#unfortunately he's too stupid to get into law school

[zetsu--bou]

ngl if Aomine was smarter, he would be a lawyer, ain't no way he would be a cop. That dude would never "tHe ReAsOn I pUlLeD yOu OvEr", he would fight in court for the justice of the mistreated kids, he would help the parents sue any school that caused someone to lose their life or health, he would "dw i gotchu, the only one who can lose a case against me is me" and"your honor, the defendant is a fucking moron"

(or at least a crime investigator, but not a "hello 🤗 please do not disturb the peace 😁 thank you 😚" cop)

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — ONE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 9k.

NOTE. my goal for this fic is to make as many male characters either detestable or unesttling, and make you like them against your will. in other words, meet mark and doyoung HAHAHAHAH. this is mostly still exposition!!! establishing facts and relationships and dynamics and whatnot. more jaemin next chapter. too much jaemin, even. anyway, enjoy! CHAPTER TWO.

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR OFF DAY TODAY. You’re on sick leave— that is, sick and tired of drafting legal papers, meeting clients, reading piles and piles of documents every single damn week, so you decided to use your once-a-month get out of jail free card to stay in bed playing Stardew Valley. It’s pre-planned. You’ve already faked sneezes and coughing fits at the office yesterday. You’ve already called your Division Chief this morning. Kim Doyoung can’t do shit when you’re allegedly bedridden and downtrodden with a fever. He can eat his own ass and suck it.

“You have a new case,” he informs you over the phone. “It’s from Nalkkeutta.” 

Or so you thought.

“Hah,” a weak wheeze squirms out of your throat. “Sure. Okay. Got it.”

Motherfucking son of a bitch. Those two lines spring you out of bed immediately as though your bones have just been tased. God dammit. You’ve just managed to snag Sebastian into wedlock. How dare he throw another job at you right now? How dare he ruin your sweet, sweet honeymoon with the emotionally constipated 2D man of your dreams? 

Still. It doesn’t matter if you just got married or have a collapsing lung right now. You haul your ass, get dressed, get out, and get into your car to drive to your district’s police station in a hissy fit, as per your boss, Kim Doyoung’s, instructions. This damned firm is working you like a dog, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. And neither can Kim Doyoung.

“Yes, sir, I’m on my way. Are the files ready? Can you send them to me?”

This case came from Nalkkeutta. NCT. Nal. Day. Kkeut. End. Ta. To burn. The day ends in flames. It’s a name that haunts the streets of Yeongdeungpo. It’s a name that’s synonymous with loan sharking, weapons dealing, and coughing up protection fees unless you want to get your shit rocked on an unfortunate walk home— under the guise of an honest to goodness security company to service your protective needs. 

In the early 90’s, the government had a massive crackdown on gang activity and organized crime, subsequently snuffing out any emerging organized crime presence by officially criminalizing the mere act of joining a gang under the Revised Penal Code. But Nalkkeutta is relatively new. That scorching sunset symbol suddenly emerged in the district one day, around eight to nine years ago, and it’s marred the district of Yeongdeungpo with burn marks ever since.

And your life. You haven’t been lucky enough to be spared from that damned gang’s mess. In fact, you’re currently entangled with one of their messes right now.

The glass doors of the Yeongdeungpo Police Station shut behind you. You’re smacked hard in the face far too artificial lighting and sickly white walls and the words Patriotism, Justice, Honor mocking you in embossed silver. You grimace, cross your arms, divert your eyes with an impatient tap of the foot— and your arrival doesn’t exactly come unrecognized by the front desk and the others scattered around the lobby. One officer takes immediate initiative upon seeing your familiar sour expression, rustling out of a conversation to attend to you. 

“Hey, attorney. How may we help you?”

You eye the man. You’ve come to know him by name— Jung Jaehyun— even without needing to take a peek at his uniform’s name tag. You spare him and yourself the small talk and jump straight to business. “I’m here to see my client,” you inform, followed by under-the-breath swears as you fumble through your phone for the e-file Doyoung had just sent because Nalkkeutt had the gall to demand you to run and fetch the bone they left behind here without even giving you the chance to look at it. Seriously. If they want you to do a good job, they should be more punctual than this. “His name is—”

Huh. You read the top line of the document. A lump forms in your throat. You read it again. Once more. And the letters neither shift nor fold, confirming with absolute certainty that you read the name of your client correctly.

It’s a name you haven’t heard of in a while. It’s name that stalked the corridors of the place you’d bid good riddance to eight years ago with a spit on the concrete ground. 

“Na Jaemin.” There’s a bitter taste on your tongue when you pronounce his name— like your very digestive system can’t stomach it, rejects it, and wants to vomit it right back out. “His name is Na Jaemin.”

A nod from Jung Jaehyun. He turns his heels and leads you further into the station.

Empty footsteps echo against the slowly dimming hall leading to the private visiting rooms. The silence pricks at your memories— an uncomfortable sound you’ve grown accustomed to in the two years you’ve spent at Ganghak High School. It’s been eight damn years since you’ve graduated, yet one mention of a name reels you back into the past with a vividness that’s still as clear as the present.

In your memories, Na Jaemin was the guy who carried with him a pungent air of animosity and violence in his wake. On paper, he is your client, a member of the power-drunk gang that you’re tied by the noose with, and someone you have to defend. At present, he is sits right before you— tight-browed, tight-lipped underneath the singular light bulb hovering above the center of the table, looking as though he’s one clock tick away from flipping the table over (the only thing maintaining a safe distance between the both of you), and leaving on his own accord.

Your eyes meet. Your head snaps down to avoid his gaze.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi,” you manage to choke out. “I will be your lawyer for the case against Yoon Naksung and company.”

You’re not sure how you feel when there isn’t even a click of recognition on his part when you introduce yourself and mention your name. You realize that what you’re feeling is a mixture of fear, relief, and absolute revulsion when he responds with, “So, when the fuck am I getting out?”

There’s a ring in your ears.

It’s the sound of your heart trying to escape from your chest.

You inhale sharply. Fuck. You’re not sure if you have the willpower to push through this, and you can’t even ease your nerves or melt your frozen bloodstream with a sigh because he’s staring right at you— impatient, as though he’s counting down the seconds in his head after a one-sided declaration that you have a limited time to willingly answer before he forces it out of you by the throat.

That fucking looking in his eyes. That damned stare that instinctively triggers you to look down, look away, look anywhere else but directly at him. It’s a habit that everyone in Ganghak used to have. It’s a habit that’s still deeply instilled in your psyche, in your muscles, in your instincts to the point that despite being the person in authority at the moment, you have your head down, throat dry, and doing your damn best to read his case file despite the letters looking all wobbly from your anxiety.

Disturbing the peace. Three counts of physical injury. Less serious. Thank fuck. That makes things a little bit more hopeful, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from hell. Hell is sitting right in front of you, handcuffed because the cops have deemed his very existence a threat to public order and safety. You muster up a bit more confidence knowing he can’t reach over the table to sock you in the face.

“You’re an alleged offender, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’d have to be detained until the trial.”

Na Jaemin sneers, a kick against the table leg with a grunt. “Fucking useless,” he spits. His chair is tipped back, head turned away. You firmly press your lips together. You wish he’d just completely tip over and crash his skull and die.

For someone currently detained for a possible criminal offense, Na Jaemin sure seems very much unbothered yet annoyed at the same time. He sits relaxed on the foldable chair, shoulders slumped as if he owns the place, and he stifles out a lazy yawn— drawing attention to his busted lips and handful of scratches littered all over his cheekbone, temple, and forehead— a stark contrast to the vibrant purple splotch painting over his right jaw. You make a mental note to schedule a physical examination on his ass to record his injuries. 

“But…I can make sure you don’t get arrested” You proceed with caution. His evident annoyance is flecked with momentary interest. You suck in a deep breath. “Were there any other people involved besides you and the three witnesses? Was anyone else there?”

You’re not sure what you were expecting as a response. Whatever it’d be, you just hope you get some useful information. Any sort of information. However, it seems like you just asked the wrong question.

“The fuck? Hell, if I know.”

All that interest is eradicated by a sharp glare. Na Jaemin lets out a huff and a sneer. You’re stressed. You’re beyond stressed. This is impossible. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Back then, you’d always had a feeling that he was part of something sketchy, whether it be some ragtag juvenile group or whatever the fuck. You didn’t care enough to find out. But, christ jesus, he just had to be in fucking Nalkkeut. 

That sun tattoo sprawled on the back of his impatient hand— the gang’s symbol, sun rays etched into the bumps of his veins and calloused skin— tap, tap, tapping on the table with the clunk of his handcuffs tells you that he isn’t just some disposable grunt either. The urgency in Kim Doyoung’s tone when he called earlier confirms that dreadful conjecture as well. He’s up there. Way up there, and you have no choice but to fight back the urge to swallow your own tongue.

“I—I understand. That’s fine. Then…can I ask what events led to the incident?” you tentatively try to prod, taking a peek at his expression to see if you’re greenlit to ask this. His face brightens up. One corner of his mouth twitches upward, revealing a sliver of teeth. You flinch. He looks deranged.

“That bucket wearing dumbass looked me in the eye,” he starts, smiling. “So I punched him right in the socket. Then his friends decided that they wanted a beating too.” 

Na Jaemin is leaning back on the flimsy plastic chair as if he’s reminiscing a happy memory. Jesus christ. He’s always been like this, but it never fails to scare you shitless. You’ve always wondered why he was so insane, but the fact that he currently is and has been in Nalkeutta explains a lot of the things you’ve seen in high school. No high schooler had any business pulling up the gate with a BMW, nor was it reasonable for anyone at your age at the time to afford at least five Cartier watches considering the neighborhood you were in. Yet Na Jaemin and his lackey’s always showed up in the days that he thought was convenient in some sort of Chanel tracksuit and dozens of gold and silver accessories.

You were lucky enough to have never gotten punched in the nose with the absurd amount of rings on his fingers— a taste which he seems to carry until today, you notice while keeping your eyes down and trained on the table. They aren’t allowed to keep any personal belongings in the holding cells, jewelry included, fucking obviously. How this guy managed to keep his is beyond your imagination. 

“So, it wasn’t one-sided,” you try to confirm, try to get a good enough testimony to help his and your sorry ass in court. “Can you testify their participation during the trial?”

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

You jump in your seat when he suddenly lurches forward, chained palms slamming against the rocky table with a loud thump and a clink. “Hey, Little Miss Attorney. Listen very carefully,” he rasps. He’s leaned in closer now, making it a hundred times more difficult to keep your head down and not look him in the eye. “I beat all three of them half to death, and that’s all that matters. This question and answer bullshit is pissing me off. Are we done here? Can you fucking leave now?”

You’re scared shitless. You really are. It’s two years worth of trauma suddenly jumping you from behind a wall and throttling the air out of your lungs— of course you’re fucking terrified, and Na Jaemin can smell it like the rabid dog he is.

The problem is, he isn’t the worst of your fears. This mutt is leashed to an owner that would have your head as a dinner treat if you don’t manage to get him out of this stupid cage. So you don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Damned to hell if you do, damned to an even deeper hell if you don’t.

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you start. Your jaw is tight. It takes everything in your power to force it open and speak. “I need you to cooperate with me so I can get you out of here. Help me help you, alright?”

You’ve really been trying your best to phrase your sentences in a way that doesn’t sound demanding, that you’re leaving it hp to him because you know this bastard doesn’t like being told what to do. But your careful attempts don’t matter against a volatile son of a bitch. “Why’d you even need my help? Ain’t that shit your job?“ he barbs, a slight scoff hanging off at the end. “Seems like Mark hired a useless fucking lawyer.”

Twice. He just called you useless twice. The sheer level of offense you feel momentarily overpowers your nerves— a biting tick near the side of your temple, and you dig your fingers into the clothed skin of your thigh. 

The Mark he’s referencing did not hire you because you’re useless. In fact, that guy regularly asks for you specifically whenever his gang is caught in any civil or criminal trouble because you’re the only damned attorney willing to get her hands dirty to find an out— and competent enough to pull it off in exchange for an extra zero on your commission. 

Meaning, this bastard is at your mercy. And he has the audacity to piss you the fuck off.

“Strike a nerve?”

Apparently, you failed to hide the scowl polluting your expression. When you sneak a glance at Na Jaemin, he appears to be amused at his successful non-attempt to get under your skin, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face. 

You get it together. Mark Lee, that fucking bastard. It had been fine for the past few months when all you’ve had to mediate were petty settlements and bails and lesser criminal offenses, but you’ve never had to deal with one of his executives directly before— who just so happened to be your high school bully, at that. You close your eyes shut, press your lips together, and release a deep breath from out of your nose as you stand up.

“I’ll handle it. There’s nothing for you to worry about, but I will need to arrange a meeting with you again before the trial.”

Na Jaemin simply shrugs and waives you off. Your tight lips force themselves into a smile as you nod and stomp your way out.

Fucking bastard, fucking piece of shit, fucking, god damn it—

You leave the station with a jumbled up head and with all your five senses screaming themselves into oblivion. Shit. Fuck. What the fuck. Had Kim Doyoing emailed you the file a lot earlier, you wouldn’t have gone here and welcomed yourself directly into hell. You could try to settle with the victims, but in case they won’t agree to a compromise, you’d have to pull a defense out of your ass considering that your client is the most uncooperative asshole you’ve ever been cursed to deal with.

It doesn’t help that spending two years in high school with Na Jaemin is reopening pages and pages of trauma that you thought you’d successfully managed to file away— stored in a safety vault in a little corner of your head that need not be reopened. But just meeting him— talking to him directly when you’ve never even dared to before— brought a rusty crowbar to that vault, mercilessly ripping it apart.

Having cancelled your off day, the car ride to your office building is spent thinking about how to scrape up a case to defend the bastard you thought you’d finally been freed from eight years ago. The bastard who’d made the last two years of high school a literal level hell of dread and desperation.

Even for Nalkkeutta, this has got to be the worst kind of torture anyone could ask for.

*‎

The next morning, Nalkkeutta’s boss is gracious enough to answer your request for a meeting. 

Mark Lee shows up to the conference room of JSS’s Criminal Division, accompanied by a polite knock on the already open door, a humming smile, and a Kim Doyoung— who you very clearly don’t remember inviting to this meeting. Mark enters the room with a good morning. You nod and your eyes skip over him, flitting over to meet your boss’s gaze by the door instead. “You must be very busy, sir. What are you doing here?”

The wrinkle that forms between Doyoung’s eyebrows signifies that he very much understood your polite version of a fuck off. “I just wanted to escort our client,” he replies, adjusting his glasses. 

You smile at him. “The escorting usually ends when the client has arrived at their destination.” 

Doyoung’s jaw stiffens. Mark seems to be sufficiently entertained by the exchange, attention hopping back and forth between you and your boss. The latter surrenders and ends the episode with a sigh and a nod, completely glossing over you to speak to Mark instead. “Mr. Lee, please let me know if you need anything.”

You hear Mark respond in a pleasant tone, “Don’t worry, I know I’m in good hands,” but you don’t look at him yet. You force the gravity of your gaze onto Doyoung— an unwavering smile that creeps him out just enough to finally give up and leave the room, shutting the door behind him with a click, and finally allowing you to relax your shoulders and sink into the glossy, wooden table.

“Ugh.”

Stuck-up prick. The bane of your fucking existence, had it not been for the reappearance of Na Jaemin, the other capricious asshole in your life. Your head cocks up, hearing the scratching noise of a chair being pulled out. Mark sits right in front of you, maintaining a smile. “Bad morning?” And you finally speak your first words to him, in the form of a raging rant about his hot mess of an executive.

