're not out. That's the problem, he knows, as much as he doesn't give a single fuck. No one outside their family and management knows anything about them, apart from some tabloid rumors about their intense dislike of one another. If that doesn't prove how clueless the media is, Neil doesn't know what does.

And as much as they value privacy, as much as their peaceful bubble is enough, it's moments like these where Neil wants to take and show no matter the consequences.

He looks to Kevin, unsure. It's always been him, the one who warned them about the backlash they'd face despite his acceptance of their relationship years ago.

Neil expects the same thing here: the subtle shake of Kevin's head, the concern in his eyes for their careers and future. It used to piss Neil off to no end, but Kevin communicates all emotion through Exy, even concern. Neil's learned to read between those infuriating lines. The importance of career translates to 'without your career, there is no you.' Sometimes he forgets he's not entirely free.

And if he weren't around, then Andrew...

'You can't leave him.'

And so, knowing Kevin's language, Neil stayed in line, and he expects that same advice today. To his surprise though, it never comes. Kevin is looking at him, tired smile firmly in place as he nudges a shoulder in Andrew's direction. Neil's mouth falls open, and yes, he's convinced now. It's a dream, it's all one big dream. Except--

Kevin shakes his head. It's not resigned, or worried. He's just happy for them both. He pushes Neil away, straightening his back in preparation for his fans. Royal snob. "Go on already. You guys are gross."

And despite the laugh that falls from his mouth, Neil's breathing stutters, and he hadn't realized how wound up he truly was until it happens. His lungs fill with air and he throws his racquet to the ground. His self-control is poor, they all know that. Encouragement is all he needs to break him and send him where he belongs.

He takes off in a full sprint towards Andrew as the rest of his teammates crowd Kevin, looking after Neil in confusion.

Huh, so his muscles still work after all. The tendons are on fire, but it's the least of his concerns. He runs like his life depends on it again, faster than he ran during that whole game.

And to Neil's absolute delight, Andrew's body language screams 'finally.'

The blond takes a step forward, throwing his racquet to the side like it's worthless. Oh. Andrew's bracing to catch him, and Neil laughs at the realization as he throws off his helmet. One day he'll actually make Andrew fall over, but for now he enjoys the strength.

He jumps into Andrew's arms effortlessly, feels calloused hands wrap around his waist as Neil reaches for the clips of Andrew's helmet. Despite knowing the barrier is there as he fumbles with it, he leans forward, lips grazing the metal guard. Andrew huffs, and Neil claws until the helmet clatters to the floor. He throws it a bit far, and it hits the goal post with a clang, but he doesn't care in the moment. If all eyes are on them now, he can't feel them. They're in a vacuum, a side effect of being so taken with Andrew at times. Unaware, vulnerable. The rush of sound from before goes dead around them. His fingertips can feel overheated skin, can trace the barely-there freckles on Andrew's face.

Andrew isn't in the mood to let Neil admire today.

Neil barely gets to see the color in Andrew's eyes before the goalie's hand grips in between Neil's shoulder blades, pulling him down.

It reminds him of their first kiss; Neil catches Andrew's lips and, as if not believing they're real, that something could feel so wonderful, he pulls back. His eyes widen, the first hit of a drug. He breaks the kiss only to dive right back in, uncoordinated but so sure of himself. And he doesn't get how, but Andrew smells the same as back then. Less like cigarettes, but the same smell of leather and earthiness. Neil doesn't read nearly as much as Andrew does to have the capability of describing it, but it's refreshing, like soil after the rain. Through the sweat and exhaustion, Neil would know him anywhere.

Andrew opens his mouth for him first, breath hot but movements predictable. Neil will tease him later for that. You're getting old. Because the dance is so familiar, the way Andrew pushes Neil's tongue back first. 'Come and get me.'

Neil obliges every single time, because he can't back down from a challenge, and maybe he's getting old too.

Neil knows the kiss can't last forever, especially not here, but he allows himself to pretend it's not the case. Andrew hums into him, and Neil's hands feel all the vibrations from where his hand slips down to Andrew's throat. It's bared completely for him, and Neil gives a little squeeze.

He sighs into Andrew's mouth when his boyfriend's eyes open to glare at him, pulling back before kissing Neil again, and then one more time, and maybe just once...

One more, Neil thinks, brushing his lips against Andrew's so lightly they stick for a moment, and he licks his own slowly when he pulls back for the final time. His heart beats in his ribcage, or maybe that's the pounding of the reporters' feet as they rush through the stadium, he's not sure.

Again, it's always best for him to not look at Andrew if he's supposed to be doing something else, because in that moment, the blond has all Neil's attention.

They're already pressed chest to chest, but Andrew squeezes tighter, almost painful, keeping Neil there through the flashing of cameras and shocked cheers.

And while Andrew's expression gives nothing away for the public, it speaks volumes to Neil.

--

Neil didn't know what old meant back then, now that his legs give out after a good walk or his spine aches under the weight of nothing.

But they were predictable, that much was true.

Neil isn't looking at the reporters anymore, too focused on trying to weave the fraying threads of the blanket back into place. From their silence, he can guess they're as shocked as he expected them to be.

Unaffected, Neil reaches over for his water, taking a sip as he confronts their slack jaws and wide eyes.

Now, that might have been a bit unfair of him as well, to jump into such a blatant romantic recollection about Andrew. Again, Neil never took interviews, rarely took questions, but the subject of his relationship with Andrew was especially off limits for decades. What they had was theirs, and only theirs, even after outing themselves that day.

People naturally tried to pry, tried to dig up their past in hopes of justifying what they saw as a nonsensical relationship or gossip fuel.

Neil made them fear for their lives after that.

He eviscerated publications, reporters, top sports officials, talk shows hosts, pretty much whoever he needed to. Anything to keep Andrew's name out of their mouths. A lot of them sealed their place in the land of irrelevancy, media outlets were slammed by a combination of their fans, and Kevin's too, once he stood up in support.

Andrew always hated it, Neil's desperate need to protect him from words that no longer phased him, but Neil didn't care. It was one of the only things they fought about in their adult years.

It worked though; soon, all the major outlets aside from the tabloids stopped talking about it, knowing mentioning it in any way that wasn't positive or neutral would land them in a ton of hot water.

Even those online sources who refused to let up eventually fizzed out from lack of material; they tried their best to be nosy, but pretty much got nothing but some rare paparazzi photos a few times a year of them kissing in the park or on a date.

In short, it's a bit of an unspoken rule that you don't talk to Neil Josten about Andrew Minyard unless you have nothing but good things to say, and a lot of people are too chicken shit to take the risk and potentially insult him. That's the only disappointing thing, none of them have a shred of courage. Neil really would talk all day about Andrew if people just approached it correctly.

Not that Andrew would've allowed it when he was alive.

Take that.

Despite all the fear Neil instilled in the media, it never stopped the other famous Foxes from talking about how gooey and devoted he and Andrew were, but Neil let that slide.

The things he does for family.

So it makes sense that these reporters seemed to have forgotten Andrew's importance at all, another offense. Not just because he was the best goalie in Exy history, but because Neil was first and foremost, Andrew's.

Blake's mouth opens and closes, pen dangling precariously from his hand. "Are...are we allowed to ask about Andrew?"

Blake even flinches after he asks it, afraid that perhaps it's only okay for Neil to bring up.

If you only knew.

Neil laughs, too relaxed to hold back anymore. The reporters stare, exchanging nervous glances with excitement tingling below the surface.

Yes, he supposes details about his relationship with Andrew are more secretive and sought after than even Neil's opinions. The reporters weren't even going to try.

But now, there's morsels of information dangling in front of them, and Neil need only give them permission. It's their lucky day.

Neil's smile fades into something gentler, wistful. It's the closest he gets now, to how he looked at Andrew. But it's still different, because that expression...

Well, Andrew is gone. What more is there to say?

Neil leans back, wringing his hands softly. "I guess it's only fair that I tell you the real reason I accepted this interview."

The reporters lean forward, holding their breath, but Neil doesn't feel like making them wait. It's all about Andrew now, like he wanted it to be. "I want to talk about Andrew, plain and simple."

Except when it's not.

Their relationship was anything but simple but Neil cherished each memory, and he wants to speak them aloud so no one forgets. He wants everyone to know how important this person was to him, so when he's gone and can't defend them, people can't speculate or taint it with their unasked for opinions.

"I've never had the opportunity to really reminisce about Andrew, not even with my family," Neil admits. He and Aaron and Katelyn would sit around the fireplace at their home sometimes, telling stories, or Kevin would send him old pictures or clips of Andrew playing. But never the intimate details, never the raw, and at times complicated feelings. "It never felt right, even after he was gone. I wanted to keep it close still, so I wouldn't betray Andrew's trust."

Neil takes a deep breath, and it shakes his small frame, a cough escaping his lungs. His voice is rough, but no less sure when he continues. "But I know now what he'd say to that. That I couldn't, even if my dumb Exy brain tried really hard."

But he'd never.

He smiles, wiping his eyes when they aren't even wet. That's another thing he misunderstood back then. Neil thought he couldn't cry, but he's sure today he'll prove his younger self wrong.

Rayah and Blake stay silent through all of Neil's pauses, and the respect means more than he can say. Andrew would approve, he'd be okay with Neil's choice. That's what matters most, he thinks.

"For once I just want everyone to know how I felt, I want to tell you everything as I saw and felt it, so you can tell everyone else," Neil says, and hopes they can read between the lines for the rest. Ultimately, when he's dead he'll be nothing but bones in the dirt, his legacy won't mean much in the long run. But...if nothing else, he wants this to remain, for as long as it can.

He never cared before about it, but he guesses age really can put a new perspective on things. Neil sighs, and taps the table with his finger for lack of anything better to do. When he looks back up, he has their undivided attention, Rayah's brown eyes shining with unshed emotion. None of that, not yet. "Anyways, now that you know I misled you, I hope you're still alright with listening to me ramble for the next few hours."

If not, they can kindly fuck off, but Neil has his suspicions at this point that they'll stick around. As much as Neil prides himself on reading people's intentions well, he's quite horrible at reading people's feelings. But maybe he's improved in that arena too.

A price for everything, he thinks ruefully, reminding himself there's a break in between this session for him to take his pain pills.

Eventually, it's Rayah who stutters a response. "Of course it's alright! We're so honored! And not just in the...bullshit way."

She closes her mouth immediately after at the unprofessionalism of it, but it only makes Neil feel more at ease. He smirks, satisfied. "Noted."

"Mr. Jo--Neil, we really are happy to write about you and Andrew but I have to admit," Blake says, flipping through his notepad with a tight look on his face. "The questions we did prepare as backup don't exactly lend themselves to anything about your life with Andrew."

It's precisely why Neil stated he'd mostly be doing the talking initially, but their first test question actually did end up helping move him along, so...

Neil shrugs, gesturing to the notebook with fierce determination.

These people are about to learn...

He can make anything about Andrew.

When he smiles at the two of them again, they must feel it deep down. They return it tenfold, and then Rayah clicks her pen.

And with the pleasantries out of the way, Neil opens up to everything he's been keeping locked away.

"Try me."

[notveryglittery]

mistakes are made

summary: maybe don’t prank your boyfriend’s brother, especially if he already doesn’t really like you. ships: romantic roceit, brotherly anxceit, rivalry (?) prinxiety / words: 1,500 warnings: technically, a character gets shot by what is technically gun, but no one is actually hurt. lemme know if anything needs tagging! notes: wrote this to bribe @sher-soc-the-famder​ into finishing homework >:3 human au, i guess sort of youtuber au, too? it’s kinda plotless, just some good old fashioned fluff!! enjoy!! (i know the tenses are messy lol sorry)

@fandersfic-roceit @fandersfic-anxceit @fandersfic-prinxiety

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

Roman thought he was perfectly charming, thank you very much! Why, it was right there in his last name. Roman Prince. Prince Charming. See! He was an absolute gentleman, if he did say so himself. And, well, if you didn’t believe him, you could always ask his big brother! Patton said it all the time! He said that Roman was kind and chivalrous and passionate. He said that Roman cared about the people he loved! 