“Hey, be honest, do you want me fired? Do you want me to make my first ever loss? Your employee, Na Jaemin, told me he got into this mess because Yoon Naksung and his friends were looking at him for too long. Does that make sense to you? Is that how a sane man operates? How the hell am I supposed to defend that in court? How the hell am I supposed to defend his ass when he gives me fucking nothing to work with, and all while having the balls to call me useless?”

You’re out of breath by the end of it. Whew. That felt so freaking good. 

“Sorry.” You eject yourself out of your tantrum upon hearing Mark’s not-so-apologetic apology. You leer at him from across the table, watching the stillness of his apparent pleasant expression. “Jaemin can be kind of rude sometimes.”

This guy is Nalkkeutta’s boss, you remind yourself. He’s the source of your fattened up bank account and worsened sense of justice and morality for the past five months—

“Rude is an understatement. He’s a fucking piece of shit.”

—and he’s also somewhat your friend.

“I’ve never seen you this angry.” Mark laughs, relaxing into his seat. “Was he that bad?”

Nalkeutta and JSS Law firm’s partnership has existed prior to your employment here. However, you’ve know Nalkkeutta’s boss even before you’ve entered law school, much less started working here. Kim Doyoung doesn’t know this, obviously. Their background check on you did not go as far as finding out your regular patrons throughout the four years you spent working at a run-down cafe-bar downtown throughout the entirety of your undergrad.

The cafe’s name was The Hangman. Pirate-themed, which was used as a frequent justification by your boss to never fix the broken chair legs, unkempt storage boxes, and occasional leaky ceilings. They add to the aesthetic, he says. 

Anyhow, it was then that you first met Mark Lee, around three weeks into your first shift. He’d usually come in at around 10 p.m., order an old fashioned at the counter, flash you a pretty and boyish smile, then quietly read on the same spot until one in the morning before thanking you and leaving. Each time, you clock the hardbound cover titles. The Laws of Human Nature. Man’s Search for Meaning. Leviathan. Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. 

Frankly, the crap he regularly reads worked better to make him look more daunting than his overall appearance. Mark Lee wore the visage of a cute, college literature major— covered in knit beanies and warm cardigans and all— but carried books and ordered drinks that made him seem like he was fifty-seven years old. The only time you found an opening was the time he finally brought a long something other than self-help or pretentious nonfiction. Kafka on the Shore. “I didn’t peg you as a Murakami guy.” 

Mark Lee was taken aback when you first talked to him. He asked what made you say that. 

You referenced the previous books he’d been carrying along. He blinked, laughed, then said that he actually preferred reading fiction. He’d only been reading all that obnoxious bullshit (your words) because he was fascinated with the mental gymnastics (his words) some people were capable of, and he was just compelled to read more. You’re still not sure how much of that defense was true, but that doesn’t really matter because your conversations gradually strayed away from books to your daily life instead— your classes and readings and the annoying customers you’d regularly had to deal with at work. It’s mostly you doing the talking, and it’s mostly because you otherwise had no one else to talk to to kill time during your night shifts at The Hangman.

“Was he that bad?” you parrot, sarcastically. “He said that you did a shit job picking a lawyer. You tell me, Mark Lee. Do you think your executive is a stellar guy?”

Mark only laughs. You grunt and slump in your seat, arms crossed as you observe Mark’s expression from across the table. It seems like he doesn’t mind you talking shit about his people this much. His lips are pressed in a perpetual, easygoing smile as he eyes the set of folders and documents on your side. You bite the inside of your cheek. From his appearance alone, you wouldn’t have guessed him to be the head of the most notorious gang in the underbelly of Yeongdeungpo. In fact, you would never have guessed it if you didn’t take an extra shift one day at The Hangman. 

You ended up staying later than your usual 2 a.m. to cover for a co-worker. It was a weekend, so you didn’t mind much. Mark Lee hadn’t shown up that night. That is until you saw him come in at the store thirty minutes after two— deviating from his usual routine in more ways than one when he didn’t stop to order a drink, when he was with someone else who you were frankly too intimidated to look at for too long. When he went in and up the staircase at the back of the bar that was otherwise off limits because it led to your boss’s office in the upper area— and none of your supervisors came to stop him nor even attempt to look at him when he came back out with his big, scary companion walking three steps behind him while carrying a large and heavy looking black bag.

This happened a few more times. And Mark Lee would always smile at you when he’d pass by the bar counter. That’s when you knew something was up. But you knew better than to dig your nose into that kind of business. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the ability to see the future back then.

You look at the guy sitting in front of you right now. Mark Lee’s eyes flit up from your documents to look at you again, hands clasped together and resting gingerly on the conference table. “I’d sincerely like to apologize on his behalf,” he starts. You feel a thump in your chest.  “But I hope his uncooperativeness isn’t making it impossible for you to win the case, attorney.”

Yup. That was a threat. Get my errand dog out of jail— even if he bites you in the process, is what he’s trying to say. Mark Lee may have been your bar regular and friend at some point, but right now he is your client— the most important client your firm has ever had the pleasure of receiving. He is not your friend right now. He is your high school bully’s boss. He is the head of the biggest organized crime group in the district. And your law firm is just one of the many cogs running his criminal machinery. One slip up, and he could just wrench you out without a second thought.

“Of course it’s not impossible. What do you think of me?”

You slide the first file you have down the table. Even if Na Jaemin is fucking useless, you’re not letting him ruin your flawless performance record. You’re not letting him give Mark Lee a reason to throw you away.

“What’s this?”

“The witness list. Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong,” you start. “Your dog fucked them up really badly. I already met their lawyer. He was being dodgy about it, but I doubt they’d let him off with a simple settlement.”

A glint flickers in Mark Lee’s eyes are your introduction.

“I already have another meeting scheduled with him this week. I’d like to talk to the three victims personally, but you know I’m not allowed to do that.”

He hums, glossing over your file before setting it back down on the table, fingers pressed firmly on the page as he looks up with a pleasant smile. “When should I take care of them?”

A shiver crawls down your spine. “I’ll let you know depending on how the second meeting goes,” you answer. “Even if the three of them testify, there won’t be enough evidence to prove his guilt beyond reasonable doubt based on what the prosecution has so far. I don’t know why the fuck their counsel is even bothering with this. Na Jaemin would effectively be acquitted from his criminal charges.”

Your client appears to be satisfied, but you’re not done yet.

“However, that won’t absolve him from civil liability.”

No way in hell.

“Yoon Naksung’s party can still sue for damages. And they have enough evidence to guarantee a win. Na Jaemin would be fined at most, and I’m sure it’d be very easy for you to cough up a couple thousand for him. But that’s still a loss for me. And I can’t have that stain on my record.”

Your brows wrinkle. You release a breath.

“Talk to Yoon Naksung. Or Hong Hyunjae. or Ma Gildong, or whatever. It doesn’t matter. It might be hard to get through Yoon since he’s the one fighting the most for this, but the other two would be pretty easy. I hear Ma Gildong’s business isn’t in good shape lately. The address is on the file.” You rise up, leaning forward to reach an arm over. You drop an index finger on the exact spot on the document you were referencing, landing a firm thump on the table. “If the court hears that all of them were all equally beating the shit out of each other in a drunken episode, not remembering who started what, instead of it being a one-sided beating from your exec just because they looked at him wrong—”

Your eyes flit up. You meet Mark’s gaze— unblinking and dilated. You clear your throat and look away.

“Then—then, their case won’t be merited. The court would dismiss it in pari delicto.”

Mark Lee seems pretty fucking happy to hear that. He’s all smiles and applause and it stresses you the fuck out. “I knew I could count on you, attorney.”

You sigh, slumping back down in your seat. “I already have Na Jaemin’s medical report. If you could get at least two of the witnesses to cooperate, that would be great.” Mark responds with a nod and a hum. You sigh again. “We have so many competent lawyers here. Why do you keep specifically asking for me? Next time, go ask Doyoung, or something. I’m tired.” You’d give up this illegal but lucrative money machine just to see Kim Doyoung experience the life-or-death stress you’ve been experiencing these past five months. You really would.

“Because you’re good,” he responds lightly— genuinely. A little too genuine for your liking. Mark shoots you a smile as he tucks his abandoned seat back under the conference table. Uh oh. Here he goes again. “How about officially joining Nalkkeutta as the head of our legal department?”

“Hah,” you snort. “My hands may have gotten dirty, but I can still wash them, Mark Lee.” The look on his face tells you that he isn’t taking you seriously. You leer your eyes. You’re serious. You don’t intend on being Nalkkeut’s clean-up dog forever. Five months ago, you just happened to have shit luck with the desperation to match. Both bad luck and desperation are bound to run out at some point. You just hope they manage to burn out before this guy could burn you alive. “I’ll get back to you once I’ve met with their lawyer again. For the meantime, just keep an eye on the witnesses. Let me know if you find anything of importance.”

His eyes linger on you for a while, still smiling. You know where his head is at. Your grimace— even harder when he asks again to confirm, “So, is that a no?”

“Hell no.”

Mark clicks his tongue. “Worth a shot.” At this point, he’s already halfway out of the conference. “See you again, attorney,” he bids farewell

“God, please, no,” you respond with a grunt. He laughs. The door clicks shut. You groan and become one with the almond table.

How many times has he tried to recruit you already? You’ve lost count. You’re already being regularly run through the wringer at JSS, how much more under Nalkkeut? Jesus, you don’t even want to entertain the thought. So, you busy your head with your  current main stressor: the Na Jaemin case. You force your face off the table with a grunt and pull out your ipad to double check the trial schedule. Two weeks from now. Thursday. Fuck all. How did you end up here?

In retrospect, maybe it was actually all your fault. Three months ago— two months into working at JSS Law Firm— you decided that you were sick and tired of being trapped in Kim Doyoung’s legal counsel team as an associate, without being granted any personal recognition or accolades. You wanted to prove your worth. You wanted to get your credit. This time, you’re going to get  your first fucking big girl case. Even if it meant discourteously bulldozing into Kim Doyoung’s office like a chihuahua looking for a fight.

Which you did, only to be shell-shocked and surprised to see the face of your old bar counter friend— who might also be a gang leader— in the middle of a very…confidential conversation with your supervisor.

“Attorney, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Too late. You’ve already overheard their conversation. They were discussing a case much like your current one— one of Mark Lee’s executives got caught in the middle of an illegal firearms deal, and Doyoung was having trouble looking for a lawyer stupid enough to take the case. 

He shooed you out, but you stayed. You simply had no choice. You had to bite the bullet. This was a spring-loaded opportunity, and you didn’t intend on feeling from it.

“I’ll do it. I can handle it.”

You did get your big girl case, alright. You won. But you also had to book a full body spa session after your first time shaking hands with a criminal— just to feel somewhat cleaner. Obviously, you’ve become a lot more jaded now. Your boss has decided to dump all of Nalkkeuta’s major cases onto your desk since then, and Mark Lee has been trying to poach you ever since.

JSS. Jinsilseong. Integrity. What a load of bullshit. Where’s the integrity in working as criminal clean up dogs? There’s neither integrity nor justice here. Yet you’re able to afford a decent apartment because of that tarnished integrity. Dirty money. You make yourself sick, but drive home and back to work again for the next few days with the car that money bought you, because there’s no way in hell integrity can give you a comfortable life.

*‎

“How’s your Nalkkeuta case going?”

Kim Jungwoo comes over to greet you at the division breakroom while you’re in the middle of making yourself a cup of instant coffee after three fucking hours of being hunched over your cubicle the whole day. You jolt upon hearing his voice, flitting your head over to the direction of his voice, and you’re greeted by a face that clearly has gotten his eight hours in.

Unlike you. Jungwoo and you joined the firm at about the same time, yet somehow you look as though you’ve been trapped here for a good ten decades. He bats his eyes at you with a pretty boy smile while waiting for your response. You grunt. 

“Dreadful. Horrible. Do you want to take it from me and liberate me from this misery?”

The laugh he gives you in response probably means a no. You click your tongue, grunting as you set aside to give him space on the counter. “Is it that bad?” he asks, rustling through the cabinets for a coffee stick somewhere. Kim Doyoung should restock and feed his poor laborers better.

“Yoon’s party won’t settle. They’re dead set on pursuing a cIass action.” Jungwoo manages to fish one stick out. “Not to mention my own fucking client refused my visit. I miss the days where all I had to do was summarize court transcripts and deliver correspondences for Doyoung. You never really know what you’re missing until you lose it.”

That was a lie, but you’re miserable. You were able to meet all three of the witnesses last week, in the presence of their lawyer, obviously and unfortunately. Yoon Naksung seems to be their leader, because the moment you uttered the words ‘settlement’ and ‘compromise,’ he nearly jumped off his seat to full-on throttle you. You’d ask why the hell he’s so hostile, but you read their written testimony on the day of the incident. He recounted all the heinous crap Na Jaemin spewed out while he beat the shit out of them. Things you’d rather not repeat out loud. The other two witnesses didn’t seem as passionate as Naksung, like they just wanted it to be over with and forget how much Na Jaemin humiliated their asses by wiping their faces on the ground and proceeding to call them a bunch of bitch babies.

Anyhow, you have your last attempt of negotiation this afternoon with their lawyer. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter at this point. You just want to let the court know that you’ve done your due diligence of attempting to reach an amicable settlement. You’ve got other cards up your sleeve— you’ve always had.

Which is why Kim Doyoung doesn’t buy your whining and complaining when overhears it in the breakroom.

“Get a grip.”

You flinch. Doyoung makes an appearance by shoveling in between you and Jungwoo to the coffee storage. You two step aside. He releases a silent swear upon realizing there’s no more instant coffee left. So, he decides to release his pissy attitude onto the innocent cupboard door by slamming it shut with a loud bam!

You and Jungwoo look at each other. Bad executive meeting. Very bad, you two mentally agree, sharing a look and a nod. JSS has been dealing with negative press lately. Director must have dumped the burden of fixing it onto him. Poor guy. He deserves it.

Doyoung manages to compose himself in a matter of seconds. He inhales, chest rising, then adjusts his crooked glasses with a huff from lips, finishing it up by giving you a lowered stare. “I’m not really worried about your performance,” he carefully pronounces. “Nalkkeut always asks for you for a reason. Mark Lee gets along well with you, too. So, quit being dramatic.”

He gets along with you because you both like Haruki Murakami, never dug your nose into his business, and always cleaned up his messes. You doubt you’d get the same grace if you fucked this one up, especially considering it concerns one of his executives. Sure, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of your previous cases without much trouble besides your inherent workload. The problem this time is your client.

Ugh. Na Jaemin. That bastard. How dare he decline your visitation request when his freedom is on the line here? You need to brief him for the trial, make sure he doesn’t do anything fucking stupid that would jeopardize your case and fuck not only himself, but you over as well. His freedom isn’t the only thing on the line. Your record is. Your freaking license is. As much as you really don’t want to see his face again, you have to. And the only comfort you can find at the prospect of meeting him again is the very clear evidence that he does not remember you— whereas your bones are already shaking at the mere thought of having to face him again.

It sucks. This sucks. But even if it does, you force yourself out of the office later in the afternoon to meet the witnesses’ lawyer at a cafe downtown. 

His name is Jung Sungchan from the District Prosecutor’s Office. He’s baby-faced. He still has the light in his eyes. You’ve never even heard of him before this case. Meaning, he’s far too irrelevant to have the gall to strut into the cafe, say his piece, then leave without even buying a freaking coffee.

“See you in court, attorney.”

Of course this meeting ends the same way as your other meetings have had: no settlement, no compromise, no nothing. You release a scoff once he sees himself out with a cocky ass grin and a pep in his step. Hah. Fucker thinks he’s winning. This bitch is a toddler in the field compared to you. You’re gonna show him just how ruthless the law could be in the hands of someone that could bend it. He has no idea what’s coming for him.

You pull out your phone. You text Mark a go signal. [Give me an update tonight]. You stare at your string of texts you’d just sent, squint, contemplate for a second, then bring up your phone to your face. [Also, please send a message to your locked up exec that I really have to meet him soon. Tell him to stop rejecting my visitation requests. Please. For the love of god]. You hit send again. You exhale. That does it. You fix up your things and prepare to start leaving.

While you make your way to the cafe’s exit, you unfortunately overhear a conversation. Not that you’d even tried to overhear. There are two girls sitting next to the counter— one with straight black hair and blunt bangs, the other one with a very bad bleach job— and they’re both just talking really, really loudly. 

“That’s what you get for fucking my man, you tramp,” sneers the fake blonde.

“I’m telling you, I really didn’t know he was taken!” straight hair screeches back.

Oh, fuck. You didn’t want to hear this drama. You try your best to maneuver past them quickly, quietly, but you end up hearing more information as you walk by. “I already broke it off and apologized! Please just take down the post already—”

“There’s no way you didn’t know, and there’s no way in hell I’m taking your disgusting texts down. All your friends and family deserve to know how much of a dirty, manipulative skank you are. So that they’d know to keep their boyfriends away from you!”

“Look, I’d get down on my knees to apologize, but you posted not only my private texts, but my fucking nudes were in them, you bitch! I’m not fucking proud of hooking up with a man I didn’t know was taken, but you’re going too far! I—I could sue you for this!”

“Hah! As if! If anyone, I’m the victim in this situation! Not you! You’re the affair partner who seduced my man!”

Goddammit. You jerk back after a sudden stop six feet away from the exit. You shit your eyes, mutter a silent breath as you continue to listen to the high-strung argument behind you. Normally, you’re not one to butt into these things. It’s none of your business, and quite frankly, you could give less of a fuck. But maybe it’s because you’ve yet again been subject to do something that desecrates the very principles of your occupation— the very notions of what is just and lawful and good— that you find yourself spinning your heels and stomping back into the opposite direction before you could even reconsider.

“Excuse me. I apologize for interrupting without consent, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

You just want to balance out the scales of your negative karma— even by just a little bit. You’re doing this for no one’s good but your own. The two girls snap their heads at you, one visibly more annoyed than the other. You gloss over it.

“The right to privacy of communication is heavily protected by our laws and Constitution,” you begin. Blondie furrows her brows at you, a loading symbol practically spinning above her head. Straight hair looks at you, confused. You keep a straight face, digging into your bag. “Prying into the privacy of another’s conversation is a civil offense and a cause of action for damages. That’s one thing. Posting someone else’s sensitive and explicit conversations is another story.”

You pull out a card. “Who the hell are you? Why the hell are you butting in?” she snaps, the sound of her chair scratching the ground as she stands up in a huff to level you. You set your business card down onto the table, the words ATTORNEY AT LAW, all caps, facing right side up. 

Blondie’s eyes look down. Her face pales. Then she looks up to meet yours. You almost snort.

“It is a criminal offense punishable by three to seven years imprisonment, or a fine not exceeding twelve million won. Or both.” You could very well be jumping the wrong ship here, but you got a fair sense that Blunt Bangs was telling the truth from how desperate she looks, and that Fake Blonde is simply high on a vengeful power trip over the wrong person. “And, considering the fact that you publicized it online through a post, if I heard correctly, it would also be considered a cybercrime. Meaning, you could be charged for both.”

You didn’t think she could get any paler. You’re proven wrong.

“Wow. That’s an impressive feat considering you had no idea you were committing those crimes. Amazing.”

It doesn’t take much longer for her to sputter out something incoherent and stomp out in a panicked frenzy while mashing something onto her phone, most likely trying to delete the post. Sometimes witnessing firsthand the dredges of humanity gives you a little bit of comfort that you’re not the shittiest person in the world. You release a breath, readying yourself to leave once more, only to be stopped by a quiet excuse me from the same table.

You look down. You’re met by the way too happy smile of Blunt Bangs. She looks cheerful. Oh, god. You’re not used to this kind of positivity. You feel a shudder down your spine and force down a lump in your throat.

“Hi,” she starts. “Thanks for helping me. Jeez. What a psycho.”

The girl asks if she can buy you a drink as a thank you. You have not known kindness ever since you started working at JSS, and, by proxy, Nalkkeutta, so you were possessed with the inclination to say yes even though you’ve just had an americano with three shots. You settle with a warm jasmine tea to spare your stomach lining. The girl introduces herself as Natty, and starts giving you an unsolicited rundown of how Fake Blonde just suddenly started sending her swears and death threats the other day alongside the revelation that she was apparently her fling’s girlfriend.

She came here all the way from Mapo just to apologize again and beg her to take down the post. And then you witnessed how that went down. “I really had no idea,” she huffs in complaint for the nth time. You take a sip from your half-empty cup, glancing at the time. It’s 4 p.m. Sweet. Doyoung still thinks you’re having the meeting right now. One more hour before you have to clock out. You decide to pay a bit more attention to Natty as a thank you for allowing you to slack off on the job. “Oh, by the way. Can I ask something?”

You set down the cup on the saucer. “Sure.”

“Did you maybe go to Ganghak High School? Around eight to nine years ago?” 

And then you nearly choke on your own fucking spit. What the hell? You stare at her, wide-eyed in both surprise and innate fear. “Why...why do you ask?” Natty takes that a yes and immediately lets out a squeal, followed by the squeal of your name, followed by a very slow process of recollection on your part of a girl with similar blunt bangs in your repressed high school memories— then it clicks.

“I recognized your name on your business card, but wasn’t sure if you were the same person! Whoa! You’re a lawyer now! That’s amazing!”

Blunt bangs. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. Pretty smile. You remember being classmates with a girl with that same description. You think they both have the same name. You don’t get the chance to second guess yourself because she starts talking about more people you vaguely remember in Ganghak— the class president who’s apparently on his third try at taking the Civil Service Exam, that one couple who apparently recently got married just two months ago in Jeju, that one kid who had once gotten his head dunked into the trash can on the first day of senior year because he came in without knowing the rules of the school.

He didn’t know who ran it. You did. Natty did. And that confirms the fact that you two had indeed been in the same hell once. 

“Hey, do you have any idea what happened to Na Jaemin? I haven’t heard a single thing about him since we graduated and I moved towns.” 

You look at her, a stiff smile on your face. She was your classmate. She was his classmate. If she can remember all those other people and what their roles were back in Ganghak, she’d very clearly remember yours as well. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard about him either.”

Natty gets the realization and immediately flinches out an apology. “O—oh, haha. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”

“No, it’s alright,” you hum, smile softening. “I haven’t heard of him, either.” 

Christ. This man really haunts you everywhere you go. Natty is great at conversation, and manages to smooth over that one bump as quickly as she can and proceeds to ask about any new hot places at Yeongdeungpo, ask about your job, you asking about what she’s up to in turn under it hits five in the afternoon and you have to return to the firm to clock out.

The both of you exchange numbers. You look at Natty’s saved contact on your phone with conflicted feelings.

Now that you’ve managed to slot the memories into place, you do in fact remember her. She was your classmate throughout the two short years you spent at Ganghak. On your first day, she was the first person who’d come up to talk to you— the only time she’d ever talked to you and vice versa. It took nine years for the both of you to have a conversation again. And there’s really only one person to blame.

*‎

(“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—!”

It’s Monday. You race down the now emptied hallways, eyes quickly scanning each door label that you zoom past in the off chance that you got carried away running and missed your room. To think this is how your year starts. You were looking forward to using the opportunity before homeroom to introduce yourself and make some new friends, but no— you just had to doze off because you spent the entire yesterday unpacking. 

It’s a new neighborhood, new school. You’ve heard that most of Ganghak High School’s students came from Ganghak Middle, meaning almost everyone already knows each other here. They’ve already formed their respective cliques and cohorts and groups. You’re currently an outsider, and you need to put in the effort to change that. You need to make a good impression to get some god damned friends and not spend the rest of your two years here as a loner.

Which is why you feel a splashing wave of relief drenching your bones the moment you make it to your assigned class for the rest of the year— slamming a palm against the door, just in time for the bell to ring.

“Whoo! Safe!” 

At least fifteen sets of eyes immediately zero in on you. You stand there by the door. You smile and nod.

“Hi, good morning.”

No one responds. They all look at you— some stares lingering longer than the others— but they all eventually divert their eyes before five seconds, releasing what you could only assume were sighs of relief, and then proceed to drown the classroom in a silence that’s so, so unnatural for a large group of fifteen to sixteen year olds. 

That should have been your first sign that this school was far from normal.

What a great start, you mentally huff, scanning the classroom the seat you’ll be stuck with for the next two years, and you eventually clock a pair of empty desks in the middle of the back row. You walk over to the available seat, waiting to see if anyone calls out saying it’s theirs, and after a few moments of no objections, you sit yourself down on the wooden chair.

The moment you hook your bag on the left side of your new desk, you swore that the heavy silence pervading the classroom just got heavier. 

You look up. You see someone from the center row, peeking over her shoulder at who you assume is you with a somewhat nervous jitter— as if she’s having an argument with herself in her own head and for some reason, you’re involved. That should’ve been your second sign, but despite your confusion and frustration, you sit still. You sit still until one side eventually wins the girl’s mental argument and she rises up from her seat, tentatively stalks up to you as the class’s eyes follow her short walk with anticipation, including yours.

“Hi, uhm,” she practically squeaks out, hesitant, eyes quickly flickering over to the classroom door before looking back at you. She inhales and smiles. Her bangs are covering her eyebrows. “I’m Natty.”

You greet back and introduce yourself. This is a really fucking weird first interaction, but you take what you can get. “Hi.”

The expectation would be that she’d ask you if you’re new here, if you’re a transferee, if you’d like to join her and her friends for lunch, but no.

Natty completely diverts your expectations by saying, point blank, “This may sound weird, but…you should maybe pick another seat.”

You blink. What the hell? “Why?”

The answer comes in the form of the sound of the classroom door violently swinging open, followed by a series of hushed exclamations, and Natty’s suddenly paled face snapping away from you within the same moment, scampering to return back to her seat at the center, without even giving you the grace of a response. 

You didn’t think the room could get any quieter, but it does, even with the sound of graveled footsteps marching their way over to you— the only thing you can see of the late student’s arrival because for some damn reason, everyone has their head down, and you felt compelled to follow and shut up and catch up to your confused and bated breaths as you listen to the chair next to you screech against the tiled floor, and feel the presence of someone plop themselves down with a rattle and grunt, and at that moment, you feel like you were given the subconscious permission to look up again.

So, you do. 

And when you do, you immediately lock eyes with Natty. Sorry, she mouths with a hand up her cheek, then just as quickly turns back to the front, leaving you to think— what the hell just happened?

Hesitantly, you crane your head to the right, sneaking a glance at the person who just yanked the atmosphere down into hell with just his arrival, the person who you’d be stuck with for the rest of the year by virtue of your seating arrangement. 

Much to your surprise, you’re not met by a face. You’re met with someone hunched over, a mop of messy hair with his face buried into crossed arms over the desk with an aura that immediately repels you from prodding even an inch closer. You nudge your seat away to the left, making sure not to cross the invisible mark marked by the gap between your two desks. The only sign of life you glean is the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders— invisible to anyone but you solely because of proximity— which leads you to the conclusion that he’s sleeping.

Sleeping. Something tells you that it’s better that he stays this way. That something is the sigh of relief from the person sitting right in front of you as your homeroom teacher finally walks in.

At this point, you still haven’t seen your seatmate’s face. The only time you know of his name is during attendance, when your teacher calls out a hesitant, “Na— Na Jaemin…?” after double-taking at her class list, answered by nothing but a heavy silence despite having all seats in the classroom filled. She quickly nods in acknowledgement and moves forward after that. Just who the hell is sitting right next to you?)

*‎

Beyond your control, memories from that time of your life continuously flash behind your eyes as you drive back to the firm. A buzz from your phone momentarily interrupts you. It’s from Mark Lee.

[Thanks, attorney. We’ll take care of Ma Gildong first tonight. You can see Jaemin on Monday, next week 🧑‍🎓].

Na Jaemin on a Monday. You grimace. What a load of crappy poetic irony. You reply with a thanks and a middle finger. Mark Lee beeps back with a bright grin in emoji form.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[joshuatingz]

bf! seungcheol

Summary: Seungcheol & you are in a long-term relationship (since high school) and now you both are fully grown adults trying to navigate through life

Warning: cussing (cause what is an au w/o it?), LIFE (it really is sucky at times)

Note: @kathaelipwse really gave me all the motivation & inspiration to write this so, here we are I guess?

Additional Notes: Non-idol AU, Fem! Reader

During High School

You just happened to be walking along the corridors of your classroom when you saw a pouty (buff) baby kneeling and begging his so-called "best friends" to let him stay out of the whole shitty event they planned

You being you, decided to go check out if the said pouty buff baby needed anything

"Oh great please, I'm sorry I don't know you BUT PLEASE my friends are torturing me, could you write them up or something?"

"Bold of you to assume we're letting you off the hook, Cheol"

Said "Cheol" gives you a big wide-eyed look that you just could NOT! resist and the next second, there you were dragging him away from those evil people (who you then find out were his best friends)

"...bro those are your best friends?" "point 1, no 'bro', point 2 yeah...I love them though" "um okay noted...well bye I guess?"

"What's your name though?" "..Guess?" "Yeah no, I'm Seungcheol, people call me Cheol but you, sweetheart, you can call me yours 😘"

You just stand there frozen (🧍‍♀️) & blushing (😳). You somehow manage to recover with a "Listen, you needa chill. Just cause I found you cute doesn't mean you can start messing with me"

"Oh? I'm cute? Well look at you baby, you're much more cuter than me!" "..Cheol what the fuck-"

Final year of High School

Seungcheol (and you too) was love-stricken but never had the guts to ask you out. Everytime you pass by each other, you'd see Jeonghan & Joshua messing with him, he getting absolutely flustered, and you just giving a blank expression

no one has to know that you were dying at how cute he was

He finally gained the courage to ask you out in the final year (also thanks to Jeonghan & Joshua threatening him)

"Ok Y/N, I really like you, please go on a date with me 🥺" "You took THIS LONG to ask me out? Wtf Cheol, I was already imagining a future of us"

"O-oh? omg..okay yes we're finally a couple, there'll be a future us, we'll get married have a bunch of kids and grow old together. Yeah, we're definitely doing this. when sh-" "Cheol okay wait calm tf down, let's graduate first yeah?"

University

Both of you get into the same university but sadly different courses - Cheol being an arts student and you being a law student (the two of you decide to share an apartment cause why not?)

Unfortunately Jeonghan & Joshua also tag along to the same university with courses in vet & medicine respectively

By the 3rd year, all 4 of you got hella busy - barely had time to meet each other. and your relationship with Cheol? Oh boy, it would be better not to mention anything about it.

Both of you had hit an all time low in life (for now at least) - Cheol being unable to come up with a thesis, you being unable to present in mock court sessions. You both wondered if this was what you wanted

"Cheol, its been so long since we went on a date" "I know baby, but I really need to get this done, I don't know if I can pa- "I have my shit to do too Choi Seungcheol, but here I am trying to make our relationship work"

You knew how much he hated when you said his full name but damn you were pissed. The same excuse everytime? Was he the only one who had work to do?