If only all older brothers were as sweet as Patton was. 

It hadn’t even been Roman’s idea, first of all! … Mostly. Okay, so it hadn’t been his own original idea but it might have been his idea to give it a try. He’d done plenty of research, though, in making sure that it was safe and that neither of them would get hurt! He was far too attached to Damien to even imagine letting him get injured. It was going to make for a really cool video, okay? Both of their channels had been lacking in content lately, what with being busy with college; this way, they’d each have a video to post! The plan was that they’d be shot from very different point of views with titles that were just enough clickbait without actually being false. 

“my boyfriend shoots my brother” was true, technically, even if it was going to put Roman in Virgil’s bad graces for a little while. It wasn’t like it’d be all that big a difference, to be fair, since Virgil definitely still kinda sorta hated Roman on some level. No amount of insisting from Damien would convince Roman otherwise. Despite the fact that they’d been dating for nearly a year now (with even more time as each other’s closest rivals), Virgil still had yet to warm up to Roman. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve the dagger-filled glares, to be honest, but Roman was nothing if not resilient! 

(And charming, in case you forgot. He’d worm his way into Virgil’s heart eventually!) 

“confetti cannon gone wrong” really didn’t even begin to cover the premise of Roman’s video. Listen, though, you don’t just find a pretty pink confetti cannon slash gun at the thrift store and not buy it. He’d checked online afterwards and found that they ran well over two hundred dollars and this one had only cost him fifty! The best part was that it actually worked. After he and Patton had cleaned up that mess, Roman had video called Damien and… Alright, well, between you and me, this really had all been Roman’s original idea. He wasn’t one to half-ass his vlogs but if asked, surely it had been done before by some other popular Youtuber, and look Virgil, it wasn’t all him, he’d just been inspired!

“What if I shoot Virgil with a confetti cannon? I’ll even get it in purple and black!”

Damien normally had a very good poker face but apparently the idea of messing with his brother had peaked his interest. Roman swooned at the grin that lit up his boyfriend’s face. “That is a terrible idea. Let’s do it and see what happens.” 

Which led them here, cameras hidden in Virgil’s room to capture every glorious second. It’d have to be quick, Damien had said, because Virgil was far too aware of his surroundings for them to successfully sneak around for long. Making the executive decisions to skip classes that day, Damien and Roman cleared enough space in Virgil’s closet for Roman to hide in. It was significantly more difficult to make sure there was enough room for the confetti cannon, but they managed. Somehow. Let’s chalk it up to the fact that they’re both dangerously creative. 

If Virgil was suspicious of Damien being home on a day he’d normally have rehearsal, he didn’t say anything about it. If anything, it was the fact that Damien was filming in the kitchen. Nothing good ever came from Damien’s vlogs. Virgil shuddered just thinking about the sibling tag video they’d done last year. Sure enough, the moment Virgil was kicking his shoes off in the entryway, Damien was sidling up beside him.

“Oh dearest brother, won’t you tell my darlings what antics you’ve been up to lately?” Damien asked, practically simpering. 

Virgil squinted at him before turning the distrustful stare towards the camera. “You know, the usual. Putting the fear of God into freshies, inciting agitation in my professors for being opinionated, hacking Lyft reviews and fixing driver ratings if they got one star just for ‘not smiling enough.’ Nothing new.”

“Truly, a man of the people.” 

Virgil rolled his eyes. 

“And how’s starboy?” 

Damien delighted in the way his brother went red at the simple mention of his crush. 

“I’M GOING TO MY ROOM,” he announced loudly, disappearing from the frame so quickly, he might as well have been a cryptid avoiding being caught on tape. 

Which… isn’t entirely inaccurate. 

“Too easy,” Damien said, laughing under his breath. “Now, darlings, comes the fun part.” 

Now imagine with me, if you will, cutting to Roman’s video. Virgil storming into his room, muttering things like “stupid soft hair” and “eyes like glittering constellations.” Throwing his backpack aside and then throwing himself onto his bed and screaming into a pillow. 

Roman very nearly lost his composure at the sight of normally so stoic, so edgy Virgil having a meltdown over a cute boy. He would cut this while editing, of course, it wasn’t like he needed Virgil to hate him any more, but like hell he didn’t plan on using it as blackmail in the future. 

You might be wondering, “where does the ‘gone wrong’ come in?” 

Well, nowhere in their plans had they anticipated Virgil opening the closet doors himself. Roman shooting his boyfriend’s brother was supposed to be from a distance, maybe with him sitting at his computer, or while lounging in bed. He was not supposed to have shot Virgil directly in the chest while screaming half in terror and half in shock. Virgil was not supposed to stumble backwards, trip over his backpack, and fall onto the pile of blankets and pillows he’d shoved off of his bed and onto the floor this morning. This puts him entirely out of shot, by the way, leaving the viewer wondering whether or not he’s alive.

Roman, still screaming as he scrambled out of the closet and grabbed the camera, running out of the room would not ease any worries the viewers might have. 

Of course, Roman screaming was not part of the plan either, and so Damien had some concerns. “I wonder if my brother has finally murdered my boyfriend,” he would say, perfectly casual despite the sudden racing of his heart. 

“I SHOT HIM,” Roman shouted the moment his eyes landed on Damien. “Oh my GOD, he’s DEAD.” 

Before either could say much else, Virgil came stomping into the living room. “I’m not dead but you’re about to be.” (The threat didn’t carry much weight seeing as he was covered in confetti but we won’t tell him that.) 

“Now, now,” Damien said, stifling his laughter at the fact that Roman was cowering behind him. Oh, his poor sweet brave prince. “Maybe instead, Roman could do something to make it up to you?”

“Babe!” Roman hissed. 

Virgil crossed his arms over his chest. “He could break up with you so I never have to see his stupid face ever again.” 

Damien double checked to make sure his camera was still running. He couldn’t wait to use this to humiliate Virgil in front of Logan. 

“That’s hardly fair,” Damien responded, pouting. “I love him, you know.” 

Roman squeaked. 

“He owes me Chipotle for a month.” 

“Wh-!”

“Two months.” 

“I am a broke college freshman!”  

Virgil’s raised eyebrows and his slow lifting of three fingers shuts Roman up.

“I think that’s acceptable,” Damien concurred solemnly. He looked over his shoulder at Roman. “Is that alright with you, dear?” 

For a moment, silence followed as Virgil and Roman glared at each other. Damien would interrupt with a loud, over exaggerated sigh if he wasn’t getting such a kick out of this. 

“Fine,” Roman said finally, pouting. 

“Fine,” Virgil echoed, smirking. “Still don’t like you, though.” 

“I’m perfectly likable!” Roman cried as Virgil turned and left, brushing the confetti out of his hair. 

“Yes,” Damien hummed, finally turning the camera off. He turned to his boyfriend. “I’m inclined to agree.” Kissing Roman tasted as sweet as it always did, especially when he went and carded his hand through Damien’s hair. However, it could be made better… 

“I meant it, by the way,” Damien murmured, brushing his fingers through the curls at the nape of Roman’s neck. “About loving you.” 

Ah, yes, there it was. Roman blushed, bright and pretty, stammering through at least five responses before he finally gave up and just pulled Damien back in for another kiss. He had no doubt that Roman would have his own poetic declaration figured out eventually, but for now… Well, Damien had nothing to complain about.

[kaistarus]

Clickbait(YouTubeAU)--Ch 8

Pairings: Kiribaku; Tododeku; Seromina

Words: 4,678

Summary: A lot of great things came with being a big name YouTuber, but along with those perks were some serious drawbacks. One of the biggest being your lack of personal privacy. Due to just one video, Kirishima's least well-kept secret has become a viral sensation overnight, and now he has to deal with the repercussions from both the YouTube community and the public. Hopefully, those he's dragging down with him won't mind...

Notes: She’s alive! lol here’s the next update finally... coronavirus right? wtf is that about. Anyway, Camie deserves more love, so I gave it to her :)

Read the full story here

As Kirishima took in the two-story house, packed full of college kids that spilled into the crushed White Claws and red solo cups yard, he realized he may be in over his head.

“Well, we definitely have the right address,” Sero said, side-stepping a couple as they wobbled past, clinging heavily onto each other as their laughs rang a little too loudly through the crisp night air.

Kirishima nodded in agreeance. The strong bass from the music inside the chipping red-paint college house shook the ground beneath him. He tried to guess what song the cheap LA DJ had remixed beyond repair, but deemed it hopeless with such a sporadic rhythm.

“This party is sick,” Kaminari smirked, pointing to the cheap christmas lights hanging on the second-story balcony that flashed to the music’s beat. As if that boosted a party’s rating in any way.

“Camie should be around here somewhere…” Mina pushed her lips into a pout, absentmindedly wandering up the sidewalk while staring at her phone. Kirishima smirked as Sero shot death stares at the people playing beer pong who did nothing to hide themselves checking Mina out.

“If we’re lucky she won’t show up at all.”

Kirishima glanced over to Bakugou, hands shoved deep into his pockets and glaring at the drunken students that could no longer control their volume. His eyes trailed down to the black t-shirt Bakugou wore that accentuated his chest just right and after admiring the view shot the grumpy boy a wide smile.

“Aren’t you and Camie friends?”

A sneer covered his face. “In her mind.”

“She’s so cool though.” Mina said, giving Bakugou a confused look over her shoulder. “We’ve been talking since your party and she’s, like, the nicest person ever.”

“No wonder Bakugou doesn’t like her.” Sero said as he fiddled around with the camera he brought. They couldn’t forget the vlog after all. The whole point of being here was to work.

“Well, that’s not right. Kirishima’s the goodest boy alive and Bakugou like likes him.” Kaminari pointed out.

“Yeah, because Kirishima isn’t annoying as fuck.” Bakugou crossed his arms with a sneer on his face. Kirishima felt a blush creep up his neck because even though they’d made it clear they had feelings for each other, it still felt surreal anytime Bakugou stated it so boldly.

It didn’t help that Mina was wiggling her eyebrows and making kissy faces behind Bakugou’s back.

“So romantic,” Sero said with a laugh. “Can’t wait for the day someone tells me I’m not annoying as fuck.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Mina teased, sticking out her tongue at Sero’s pout.

Manning the front door of the house was an exhausted looking guy, slouching in a rusted metal chair. Without taking his eyes up from his smartphone he extended his hand up to the group.

“If you’re a girl you’re free and if you’re a boy it’s five dollars.”

Mina blew them a raspberry as she skipped into the party while Kirishima suddenly remembered why he disliked going to parties during his short-lived college career. As he dug through his jean pockets for the crumpled five he knew existed somewhere-beneath his house keys, one of Mina’s scrunchies, and a spare chapstick that’s been washed several times and useless-the guy glanced up and went slackjaw.

“Holy shit,” he dropped his phone onto his lap and scrambled to sit up straight. “Are you fucking--Is it really--RedRiot?”

Kirishima blinked a couple times before Kaminari slung an arm around him. “Yep. RedRiot and friends.”

The guy stuttered several times before finally noticing Bakugou. “And you--you’re that angry ghost hunter guy!”

Bakugou’s eye twitched and he tried to calmly ground out. “I’m not a fucking ghost hunter.”

“Okay,” Kirishima grabbed Bakugou’s tightened fist to calm him down. “Uh, yeah that’s us. Is that okay? We don’t have to be here if--”

“Dude, no way. Go ahead.” The guy ushered them through the door, careful to not touch Bakugou as he practically growled at him.

“Really? I have five dollars it’s no big deal if--”

Kirishima was pulled through the threshold without finalizing his offer. As he followed his friends further into the house, weaving through clumps of people congregated together, he continued to look back guiltily.

“What?” Bakugou asked.

“I feel bad.” Kirishima said earnestly. “I shouldn’t get special privileges just because I’m a YouTuber. That wasn’t fair to all the other people who--”

Bakugou pinched his cheek and shook Kirishima's face around. Kirishima was too confused with the action to get properly upset about it, and the fond look in Bakugou’s scarlet stare completely wiped his mind.