"Baby listen, I know this isn't working right now but let's do our best okay?" "Seungcheol, we're 3rd year students, we barely went on dates in our first two years - literally 4 dates and that too on our birthdays. Come on, let's g-" "Y/N, I said NO, don't you get it?" "...You know what? Fuck you. Go and do your stupid work."

And just like that, you storm out of the house, hot-headed in the pouring rain. Your legs take you to Jeonghan's place and you crash the night there, crying in his arms while Joshua goes out to get some ice cream for you three

Jeonghan literally speed-dialled Joshua cause he didn't know what to do

~ The Next Day ~

Cheol showed up at Jeonghan's apartment, all teary-eyed full of remorse for whatever happened last night

You didn't have the heart to prolong whatever this was. You missed him, you missed sleeping beside him, his warmth, his cuddles.. Oh God, you just loved him too much.

Cheol missed you the same. He missed spooning you, he missed tucking your hair, he missed looking into your eyes, he just missed you so much.

"Y/N, baby, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have yelled like that. I- I really don't know what got to me. I can't lose you like this sweetheart. Please, come back home" "Oh Cheollie, I will never hate you. I just can't and I'm sorry for not understanding you"

"Hurt her again and we won't spare you, Cheol" voiced both Jeonghan and Joshua, watching all this unfold

You both go home, hand-in-hand, looking at those lovely eyes, that cute pout on Seungcheol

Adult Life

Few years pass, and the 4 of you are working your 9-6 jobs

Except for Jeonghan and Joshua who were always on call (it was lowkey their fault for becoming a vet & a doctor)

At this point, it was a miracle how the 4 of you stayed close, with Seungcheol and you still going strong

However, you barely saw each other at home, and when you did, both of you just slept throughout the day

"Why is adult life exhausting? Why are we adulting?" "I don't know, Cheollie, but all I know is that we both hate it" "Damn right we do"

You're both currently 27, with stable jobs and honestly? both of you were planning to settle down

Obviously, your family was overjoyed ("Finally, do you know how long we waited?") and so were his

But what's stopping you both from entering the next phase of your lives? Job? Money? Security? Committment?

No, it was because you called Cheol "Bro" by accident

"Bro...you know what? We should get married. A small, simple, cute wedding with our closest ones. How does that sound?" "...Bro?" "Cheollie, that was by accident. Even if I did, it is my way of loving you"

"Didn't I already mention no 'bro'?" "Again, Cheol, it was by accident" "You literally call your bestfriend baby, sweetheart, sweetie", he deadpanned

"...Are you telling me you don't wanna get married because I called you 'Bro', MIND YOU, after years, by accident?" "Yeah" "Choi Seungcheol, what the absolute fuck?"

"..Cheollie, baby, I'm sorry. You know it was by accident right? Come on sweetheart, look at me yeah? 🥺", came your pleading (Gosh it was hella difficult to coddle a pouty buff baby)

"You called me 'bro' after years.. Y/N, you called me bro!!" "Cheol, oh my god that was by accident. You're 27 now 😑" "I don't care. I didn't expect my LOVED ONE, my RIDE OR DIE, my FUTURE WIFE, my GIRLFRIEND, to call me 'bro'. The betrayal.."

"Come to think of it, we never officially told anyone we were a couple. Things just, happened to happen. Didn't they?" "..If you're trying to distract me, it's absolutely working. Gosh, I can't sulk when I'm with you. But yeah, we never really told anyone"

"But hey, you'll be my wife soon everyone's going to know 😘😉" "And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you and your pouty ass" "Hey, you love me!!!"

"Damn right I do"

On your wedding day

Both of you were a mess, a huge mess

Seungcheol was constantly sweating buckets, you were pacing all around the room with nervousness. Not to mention, Jeonghan took away your phones cause he knew you both would video call each other just to calm down

"Jeonghan, I swear I will kill you if you don't give me my phone right now" "Y/N, calm down, it's your wedding day" "THAT'S WHY I NEED IT" "Can't do that darling, sorry"

You were walking down the aisle, holding a boquet of flowers with everyone' eyes on you, while yours on Seungcheol's

God, he was a mess. Seeing you all dressed up on this occassion just made him bawl like a baby

Joshua was at the side, trying to comfort an already-crying Jeonghan who was muttering "My babies have grown up"

You reached Seungcheol, wiped his tears, said your "I do's" and there you both were, officially Husband and Wife

And that's when you start bawling. All those pent up feelings gushing out. It's official, you were each other's, and you both made it known

"So, shall we started planning for baby #1?" "CHEOL????"

A/N: I tried, I'm sorry if it didn't meet your expectations 🥺😭. I'll try harder next time!!

[hoodzgyal]

thinking about fucking stoner roy..he’s so smug about how he’s finally got you laid out for him after months of hitting on you

YAWPPPPP THIS MY SHIT RIGHT HEREEE

fratboy!roy has been plotting on you since seeing you during NSO week almost two years ago. unfortunately, you two were in totally different circles; hes a finance major who does little else than smoke, party with his fraternity brothers, and fuck around with the plenty of girls that are clamoring to get on his dick.

meanwhile, you’re an english major, pre-law, and entirely too focused on getting to law school to indulge in his petty flirtations. but for once in your life, your friends have dragged you out to a party that just so happened to be hosted in roy’s frat house.

you’re not sure what has you placing your hand on roy’s chest as he rumbles in your ear over the blaring music of the party, but whatever it is, also leads you to play with the silver chain around his neck as he talks you into standing outside with him on the secluded balcony.

it’s here where he’s a lot more forward than usual, tired of beating around the bush when it comes to you.

“y’know,” he sighs, basically caging you against the wall with his body, shielding you from the cool fall air, “i see you makin’ eyes at me and shit all the time, pretty.”

you’d have to stupid, or just incredibly naive not to see the way his eyes trace over your skin, the seen and unseen parts as if to undress you with his mind. he breathes deeply, seemingly thinking hard about his next words, the marijuana in his system making his thoughts hazy and unfinished, no doubt.

one of his large freckled hands seems to move on its own, pulling you closer to him by the belt loop.

he chucks your chin as his hazy green eyes lazily search yours as he angles his head down, his lips almost against your ear as he murmurs, “listen… i’m pretty,” he slurs, fluttering his eyelashes and giving you a winning smile, “you’re pretty… why dontcha let me take you out, mama? maybe even make you feel good after? i’d be on my best behavior, promise.”

[ladykailitha]

The Au Pair Boy Part 3

I'm living for the love for this story!! Thank you everyone!

I'm sorry to say that any requests to be added to the tag list will be ignored. It's all full up! But! You can follow me and put on notifications. That seems to work for most people!

In this we have a lot of growing pains and the girls try everything they can think of to keep Eddie home.

Part 1 Part 2

~

The next couple of days were spent ironing out of the kinks and setting expectations. Like when Steve scolded Janice for pulling on Joan’s braids and she yelled back that she wasn’t the boss of her.

Both girls went running to their dad.

Eddie looked down at his two little sun spots. “I don’t know why you’re coming to me about this, if Steve saw Jannie pulling Joanie’s hair, then he had every right to call it out. Just like Chrissy, just your uncles. He is in charge while I’m gone, so you better get used to his authority. Both of you girls go sit on your time out chairs for five minutes.”

Both girls gasped in shock, but after an intense showdown, they did as they were told.

“Thanks for that,” Steve said with a huff. “There’s always a little bit of give and take for first couple of weeks, and you laying down the law will really help that.”

Eddie smiled up at him. “It’s just been a tough year for them both. They’re old enough to remember Ethan, but young enough that it’s all the good and none of the bad. So they don’t understand why he left. I’ve been talking to a couple of therapists that think once they’re a little older, they want to start seeing both girls.”

“Nothing quite as traumatic as abandonment issues from an early age,” Steve said with a nod.

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

Steve sat down on the sofa with a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes. Only my parents did just enough to make sure I wasn’t taken away from them. Making sure their trips would only last long enough that it would be considered child abandonment and endangerment. Sending me gifts for my birthday and Christmas, but not being there.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Then as I got into high school, sending me money for groceries and gas. As well as a hefty allowance to make sure that I wouldn’t talk. ‘Let’ me throw lavish parties and then ground me when they found out. Only they would pack up and leave, knowing I’d ignore the grounding because they were gone. Just a bunch of stupid shit like that.”

Eddie’s expression softened. “In the Hall of Fame of shitty parents, that’s really up there, man.”

Steve let out a huff of bitter laughter. “I got the last laugh though. The second I turned eighteen and finished school, I told them I was running away with my best friend and joining the circus. Then I told them I was bisexual and never looked back.”

“So how was the circus?” Eddie asked with a grin.

“Not as fun as you’d expect,” Steve conceded. “Robin and I didn’t have anything like skills to be a performer, and wasn’t experienced in running the booths and rides, so we were part of the put up and take down crew.”

“So how did the nanny thing come about?” Eddie asked, crossing his legs and leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair.

“I used to babysit these kids when I was younger,” Steve said, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, “and when the one’s dad died and left a hefty life insurance to his mom. She suddenly was overwhelmed and hired me to nanny for her.”

Eddie thought back to the resumé the agency had sent over. “Mrs. Henderson, right?”

“That’s the one,” Steve leaned back on the sofa. “Dustin was a good kid. Too smart and arrogant for his own good.”

“Then of course, Mrs. Henderson recommended me to her friends,” Steve said. “One of them said they would only hire me through an agency. My ex-girlfriend happened to work at a nanny agency while she was going to school and offered to put in a good word for me.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “That was nice of an ex. I don’t know if I have any exes that would do the same for me.”

Steve just shrugged. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms either, but I used to babysit her younger siblings and knew how good I was. Nancy Wheeler is nothing but logical. She knew I would be good at it.”

“I spoke to a Nancy earlier,” Eddie said thoughtfully. “She really went to bat for you.”

“That’s Nance for ya,” Steve huffed. “Tenacious to a fault. This is her last semester at college and then she’s going to go to Emerson to get her journalism degree. She wanted to get her generals out of the way so she wasn’t paying out the ass for them.”

Eddie smiled. “Looks like I really lucked out then.”

“I guess you did,” Steve said softly. “I did too. Having you here these last couple of days have really helped out. They are still going to have the worst meltdowns during that first week you’re gone, but knowing you’ve already set the boundary they’ll only butt against it instead crossing it.”

Eddie smirked. “They’ve chased off nannies before. It’s why I have a very specific list of do’s and don’t’s with anyone I hire.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” Steve chuckled. “Normally, I’d put them to bed, but because it’s your last night with them, I’d suggest you do it.”

“Of course,” Eddie said softly. “Thank you for taking good care of them, Steve. I’m really grateful to be leaving them in such capable hands. I don’t want to go on this tour, not really. But I need a break. I love my girls, but with Ethan leaving it feels like he took away my right to chose how to live my life.”

Steve got up and moved to the desk and sat down on it half way. “But at least you have the money and the wherewithal to make sure they are taken care of. Every parent needs a break once in awhile. You’ll go out there make your fans happy and then when you come back, you’ll appreciate them all the more for leaving.”

Eddie looked up at him, then his eyes fluttered shut. He pursed his lips together and leaned his head back. He opened his eyes to look at him again. “You don’t think I’m being a bad parent?”

“It does you no good to burn yourself out,” Steve soothed. “It would do them more harm if you burned out and couldn’t take care of them anymore.”

“I love them so much,” Eddie said, his lower lip quivering. “But not having any help except Chrissy occasionally made it hard.” Tears trickled down his cheeks.

Steve pulled out a tissue and handed it to him. Eddie let out a watery chuckle. “You didn’t have anyone close that could help you?”

Eddie wiped his eyes and shook his head. “My former bandmates kinda scattered all over the globe. Gareth in Wales where his family is from, Jeff in New York, and Brian in LA. My uncle, Wayne broke his leg just after Ethan left and he’s just barely moving around without a cane. I couldn’t make him watch two rambunctious four year olds.”

He let out a shuddering breath and then another. “A lot of the nannies we had kept trying to be their mother. One was even caught trying to teach Joanie to call her Mama.”

“That’s rough,” Steve murmured. “But I’m here to help you. I’m not going to try and replace you as their dad. Or even Ethan, really. I’m just an extra person you can rely on.”

“You don’t mind setting up the household staff do you?” Eddie asked, his voice still rough from the crying. He blew his nose and then threw the tissue away in a nearby garbage. “It’s just that I want people that will work well with you and not try to fight you on every little thing.”

Steve shook his head. “No I get it. Plus getting help for a place as big as this one, I’d need the help otherwise I’d wear myself out before you got home.”

Eddie chuckled. “Do you like the house? Some of the other nannies thought it was creepy.”

“Mr. Muns–” Steve began but Eddie cut him off.

“Call me Eddie,” he said softly. “Mr. Munson makes me feel old and I’m not ready for that yet.”

“All right, Eddie,” Steve murmured back, “I think it’s spooky in a fun way. It’s not creepy. It’s beautifully decorated. I’ve seen creepy. Like tiger and elephant heads mounted on the walls with fully stuffed birds and in one horrifying case a Tasmanian wolf.”

“Aren’t those extinct?” Eddie asked with a grimace.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, moving to sit on on the desk all the way, to put some distance between them. Before he did something stupid like kiss his boss. “I made sure to report his taxidermy to the Feds on the way out.”

“Brutal.”

“Dude was creep and his wife wasn’t much better,” Steve said with a shrug. “I felt sorry for their kids. They didn’t deserve having parents like those.”

“What made you leave?” Eddie asked, honestly curious on how Steve could have gone through so many clients considering he didn’t seem very old.

Steve kicked his feet a little, careful not to kick Eddie. “They aged out of needing one. They were already pre-teens when I got hired. They basically only needed someone to pick them up from school and make them dinner before their parents came home.”

“How long were you with them?” Eddie asked, more to keep Steve there then any real curiosity he had. Yeah, he had been curious about what made him leave, but this was blatant flirting at this point.

Steve laughed. “What’s this, more interview?” he teased. “No, in all seriousness, it was about a year. Most of my clients only need me temporarily anyway. I’m pretty sure that for at least three of them, their friends or family got to them about me being a guy, because they hired a female nanny soon after.”

“That’s bullshit,” Eddie huffed. “I’m sorry that they kept doing that to you. If anyone says anything to you, send them my direction. I’ll set them straight.”

“Thanks,” Steve murmured. He checked his watch. “It’s about time for me to make dinner.”

Eddie nodded and watched him leave. Once Steve had closed the door to his office behind him, Eddie put his head in his hands. It was so hard to keep his hands to himself when Steve was that close.

He just hoped that the three months he was going to be gone would be enough to put out the fire in his gut for his new nanny for fuck’s sake. He needed to get laid, Jesus fucking Christ!

The rest of the night passed with relative ease. Steve made meatloaf and garlic mashed potatoes with corn on the side.

Night time went well, too. Both girls drifting off to sleep quickly.

Morning, though? That was what was fraught with difficulties and tantrums.

Joan refused to get dressed, flopping on the floor and sobbing uncontrollably. Janice dumped her cereal on the floor, kicking and screaming like a toddler. Joan threw herself at the door while Janice tried to hide Eddie’s shoes.

Eddie stared Janice right in the eye as he pulled out another pair of shoes out of his carry-on. And then another out of his suitcase. He put the shoes back in the suitcase, but pulled on the shoes from his carry-on. All while Janice stood there with her jaw on the floor.

Steve pulled Joan away from the door so Eddie could open it and both girls started crying. Eddie hugged and kissed each girl goodbye.

Steve picked up both girls and held them up to the window so they could wave goodbye as Eddie drove off.

He set them down and they both flopped on the floor like ragdolls. He let them lay there for awhile, even taking advantage of Joan not moving to get her dressed. He put his hands on his hips it was going to be a long week. A very long week.