“I promise you with how cheap their fucking alcohol is and how many drunk idiots are here their making more than enough money. Your five dollars means nothing.” Bakugou’s mouth lifted into a quick smile before squeezing Kirishima’s cheek and releasing it. Kirishima rubbed at the spot. “You’re too good.”

“I just feel bad…”

Bakugou poked Kirishima’s forehead repetitively. “Don’t waste time worrying about stupid things.”

Kirishima rolled his eyes, but in a way uniquely Bakugou, his words had given him a bit of relief.

“Alright guys. I’ve found the booze and I’ll be back” Kaminari shot them finger guns and began backing away towards the only room lit up by overhead lights and not cheap fairy lights.

“We won’t be seeing him for a while.” Sero said, searching around the room for a different reason.

“Don’t you usually give Sparky a babysitter?” Bakugou asked.

“Sometimes,” Kirishima shrugged. “He’ll survive probably.”

“Holy shit,” a high-pitched voice squealed. “Is that Blasty?”

Bakugou’s shoulders shot to his ears and his eyes pinched closed in preparation before he was tackled into a tight hug, arms around his neck as the assailant's legs lifted off the ground. Bakugou was quick to shake her off and hold the snickering girl at a distance.

“Look who I ran into.” Mina announced as she skipped up to them trailing behind Camie.

“Glad you guys could make it,” Camie smirked, her arm now clinging tight around Bakugou’s shoulders.

“Thanks for the invite.” Kirishima smiled.

“No problem at all. If I would’ve known you guys were legit dating I would’ve invited you out here weeks ago!” She pulled Bakugou down and ruffled his hair, while he wiggled himself out of her grip. “I never would’ve guessed Blasty could land a hottie like you.” She said with several nudges to Bakugou’s stomach. He shoved her away again, yet she remained unbothered.

“Well, we haven’t really--”

“Would you fuck off.” Bakugou said, still pushing Camie away by her face, but rather than taking offense she just began giggling before gripping Bakugou’s nose playfully.

“Aww, is our little Blasty embarrassed?” She asked while moving his head back and forth. He went to swipe at her hand, but she’d already let go and leapt behind Kirishima for cover. “Geez, keep a leash on this one. Am I right?”

Kirishima chuckled awkwardly, shrugging at Bakugou helplessly as Camie stuck her tongue out at the fuming boy from over Kirishima’s shoulder.

“What’s with everyone calling him Blasty?” Mina asked between giggles, the glare from Bakugou doing nothing to quell her amusement. “You and Uraraka both use it.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened. “It’s not fucking important for--”

“Oh my god. That’s the best story.” Camie said skipping to Mina’s side.

“Don’t you have something better to do than annoy the fuck out of me?” Bakugou growled.

“Oh, Bakubaby. You know I don’t.” Camie said with a devilish smile. “So, Bakugou’s first year in college, during his first ever chem lab, right? He was obviously trying to show off, cause like, he’s Bakugou...”

Kirishima half listened to Camie's embarrassing story of Bakugou pre-YouTube, adding Bakugou’s apparent love for chemistry to his neverending list of interesting Baku-facts, while simultaneously admiring how Bakugou looked under the dim college party lights. The humidity of the densely packed house left a slick sheen across Bakugou’s forehead and his normally chaotic hair was weighed down by the air. The thick scent of alcohol left Kirishima feeling slightly enthralled, and with the lights darkened and music covering whispers, he was beginning to understand the few couples pinning each other in the corners.

“Anyway, I hear they still tell the tale of the great Bakugou Katsuki explosion before every Freshman’s first Chem lab.” Camie laughed before taking a swig from her red solo cup, wiping the dribble from the corner of her mouth inelegantly. Bakugou was sneering at her and Kirishima could practically feel the steam rolling off him from the short distance between them.

He gave Bakugou’s bicep a small squeeze, definitely to calm him down and not for any personal pleasure, and shot him a crooked grin. “Don’t worry about it. Kaminari embarrasses himself worse on a daily basis.”

Bakugou looked between Kirishima’s grip and his eyes before scoffing. “Whatever.”

“Speaking of our idiot.” Sero looked at Mina. “We should probably go find him.”

Kirishima nodded. It had been a little too long that Kaminari had been by himself. They needed to both check that he was still alive, and if he had done anything stupid enough they could at least put it in the vlogs. Just as they began pushing through the crowd toward the kitchen Mina abruptly stopped the train.

“Do you hear that?”

Kirishima’s stomach sank as he slowly turned back toward the main room of the house. The owners of the house had removed the majority of their furniture and belongings from what appeared to be the living room. What remained was a bookshelf and a couch both shoved against a far wall and somehow, atop the bookshelf, their idiot was bouncing around. The crowd around him chanted ‘Chargebolt’ as he danced pathetically to a remixed version of something Kirishima thought he heard on the radio, but couldn’t tell anymore.

“How’d he even get up there?” Sero’s eyes widened as they watched Kaminari start chugging from a bottle of Whiskey. “How’d he get that?”

Kaminari began circling his butt in some semblance of a rhythm as he slowly turned around and while stretching his arms he began to crouch. The group started to panic and Kirishima began shoving his way forward.

“Is your friend going to jump?” Camie asked, completely stunned.

Kirishima barely broke into the crowd before Kaminari had back flopped onto it. His heart stopped as he watched his friend hardly lift off the shelf in a lame attempt to crowd surf, certain Kaminari was about to die. Miraculously, the drunken group of college kids had used their several collective brain cells to come together and catch him. The mass of people cheered loudly as Kaminari was passed around and Kirishima walked slowly back to his friends who all were staring at the event in equal zombie like states.

“I need a fucking drink,” Bakugou stated already stepping away from their circle before gesturing back to Kirishima. “Want something?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Anything is fine.”

“Can you get me one too?” Mina smiled, fluttering her false lashes.

Bakugou shot a middle finger over his shoulder in response as he pushed his way past sweaty bodies dancing too close for comfort. Kirishima smiled softly, a warmth filled his chest as he kept eyes on him as long as he could.

“Your boyfriend is rude.” Mina said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Kirishima felt another blush creep up. “Well, we aren’t exactly--.”

“They’re so cute,” Camie cooed, grabbing her cheeks and ignoring how her drink spilled onto the floor. “I’ve never seen Bakugou so whipped.”

“All he did was get drinks.” Kirishima raised an eyebrow.

“Please, he’s been staring at you like a lovesick puppy this whole time.” Camie said, sighing wistfully. “I’ve literally never seen him look at anyone like that before, unless it was himself in a mirror.”

Sero hummed. “There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence.”

“Oh, shut up.” Mina whacked his shoulder lightly. 

“I’m just saying,” Sero put his hands up in defense. “I know this is LA, but that’s taking self-love a little too far, right?”

Mina smacked his chest with both her fists and Sero grabbed them playfully. They started up their usual bickering, Sero a teasing lilt in his voice and a light pink dusting Mina’s cheeks.

“Ugh, is everybody here lovey-dovey?” Camie frowned over the rim of her cup. “I’m starting to feel left out.”

Mina whipped her attention toward Camie and quickly stepped away from Sero. “What that’s--we aren’t… I don’t know what you--”

“Relax, it’s a joke.” Camie waved her cup in Mina’s direction with a mischievous smirk. Kirishima felt almost guilty about enjoying Mina’s embarrassment. But, at least he wasn’t posting a video about their possible relationship for the world...

He raised an eyebrow, thoughtfully.

“Back,” Bakugou nudged Kirishima’s shoulder while handing him and Mina drinks. After avoiding Mina’s appreciative hug he saddled up on Kirishima’s far side away from both her and Camie.

“Hey party people!” Kaminari slurred, wobbling his way out of the crowd he’d sunken down into earlier. “Did you see my sick crowd surf?”

“Hell yeah!” Camie raised her hand for a high-five. “That shit was sick, bro.”

Kaminari blinked before breaking out into a huge grin and reciprocating the high-five. “Yeah! Someone who finally gets it.”

“Great. Now there’s two dumb fuck blondes.” Bakugou sneered over the rim of his red solo. Kirishima snickered into his cup and Bakugou raised both eyebrows in question.

“It’s just… you’re also blonde… so…”

“Yeah, but I’m hot and a genius.”

Kirishima tilted his head in confusion. “What does being hot have to do with being smart?”

“So you agree?” Bakugou pressed a finger against Kirishima’s forehead that he followed with crossed-eyes. “You think I’m hot?”

Kirishima shoved his hand away with a red face and began sputtering. “I never--That’s not what I--I mean, yeah, but you can’t just--”

“Calm down,” Bakugou rolled his eyes with a cocky smirk that sent Kirishima’s heart into orbit. Bakugou reached forward and gripped onto Kirishima’s cheeks again to shake his head around. “It’s a joke.”

Kirishima’s eye twitched and he shoved his hand away from his face. “Why do you keep pinching my cheeks?”

Bakugou blinked a few times before poking Kirishima’s cheek instead. “‘Cause they’re fucking squishy looking.”

“What does that mean?”

“I dunno.” Bakugou furrowed his eyebrows. “It just means I want to touch them.”

Kirishima tilted his head at Bakugou’s statement, trying to mull over the words, but ended up with nothing. He couldn’t even tell if he’d been insulted or not, but by the puzzled look on Bakugou’s face neither did he.

“Hey, lover boys,” Mina clapped to garner their attention. “We’re heading outside to play some beer pong. You guys in or you gonna stay here and flirt some more?”

Bakugou immediately snapped out of his stupor with a dangerous smirk. “Is that a fucking challenge Pinky?”

“It can be.” Mina’s eyes sparked with fire. “Think you can handle it?”

Bakugou chuckled darkly, sending a chill down Kirishima’s spine as Bakugou raced Mina through the bodies that clung tighter together the longer the night went on. Kirishima shook his head as he watched them, trailing after at half the speed.

He welcomed the cool night air that chilled his overheated skin from the muggy building. The contrast of noise once Kirishima exited the door was immense. The music toned down greatly and was replaced with people whispering intoxicated secrets they’d likely regret in the morning, the only small commotion from the few gathered around the beer pong table. The loudest noise pulling attention came from Bakugou and Mina’s shit talking over an already aggressive competition.

“Can I have the camera?” Kirishima gestured to Sero, figuring now would be a good time to pick up the slack. Sero shrugged and, trusting his abilities too much, tossed it over. Kirishima barely caught it, shooting him a glare before heading over to Mina and Bakugou’s game.

“You cool with being in the vlog?” Kirishima asked, already aiming the lens at his face, recording.

Bakugou blinked, then smirked cockily. “As long as you’re recording me kicking Pinky ass.”

“It’s going to be hard to film something that doesn’t happen Blasty.” Mina emphasized the nickname while sinking a perfect shot. “Kirishima, you have to film the entire game. These aren’t the Bakugou vlogs.”

Kirishima turned bright red as he whipped the camera over to where Mina was prepping for her second shot, dunking her ball into a water cup on the side.

“Maybe you’d get more views if they were,” Bakugou grinned, catching her second ping pong ball as it bounced off the foldout table out of bounds.

“If anything we’d lose half our audience.” Mina said, catching the first of Bakugou’s balls as it went over all the cups. “I’m sure Kirishima would have a great time editing all the footage though.”

Kirishima didn’t bother arguing that point as he filmed Bakugou furrowing his brow in concentration, sticking out his tongue slightly while he lined up his toss. He’d definitely enjoy watching this back more than what’s socially acceptable. He zoomed in extremely close so that it was just Bakugou’s eyes and he chuckled to himself at how ridiculous it looked. Until they were both glaring at him.

“The fuck are you laughing at?”

Kirishima quickly shoved the camera down to his lap. “Uh… nothing.”

He fiddled with the settings so that it was back to normal and chewed the inside of his cheek to keep himself from breaking into a smile. Bakugou continued to eye him suspiciously, but winning must have taken priority because luckily he dropped the situation quickly.

Much to Bakugou’s disappointment, the game didn’t last much longer before Mina beat him by several cups. Kirishima tried to remind him with how few parties Bakugou had been to it was actually impressive that he almost won, but it didn’t stop Bakugou from pouting for the next half hour. Mina, however, rode that victory high for as long as possible, annihilating any boy who dared to challenge her there after. Kirishima stuck around for a few games to get a little more footage, promising Mina that through the power of editing he’d make her look like even more of a badass, before deciding she’d be there longer than his attention span could handle.

On the opposite end of the porch Kaminari, Sero, and Camie were slouched against the wall listening as Kaminari went on another one of his rants. He was still sipping from the liquor bottle and Kirishima raised an eyebrow at Sero since he was a little past a point that he should be drinking, but Sero shrugged and mouthed ‘water’. Letting out a sigh Kirishima was content that he could relax knowing everything was okay.

He glanced over the banister to Bakugou who had taken purchase in the center of the front lawn, lying on his back with arms behind his head as he stared at the sky. Kirishima took a moment to admire the scene, Bakugou’s relaxed beauty amidst the chaotic beer can filled yard. A beautiful mess.

He jogged down the concrete porch steps to reach Bakugou, giving him a lopsided grin when he hovered over him in the middle of the yellowing grass. Bakugou’s gaze flickered to Kirishima and a soft smile dusted his lips.

“Have you recovered from your loss?” Kirishima said, teasing.

Bakugou's smile turned into a disgruntled frown. “Fuck off. If I would’ve practiced I could’ve kicked her ass.”

Kirishima rolled his eyes, but hummed in agreeance. He kicked a crushed beer can that laid beside Bakugou and ungracefully plopped down, cradling his knees he followed Bakugou’s eyes upward. He noticed that from here, further from the city, he could see more stars dotting the sea of obsidian than from his Los Angeles home.

“This is like when we first met.” Bakugou said, eyes trained on the sky. “Outside of a party or whatever.”

Kirishima tilted his head in surprise, but as the off-key singing to Mr. Brightside reached his ears he couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty identical.”

“Fuck off.” Bakugou snorted. “You know what I mean.”

He did. Kirishima closed his eyes and allowed himself to roll onto his back. His heart jumped to his throat when he felt a small brush against his hand that lay relaxed in the grass between them. He looked over and saw Bakugou had loosely placed his fingers beside his, slinging his other arm over his face to hide any expression from Kirishima’s curious look. He bit his lip and with all the courage he could, completed the action by loosely interlocking their fingers, facing the stars before he could judge Bakugou’s reaction.

But instead of pulling away, like Kirishima feared, he adjusted himself closer.

Kirishima couldn’t believe how far he’d come since that first night. From thinking Bakugou would throw him off a balcony out of pure hatred to being… whatever they were right now. If he tried to go back in time to describe this to past Kirishima, that version of him would punch him for lying before believing a word he said.

“Hey Bakugou…” Kirishima began, waiting for Bakugou’s quiet grunt of acknowledgement. “I’m really glad that I met you.”

Kirishima bit the inside of his cheek to calm the sporadic rhythm of his heart. He felt a tug on his arm and Kirishima rolled his head to the side to be met with Bakugou’s inquisitive stare, flickering across Kirishima’s face as if searching. Kirishima started looking around awkwardly.

Bakugou took a deep breath, “Kirishima, I’m not--”

“Oh lover boys!” Mina shouted from the porch. “There’s only a few more songs, so if you’re going to do anything you gotta do it now Ei.”

Kirishima pushed himself onto his elbows to shoot Mina a thumbs up before turning back to Bakugou. “What were you saying?”

Bakugou just shook his head as he rolled up onto his feet. “What’s she talking about?”

“The big finale.” He said, pushing himself up and making his way back to the house. Bakugou raised an eyebrow with uncertainty, but followed Kirishima back into the party through the riled students that swayed and shouted overenthusiastically, giving their all for the last few moments they had of their night of freedom.. Kirishima felt Bakugou grip the back of his t-shirt to not lose him in the tight knit crowd and felt his chest flutter.

But now wasn’t the time.

When Kirishima finally reached his destination at the furthest point in the living room where a young man was manning a cheap DJ station he began climbing over the makeshift blockade. Bakugou’s eyes widened and he gripped the back of his shirt tighter.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“The best part?” Kirishima smirked. He turned to the DJ who was now slack jaw and grinned.

“RedRiot?”

“Can you do me a favor?” The DJ nodded enthusiastically. Kirishima looked back to Bakugou who stared up at him stunned. He reached out to him and Bakugou looked around at everyone crowding the DJ, specifically Camie who Kirishima noticed was giving him a teasing grin, before a determined look set onto his face and he firmly gripped Kirishima’s hand.

Kirishima confirmed the DJ had connected his phone before grabbing the microphone and stepping dangerously onto an unsteady speaker. Bakugou stood to the side confused as the music died out, people first whining until they noticed Kirishima smacking the top of the microphone checking it’s sound. That’s when the squeals and cheers began.

“Hey guys,” he said as a round of cheers erupted throughout the crowd. He waved them down before continuing. “I’m filming something quick if that’s okay. I just need you to sing along if you know the words, please.”

As he hopped back off the speaker slowly the music began to fade back in: I’m Good by The Mowgli’s. Kirishima’s signature outro for the majority of his vlogs. He laughed as the entire house party shouted the song. Some had their arms slung around each other’s shoulders and swayed back and forth while others jumped up and down wildly as if it was some sort of mosh pit. It held him in disbelief that he could stand up here with people knowing who he was. Some even shout his name.

He began laughing as he put down his camera, his smile wide enough that his cheeks were beginning to ache. He turned to ask Bakugou what he thought of it all, but was stopped short. Bakugou looked mesmerizing, scarlet eyes enamored as they watched Kirishima and lips in a slight upturn. It took Kirishima’s breath away.

“What is it?”

“You.” He said breathlessly.

Kirishima gave a lopsided grin. “What’s that supposed to--”

Bakugou gripped the collar of his shirt and effectively cut him off by pulling him forward for an admittedly unpleasant impact. The second Kirishima realized the situation, a beat of his heart passing before his brain restarted, he relaxed against Bakugou, repositioning for a less painful approach. The muffled cheers barely registered behind the pounding against his ribcage and the speakers that shook the stand beneath their feet as Bakugou’s lips moved steadily against his, the taste of cheap beer lingering on his tongue. He placed a blind hand atop a pounding speaker to steady himself when Bakugu pulled back with hooded eyes and heavy breaths.

Kirishima struggled to steady his own breathing pattern and keep his blush at bay when Bakugou sent him a cocky ass smirk. Kirishima would have called him out if his brain wasn’t still lagging.

“Fuck yeah!” A deep voice shouted from the crowd as a few people continued to squeal at their public display. Bakugou seemed to slowly remember where they were and flipped off their audience.

“You can’t flip them off,” Kirishima laughed, pulling Bakugou’s hand down.

“They’re being nosy.” Bakugou glared at the swarm of people as the DJ switched to the last song of the night.

“We kissed in front of them on a platform,” Kirishima raised a brow, gesturing to their location. “It’s not exactly discreet.”

“Well, I don’t cheer for every fucker I see making out against a wall.”

Kirishima chuckled low. “I think the party would’ve been a lot more entertaining if you had though.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Probably,” Kirishima nudged him and without thought said, “but I’m your idiot.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened at the statement and Kirishima quickly panicked. “I mean, I’m not like your your idiot. I’m just like an idiot who is also with you, but not like with you with you because I’m totally emotionally stable enough to just be--”

Bakugou pinched both of Kirishima’s cheeks and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “I want you to be my idiot.”

“Yeah?” Kirishima asked. Bakugou nodded and gave Kirishima’s head a little shake. “Does that mean you’re my idiot too?”

Bakugou pinched Kirishima’s cheeks roughly before releasing him. “Absolutely not.”

Kirishima rubbed at his face and whined. “Wha--why not?”

“Because I’m not an idiot,” Bakugou scoffed as he began climbing off the DJ stand they were still chatting on. Kirishima pushed his lips out in a pout, accepting Bakugou’s hand to help him down. “So, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Kirishima was grateful Bakugou was there because he would’ve buffed it if not for the arm steadying him. His jaw dropped and he stared wide-eyed at Bakugou’s bright red face. Had he really just said what Kirishima thought he just said?

“Like… the dating kind?”

“Yes? What other...” Bakugou scrunched up his face and turned away. “Look, if you don’t want to then just say so because I--”

Kirishima cradled either side of Bakugou’s face. “I want to,” He said, pressing their foreheads together. “I really want to.”

 Bakugou nodded against him slowly before Kirishima captured his lips for another kiss. He felt Bakugou smile against his mouth and it took every ounce of strength he had not to keel over from happiness. Call him a hopeless romantic but… this felt right.

Bakugou felt right.

[curiousdibandbeyond]

ZADR Revival Week Final Day

@zadr-revival

The theme for today is Procrastination Gauntlet!! I’ve been putting off posting this ZADR fic and today is the day I start it! It’s called Take Another Step and I spent way too long on the first chapter lol

You can find it on ff.net here

or on AO3 here

Had a blast with this ZADR week--first time I’ve participated in a shipping week event and I had fun!

If you want to read it here, I’m putting it under a read more!

Part 1: Are You Okay?

Dib shook his nerves out once more. He had spotted Zim on his way out of the school in the throng of students leaving en masse. He had turned down the wrong street to go home—an oddity that Dib hadn’t missed, and Gaz had groaned about when he pointed it out. Dib figured it was better to get in a fight with Zim than be beaten to a pulp by her. Zim at least would leave him able to wobble home; he wasn’t so sure when it came to Gaz. He only knew she had the hospital on speed dial.

As it stood, Zim hadn’t noticed him yet and Dib intended to keep it that way. He ducked behind bushes and fence posts and trees—anything and everything he could use for cover. With his still small frame, that was easier to do. It was hampered a little by his height. Dib hated to crouch, but years of doing so in the bushes outside Zim’s base had made him adept at doing so in a second behind whatever cover he might have. Dib began to notice that they’d started getting near the park, where the neighborhoods stated to thin out. Zim stopped at the park gate and whipped around, catching Dib in his sights before Dib could duck behind anything. Dib pretended, for his own sanity, that it didn’t just look like Zim’s head had done a near perfect 180 like an owl.

They stood staring at one another in a standoff. Dib was running rapid fire through all his options. He didn’t have a lot. He could come clean and admit he had been following Zim; or pretend he hadn’t been and look like a moron and an obvious liar. He also started to think about all the ways he could dodge Zim’s claws. To his surprise, Zim never made a move against him. He only glared.

A glare that was an assault on its own. Dib felt a bead of sweat drop off his temple.

“Um—”

“You are terrible at stealth,” Zim says. Dib stammers; caught up in the offense of the statement.

“I am not!” he shouts, taking a step forward before stopping himself. He really couldn’t get within range of Zim’s claws. He knew better than that. Zim gave him a look. A Look that said ‘you are a liar’. “…I’m NOT.”

“Perhaps to other humans. I could hear you loud and clear once the noise of the school fell away,” Zim says, waving him off as he turned back around.

Dib blanched at him, starting to follow, but making sure that he kept a good distance the entire walk. It wasn’t particularly unusual that Zim blew him off like that, but it had been a while since the last time Zim had been bold enough to turn his back on Dib without checking somehow to be sure Dib wasn’t hiding a weapon in his pockets. Dib noticed Zim was starting to eye up the trees.

“You’re just saying that because you want me to stop following you.” Dib retorts.

“I do, but no, that’s not why. I recognize your heartbeat,” Zim says blandly. Dib almost didn’t catch that. Almost. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact Zim could hear his heartbeat, much less that he could differentiate it from everyone else’s. It was something Dib was sure he could have gone his entire life without knowing and been just as happy.

“That’s not horrifying,” he says instead. Zim’s antennae twitched under his wig and he looked back with a smug grin. Dib stared at him, knowing that Zim could hear his heart rate pick up slightly, and the bastard of an alien just turned back around without saying a word. “So, what are you doing all the way out here? Are you trying to get lost again? Start an alien cult? Got a bomb out here?”