~

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

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[etherealily]

ᴊᴀɪʟʙɪʀᴅ // ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ

Theodore Nott + fem!dealer!reader. Spliffs + Cuss words.

This was from my poll. Other fics of mine. If you have the time.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're his dealer. Needless to say, he's intrigued.

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"You have a problem, mate."

Theo knows that, he doesn't need Lorenzo to tell him, but honestly, he could not give any less fucks. Cigarettes are amazing. They calm him (something everyone around him needs), they make him happy (something he needs), and plus, they make him look cool. That's just something the world needs.

In short, he needs smoking.

Unfortunately for his Death Eater reputation, though, he has more of a proclivity for Muggle cigarettes, and that's really not something he can openly state, ask for, or find.

That's where you come in. His little jailbird.

A mudblood (though you don't like being called that, for some odd reason. Theo thinks that's weird. No shame being what you are, no matter how pathetic), from quite the interesting neighbourhood in your little Muggle town in your little Muggle city. All in all, you've got access to what he needs.

And boy, do you get it for him.

It's quite funny, in all honesty. You get the rest of the mudbloods things back that remind them of home, you refuse to bring back things that are illegal in Muggle Law, but you have a special soft spot for him, so you bring back cigs.

Maybe it's not a soft spot, because it does cost him a pretty penny. Well, galleon.

He's not complaining, though. He is curious, he'll have to admit that. He's been going to class with a potential outlaw? Beautiful. Finally, something fun to think about in this school.

Theo really doesn't know much about you besides the fact that you're a mudblood and you didn't have the money to pay for Hogwarts, so some higher-ups here at Hogwarts who cared enough had pulled some strings, blah-blah-blah, and you're basically in worse debt than you probably had been, back in London, only this time, magical.

Though he thinks your kind are impure, he does wonder what it's like to grow up in a turbulent neighbourhood without magic, and then one day, get some fancy letter that says you are magic. He's pretty sure your rowdy little mates would have taken the piss out of you.

You don't seem that impressed by Hogwarts, though. In fact, come to think of it, you haven't seemed impressed since the start, and even Theo had thought the Quidditch field was impressive, back in First Year. Either way, you seem quite at ease here for an illegal-shite-smuggling-Muggleborn.

It's actually quite lovely, this arrangement. Every Sunday, you're both meeting a little ways away from the Greenhouse, and you're slipping two packets into his hand just as he's slipping twenty galleons into yours.

However, this week's been different. You'd slipped him a note during Transfiguration that you couldn't supply him this week.

Bull. He's almost 100% sure you're just wanting to go off with your Mudblood mates so you can reminisce and probably smoke a cig or two. The cigs that you don't sell to him. Probably the fancy ones. The better ones. So, yes, naturally, like the addicted, withdrawal-undergoing-chainsmoker he is, he follows you.

And he's right. Whatever that is, the smell tells him it's not just what you usually sell him. It smells terrible, but you seem to like it, so he's sure he will, too.

You've been holding out on him, and that's not the deal.

And he's about to tell you as such, but he's proven debilitatingly right about why you couldn't sell to him this week, if the clicking of your stupid little Mudblood gang's footsteps is any indication.

All of them, lucky for Theo, have unanimously agreed that you should be the only one selling. Because you have the sneakiness that comes with growing up in a rough neighbourhood and he's just sure that you're the only one who'd actually keep his secret. Not tell people he couldn't live without something Muggle-made.

"We're lucky wizards haven't perfected summat better than spliffs, or we'd all be floating on wizard-blunts by now.", you declare.

"D'you ever think the Chosen One, stay with me now, d'you ever think he had chav mates back in Surrey? That he ran around robbing Tescos with?", someone asks.

Raucous laughter.

He has no bloody idea what any of that's supposed to mean. It's worse than Greek and Latin to him. It's intergalactic speak in a Cockney accent.

Though, he has heard you use the term "spliff", before, and you might be smoking one of those. Granted, he doesn't know what a spliff actually is, but if it was summat you and your mates liked smoking, he needs a hit of that.

That was the bloody arrangement, it was!

"Get me the best Muggle cigs, and don't tell - or sell to - anyone else."

Simple, easy to follow.

An idiot could follow it, actually.

There's a reason Gryffindors aren't the smart house, he supposes.

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Theodore's biggest flaw is probably his patience. And possessiveness. Yeah, that's... that's a big one.

He doesn't like the fact that you're selling better cigs to others.

Alright, fair, you probably weren't demanding any money from your mates, but still.

This is stupid, he's aware, but he doesn't like the thought of you giving anyone else any form of cigs. That was yours and Theo's thing.

Money or not, "spliff", or not.

God, was he pathetic. Needing a girl to supply only him with cigarettes. Eurgh. He's disgusting himself, right now.

Enzo's told him, time and time again, that if there ever comes a week that you're not supplying him with cigarettes — Enzo doesn't and won't ever know that they're Muggle — to take it as a sign that he should try quitting.

And that's what he's doing right now, as well. Theo's ready to Reducto himself in the mouth.

"One week without those things and you're in the worst mood yet. Grumbling, sulking, moping. This is why I'm sayin', unless you wanna be a liability, you should quit. Cold turkey."

"I'm not moping. And it's not 'cause I don't have the cigs."

"Then what is it?"

"She's been holding out on me!"

"Is that really such a shock, mate? This is a mudblood Gryffindor we're talkin' about."

Theo scoffs. These non-smokers. They'll never get it.

"The deal was, don't give anyone else the best, only me."

"God.", snorts Enzo, grunting as he stands and stretches before pointing at him in amusement. "You almost sound jealous.", he declares, slapping Theo on the shoulder and scurrying off up the stairs in a fit of guffaws before he could be hexed.

"I expect to get what I pay so much for!", yells Theo, before running his hands over his face. Not his best moment.

And, not to mention, he'd also smelled your regular cigs on some bloke passing by him during Potions class. Meaning two things. One, you'd been not only holding out on him on better cigs, but two, you're also selling his usual cigs to someone else.

"Um, Mr. Nott?" The tiniest voice ever, belonging to the tiniest face ever, with a tiny hand that held a tinier piece of paper.

His head whips around. Oh, a First Year.

"Yeah?"

"I was told to give you this."

He takes the note and squints down at it.

"Ten. Bring money."

Brilliant. "Gryffindor girl?", he asks, and the child nods in the affirmative. "Alright, great. Uh, one second.", he mumbles, reaching into his pockets and fumbling around before producing a Chocolate Frog. "Here, thank you."

He's pretty sure this is a muggleborn child, but still. All he needs to do is not touch its hand when he gives the box to him, and he's fine, not contaminated. You've probably (and hopefully) never realised this is the same reason he's glad the cigarettes come in packets already, before giving them to him.

Rechecking that his wallet's full of the money he owes you (and some extra), he shoots up, practically zooming out. It's been a week or two since he's actually seen you. And your cigs. Usually, you'll smoke one or two with him right after the sale, and honestly?

That's the best part of this whole deal.

Someone who gets it. Someone who he's inexplicably drawn to, in every way, and the only person he probably shouldn't be drawn to.

A mudblood, Gryffindor criminal.

Oh, his life's poetry. And a joke. His life's a limerick, actually.

"Nott."

"Jailbird.", he nods in greeting, settling down nicely by you in the moonlight. "How's it going?"

"Fine. How's by you?"

"Won't lie, was about ready to off myself. My mate pinched my cigs in a bid to get me sober, so I was suffering."

You laugh, softly, and he swears that just gave him a stronger hit than ten cigs could. "Yeah? How'd that work out for him?"

Grinning, he flashes his wallet at you, matter-of-factly. "Brought last week's amount, too. You better have extra to make up for it."

"Sorry mate, I actually don't. But, I do have your regular supply of Marlb—"

"Whoa, what do you mean you don't?"

You furrow your brows, a cock to your head. "I just don't."

Yeah, 'cause you're selling to others, like some sort of... sales whore.

"No? How convenient."

"'M sorry?"

"You forget I've been comin' to the greenhouse long before I started buyin' from you, so I was out on a walk last Sunday, and guess what I saw."

You sigh in realisation, shaking your head. "Listen, Nott—"

"What? So you'll give away the good cigs to your best mates, but give the trash to me, at an unreasonable price?"

You're close to tears of laughter. This is what you loved about selling to purebloods, no matter what it is. Muggle trinkets like cameras, a ballpoint-bloody-pen, whatever, or even illegal things like Theodore Nott's cigarettes — they're always itching for better. They want the newest, they want the best, and they want them now. "Those weren't cigarettes, Nott."

"Yeah? So you just smoke quills, now, do you?"

Ooh. Business idea.

"No, Nott, they were spliffs."

"Yeah, I know, a cooler type of Muggle cigs!"

"Uh..." He wasn't technically wrong. "Spliffs aren't, uh... they aren't exactly cigarettes, Nott."

"What?"

"They're pre-rolleds. They're blunts, they, uh... have weed in them."

"Weed as in... Gilly?"

"Weed as in cannabis."

He frowns, picking at the grass next to him. "Yeah, weed, of course."

So sue him, he doesn't pay attention in herbology, and it's evident.

"'S a drug, Nott. Gets you high. Out of your senses."

Oh. Oh. "And what, you were all doin' drugs on school premises?!"

"Oh, please, like I don't know about your Slytherin gang and your obsession with the Sage of the Diviners! No wonder Trelawney loves you! You act like you're there for her and not that shite."

He scoffs. "How does it matter? I'll buy it from you. All you've got."

"I don't deal drugs, Nott.", you say, standing up with a little huff before patting the dust off your clothes. "And since you don't want your normal cigarettes now, I'll bid you good night."

"Twenty galleons for each box.", he mutters, offhandedly. He knows he'll win this. He's seen you. Your soft spot for him, for the most inexplicable reasons ever. He's sure even you have no explanation for it.

But whatever. Fact of the matter is, he's just doubled his usual amount.

"Forget it, Nott. Go to sleep!", you call, as you continue your way back to the Tower.

"Twenty for each individual spliff."

He's ashamed to admit how aware he is of your presence, so much so that to him, it's like the wind has stopped howling, the stars have stopped flickering, and the world has stopped all activity, all because you've stopped walking away at that offer.

"What?"

He turns, and he's met with a bemused sort of glare, your arms are crossed, and you look two seconds away from tossing him into the Lake for the Squid to deal with. "Say that again. Slowly. With the knowledge that one pack has seven pre-rolleds in it."

"Money's no object, jailbird. You know that.", he drawls, now rolling over onto his back. "I'll go higher. How much ever you need — which you do — but with one condition."

"You have a condition for me? The one who's providing you with the stuff you need so you don't go into withdrawal?"

"You need to smoke them with me."

You snort. "Yeah, that'll happen."

He rises up, clapping his hands together to dust them off, as he saunters back to you, who's leaning on one of the greenhouse walls in absolute contempt and disbelief. Beautiful. Just how he likes you. Just how you looked the first time he'd asked if you could help him out with some Muggle cigs. "Why not?"

"I don't sell weed, Nott, alright? Cigs are barely legal, but thankfully we're both eighteen, but weed is not. So, stop."

"Alright, how's this? I pay for one. We smoke it tonight. Never askin' for them, later."

"Why?"

"Never had one before. Figure you're experienced, and if I die, you'll shove some activated charcoal down my throat, eh?"

You lick your lips, squinting up at the moon. "You serious, Nott?"

"Yeah. Just tryin'. What's the harm in that?"

Rubbing absentmindedly at your neck, you mull it over for a very long while, looking around and into the greenhouse, possibly for Filch's stupid little cat or Sprout herself. "Fine. One. But you do exactly what I tell you to."

Beautiful. "Yeah, you got it."

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"Is this heaven?", he slurs, because it seems like either the stars or his breathing are moving at a snail's pace, and it's definitely making his eyes move even slower to yours.

You have to fight a giggle, and it's clear from your quivering lips and your twinkling eyes, and the way you roll them as you gaze up at the stars as if they would give you the strength to suppress it.

"No, seriously, because I feel like...", he struggles, and that's never bloody happened before.

"I know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Wind kisses his hair, and yours, as well. Yours takes it better than his.

Looking back at the stars in intoxicated stupor, he stretches his arms out above him, hiding some of them from his eyes, and then revealing them again. It's stupid, he used to do this when he was seven, and evidently "spliffs" made him revert. "Why are you not taking any drags?"

"You need someone to help you if you green out, don't you?"

"Yeah, but, aren't you tempted?"

You scrunch up your nose, shaking your head. "Nah."

"Why's that?"

"Can't control much in my life, anyway. I like the calm that weed gives us, but not the loss of control over my faculties."

"What, so you think I want to lose control?"

You shrug. He scoffs. "I hate that face you're makin', by the way. You can tell me what you really think. Worst case scenario, I get miffed and kill you."

Chuckling, you sigh. "I dunno, I feel like it's the opposite for you, it makes you feel more in control. Probably why you started smoking, anyway."

"I started smoking, because I liked the smell and having summat for my hands to do."

You nod. "Yeah, you know best."

He sits up at that, elbows over his knees. "Fuck off, no. Sit up. Go on, then. Tell me why I really started smoking cigs, according to your expert opinion."

"Well, y'know, uh, that- uh, that thing, there.", you mumble, gesturing at his sleeve, his wrist, where the disgusting Dark Mark lay etched into him. Well, disgusting for you. You were about 98% sure he checked it out in the mirror every morning and posed with it.

"Tread lightly."

"Subconsciously, I think, uh.. y'know when you hold a cig like so?", you explain, holding an imaginary cigarette to demonstrate, "I just think since it covers up your Mark, you smoke."

He hates this. It makes unnecessary amounts of sense.

After a few moments of quiet, you back down. "Sorry. You can get back at me. Tell me your worst assumption about me."

The corners of his lips curl down as he shakes his head, watching you sit up by him. "I got nothing."

"Oh, come on."

"I— well, I don't know. Doesn't matter what I assume. Because this isn't about me, is it, jailbird?", he murmurs, smirking for a moment before ruffling up your hair. "Summat in your hair by the way."

After watching you struggle to get the feather out, he rolls his eyes, picking it out for you. You laugh. He frowns, the corners of his lips turning up. "What?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to touch me."

"You know about that?"

"It's quite obvious with the way your pinkies go up when you take the packs of cigs, all refined and princess-like, just to not come into contact with me.", you mutter, stretching.

"It's not personal, it's—"

"It's very personal."

"Well, fine, let's just count this as a, uh... spliff induced lapse of judgement. Yeah?"

You hold your hands up in mock surrender. "Just go ahead. Not like I'd want to touch you, anyway."

"Ah, so there it is. You won't sell me more spliffs because it's a pride thing, then?"

"No, idiot, I won't because you're a pureblood and I'm Muggleborn! Guess who's more likely to be arrested for drugs on school grounds."

Oh. Well, that made sense.

"Whatever."

"And besides, you're not worried you'll get contaminated if you're around my 'mudblood air' this long?", you hiss, snatching the spliff away and taking a drag, as if that hadn't been exactly what he wanted you to do all along.

He's not sure how long this spliff will take to work, but he's hoping he can unravel your very essence by plying you with it.

Perhaps he's just bored.

┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅

"I dunno why, but I'm just oddly intrigued by you, jailbird. I don't know much about Muggles — thankfully — but it can't have been easy, I suppose, getting some owl drop a letter onto your head in your dingy little neighbourhood. How'd it even find you?"

He's rambling, he knows, but he just... he can't figure out what it is that he wants to find out from you.

"That's what you're intrigued by? The logistics of it all?"

"No, no, I mean, you come here, to Hogwarts, you're not even remotely impressed. It's a magic bloody castle."

"So? You lot are more likely to be impressed by us back down in the trenches of Surrey. And I've never actually been to jail."

"Yeah, but you've had close shaves, yeah?", he asks, inconspicuously lighting another spliff. What? He needs you pliant so you can sate his curiosities.

"Well, yeah. But that's only when I was, maybe, thirteen. Third year."

"Didn't you nearly get suspended in Fifth Year because the Muggle Ministry—"

"Alright, alright, let's talk about your crimes, then, Mr. Death Eater!", you snicker, pushing at his shoulder. He shakes his head.

"Dunno what you want me to say."

"Probably that your Dark Mark's pounding at your veins and putting you through undeniable agony that feels like a vat of lava, because you just let a Muggleborn touch you."

He raises a brow at your disturbing description. "Charming."

You grin triumphantly, shrugging.

"But as I said, we'll count it as a spliff-induced lapse in judgement."

"Fine."

"This, too, yeah?"

It happens before you can see it coming.

It feels like a swirl of stars, a blanket of the deepest merlot, and it's intoxicating. Even more so than the strongest spliff in the world.

It takes you a while to pry him off your lips. But you do.

"Nott, hey, weed makes you do this, just relax, take a couple breaths."

"Does it make you sell my cigs to others?", he grits out.

"Sorry?"

"I smelled your nicotine on some prick in my Potions class."

"That is by far the creepiest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Answer the question, mudblood."

Your jaw clenches, and though he doesn't feel remorse, he does sort of feel guilty. There really was no reason to use that word, although he still wasn't sure why it bothered you so much. Alright, so it's a slur. Big deal.

"If you're talking about Felix, I didn't sell to him, I snogged him."

He's not sure what answer could have been worse.

"And, what, that's your little boyfriend, then?", he spits, rolling his eyes as he holds your jaw even tighter, if that was even possible.

"No, he's not."

"That's why you won't kiss me? 'Cause you're trying to stay loyal to a bloke who isn't even your bloody boyfriend? Come off it."

"Hey.", you scoff, shoving at his chest. "Fuck off, yeah? You hate every single thing about me, it's taken being absolutely blitzed for you to even look me in the muggle-born-eyes, and you're acting like you can dictate what I bloody do?"

"I pay you!"

"For cigs, not to follow your orders like a fuckin' dog!"

"I just had to taste second-hand halfblood, so, I'm not sure who's going along with who in this dynamic."

"God, fuck off with this blood purist shite!", you yell, inducing a tiny smile.

Alright, he's just had a revelation. This is what he wants to find out from you. Your limits. Your boundaries. What it takes to tarnish your self-respect to shreds.

Not for a mission. Not because you're a mudblood. Just 'cause.

And he's pretty sure that the next moment — when you're about to say something stupid and he shuts you up with the hardest kiss probably known to mankind — that he's one step closer.

That's good, though. He might need a jailbird to teach him a couple things for when the Dark Lord regains power.

Though he's not quite sure about letting you live, though. You've got too much on him.

But he does like you on him.

Decisions, decisions.

----

This was queued, so I may not respond immediately. I appreciate you, though!

[14buddy22]

Hiii, I hope you’re doing well! I saw you are open to requests so I want to share with you this idea I have in my mind, something like Hotch falling for the reader during his college years (he and Hayley decided to take a break in their relationship or something like that), so he gets closer to reader, they are great friends and have a lot of chemistry and both are hoping to take their friendship to the next step but suddenly Hayley shows up and is decided to get Aaron back. After some thinking, Hotch gets back with Hayley cause they have a past and plans and all that but he ends up breaking reader’s heart (I’m a sucker for drama unfortunately). Years past by and Hotch sees the reader again and his feelings come back (he was never really over it) and he tries to get their trust back since he’s not married anymore and cause he knows deep inside that reader is the one for him!!

Sorry for the long request but if you’re up to writing it I would love it sm, if you don’t feel up to it I understand. Anyways, thank u

Thank you for requesting this. ily and I'm SO So So sorry it took so long.

When you met Aaron Hotchner, you were young, a freshman in college. Both at GWU, you were going with your roommate to her brother's frat house, it just so happened that it was the frat where you'd meet Aaron Hotchner.

In high school, you never liked to party, so you didn't really expect to like the frat parties in college. You'd rather just sit out in a backyard of your house or your friend's house and have a bonfire and drink. You could see what you're consuming and you could invite whoever you wanted, you didn't have to worry about who was going to be there.

Your college roommate was one of your best friends, so you knew her brother well, knew he'd protect you both. As you made your way to the frat house, you were met with the smell of sex, beer, and drugs. It was classic signs of a party that you weren't excited to attend.

You quickly found your best friend's brother, Matt, and he began to introduce you two to his friends.

"This is Aaron Hotchner, he's studying law."

You stuck out your hand. Is that what college kids do? Do they shake hands with people? Before you could play it off by going to move a piece of hair out of your face, Aaron stuck out his hand and shook it, saying it was nice to meet you.

That night was one of the best nights you had in college, it was the day you met Aaron Hotchner. You thought you wouldn't ever crush on a senior as a freshman, but, oh boy, were you wrong.

After spending the rest of the night talking with Aaron on the front porch of the frat house, you were smitten. He was well spoken, very polite, wanted to know things about you.

He didn't try to take you to his bed, didn't try to kiss you, he just waved goodbye to you as you and your friend made your way back to your dorm.

As weeks had gone by, you were hanging out more and more with Aaron. He would come over to your dorm, you would go to his apartment. It felt a little weird at times, but there was a connection there that you couldn't deny.

Things had been going well, you and Aaron were super close as friends and you had been on multiple dates, although nothing was official, both of you too afraid for a relationship.

Your friend's brother explained that he had a high school girlfriend that he was in love with but she broke his heart when he moved away, maybe that's what he was afraid of? Getting his heart broken when he graduated at the end of the year?

You two had a nice dinner, just towards the end though, you watched Aaron's body tense up, the color of his skin fading, immediately becoming a ghost. You didn't know what was going on.

"Aar- are you okay?"

"Haley"

When you turned towards the door, you saw Haley beginning to walk her way over to your table. Was this really happening right now?

"Aaron. Is there somewhere we could talk?"

The rest of the night was a blur. Maybe it's because your eyes filled with tears right away. Knowing how stupid you were to be a freshman on a date with a senior right now.

Later that week, Aaron showed up at your dorm, asking if you could talk. You knew it couldn't be good. He didn't look like his cheerful self when he was with you.

"I just want to say that everything has been great between us. After talking with Haley, I realized that it's best that I get back with her. She was my high school sweetheart, I was upset when she broke my heart, and now that I can have a chance with her."

You never had Aaron Hotchner, he wasn't yours. You couldn't claim him, a piece of him will always still want Haley. It's better that he gets back with her.

"I understand" Is what you told him, but in reality, you didn't. You knew so much about her and how she broke his heart, how could he still go back to her?

But that was oh so many years ago, now here he was, walking into the place you worked.

Aaron couldn't believe it was you. He saw your picture up in the hallway, but he didn't want to believe you were actually here, considering you said you didn't want to stay in this state.

You were in your classroom, talking to your teacher bestie. Both of you laughing off the problems you were both encountering today. It was when you noticed a man in a suit standing in the doorway of your classroom.

"Good Afternoon, sorry to bother you, my name is."

"Aaron Hotchner."

Your coworker said, "You know him?"

"You could say that, can you give us a moment?"

She walked out of the classroom, shutting the door behind her. When you looked at him, you saw how he looked older, grown into his fuller body. He looked tired. He looked too fit to be a lawyer.

"What is Aaron Hotchner doing in my classroom?"

"Your name came up in an investigation, I had to see if it was really you."

"Well, it's me. Ask your questions and leave."

You didn't want to be so harsh, and you saw the look in his eyes. It was the same look he gave you when you didn't have any words to say when he told you he was choosing Haley. He felt hurt. His eyes said it, his body language looked like it.

"I'm sorry, Aar. I didn't mean to be so harsh, but you left me. Not even that, you broke me. I refused to date anyone else in college because they weren't you. You broke me, little freshman me who had a great world ahead of her. I should have listened when they said don't get involved with a senior. But I didn't. I was so naive to think that you'd actually choose me over her. But, you ended up marrying her."

He held up his left hand and said, "I should have never left you that night. Yes, I ended up marrying her, but she divorced me. She passed away a few years back."

"Aar, I'm so sorry."

"No, you don't have to be sorry. You have a right to be mad at me."

"You've only got yourself to blame!"

Aaron looked at you. Why were you arguing with him, just let him talk. It had been years since he broke your heart, yet, a piece of it was still missing, and he had it. He could shatter it or fix it, right now.

"I was engaged to Haley shortly after we got back together. I thought it was the right thing to do. Be with someone my age, not a freshmen. Be with the high school sweetheart, not someone I met at a party."

You looked at him and just shook your head, annoyed thinking back to how much you were hurt when Haley showed up at the restaurant you and Aaron were at.

"I may have been engaged but I came back."

"What?"

What was he talking about? He never came back. You would have known.

"Yeah, I told Haley I couldn't marry her and I came right back."

"Why didn't you call?"

"Because I was crazy enough to think that you'd be waiting for me, only when I came back, Matt told me you were off with some other guy. So, I went back to Haley, who told me I was an idiot, and married me to prove it."

Matt knew? Matt became your additional best friend, even more than your high school bestie was. Maybe it's because he was like a brother to you, but he was there when Aaron left. Matt helped pick up the pieces of your broken heart, and he saw you at your worst, so why wouldn't he had told you that Aaron came looking for you?

"Y/n, your name wasn't on the list for an investigation, the principal was, I saw your picture in the hallway, and the principal was walking me down the hall to talk to another teacher, and I heard your laugh from down the hall. I had to come. A piece of me died when I broke your heart. To this day, I haven't been over our breakup. Deep down, you're the one for me. If you've met someone, I'll leave right now, you won't ever see me again, but if you're single, I want you. I want it to be us, like it should have been."

He was never over you, he wasn't over the breakup. That's commitment. You owed him a date. You were single and still in love with Aaron Hotchner, the man you met in college.

"Pick me up at 7. I'll text you my address. If the date goes well, you owe me."

"What do I have the pleasure of owing you?"

"Your last name."

His smile on his face said it all. He was in this for the long hall. The date that night went great. Tearful apologies from both of you. A make-up kiss, spending the night just talking and hanging out. Less than a year later, you and Aaron were engaged and getting married. He owed you his last name, he gave it to you. He broke your heart, and he fixed it.

[katiemay-025]

Sympathizer

~~~~~

summary: you’re a capitol citizen and grew up in the luxury of it so when a certain charming victor starts popping up way more often than you want, a confrontation turns her whole world view upside down.

wc: 4k

warnings: mdni, use of y/n, prostitution and sex work, angst, I think that’s it? Let me know if I missed anything.

~~~~~

Victors were a touchy subject for you. While everyone talked about the new victor like celebrity gossip, you kept quiet. You kept quiet mostly because if you opened your mouth, people would quickly realize that you did not like the victors. Seeing them like us bridged the gap of the lesser. The more they were welcomed to extravagant parties, the more people forgot they were from the Districts. These very people descended from the rebels that nearly wiped all of Panem out during the rebellion.

If anything you were weary of the victors, they won their respective hunger games. They were the strongest of the strong. It would be very easy for them to rise up against the Capitol especially if they gained a following. Some were good at that, and others just fell into addictions.

Finnick Odair was the newest victor, winning at a shockingly young age of 14. He was the same age as you and everyone you knew from school girls to grown married woman swooned over him. Some of the boys did too. And worse, was your older sister and mother, who made you gag as they talked about his physique during dinner.

It was nothing new. Every single person around you speculated that Finnick was originally Capitol but kidnapped to the districts and made his way back. You knew better, his distinctly sea-green eyes, bronze skin, and his salt ridden hair with its curls were features from District 4. Regardless of where he was born, he was raised in the districts.

During the 66th games, he peacocked his way around charming more and more of the capitol citizens. He certainly did not talk like a 15 year old, but hey no judgement in his taste of people, you liked older people too. Okay there was a little bit of judgement in this whole endeavor, everyone he was talking to was an adult. You were sick to your stomach that everyone would overlook his age because of his looks and charms. Absolutely disgusting.

None of this should be working because if it escalated, it would be everyone else getting punished not Finnick. You guessed by the way he was preening around, District 4 didn’t teach their kids about any cordial laws. Add that to the long list of reasons why you didn’t like the Districts. Or maybe he knew the rules and just created a line for when he could sleep with them.

You were right, partly. During the 67th and 68th games despite being underaged there were pockets of the sponsor parties and banquets where he would disappear. Girls and woman would come back throughout the day and immediately people would speculate what they had done and who they were with. Most of it landed on the victors but you had also noticed Finnick’s disappearance and reappearance around the same time as some of the woman. Who even goes to a private apartment to play board games. They were definitely sexually intimate. All of your food threatened to come back up at that realization.

A few days later when the woman was in tears, it brought you joy. What did they expect? That a District man would swear fealty to them? He was 16 for crying out loud, no way he was looking to settle down. Finnick Odair would sleep around with the Capitol citizens and leave them in the dust for another hot thing to play with. It would never be love. Joe could they all be so stupid?

If you could, you would never be at these events, you’d much rather stay at home and read a book. Unfortunately, things don’t always turn out the way you want them to. Your sister brought you to these things for her benefit and you were forced to tag along.

The consultation was that you’d get pretty good food and catering at these things. You’d grab a few plates and slowly make your way to an empty balcony. Eating with the company of sky line. It was too bright for stars to twinkle in the sky. Though Venus would keep you company for a few hours after the sun set. The victors knew not to talk to you. You weren’t going to spend your money on anyone from the Districts.

So here, at the beginning of the 69th games and the pregame party, you found your place on the third floor balcony. Technically it was off limits but no one checked past the second floor which is covered in peacekeepers, though it was easy to sneak past them. Only this time, when you pushed the door open, you saw someone standing there in your spot.

You recognized the dirty blond hair immediately. It was wild but natural. Few people had their hair color the same as when they were born. Most of them dyed it. No matter where you went, it seemed like he was following you. His head turned part way to identify who had just walked in with his peripheral vision.

You kept your eyes on him, boring a hole into his neck. If he was going to try to charm you into bed, you were ready to turn around and leave. Finnick didn’t speak and neither did you. He just turned back to the skyline in silence. Seeing as he wasn’t going to leave, you found your way to the cement railing on the far left and ate your food.

When your feet got tired, you pushed yourself up on the ledge and laid on it. The ledge was wide enough for you to lay down and have room to roll onto your side. You stayed on your back feeling the wind dancing with your dress.

You could feel a pair of eyes stare you down. Sure enough when you opened them, you were met with green eyes against your brown ones. Finnick had his eyebrow perked towards you with his hand hesitantly on the ledge next to you. “You don’t need to worry.” You said.

You grabbed his glass cup and threw it over the ledge. Finnick scrambled to get it but was much too slow. There was a small zap and the it bounced back, trailing the same arc. You caught the glass before handing it back to him.

“Oh.”

With that small interaction, you left without a word. It always starts off as a small interaction and you would not stick around to fall victim to Finnick Odair’s harem. It would have been so nice if that was the last interaction you had with him, but the next day, he was there again in silent company. And again the next day, and the day after that and the day after that.

This year the game dragged on. It had been a week and there were still 10 tributes left. The balcony was a tolerable routine. He’d be there first on the far right and you would take your place on the far left of the balcony eating quietly. Then there was a period of time where you laid on the ledge. You’d lay and Finnick would stay standing. He would leave first and you would stay up there until dawn. It’s what you did anyway when he hadn’t found this place.