“None of those things, and you do not need to care. I just wanted to get away for a while. Not that you care to allow that,” Zim says plainly. Dib grit his teeth at the jab. Zim’s lack of raising voice was somehow more aggravating than if he’d been yelling at Dib to leave him alone. Dib was used to Zim screaming at him. He knew how to respond to a screaming alien.

“Yeah, RIGHT. You’re lying.” Dib declares, taking a few adventurous steps forward.

Zim immediately spun around to take a swipe at him. Dib brought his arm up, blocking the majority of Zim’s swipe. The claws caught at his sleeve and Zim gripped the fabric, bringing Dib forward with one harsh tug on his forearm. The fabric that had stopped the claws from tearing up Dib’s arm served next to hold him place. The tightness around his wrist meant he couldn’t just slip his hand out and abandon the coat. Zim’s grip was strong enough that the constriction started to hurt, and Dib wanted to squirm out of the hold despite knowing he couldn’t. He also knew that would only prompt Zim to hold his arm tighter and he didn’t want to start losing blood flow.

Dib kept his free arm away, primed and ready to strike once Zim made any motion towards him. Zim stared at him a moment as if debating if he should proceed. He scowled and shoved Dib away. Dib stumbled, catching himself on the wall of the park, and rubbed at the sore spot on his forearm. It would definitely bruise—he could already feel it. Zim was already walking away from him, running his fingers along the side of the wall. Dib cautiously walked after him.

“Then what are you doing out here?” he asks again.

“Getting some air, as you humans say,” Zim says.

The irritation was starting to invade his tone. Dib was sure his antennae were vibrating under the wig. He would like to see it—it was always fascinating to see the antenna show more of what Zim was feeling or thinking than the alien’s own face or body would ever convey. Zim would make a killing at poker and Dib didn’t believe him.

He was cursing himself for not packing something to use if this happened. It was always a hit or miss when he made the decision every morning. He always kept a water gun in his bag or his coat for emergencies, but he’d neglected to grab anything else that morning. He’d been hoping for a break for a day, and Zim had curiously allowed that up until he broke his usual pattern after leaving school. He hadn’t really been involved in anything the entire day, even suspiciously missing lunch only to pop up in history the next period. As much as Dib hated to admit it, he hadn’t been able to find anything out of the ordinary when he had patrolled the halls over the next few periods when he could.

“Since when do you care to do that?” Dib asks.

Zim’s claws started to scrape against the stone, carving lines into the rock. Zim didn’t answer, walking until he hit the entrance and turned inside. Dib poked his head around the corner, catching sight of Zim already at the tree line. Dib made it most of the way before Zim turned to him. In the shadows of the trees Dib could see the glow of Zim’s eyes past the contacts, just barely poking through. It caused a ‘demonic possession’ type of vibe and Dib stopped in his advancement on instinct. He suddenly felt uncertain. Zim was uncharacteristically stoic and it was throwing Dib off.

“I’m just getting some air. Go home,” Zim orders. Dib stood silent, unable to think of a response. Zim sounded… tired.

Did Irkens need to sleep?

Dib snapped from his musings when Zim had disappeared into the bushes. Dib watched the forest uncertainly. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Zim wouldn’t try to pull something. He waited at the tree line for a few hours before he figured it was safe enough.

He slipped into the bushes slowly, trying to remain silent. It didn’t take long to figure out that he had no idea how to move stealthily among trees and bushes. The branches of both were brushing against him even when he tried to move around them in the most ridiculous contortions. His boots on the leaves and twigs were no better. He really wished he’d packed his tree stand even though it would be of no help in tracking Zim down. It was different than tracking down a Big Foot or another creature that might wander into Dib’s clearing or past his cameras. Zim knew how to avoid Dib by now.

Regardless, Dib kept going straight. He had no idea how to track if Zim had gone anywhere else until he spotted an unusual indent in the bark of the trees. Three to four of the markings were on trees within a similar distance in bathes. Dib saw it bank right and started to follow. He broke out into a deer trail and looked down each direction. To his left he spotted another set of markings. He made a note that he’d have to turn around and go straight again to leave, just to be sure he didn’t get lost, before he went ahead.

He was looking up more than he was looking down. He tripped or stumbled more than once. Finally, mercifully, he broke out into a clearing. Dib stepped back immediately, spotting one of the PAK legs still bent over and hovering in the air just past the center of the clearing. It wasn’t a big clearing by any means. A giant log was off center in it. A small piece of missed history that might explain some of the changed terrain that allowed the grass to overtake the forest floor before any other foliage could.

Dib peeked around the tree he chose to hide behind and saw Zim’s PAK and head over the log’s body as if he were leaning against it. He was looking up at the sky. His PAK’s legs were just poised around him like the dead legs of a spider. It was unsettling to say the least. That said, he couldn’t see any device, any ship, or anything at all suspicious in the field. Dib ducked back behind the tree, ultimately confused. He started down the trail again, noting how it was getting dark. He could check again tomorrow.

By the time Zim had pushed back through the bushes the sky had gotten dark.

Zim hunched his shoulders, the PAK pressing against his back painfully. He let it, clenching his fists more out of the rage he felt as opposed to the pain. He ran one hand alone the stone wall, the claws cutting deep into the stones. He kept his other hand clenched. The pain kept him grounded. It caught his mind and kept it from free falling. Regardless, he started to shake.

~*~

Gir watched him silently. The robot had been bouncing off the walls and screaming for hours now. Zim hadn’t even moved in that entire time. Gir tilted his head. Zim had done this before. He seemed to zone out for hours on end, particularly after bad calls with The Tallest or others in the Empire. The difference here was that Gir could tell Zim was, in reality, intensely focused on the screen in front of him. His claws dug deeper into the metal of the desk the longer the Irken symbol flashed on and off the screen.

The screen had been blank, blinking the Irken symbol as the call was left unanswered yet again, for just as many hours as Gir had been wearing himself down. Typically, if Gir crashed into Zim, he’d let himself fall to avoid any injury to himself or Gir. It was utilitarian—so he wouldn’t have to waste time repairing himself or the hyperactive ball of metal that had flung itself into him. Gir knew that was why Zim let himself be tackled. Gir had joined Zim in staring at the screen when one such attempt at a tackle hadn’t moved the Irken an inch. Zim’s body had bene completely rigid, like a statue. Gir’s momentum, as much as he had built it up, hadn’t caused much in the way of disrupting his Master. Currently, Gir was looking at Zim and wondering if he should do something.

Zim bit his lip until it bled. He didn’t want to admit it.

The call would go unanswered.

~*~

Dib had been acing all his classes, surprisingly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a genius—he was his father’s son, after all—but rather he was surprised that Zim’s absence wasn’t more of a distraction for him. He was somewhat distracted because it was unusual and that did inevitably put him on edge. A very hard edge that made it feel like his teeth were grating and he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Like the sound of nails on a chalk board and the feeling of weight being taken from him before he plummeted. He hadn’t found anything in the clearing the following morning. He hadn’t found anything in the following day, either.

By Friday he couldn’t take it any longer. If it weren’t for his sensors outside Zim’s base indicating he hadn’t left, Dib wouldn’t have been able to sleep. It was strange for Zim to disappear for days without a peep. It was strange for him to not make a peep the remainder of the week. It was strange and even unsettling that he supposedly hadn’t left his base in all that time, either. Any shift in the alien’s usual behavior warranted investigation. Dib simply had surmised that jumping down Zim’s throat about it wasn’t worth failing out of school.

But; he was free for the day now, and Dib made the walk to Zim’s base as easily as breathing. He didn’t need to focus for his feet to bring him there any longer. He had zoned out, thinking about the myriad of different plans Zim had probably been planning for the last few days, and not popping back into reality until he could see Zim’s base as he entered the cul-de-sac. He tried to calm his nerves. The familiar fear of going into this particular lion’s den was something he never was able to shake. As exciting as it was, it was also a huge risk every time. He knew he might not come out one day. He understood Zim wasn’t un-willing to kill him if he felt the need. Dib was surprised he’d lived this long. He had a fair number of scars to show for their battles. A few from lasers—that his Dad was more perceptive to than the usual odd scar—alongside all the claw marks. The latter he could at least explain away with monster hunting and running into the occasional feral animal. But the lasers’ marks had been harder to brush off. “It was a failed experiment” was luckily enough to get his father to back off.

Dib cautioned himself as he neared the front fence. He saw the gnomes standing at attention as usual. He stuck his foot into the lawn’s perimeter, toeing inside the property line, just to be safe. The gnomes didn’t respond. They didn’t even turn their heads. Dib took a cautious step inside. Still nothing. He took a bold leap, kicking one over and jumping back onto the sidewalk.

Nothing.

That was either very, very good; or very, very bad. Dib wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Obviously if Zim had up and left that meant Earth was safe; but then, Dib assumed the base would be gone with him. So, either the alien had seriously dropped his maintenance duties, had gotten very engrossed in one of his projects, or he was dead.

Dib decided to ignore the wandering possibilities and made his way to the door. He tapped it with his foot and the door swung open without resistance. Dib started to feel a ‘horror movie’ vibe coming on. He knew for most sensible people who watched horror as much as he had, he should have turned and gone home. Dib had already concluded that he was never the sensible type when he’d made the decision to possibly chase an alien for the rest of his life.

He stepped cautiously into the darkened house. The cords leading into the ceiling felt eerie-er than usual. The darkness was a definitive contributing factor to that. Dib felt his heartrate increasing every second he was there. It felt wrong to be there. He couldn’t recall many times that the lights were off in the surface level of the base. He walked inside, praying and praying that it wasn’t a trap of some kind. He’d brought his best tools with him just to be safe, but he could never be too sure. He got as far as the doorway to the kitchen before he stopped. Gir was sat atop the counter in the back corner, away from the prying eyes of any passerby on the sidewalk out front. Dib made his way up to the robot, lifting him up and looking over him. He was powered down, his eyes dark. Dib couldn’t find an ‘on’ switch and so set him back onto the counter. He wanted to study the robot more—for days, if he could—but he didn’t have the time to toy with that for now. He paused, noticing the dust and grime that had been building for the last half of the week on Gir’s body.

That’s not right. Zim’s a germophobe. Did he leave?

Dib hummed disapprovingly. He eyed the toilet and decided against it. If the power was truly out, then it wouldn’t work regardless, and he didn’t feel like going down that shoot. He bee-lined for the side table in the living room. He took it off the tiles, setting it aside. Dib hooked his fingers on the tile, trying to pry it open. It didn’t budge more than a millimeter. He tried a few more times before giving up with a huff and discarding his backpack. He rifled through it, finding his multi-tool. He hooked the point of the knife attachment under the tile, using leverage to pry it open. The hatch clicked when it popped open. Dib had to lift it up, forcing the hinges to snap. He wasn’t paying for that. He set the very edge of his shoe under the tiles, keeping them propped open. He looked down into the shoot, spying only darkness that was occasionally illuminated by a stray light. So, the base did have power. But none to the top floor. He wondered if he’d find anything down the tube, or if that’s all that was left. A tube and some forgotten lights set up with the neighbors’ power grid.

Dib furrowed his brow. He dug into his bag again, discarding binders he didn’t need any longer and grabbed for his grappling hook. He had thirty meters of cable in it, he could get pretty far on that. He shimmied his way into the shoot, securing the hook on the outside, and began his descent. The grappling hook only moved at a set pace when going down: slow. Dib had ample time to take in the scenery of dirt past a transparent walling. Eventually, he did hear a ‘click’ as the end of his cable caught on the line. He looked around, spying a door he could climb up to. He reeled in some of the line, struggling to stand on the tiny ledge that remained of the door’s frame. He used his knife here similarly to the shoot’s hatch.

Dib managed to push the door open, wedging his grappling hook’s body between the doors to keep them from shutting again. If he got lost, he’d just have to find the door with a plastic gun handle stuck in it.

Dib made his way through the lab cautiously. He had turned a few times when he started to see the scratch marks on the hall walls. Only ever down the single hallway, one set with dozens of doors, and none of them the source of the scratches had gone into more than once or twice, based on the amount of scratches that had made a new textured flooring. Some had even dragged up the walls. Dib felt his anxiety spike, breathing becoming more difficult, and his heart pounding in his ears. He took out a coin and flipped it.

Heads. Right, it is.

Dib banked down the hall. He followed the scratches to a door at the very end. It was set open, the light of the button stuck on. The button itself was cracked. Dib swallowed. He was definitely going to die.

Regardless, his dumb brain decided taking a quick peek inside wasn’t going to kill him. Not to mention he’d been caught inside the base before with a pissed off alien. It wasn’t any different if he got caught now. He figured if Zim did manage to beat him in a fight, he’d just launch him out with the cannon. Again. Dib poked his head in and gaped.

The room was, to put it mildly, utterly trashed. The walls weren’t just covered in scratches, but full on gouges in the metal. Several monitors had their screens shattered, the largest had the table thrown into it. The table that had been bolted to the floor, and whose single central leg was wrenched in half to achieve its new position. Wires and cables were hanging from the ceiling, out of the monitor stations, and from the floor where tiles were missing.

The uneasy pit in his stomach sank deeper. Dib tiptoed around the room, surveying the damage. He knew these markings well enough. He’d dodged the PAK legs enough times to be certain of the kind of damage they left on the surrounding area.

Did he get in a fight?

No, that didn’t seem likely. Dib’s sensors didn’t pick up any activity from outside for days. If someone had attacked, they’d have had to teleport in, or shrunk themselves. While he was aware nether feat was impossible, it was improbable. Dib left the room, making his way as quietly but hastily as he could to the opposite end of the hall. This door was also ajar. He spotted the tip of a PAK leg at the door. Instinctive fear bubbled up, but Dib fought it down.

He squeezed his way through the crack in the door and the frame. The room was just as trashed as the one before it. Dib trailed the PAK leg, walking as quietly as possible. It would occasionally twitch, making a metal creaking noise with the effort of the movement. Dib would pause, waiting, until it wasn’t moving any longer. He looked up to see the chair they were coming from. It was swiveled away from him. He could see Zim’s legs from this side.

Dib inched his way around the chair. He could see Zim was slouching in the seat with his eyes closed. Dib bent around the chair. He looked at Zim, leaning as close as he dared—which was about a few inches from his face. Dib smiled, the thought of the opportunity becoming too great for him to resist. He took his phone out, holding it up for a photo.

“I didn’t think Irkens slept,” he murmured. A clawed hand grabbed the other side of the phone, the photo ending up being a very dark image of Zim's palm.

“They don’t.”

Dib shrieked, jumping several feet back. He would be humiliated if it weren’t for the fact Zim seemed utterly disinterested in him. Instead, Zim simply chucked his phone across the room and looked back to the broken monitor. Dib stared a moment. He side-stepped to his phone, retrieving it without taking his eyes off Zim. He cautiously stepped back up to the alien when he didn’t move.

“Zim?”

Zim didn’t respond. Dib couldn’t rightfully tell with the red eyes if he even glanced in his direction. He sauntered up to the alien, his bravado getting the best of him again. He was still sure not to disturb the PAK legs on his way up.

“Zim, I have those handcuffs.” Dib says. Zim didn’t pay him any mind. Dib was lying, but the alien didn’t know that.

Dib did catch a twitch from the PAK leg nearest to him. It was a small twitch, like it had lost its energy or fight. Typically, Zim would have at least hissed at Dib as a warning. A hiss that would forever and always send shivers down Dib’s spine with how unnatural it sounded. Dib acquainted it to a cat and a rattlesnake the first time he heard Zim hiss at him with a real intent to kill or maim backing it up. Zim was deadlier than any animal Dib had come across, as well as a fair number of cryptids, and he had bolted the moment the sound had come out of Zim’s mouth. They’d been in the middle of a fight, but Dib would have been damned if he was going to be dumb enough to die after getting a warning like that. He’d already ruined the latest plans—the fight was just to see who could beat who first. Once he’d gotten home safely he, of course, wrote down as much as he could recall about the entire experience. Theories included.

And he was being a complete idiot right at this moment.

“…I have a water gun, too,” he adds.

Zim still didn’t look his way but Dib saw his antennae twitch. It was a minor reaction; but it was something. Dib did have the water gun. He had even pulled it out of his bag when he announced its presence. It was only about half full; but it was more than enough. The slosh of the water and Dib caught Zim’s antennae twitch and his body stiffen. But, shockingly, the alien didn’t make a move to… move. Dib felt his palms grow sweaty.

“Alright.” He moved in front of Zim, gun forgotten in his hand as he braced on his knees to lean down to Zim’s eye level. The alien looked at him with a blank glare. “Are you sick?”

“…Irkens don’t get sick.”

“He speaks!” Dib shouts exaggeratingly. He cracked a smile at his own joke; but Zim doesn’t react past his lids lowering a little more. He was unimpressed and it was a half-assed attempt at a deeper glare. Dib deflated, putting the gun back into his bag, against his better judgement. “C’mon, that one is classic. So, then what’s wrong with you?”

“…”

“The silent treatment again? You don’t look like you could put up much of a fight right now, either.” Dib said coyly. He looked around the room before adding, “At least, not right now. Looks like you tired yourself out.”

“Days ago,” Zim added gruffly.

Dib eyed him. “Are you depressed, or something?”

“Or something.”

Dib blinked at him. He hadn’t expected a real answer. On top of that, Zim’s tone wasn’t exactly comforting. Dib had heard himself talking like this from time to time. Zim sounded apathetic. Dib’s worry started to shift from his own safety to Zim’s, much out of his control, and fueled by curiosity. Dib rubbed the back of his head, double checking the room again. He shifted his weight between his feet.

“Do you wanna…. Talk about it?” he asked. Zim shot him a look. Dib raised his hands up and let them drop again. “Alright, space-boy, well, I’m not leaving until you do, so. There.”

“…. Enjoy starving,” Zim spits. There was that trademark snark Dib had become so accustomed to. It was still hiding a little; but it was peeking through and that meant progress. Whether that progress was good progress remained to be seen. But Dib was never one to quit.

“Ok, fine. Look, you’re the only person I’ve had regular contact with for years now that didn’t think I was insane—”

“You are.”

“—or actively shut me out for being weird.”

“You are.”

“And yet you still talk to me,�� Dib says. “And not just to pick a fight.”

Dib recalled with clarity the nights that he and Zim would be on a rooftop or in the park or on the outskirts of town, and they’d either have tired themselves out or weren’t in a battling mood. The occasions were rare, but they had been becoming more frequent as the years passed. These were nights when they’d just talk, like normal people. Sure, it’d go back to fighting the next day, or the day after if their moods were good. But, Dib like those nights. He got more out of the alien than he ever did any other day on those nights. A lot of it was sub-textual information that Dib had to rely on theories to explain and it wasn’t anything as grandiose as weaknesses or base secrets—but opinions and recounts of basic space travel and Zim’s own life experiences were something Dib found equally valuable and engaging. The topics shifted throughout the conversations and could take hours to conclude. Zim, though he’d never admit it, respected Dib’s boundless curiosity for every topic at hand. Zim had gotten some things of use out of the conversations as well—it was the reason he told himself he kept at them. Though Dib could aggravating, annoy, and often anger him, Zim knew he was also one of the few people on the planet who he could hold a meaningful conversation with.

Presently, Dib was smiling smugly at him, inching ever closer across the line of annoyance into aggravation.

“Hey, I’m right. So, start talking. It helps.” Dib says. Zim eyed him. The PAK legs drew into his PAK, scraping against the flooring. They were uncharacteristically limp. Instead of sitting up to speak, Zim stood and walked towards the door, his back straight in typical military fashion. Dib paused before following him out. “Zim, it really does help.”

“Don’t care.”

“And speaking basic, bare minimum sentences don’t qualify,” Dib adds. Zim whirled on him, just a tiny spark of that energy coming back into his red eyes. They glowed faintly in the dim lighting of the hallway and Dib was adamantly reminded of just whose den he was currently trespassing in. A lump of fear blocked his windpipe for a moment.

“I could kill you.” Zim says evenly. Dib stared at him, acutely aware of the legitimacy of that fact and how he didn’t need the reminder. Plus, he had been pressing a matter that perhaps he shouldn’t have. A fact made clearer when Zim kept speaking. “I could skewer you like a shish kabob and burn your body to ash—until nothing was left. No one would know you’re missing except Gaz. Who, I somewhat, doubt would care. If she does, I could just do the same to her.”

Dib clenched his fists, but remained silent, holding Zim’s gaze steadily. The alien wasn’t moving, still as a statue, watching him back. Finally, Dib slowly started to shake his head.

“No, you wouldn’t.” Dib says finally. He let his body relax, his fists unclenching. He wasn’t about to let Zim goad him into a fight right now. He sees Zim’s shoulders prickle and his teeth start to bare. He wasn’t going to get goaded into a fight if he could help it, that is. Dib continues quickly. “Because then you’d be alone. It’s the same reason I haven’t killed you, either.”

Zim stares at him. Reading him. His lips had started to close, and he turned his back to Dib, stomping away. Dib felt relief wash over him briefly. He could live another day. For now.

He chased after Zim, partly because he wasn’t entirely sure where to go, and partly because he was genuinely concerned about what had caused Zim’s tantrum. He hadn’t even known Zim could wrench a bolted table out of the floor. The image flashed in Dib’s mind and his feet carried him driven by two emotions. Unabashed curiosity and hurt pride.

He’d been holding back on him.

The absolute dumbass.

“Hey. I get that this is probably something you don’t want to discuss, but I’m here for you to talk to me. It’s not like you can go to therapy.” Dib says, jogging up to Zim’s side to keep pace.

“What is that?” Zim asks. There was genuine curiosity in his voice and Dib grasped that little bit of real reaction like a lifeline. He couldn’t really pinpoint why he cared so much. If nothing else, he could distract Zim to some degree. Dib wasn’t sure why he was bothering, given if Zim died of starvation from his own apathetic self just neglecting to eat, it would have made Dib’s job a hell of a lot easier. And yet.

“It’s where people talk about their problems, in basic terms. It helps.” Dib insists. Zim shot him another look and Dib sighed dramatically. “It helps you paranoid bug—”

Zim whirled on him, pinning him to the wall by fists in his shirt. Dib latched onto Zim’s wrists, ready to wrench them away if he had to. He wasn’t sure how on the line Zim was between throwing him out or snapping his neck, either ending after a good beating. What Dib did know was that the claws were poking through his shirt and had assuredly broken skin. It was just another shirt down the drain. Dib opted to deal with trying to ask Gaz to sew it up later and met Zim’s eyes. Two full orbs of red, like bottomless pools of blood, all full of fury.

“And why?” Zim asked, tongue and teeth bare as he hissed when he talked. Dib shivered at the sound. “Why do you CARE?”

“I-I don’t… I don’t know, I just do.” Dib stammered. He gave an experimental tug on Zim’s hands. The fists tightened, only further cementing the early death of Dib’s t-shirt. Dib wriggled against the wall. He couldn’t move more than a few centimeters at a time. His heart rate was starting to pick up the more he couldn’t budge Zim’s grip. He may have to resort to kicking. Zim narrowed his eyes, hissing at him again.

“Liar.”

Zim dropped him, giving him a good kick to the shin before he started down the hall again. Dib clutched at his leg a moment, refusing to whine, as he stumbled after Zim down the hall. The wall was his support as he hobbled after him. He wasn’t one to give up easily, and Zim knew that by now. Dib was also one to push buttons.

“Zim, you’re being bothered by something. Tell me what it is.”

“You do not care.”

“I do,” Dib insisted.

“No, you do not. You can’t.” Zim shot back.