You never thought you would miss his company when he didn’t show up the next day. Outside of the male bravado bachelor, he seemed content with the peace, not needing constant attention from a Capitolite.

It was the next day when you got home in the early morning did you figure something was up. You ran into your sister stumbling into the house the same time you did. While you were great at sneaking around, your sister wasn’t. In her blissful state, she made a ruckus going across the hallway.

Your parents ran into the hallway, your dad holding a baseball bat and your mom behind him. You ran your hand down your face as you both had to explain where you were. You held up the book from your bag and said you got carried away reading. They believed you even though you hadn’t read a page of the book at all, mostly because all you ever asked for were books.

Your sister on the other hand was too giddy to keep a secret. “I was with Finnick Odair.” She said. You smaller your head towards her direction. You were silent as your mother cheered and pulled her into her room to talk about it. Your blood boiled and again the next day at the balcony he didn’t show. Meaning your sister was with him.

Old habits die hard. Finnick Odair was always going to be a player. You weren’t really surprised. The door opened early in the morning and you saw Finnick at the door with tears in his eyes when you turned. You couldn’t help but smirk with you back to the railing watching him. He had finally gotten a taste of his own medicine.

“You know, I’m not surprised. One weeks isn’t enough time to change a habit, but of all the people, did it really have to be my sister?”

His green orbs met your brown ones. Finnick stayed quiet as he moved towards you ignoring the glares you were giving him. He stood next to you leaning against it. He looked out to the skyline before saying, “It’s not like I have a choice in who I sleep with.”

“Please.” You jeered. “You’re Finnick Odair you can sleep with anyone.”

“No. I can’t. It’s the Patrons choice to-“

“Patrons? People have to pay you to sleep with you? God that’s so low of you.”

“Not me. I don’t see a dime. It all goes to President Snow.” He croaked. Not trusting his voice, he turned it into a whisper.

“What?” Your eyes widened and your body ran cold.

You see his shoulders visibly lift as if the weight he carried was off now. Finnick cleared his throat as he blocked away his tears. “I was considered desirable after winning The Hunger Games he sold my body. I thought- I thought I could get away with not doing it but I’ve cost him money this past week and he’s not happy with it. He’s going to kill Annie.”

At the mention of her name. Finnick broke down. You never saw him like this. It was like the girls he had ‘left’ in the past bawling their eyes out. This time you felt it, the despair and heartbreak. He had snot falling out of his nose as he buried his face in his hands which was gross but a large difference from everyone else who was in tears. Finnick tried to fight it but he couldn’t. You placed your hand on his shoulder and he collapsed to the floor. You made sure his fall was saved by guiding him to the ground. He gripped at your dress and sobbed into your shoulder.

You watched the red beams of light illuminate the building and the blue sky reveal itself. Finnick had yet stopped crying so you pushed him off your shoulder and slapped him across the face. “Pull yourself together. She’s not dead yet.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if Annie is dead, then how will he keep control over you?” You questioned. The realization hit you that President Snow was holding him hostage. From the countless books you read, you knew that when you love someone, you strive to protect them and you’d do anything. This was the same thing. President Snow would be a fool to kill everyone Finnick loved, because he would no longer have the leverage on him.

A calm went over the boy, he looked at you half relief look on his face. Terror washed over him. “He won’t kill her, but that doesn’t mean he won’t torture her.” Tears streamed out of his swollen eyes again. There was quiet mumbling for Annie. So much for pulling yourself together. You thought.

An old lady found her way onto the Balcony and you recognized her as Mags one of the oldest victors. She nodded towards you and pried Finnick off your tear stained shoulder.

The first thing you did was storm home. You found your sister fast asleep in her bed which gave you the opportunity to snoop. Her journal wasn’t much help, it wasn’t mostly the things she did with Finnick. Next was your joint bank account. Your father had given the both of you an allowance during the Hunger Games season. Although you had never spent money during the season, you kept track of the numbers. In the day of the reaping your dad transferred 10,000 dollars to the account making the total 37,257 dollars. With the luxury items, clothings she bought along with the food, you should have 32,007 dollars left but you only had 20,007.

There were two journal entries that described your sister’s intimate nights which meant Finnick’s price was 6000 dollars a night. You scoffed.

You melded into the chair in your sister’s room. When she woke you were already staring her down with your arms crossed. “So, Finnick Odair.”

“What about him?”

“You saw him again last night.”

“Yeah I did.”

“Is he a good kisser at least?”

“Oh he is amazing! He’s charming, handsome and so good in bed!”

“You’re not afraid he’d break your heart?”

“No he won’t. He has a history of it but I’m certain I can really get to him.”

“With what? Money? I know about the transactions.”

You watched her face pale. It confirmed your new disgust towards anyone that’s said they slept with him. Finnick Odair was telling truth. It was as if your worldview crashed and burned. Never in your life would you imagine someone from the Districts being more honorable than the Capitol, hell, your own sibling for crying out loud. He was just a poor boy not much older than you who was forced to be pimped out. Tears welled in your eyes and it got hard to breathe. You pushed it away opting to glare at your older sister.

Now she knew that you knew she essentially paid for her pleasure with him. The guilt would eat anyone alive. “Look I know this looks bad, but I’m making it up to him.” She trudged to her closet and brought out a box of pearl necklaces.

“That necklace is 12,000 dollars?”

“No are you crazy? It’s 5,000 a night for him and the necklace is 2,000. I’m going to use another 5,000 tonight.”

“Bribery?” You disapproved your brows furrowed “That’s sick. Do you think after prostituting him that throwing money at it would suddenly clear your mind of the guilt?” Your sister grabbed at your arm begging you not to leave. She wasn’t the first person to have slept with him and if she was feeling the guilt, then others were too, Especially when he was a minor.

Just like you didn’t want anything to do with the districts, Finnick wouldn’t want anything to deal with the Capitol. They could live with their guilt for all he cared. You gave him props for his morals. At least that part he could control. What was in it for him now that Annie’s life was in danger and all these people were meeting with him not so secretly now that he’s of age. “He’s not going to accept a guilt ridden gift. This dude is consistent.”

“Then what do I do to make him stay with me?”

“How the hell would I know? Go ask him what he thinks is worth all this.” You spoke before leaving her room and storming to your own. Your heart beat painfully in your chest as you placed yourself in Finnick’s shoes. You took slow deep breaths to calm yourself and blinked away your tears.

The next morning Finnick walked onto the balcony after another long night better composed than the last time you saw him. He stood next to you again and you barely noticed him as you were rethinking your entire life. The District 4 victor pulled out a rope to fiddle with, tying and untying knots.

“What did you tell your sister Y/n?” He snapped you out of your catatonic state. Literally, Finnick snapped in front of you to get your attention.

“Basically to find another way to your heart other than guilt ridden gifts.”

“Well, it was genius, making her ask me what I thought was worth that interaction.”

“What did you say she could repay you with?”

You watched the smirk appear on his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. He leaned over, his lips close to your ears. “Secrets.”

“That’s good. The Capitol citizens always have something to gossip about.” You said unblinking.

“Are you okay?”

“Currently rethinking my entire life. Damn it Odair.”

“Yup, this world’s a fucked up place.” Cheering could be heard in the streets followed by Claudius Templesmith announcing the Victor of the 69th Hunger Games. “I have to go.”

“Yeah. You go do what you need to. I’ll be here.” Finnick nodded at your responds before pocketing his rope to leave. You grab at his arm handing him your mobile phone number: an advancement the Capitol had compared to the telephones attached to the wealthy district houses. “Tell me if Annie is okay.”

“Okay.”

Finnick told you Annie was fine and that brought relief to you. That is until the 70th Hunger Games. The female tribute from District 4 was Annie Cresta. As she was 18, no one volunteered for her.

Snow rigged the reaping and he was a moron. You didn’t admit it to Finnick but you hoped Annie died in the arena. Nothing against her but it would save Finnick a lot of trouble. It would save Annie the trouble too. Being crowned the victor was a curse you found out. You had never been in love so it was easier for you to come to that conclusion. You had a whole argument about Annie’s life with Finnick and he chose to sacrifice his autonomy for Annie. Anything and everything for the person he loved most. It was a powerful and tragic love.

You were with him when the gamemakers deployed an earth shattering shake. Cracks ran up the dam in the mountain until it cracked open spewing water out of it. You watched as the entire valley flooded sweeping away any trees rocks and tributes down the hill. Most of them drowned and it came down to a handful of tributes bobbing on the surface trying to keep themselves afloat.

You and Finnick both stood watching the screen intently. You tried stepping on his toes to keep him from falling apart but even that didn’t work. You were in the private tribute quarters in the tribute center and Finnick wailed in Mags arms.

Annie was a great swimmer but after hours of treading and fighting the current even strong swimmers like her was staring to become fatigued. She was bobbing below the surface in a desperate attempt to latch onto something to float. You gave him a long look before heading down to the sponsor party. You said you were never going to waste money on these things but now you poured all you had into it. Your sister wouldn’t be pleased but who cared at this point.

It was late game and the sponsor items were extremely expensive. Most of the other patrons had frozen their donations because the rage of Mother Nature didn’t care about the tributes, ramming them into arena walls, crushing them under debris, choking them in the rapids. It was the worst game you’ve ever seen. The sponsor window had also closed down donations. You slammed the nearly 50,000 in cash in front of him ignoring his word. “Is that enough for a buoy for Annie Cresta?”

“No. A buoy big enough to support someone this late in the game is nearly 10 times that amount.”

“Is there anyway I can lower the price?”

“No there isn’t.”

You sighed turning away. “Unless…” he started. “A pretty thing like you sleeps with me and it’ll be free of charge.”

You glared at the man in the window. He clearly had not been laid in years. Oh god did you hate the capitol right about now. “Fuck it.” You climbed over the window and kissed him hard. You really hoped this wasn’t in vain as you slammed the metal window behind you shut and took off the guy’s clothes. Hang in there just a bit longer Annie.

You panted on the floor of the check out booth as the man punched in the order for Annie’s buoy. A log shot up from the current nearly stabbing Annie on the way. And it couldn’t have happened a moment sooner. She showed signs of giving up. It landed and the girl scrambled to it holding on for dear life. You heard two canons in succession as the other tributes became to fatigued. Annie was announced the victor and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. You were ecstatic sighing in relief.

Annie was a strong swimmer and probably could have kept going, but you gave her better odds with the wooden log. Finnick almost lost someone he loves while 23 of the other tributes had family waiting for someone who would never come back. 23 kids for 70 years plus another 24 kids were ripped away from their family and friends by the capitol for the sake of entertainment.

“If you tell anyone about this. I’ll kill you.”

“Are you kidding? I’m not telling a soul. If they found out I gave a gift without money I’d be killed.”

“So we agree. We never speak of this again.”

He nods, too full of himself to know you would keep this interaction in your back pocket in case you needed him to send something else.

You head back to the training center and Finnick burst out the double doors in happy tears. He spots you and takes your hand bringing you into the car with him. The two of you went to the hospital and you watched as he went into the room where Annie was.

“Annie.”

“Finnick.”

She flew into his arms and held him tight. Finnick supported Annie while caressing her head. Your heart swelled at the reunion. The District 4 duo would have stayed like that longer if it weren’t for the doctors needing to do a psyche analysis on Annie. Finnick wouldn’t let her out of his site and so he went to.

Finally alone with the gravity of what you did for them rushed back to you. Tears welled in your eyes but any guilt quickly left your body. You did what had to be done to save Annie and by proxy, Finnick. You finally truly understood him. Why he did the things he did for those he cared for, because you cared for him now. While he was here in the Capitol, you’d watch his back.

The rebels were long dead and the districts were collectively punished for actions they didn’t commit. You were wrong no one deserved this. No one deserved being exploited for surviving a brutal traumatic event. You watched two people your age and younger meerkat have their entire life fall apart. It was unfair. Maybe there was a reason for the rebellion in the first place if all this horrible stuff happens because of the Capitol’s existence.

[jmagnabo92]

hello for the kisses thing plz

💛 reunion kiss / relief firstprince plz :)

A reunion kiss! (with a side of killing the queen).

***

It’s been far too long since Alex has seen his boyfriend.  Unfortunately, the death of the Queen had driven them apart.  There was this whole pomp and ceremony and Alex wanted to be there for him, but he wasn’t allowed due to ‘protocol’ or some such nonsense. 

If his boyfriend was anyone other than a prince of England, he would’ve been able to go to the funeral and support him (although if he wasn’t a prince, Henry would not have bothered going to his grandmother’s funeral since she’s… well… not a great grandmother), but well, stupid protocols meant that he couldn’t attend all that nonsense since he’s not officially ‘family’ (he’s sure the queen has something to do with that), not helped at all by his professors for law school claiming that since he wasn’t related that he couldn’t ask for leave to join his prince boyfriend in London. 

Which is why he hasn’t seen Henry in nearly three months, but the second that he concluded his finals for the second-year spring semester, he got on a plane headed towards the love of his life. 

A long and annoying flight later (since he’s still the First Son and the papers have been commenting about where’s the supposed love of Prince Henry’s life and why is the First Son going to school instead of supporting his boyfriend and well, once the people realized what flight he was on, they were attempting to snap pictures and bother him when he just wants to be left alone.

Luckily, Cash was quick to intervene, and he was in first class so there was more privacy.  He tried to rest, but the closer that they got to London, the more anxious he was to see the love of his life.

“Finally!” Alex says as he gathers his bag from the baggage claim and immediately heads for where he expects the secure car is waiting. 

He doesn’t get a chance to get to the car because the second he’s in the arrival area where friends and family usually wait to pick up the person on the flight.  It’s been a long time since Alex had anyone waiting for him and he assumed that Henry would be too busy (helping prepare for Catherine’s coronation and princely duties) to come, so he’s not expecting anyone to be waiting for him.

But he’s wrong.

Because there he is.  His boyfriend, who he hasn’t seen in months, is standing there all movie-star prince like with a sign that reads: First Son of My Heart. 

Alex nearly melts at ridiculously romantic Henry can be at times, especially after months without him. 

He doesn’t care about protocols or how improper it would be to kiss his boyfriend in the middle of the airport or even how he would get a long-ass lecture he’ll get from his ma about ‘purposely gaining attention from the press for inappropriate behavior’ (as if kissing his boyfriend is inappropriate).  He hates those lectures, but after three months without him and seeing him come pick him up with that adorable sign, he really doesn’t give a damn.

So, he barely stops himself from running to Henry (but it’s a close thing) and he tosses his bag off to the side at the same time that Henry tosses the sign to the side before wrapping his arms around Henry’s neck and kissing him passionately. 

Henry’s arms wrap around Alex’s waist, and he responds in kind. 

Alex could feel that Henry’s trying to put so much love and passion in this kiss that is meant to make up for nearly three months of lost kisses and a promise that they won’t be apart for this long again. 

There’s some chatter and coughing around them (the cough probably coming from Shaan or Cash), and they break apart. 

“Hi,” Alex says, breathlessly.

“Hi,” Henry says with a little chuckle. 

“I missed you, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“Me too.  However, we should probably take this reunion somewhere more private if we do not want to earn a telling off.”

Alex agrees.  “Lead the way, Baby.”

“Gladly.”

***

Thanks for the ask :). Hope you like it :)

[yaoi-enthusiasts]

"Big Nose Jerk"

Warning ⚠️: smut | 18+ | fluffffyyy (yes it needs a warning) | a little angst

series masterlist !!