Dib glowered at the back of Zim’s head. He ran up in front of Zim, cutting him off in the hallway by putting a hand firmly on the alien’s chest. The alien’s demeanor didn’t shift very much. He glared Dib down, unimpressed. Given that Dib hadn’t been successful at all to fend Zim off a few seconds prior and that Dib just didn’t have that imposing of a frame; Dib’s attempt to stop him wasn’t that successful. Dib had never ‘grown into’ any sort of obvious muscle. He was still a good half a head taller than Zim—and could always be—but, Zim had learned he was deceptively strong. For someone so slight, Dib could pack a mean punch when he wanted to.

There in the hall, Zim could feel the effort Dib was putting into his palm to keep him from leaning forward to take another step. Zim could easily sidestep him; but that might incur a fight. Zim was just too mentally exhausted to fight. He was in the mood to poster and bluff, not fight. Instead, he reached his hand up, wrapped it around Dib’s wrist firmly, and pulled the boy’s hand away.

“No.”

Zim shoved past him, stopping at the elevator that had Dib’s grappling hook in it. Zim stared at it a moment before giving Dib a different ‘look’. One of abject disbelief with an undertone of annoyance. Dib flushed a little. Zim grabbed the gun, yanking it out and snapping the chord, without breaking eye contact. Dib stared disappointed at the loss of a large sum of money. He couldn’t afford putting in another equipment request to The Swollen Eyeball with his track record. The duo’s multiple encounters had cost the organization a pretty penny already.

Zim hit the button, oblivious to Dib’s future financial woes, and the elevator doors closed and opened again a moment later with the floor ready to take Dib up. Dib looked between Zim and the elevator. He stepped up and hit the button again, closing the door. He bounced out of Zim’s reach, just in case, when the alien stared at him in annoyance. The expression was largely unreadable—Dib would be hesitant to admit it, but Zim’s contacts really did most of the work when Dib was reading how he was feeling—aside from the half-lidded glare. It was also, pointedly, half-hearted. Dib decided to stand his ground. He wasn’t sure what he was wearing down; but a wall was starting to fall and he wasn’t losing this small foothold if he could help it.

“I’m not leaving,” he declared. Zim started to shake. He looked ready to scream and throw punches. Instead he turned on his heel back down another hall. The spark of anger in his eyes was a passionate flare; one that Dib saw be physically suppressed as Zim forced his body to turn. Dib had to jog to keep pace with his strides. Zim wasn’t making it subtle how much he wanted to be away from him. “Zim, I’m trying to help you.”

“And I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want your help. I don’t want you here,” Zim spits.

He hissed low and long as Dib caught up with him. He had half a mind to swipe out and slash the boy wherever his claws happened to land. It would be satisfying, to a degree. But it felt like too much effort. Instead, he just quickened his pace again. The satisfying groan of frustration that followed almost put a smile to Zim’s lips.

Dib was at a steady jog at this point. Meanwhile, Zim didn’t seem perturbed at all. He was keeping up the long stride with no indication that he was going to be slowing down any time soon. Dib had one or two more desperate pleas to make before he would resign to give up and try again another day.

“Zim, I really do think it’d benefit you—”

“Dib, the last person I want to talk to is YOU!” Zim growls. Dib hears the hiss in the very back of Zim’s throat. Setting aside the curiosity of how he managed to growl and hiss simultaneously, Dib instead became acutely aware of the fact that he, once again, was in the perfect position to be murdered. And yet, Zim had yet to do so.

Ah, that glimmer of hope was there, yet.

“Ok, how about this?” Dib began. He sprinted ahead, blocking Zim’s path. “You just have to say one thing.”

Zim’s PAK leg came out, thrusting towards Dib. Familiar fear and the instinct to live was the only reason he side-stepped it just in time to save his shoulder. Zim didn’t break his pace, waltzing right by the boy.

“As I was saying,” Dib began again. “You just have to say one thing and I’ll leave!”

The final words caught Zim’s attention, his antennae flicking in Dib’s direction. His stride finally came to a halt. Dib cursed that superior alien stamina once he was close enough to see that Zim didn’t even seem fazed, whereas Dib was left breathing heavier than he’d like to admit. Zim had his chin cupped in his fingers. He sighed, turning to Dib.

“I. Am. Upset.” He says evenly. Dib stared blankly at him, waiting for more. No shit, he was upset. Dib could have easily guessed that. The PAK leg jutted out, maneuvering around Dib’s head and twisting itself in the hood of his jacket even as Dib tried to dodge out of the way. It lifted him off the ground and Zim started to walk back towards the elevator. “And that is all.”

Dib, now that he was aware he wasn’t going to be skewered, was busy trying to come to terms with the fact Zim had admitting to being upset. Sure, the Irken would curse and scream and throw tantrums when he was pissed. But never had Zim admitted, openly, to being upset. The three-word phrase had never, to Dib’s knowledge, left his mouth before. While Dib had been the one to goad Zim into the, admittedly small instance of, emotional openness it was strange to experience it. While Zim was certainly passionate about many of his feelings, those feelings largely consisted of rage, aggravation, annoyance, triumph, narcissism, or sadistic glee.

“Upset” was not in established the vocabulary. “Upset” was not what Dib had seen before. “Upset” was new territory. Territory Dib wasn’t sure how to navigate.

Zim threw him into the elevator. Dib’s back hit the walling of the tube, knocking the wind out of him, and his senses back in. He scrambled to his feet. The PAK leg hovered in front of him, poised to stab. Dib stood there, staring past it towards Zim.

“You will LEAVE my base. Now.” Zim ordered.

He pressed the button, retracting his PAK’s leg slow enough Dib couldn’t slip past it in the doorway. Dib wouldn’t have dreamed of doing it, as the failure of doing so meant getting stabbed who-knew-where. He let the elevator bring him up to the main floor, the cable of the grappling hook forming a pile as it climbed. Dib gathered the cable up in his arms. It didn’t have to be a total waste of scrap. The elevator deposited him back in the living room. Somehow it seemed more suffocating than before.

Dib trudged to the door. He knew when to let something go. For now. He was going to be back, all right. He wasn’t leaving the alien alone for long as it stood right then.

~*~

Dib had returned the next day, as it were, and noted the gnomes still weren’t active. At this rate he probably could have climbed to the rooftop and taken the Voot for a joy ride before Zim knew what had happened. While Dib didn’t know much about flying the Voot, he had his limited experience in Tak’s ship under his belt. He slotted the possibility in the back of his mind as he pushed the still unlocked door open again. Gir was left where he had been set yesterday. Not entirely a good sign, as it meant in the least Zim still hadn’t turned him back on. The undisturbed layers of dust meant Zim still hadn’t come up at all.

Dib forced the tube open again, resetting the hook to where it had been before and lowering himself down by hand on the cable. He stopped at the same elevator at the end of the cable and repeated the method of entry he had before. He poked his head through. The halls were still dark. Dib looked around, shrugging on his jacket once more. It had a small tear from the tip of the PAK leg; but it wasn’t something worth throwing it away for, given how some of his clothing had been ruined.

Dib explored the rooms, most of which were destroyed similarly to the two rooms he’d found before. He excluded the doors what wouldn’t open to him until finally he spotted the same green head and antennae poking out from a chair. Dib sighed inwardly, walking in without trying to be quiet. The antenna perked up and Zim peered around the chair at him, as unimpressed as he was before.

“What, you thought I’d be gone long?” Dib asked snarkily.

The Irken didn’t respond, turning back around, head on his hand. Dib felt an eye twitch. He forced the chair to swivel around to glare Zim in the eyes. Zim’s leg retracted, kicking out once he was fully turned, landing a solid hit in Dib’s ribs. Dib doubled over with a cough, clutching his side.

“No fair,” Dib rasped. He straightened himself, leveling out his breathing.

“You’re the one who is trespassing,” Zim points out. His voice was gravelly, as if it had been overused. He used his foot to shove Dib away, who stumbled to regain his footing, with a fresh bloom of pain in his side. Zim kicked the chair away as he stood.

The PAK leg hooked itself in Dib’s hood again, twisting to maintain grip. When it lifted, Dib heard the tearing of fabric. The leg had managed to lift him off the ground before the hood gave way and the tear went right through the fabric, freeing him. Dib hit the floor, tackling Zim immediately in a lunge. Whatever funk the alien was in, it was definitely the only factor that aided Dib in successfully pinning him to the ground. While Zim was in a very shallow lean thanks to his PAK, Dib was able to pin down the Irken’s arms. The PAK leg had twisted around, stopping its thrust close enough to Dib’s back that he could feel the tip hovering over his shirt. Dib stared at him, waiting for the tip to pierce his back. Zim looked confused.

Zim seemed conflicted on what to do. He accepted he’d been caught off guard. Dib wasn’t sure if he refrained from striking him down because it meant he would be sprayed with blood, or another reason. Zim’s face was contorting between disgust, anger, and another conflicting emotion that Dib couldn’t quite identify. He really wished Zim was wearing the contacts so it’d be easier. The PAK leg was twitching indecisively behind him, occasionally poking into his back. Dib felt sweat starting under his shirt. He was on thin ice. He just knew it.

Finally, Zim seemed to make a decision as he started to thrash under Dib’s weight.

“GET OFF!” the Irken roared. “You—you’re such a filthy, filthy worm!”

“No, we’re discussing this,” Dib says, ignoring the insult and the kicks to his back. The confidence in his voice was delivered with a quiver that he wished wasn’t there; but he wasn’t giving in. Zim could hit and kick him all he wanted. He had various times before.

And that’s exactly what the alien seemed to be doing. Dib felt his knees in his sides and his back, and it hurt, but he’d endured worse. Zim’s arm reached up, a punch landing squarely on Dib’s jaw. Dib gave a more audible ‘oof’ than he’d’ve liked to, recoiling from the hit on reflex. It was surprising to feel Zim’s own arm bend up to land the hit so effortlessly. It had more weight behind it than Dib thought it would. Dib wasn’t sure he had offered any level of resistance against Zim’s swing, despite how hard Dib had been trying to hold him down. Even with his arms pinned, Zim had thrown the punch with ease. Zim had been going easy on him and it was just insulting.

Dib’s dodge gave Zim just enough wiggle room to try and pull himself from under him. Dib grabbed at his arms again, shoving the alien down.

“Damn it, Zim, it’s just talking!” Dib shouted. He felt Zim’s struggles weren’t the best they had ever been. It was as if the alien’s fight had left him after the first swing. “Would you stop? What the hell even happened?”

Zim sneered at him. He growled, but he stopped trying to kick Dib off. Dib was silently grateful; he didn’t want to explain why he was utterly covered in bruises if his dad demanded to inspect why he was limping later. He could only blame school bullies so many times before someone investigated the frequency. Zim looked away, staring pointedly at the wall. His antennae weren’t flat against his skull, so he wasn’t planning to gut Dib anytime soon, which was good. They were at the angle Dib had concluded meant he was being irritated. Dib would take irritation over murderous intent any day. He let his grip loosen just a fraction and felt a jolt as Zim tried to sit up, taking Dib’s one slip as an opportunity.

Dib pressed him back down. Zim glared at him, snarled even. Dib knew he was capable of pushing him off, and he wondered for a moment why Zim hadn’t yet. Instead, Zim set a clawed hand on Dib’s thigh, right over a major artery. It was a silent threat. A restrained one, but Dib got the point. It appeared Zim had given up on verbal refusal for the moment. Dib looked uncertainly at him.

“You’d get your floor all dirty with my blood, huh?” he taunted.

The words had left his mouth very nearly on reflex at this point. A taunt was something they just did to one another. As if it were a game. Though Dib wouldn’t call this a fight, he would concede that it could very easily turn into one. Point of example was the floor hitting him before the realization that he’d been pinned did. He always just had to push his luck. Zipper teeth stopped inches from gnashing on his neck before Dib had time to properly react. It was the perfect bite—right over his neck and major arteries as he was pinned sideways—and Dib shivered, unable to process why exactly Zim had stopped. He was thanking every God that existed he had; but the confusion remained. On top of the fact that this was perhaps the closest he’d just come to dying by Zim’s hand. Or teeth. Perhaps a few thankful prayers were just good manners.

Zim gripped Dib’s arms strong enough that it was unquestionably going to leave bruises. Dib could even hear the hiss growing in Zim’s throat. The alien leaned down so that Dib could hear him better. “NO.”

Dib had it. He used what little momentum he could gain to try and sit up. The attempt failed and all he could really muster was leaning on his elbows after trying to fight Zim off several times. Zim still hadn’t expected it, coming chest to chest and his head filling the spot between Dib’s neck and shoulder once Dib had managed to secure a place for his elbow and readjusted. Zim had still had his claws on Dib’s arms, the points threatening to break skin when Dib’s shifting body almost threw the alien off balance. Zim leaned away, keeping some form of distance between them, but he didn’t let go.

“FINE. Be that way. Can you at least muster up enough will to live to help me with something else, then?” Dib asked. Zim blinked at him, gone still in what Dib could only assume was confusion. He waited until Zim had stood, brushing himself off, before continuing. The puzzled expression Zim was giving him was more than enough of a question.

“I’m going Big Foot hunting this week. The damage your PAK legs have made,” Dib waved his arms around the room, “would be ample defense while I’m doing it.”

“You think you can just DEMAND anything from me? You’ve gone rotten in the brain, Earth-pig.” Zim says, waving Dib off. He started out of the room, stopping when Dib grabbed him from behind in what would have otherwise been called a hug if Zim wasn’t kicking and swearing at the boy in Irken. As a result it was more like Dib was halfway to wrestling Zim back onto the ground.

“It’s for a DAY, Zim. If I can put this rivalry behind for a day, then surely you can muster the same restraint!” Dib pleads. “I need to do this assignment!”

He also really, really needed backup for this Big Foot hunt. Gaz had already turned him down, his dad was not an option, and he had no friends he could rely on for this. Half of the kids in the clubs Dib was in couldn’t even climb a rope, much less a tree, even if a monster or a bear were chasing them. Dib didn’t want to risk having a mauling of a classmate on his hands. The Swollen Eyeball wasn’t approving it for an official investigation—only a cursory one. His only option left was to go solo; or pray Zim would tag along. It helped that it doubled as a way to keep an eye on the alien. Regardless, Zim protested, heartily, for a good few minutes until Dib felt like his arms would fall off. He had expected that the moment he decided to grapple him from behind. Finally, mercifully, Zim seemed to calm down enough to give a tired huff and slump in Dib’s arms. Dib was grateful Zim had stopped trying to break his arms. He knew he could, easily, if he really wanted to; but, he wasn’t going to complain that he wasn’t.

“Let me go, Dib.”

Dib paused. Zim rarely called him by his name without some tacked-on insult and he realized that the same thing had happened yesterday. Dib let him down, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. He swayed on his heels for a while, unsure in what to do. Zim wasn’t turning to him, his antennae weren’t twitching to listen to anything Dib might do next, and he was staring at the floor with his fists clenched. He just stood there where Dib had dropped him as if he were a statue. It was unsettling to see the utter lack of movement in someone Dib knew was a ball of unbridled energy. Usually. Something was clearly wrong.

Dib figured one last attempt was enough before he’d give up.

“I mean, c’mon. You wouldn’t risk that some other entity would do me in before you could, right?” Dib asked. He watched Zim flinch before going still again.

A prod to Zim’s ego was always a sure-fire way to easily manipulate him. Dib almost felt bad. He didn’t seen another way around it yet, though, so he was willing to risk it. It was idiotic to do so, maybe, and yet he didn’t really care either way at the moment. Getting any kind of reaction from Zim was enough. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before. He would insult Zim’s ego and ability to do what he intended constantly in their battles. Particularly when Dib knew he’d won.

Zim turned to him slowly, eyes full of suspicion. Despite that, Dib could see the gears turning in Zim’s head. It was already working. Eventually, when Zim couldn’t find any trickery in Dib’s innocent but snarky grin, he pinched his brow. His antenna flicked about indecisively a moment before settling.

“FINE. Zim will accompany you so that you don’t die before…. Whatever I do to this dirt ball.” Zim says, waving his hand tiredly.

Dib’s smile faltered a little. Zim sounded… tired. Not the physical exhaustion Dib was accustomed to, but a more mental wear that he knew much more familiarly. So much so that Dib knew now was not the time to press the matter. He simply clapped his hands and beamed instead.

“Excellent! I’ll meet you right back here in a few days,” Dib says. He brushed past Zim on his way out.

The alien didn’t react much with the motion, stiffening up once again after the initial contact before his bristles settled, and he just watched Dib leave. He felt something bubbling up in his core and he shook his head to get it to dissipate. Gir ran up to him, falling down at his feet.

“Is Mary coming back?” he asks. Zim sighed.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Is Mary going to make you feel better?” Gir asks, grabbing his feet and swaying them back and forth like a toddler. Zim’s antennae lowered confusedly.

“What?”

“You’re going to feel better!” Gir announced suddenly, jumping up and screaming up and down the blocked hallway.

Zim watched him a moment. He didn’t regret agreeing to go on the trip with Dib. He was certain he’d be fine. It was Dib, after all. Even if he managed to get one up on Zim, neither had taken the proverbial shot and solidified their win in years. Zim hated to admit it—he hated to think about it—but at some point he lost the drive to actually kill Dib. Despite how much he got in the way. Zim just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He doubted he’d have an issue killing any other human—Dib was the rare exception in his eyes.

A rare exception he was about to have pestering him for days.

[thorman-barnes]

Sugarbaby | Part 3

pairing: stucky x reader

requested: yes/no i don’t know but people seem to like this series lol

prompts: this part is a mobster au

summary: steve and bucky are you sugar daddies and they find you in their office

warnings: age gap (not mentioned though), sexual innuendo at the end

Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Summer Prompt List

please tell me what you think || if you have any ideas or want to see something specific for this series please let me know!

You sat on the chair that belonged to Steve's office. It was a little too big for your size since it was meant for someone built like Steve or Bucky but still, you made yourself comfortable.

You made yourself at home by organizing his desk (he didn't mind the disorganized mess but it bothered you something awful). His papers were neatly stacked, pens and pencils placed in a jar at the corner of his desk, and you even took the liberty to place a framed photo of yourself on his desk (because you realized he needed something pretty too look at while in your absence).

You sighed and leaned back on the chair, ankles crossed on top of the desk.

What does a girl have to do to get their attention? Prance around naked? Hardly. Those two have been too busy lately they wouldn't even recognize themselves in the mirror.

For the past hour, you had been in the office and you'd been so bored out of your mind, you explored the office. You bird watched from the tall windows behind his desk, you took some sips from the alcohol you'd found at the table beside the double doors, you found Steve's sketchbooks and sneaked a peek (you may or may not have found some sketches of you in the nude), the sketches alone gave you an idea.

For about ten minutes you laid on the couch in the middle of the large office in only your baby pink lingerie waiting for either men to walk into the office - but no luck. Pouting, you put your dress back on, you were only craving their attention that they've denied you the last two weeks.

You lazily put your hair into a high ponytail and began to look through the newspaper that was on the counter behind Steve's chair. You grinned when you saw who made the front page.

Steve and Bucky's mugshot placed side-by-side. It's been a year that the police have been trying to catch them doing something shady to get them in prison for good this time. But your boys were too smart to get caught and it was bothering law enforcement something awful that they've set camp just outside the manor to spy on them only for Bucky to pull the curtains open and flip them off (you would giggle in the back while Steve scolded him).

Their mugshots alone made you giggle. Bucky with his tousled hair, bags under his eyes, and a smirk on his lips. Just by looking at his picture you knew he had something up his sleeve. Steve who boringly stared into the camera like he couldn't be bothered by his current situation (he wasn't) and knew they were only wasting his time (they were) because he was getting out soon enough (they did).

Just then, the double doors opened and in walked the two men that made your heart speed up and stop all at the same time and caused butterflies to go in a frenzy in your belly.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here, Stevie," Bucky grinned and sat at one of the chairs across from you.

You grinned back and straightened your back, your hands folded on top of the desk.

"Someone's been busy," Steve commented as he took the seat beside Bucky and took in the room around him. He wasn't at all bothered by the fact that you occupied his seat when usually he'd have someone begging for mercy on their knees for messing with his things.

"Yeah, took you long enough to come here," you snapped.

"Now, darling, don't get feisty on us," Bucky bit his bottom lip and leaned back on his seat, legs spread apart and hands on his thighs. You had no idea how much you wanted to kiss him until now. All you wanted to do was climb onto his lap and kiss him until one of you had to pull away to gasp for air.

Before you could even think of a reply, Steve started to laugh lowly and you scrunched your eyebrows together as you both looked over at him.

He had your framed photo in his hands and you quickly stood up to try and snatch it from him only for him to pull away quickly before your fingers could even make contact with the thing. "How'd this get here?" He passed it to Bucky to look at.

Bucky's smile brightened the room as he examined the photo in his hands. He looked up briefly at you only to look back up down at the photo but it was enough to cause butterflies to flutter around within you.

"You needed something pretty in your office," you tried to keep a confident smile but failed. Their pretty eyes and dazzling smiles were enough to reduce you to a stuttering mess. "Don't worry, there's in your office too," you winked at Bucky and grabbed the framed photo, pulling it from his fingers and setting it back down on Steve's desk.

"Are you naked?" Bucky asked, referring to the framed photo that sat on his desk. His snickers turned into wheezing when Steve's arm made contact with his stomach.

"I was," you shrugged and glared at them, "but you kept me waiting and I got bored, so I kept myself busy."

Steve cocked a brow, licking his lips and a boyish grin began to appear on his soft lips. "Is that so?"

You nodded and smiled, knowing he was thinking something dirty. "Mhm," you pulled out two debit cards from one of Steve's drawers, each contained his or Bucky's name. How you managed to get your hands on them was beyond them. As far as they had been concerned, they were out of your reach. "Online shopping is quite fun."

"We're goin' to go bankrupt, princess," Bucky mentioned but you merely shrugged and played with the two cards in your fingers.

"A small price to pay for my happiness," you grinned.

Steve stood up and walked around the desk and leaned against it, besides you. He was peering down at you, his arms crossed over his chest. "So, now that you have our attention, darling, what were you planning on doing with it?"

"Now? Nothing."

Bucky leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Two can play this game, gentlemen," you stood up, "now get out of my office, I have things to take care of." You pointed at the door, looking straight into Steve's eyes like you were daring him to challenge you.

You realized neither of the boss men would have let anyone talk to them this way but you were testing the waters - trying to see how much you could get away with (a lot).

Bucky held back a laugh. It was amusing to watch you stand up to Steve and him. You were like a small puppy compared to them. They'd give you treats and it returns they got sass and sometimes some attention.

And here you were, trying to make your point about not receiving their attention for the past two weeks. You are probably the only person they allowed to walk around the manor like they owned the place (you did, having them wrapped around your perfect little finger had its perks).

"Oh, yeah?" Bucky asked and stood up, he leaned over the table, coming face-to-face with you. His face was so close to yours, you could smell the minty freshness of his breath - he must have had a smoke, you realized, he knows how much Steve hates it so he always takes a mint thinking it'd fool you both. "Like what? You know what, Stevie, I think our doll is forgetting who's the one calling the shots here."

"I think you're right, Buck," Steve replied and pushed some of your hair behind your ear, exposing your neck to him. He leaned in and laid a soft, gentle kiss on your neck.

Bucky's fingers found their way to your chin and he pulled you closer and Steve moved with you, his lips still peppering kisses along your neck.

Then, Bucky tilted your head back ever-so-slightly, nipped at your neck, your jaw, your cheek, "So pretty, our baby doll. . ."

please let me know if i’m forgetting to add anyone to the tag list

Tag List:

@iamalphanow @my-marvelside-bl0g @m-a-t-91 @hoewkeye @im-just-another-monster @scarsout​ @mcuwillbethedeathofme

Bucky Barnes Tag List:

@hour-to-hourglass

Stucky x Reader Tag List:

@ravennightingaleandavatempus@mydogisthebest@hellaqueerangelofthelord@hockeyshmockey @multireality@letterstomyself21@themusicalweirdo

Sugarbaby Tag List:

@criedwolfwritings