“Literature? What, you study about Shakespeare all day?” Hiromi scoffed, “Yeah and what do you study? How to be a fucking asshole? Boom you passed your bar exam.” You snapped back at him. “Alright alright stop fighting!” Shoko snapped at the both of you. “How about you two go fuck already and move on.” She added which made both you and Hiromi turn and look at her. “WHAT?” You both said in union. “I would never… not with her!” Hiromi scoffed then started walking away. “Yeah and I would never have sex with you, you big nose jerk!” You hissed. 

You had graduated high school early, you were currently 20 years old, getting your masters in literature, and then already signing up for your PhD program so you could be a professor. While Hiromi, was on his first year of law school. The both of you had known each other since high school, alongside your dear friend Shoko. But for some apparent reason, you and Hiromi simply just did not get along... most of the time. Why? God knows. Maybe hormones, maybe the way his eyes scanned your figure and then when he would catch that you saw his stares, he would scowl at you. But that’s neither here or there… Hiromi dodged you after that encounter, and simply focused on Law School, which thankfully for you, was somewhere else. 

That was your last interaction with Hiromi until now. 26 years old, PhD in your hand, and a new job under your belt.

“Babyyyyyy!” Shoko your friend & roommate groaned. “I swear if anyone else heard you call me that, they would call us lesbians.” You chuckled. “Oh whatever! You are too innocent for me to date.” Shoko responded. “Anyways, noooooooowwwww that I am a Dr… and starting my residency, I am having a dinner tonight, you have to come.” She tugged at your arm. “I don’t know Shoko… I’m tired…” You groaned, laid up on the couch in your PJ’s. “Bitch… It’s Friday, get the fuck up.” She pulled you up as you groaned. “Fine… God… I could never marry you… You’re to pushy.” You teased her, walking to your room. 

“Satoru!” You smiled, pulling the white haired man into a hug. “Well you always look beautiful, per usual.” He was a flirt, nothing you weren’t used to. You hugged your friend Suguru and Kento, smiling ear to ear, your heart calm, your mind steady until... you saw the bastard that had flipped your life, and mind around… Hiromi Higuruma.

“Shoko…” He smiled faintly, as her eyes widen, and pulled him into a hug. “Proud of you… Don’t think I’d let you do surgery on me still… But still proud of you.” He lightly teased. His demeanor was much more quiet now, maybe even more grim. He stood straight, and had a serious expression, as he smiled like he was talking to a client, shaking the other men’s hands, before his eyes got to yours. “Higuruma.” You extended your hand, that was when you saw it, the smirk on his stupid handsome face. “Well aren’t you a sight to be seen.” He chuckled, as he pulled you into a hug. “Ah! I didn’t say you could hug me bastard!” You groaned. “Still as lively as ever.” He pulled away, putting his hands in his pockets, and had a genuine smile on his face now. Cocky son of a bitch… “What are you doing here?” You questioned, but not in a way that came off mean. “Shoko invited me, I had the evening off, so decided to drop by and say hello, and congrats.” He nodded to himself. “What about you?” He questioned. “Well unfortunately, I live with her, and she demanded that I escape the “confines” of my pajama’s and reality TV, and join this shindig.” You chuckled, which made him laugh. Your heart fluttering at the dry chuckle that left his lips… When was the last time Hiromi laughed at something I said? “Pajama’s and reality TV does sound really nice…” Hiromi groaned, as Kento handed him some scotch. “Thanks man.” Hiromi nodded at the business man. 

The night was actually nice, you all smiled, laughed, drank, and enjoyed one another’s company. You felt Hiromi’s eyes on you the whole night, making your spine tingle. “Hey.” He said walking up to you. “Hey.” You said back, looking up at him. “I live close by and didn’t get to hear much about you getting your PhD…Maybe we can talk more?” He scratched the back of his neck, the tips of his ears red. “Are you asking me to come over Hiromi?” You raised a brow, “I mean… When you put it like that…” He looked like he was about to burst at the seams, “Plus, I’d really like to get into my comfy clothes.” He chuckled. “Hmm.. Okay… I’ll go.” You concluded, grabbing your bag. “You two leaving?” Shoko slurred. “Yes my love… Your wife will be home later on, just going to walk Hiromi home.” You leaned down, kissing your friend’s forehead. “Ugh! You aren’t gayyyyy!” She giggled then slapping your ass. “Bye Hiromi… Be a gentleman!” Shoko threw her arm over his shoulder, then whispering something in his ear, which made him nod his head, and smile to her. “Good night Shoko.” He patted on the back. 

“What did she say?” You questioned as you two walked out the pub. “Something about you being a virgin.” Hiromi bluntly replied, and chuckling at you gasping. “Oh my god!” You nearly screeched, covering your face with your hands. “She is so… horrible when she gets drunk like that. She’s always worried so much about me… I don’t date enough, or I don’t go out enough, or I don’t talk to anyone.” You went on and on, while Hiromi listened. “I love her though… She helps me get out of my shell, even though sometimes I wish she wouldn’t.” You sighed. The both of you walked into this extravagant apartment complex, getting into the elevator he pushed a button to the top floor. The ride up was silent, you felt the tension between the both of you, the way your eyes would flicker to his, and his to yours. You heard the elevator door ding, stepping out and following him to his door. “Restroom is down the hall if you need. Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee? Wine?” He questioned. “Wine… Please.” You said as you slipped your shoes off. “Do you want something to wear? I’m sure that dress isn’t the most comfortable.” He suggested, making your face heat up. “Um… No… I think I’ll be okay.” You smiled softly.

“So professor huh? What you teach about Shakespeare all day?” He teases you. “Oh you got jokes…” You laugh dryly. “Still an asshole, I see…” You sipped on your wine, and smiling at the man who appeared in front of you today after years on no contact, the one straight standing man, neatly dressed was now 4 buttons of his shirt undone, you could see the wife beater tank top underneath, while his chest hair peeked, and his sleeves rolled up,  his cheeks were flushed. “We fought a lot as teenagers… Why is that?” He questioned, as he sipped his whiskey. “God knows.” You replied. “I know why…” He interjected. “Oh do you now? Please… Enlighten me.” You set your glass down, then crossing your arms. “You…” He pointed. “Me?” You nearly gasped. “Yeah… You… Look at you. You always had this spunk to you, always snapping back no matter what. But man… Smart as hell, and don’t get me started on those eyes.” He said so casually, you couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, it left you absolutely quiet. “The way you would stroll in during our study sessions, with your big hoodie, and biker shorts. Swinging your hips around, and placing my favorite coffee right in front of me… “Here, so you can focus on helping people and not being a dick.” That’s what you would say, sitting right next to me. Passing me sticky notes with doodles, until one of us would say something to get under each other’s skin… When the whole time I just wanted to be inside of you.” Hiromi stood there, looking you straight in the eyes, your breath had halted, shallow, and light, yet felt so heavy. You wanted nothing more, than to smash your lips right onto his, and for him to sheath himself deep into you, that's all you've ever wanted. All the venomous words, and snapping at one another, it was almost like foreplay for you. “Hiromi…” You nearly moaned. “Tell me right now, you don’t want me to come around this island, and show you my true feelings?” He questioned, watching your eyes watch his. You picked up your glass, gulping down the last bit, looking at him from across the island. 

“I can’t.” You sighed, while your core throbbed for the man. Hiromi’s face fell, looking at you, confused. “I… I want to… But… I don’t want my first time to be… when we are both intoxicated, and… I don’t want to worry that you’ll wake up and regret it.” You started off, feeling yourself become shy. “I… I don’t want my first time to feel like a one night stand…” You looked up finally, he held the softest gaze. You watched as his lips pulled into a cheeky smile, walking around the island, and pulling you into a hug, he kissed the top of your head, and pulled back. “You could never be a one night stand… But I understand. Tomorrow? Come over for dinner?” He asked. “Are you asking me on a date?” You questioned lightheartedly. “I am.” You thought for a moment, and then nodding. “Okay.” Hiromi smiled at your acceptance. 

You ubered back home, Hiromi walked you outside to the car, but before that he made sure to put his number into your phone "Big Nose Jerk", and your number into his "Viper". “The only number I need.” He smiled as he looked down at you. “You’re such a cheese ball… Jeez.” You snickered as you opened the car door. “Goodnight Hiromi.” You leaned up, kissing his cheek, then slipping in the car. 

The drive home felt so quick, your heart raced, your mind was wandering around. What were you gonna tell Shoko when you got home, honestly she probably was gonna be passed out by the time you got there. But what were you going to tell her the day after? Or what were you gonna tell her when you were about to leave the apartment to go on your first date? You didn’t know what you would say, but you knew you were feeling an excitement you only ever felt when Hiromi was around. That was enough for you…

[palegreenchlorine]

Does jughead match Betty's freak

this ask ended up twice in my inbox and i think that’s so funny. ask so real it came as a two-for-one deal !

honestly? no. jughead and betty are like, the epitome of an arranged marriage with the genders inversed. like specifically, jughead is the wife with unfortunate and irreversible neediness syndrome and betty is the strapping young man who has been tied down against his will. like, all betty wants to do is get out there and explore - first in a journalism sense, then in an investigator sense, then in a sexuality + life’s pleasures sense. betty really really likes being in charge of stuff, in taking command and moving stuff forward and getting shit done. she’s also a little more substantially fucked up than jughead in the sense that jughead is like. abandonment/inferiority complex 1000 ie. his mom left him, archie left him, his dad left him, his gf cheats on him or whatever. jughead is mostly a bundle of soft-type emotional-relationship issues which are fucked up in their own right, but he also expresses those issues a lot more openly (the whole Being A Writer thing, narratively the dying over and over thing, his whole misanthropy thing being just an accepted part of who he is).

betty on the other hand has: a serial killer father, serial killer grandparents, a mom who kills assailants and hides the bodies under floorboards, a serial-killer FBI-agent half-brother, a serial-killer cam hooker half-brother-in-law, a cult-indoctrinated accidentally-incestuous sister who had twins with the town dead boy who was killed by his father (said father also being one of betty’s own blood family), a boyfriend that dies every season and is an attempted gang leader, a cousin who is an insane witch, a gang-leader step-dad-situation who is also the father of her boyfriend, not to mention her serial killer genes! when i say she’s substantially more fucked up than jughead i mean that jughead weeps/whines/acts pathetic about his circumstances a lot more, which are sad in general bc that’s his role, but despite betty’s increasing “darkness” over the seasons (something that she says verbatim . lol) she still keeps it together on a surface level. still dresses in pastels still wears little pink sweaters and skinny jeans and does her cute hairdos and sheer pink makeup well into her adulthood, which makes her all the more fucked bc cognitive dissonance goes crazy!! the difference between how she’s perceived/what she’s supposed to be and all the things that happened to her/the way she’s supposed to react to it are two different ends of the personality spectrum.

of course, the problem this creates is that jughead (ultimate sad wet cat) sees her suburban good girl aura and takes it for granted that she will stay the same sweet girl and attaches himself to her - unfortunately, betty’s core directive is to keep moving, so naturally she starts looking in different directions. jughead needs her too much and she doesn’t really need him at all. consider that also jughead walks around like a festering open wound and betty graduated from the cooper school for emotionally repressed women…like. there was no way for betty to be weird (to be a weirdo. to not fit in and not want to fit in. she doesn’t even have a stupid hat on) like jughead is weird bc jughead is a freak because of his problems - ie he has no one, originally, bar archie, because he’s so “misunderstood” and “misanthropic”. the inverse of that - betty has, superficially, zero problems - which is what draws veronica and jughead to her, and her freak is just that much more intense because she never deals with it except in really unhealthy ways (a pile of coping mechanisms for which she is always looking to add to.)

tl:dr betty’s freak is a lot more intense and unsolvable than jughead’s and so while jughead can be fixed by a one-hit wonder vent novel and a new project-focused girlboss gf, betty can never be fixed - ergo they really need to see other people (NOT ARCHIE.)

[alicentlander]

first meetings (part one)

homelander x oc

summary: a new intern starting at vought catches homelander’s attention.

author’s note: kinda softer compared to what i usually write… this was really just meant as an excuse to write out oc lore in a fic and give these two background lol

Working at Vought was almost like a dream come true.

Only almost because in her dream world, Mia would’ve had an office on the 99th floor with diplomas of higher education hanging proudly on her walls. Able to dress in fancy blouses and skirts and dresses everyday with overpriced jewelry. Able to walk around New York without having to worry about how she was going to pay for her next meal. Hell, maybe she’d be able to hire her own personal chef. God know she can barely cook more than ramen noodles like the poor and sleep deprived college student she was.

In her dream world, she would get to work with the Seven - with Homelander. As a fully mature woman, not some stupid, clumsy college girl.

But unfortunately, she lived in the real world.

Still, an internship was far better than nothing. Sure, she’s just a college student and is barely getting paid more than minimum wage and probably won’t do anything more exciting than fetch people’s coffees, but it would look damn good on a résumé.

Plus, even if she wasn’t working directly with Homelander, she was still in the same building as him! How many of her friends could say that? Exactly, none.

Walking into her first day of work, she felt extremely underdressed being in a light pink sweater and jeans she got from a store down the street from her shitty little apartment with a pearl necklace that had a little heart charm attached to it.

But she was in a good mood today. Good enough of a mood to ignore the obviously condescending comment by her supervisor, Ashley, about how adorable she looked, while the older woman looked at her outfit was clear disapproval.

“Mia Cormac… So, you’re a sophomore in college, right?” Ashley asked, looking at Mia’s profile as they walked the bustling halls of Vought Tower.

“Just finished my freshman year,” Mia answered, fidgeting with the ring on her index finger. “4.0 gpa.”

“And it says here you want to go to law school after you graduate?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s bold,” Ashley turned around to face her and Mia had to admit she was impressed with how Ashley was able to talk, walk backwards in heels, and look at her tablet all at the same time. “Bold is good here! I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

Mia forced a smile and nodded, taking the time to look at her surroundings as Ashley explained her duties and how things worked around here. Taking coffee orders, scheduling meetings, the occasional job shadowing of higher ups - all that stuff.

Vought Tower was just so big. She felt like she could get lost in here for days - maybe even months.

“You know, sometimes interns get to shadow members of the Seven!” Ashley told her excitedly, “of course that requires over 300 hours put in, a recommendations from a supervisor, typically not missing a single day of work-”

“A member of the Seven?” Mia perked up, “you mean… I could shadow Homelander for a day?”

Ashley’s smile immediately fell and her shoulders visibly tensed up. But just as quickly as it was gone, that overly fake smile was planted back on her face.

“Homelander‘s usually too busy for that sort of stuff. Being leader of the Seven,” she told Mia, “it’s usually The Deep, Translucent, or A-Train. Maybe Maeve, if she’s in a good enough mood. Black Noir used to do them too, but he kind of freaked some of the interns out, so it’s been a while since we had interns follow him.”

“Ahh…”

Mia tried to hide her clear disappointment.

Maeve wouldn’t be bad to follow around, but the other three? Mia didn’t have anything against them, of course. They were heroes, after all and deserved nothing less than the utmost respect. But… everyone had their favorite heroes, right? Her’s just happened to not be them.

“They’re great! Everyone here is so great!” Ashley was quick to add. Why does everything out of her mouth sound so forced? “But again, getting to shadow one of them is rare. Like, really, really rare.”

Now it was Mia’s turn to fake a smile and nod as Ashley blabbered on.

“Okay, well, you know where my office is if you need me. For now, head up to the 62nd floor. There’s a board meeting happening and they need someone to get their lunch orders,” Ashley began walking away, but then turned around to add, “I’m just going to warn you now, but if you fuck up even one detail, get one person’s favorite sauce wrong, and your internship will be over before it even begins.”

“…alrighty then…” Mia said mostly to herself since Ashley was already on her way down the hall.

Mia sighed, hitting the elevator button and stepping inside. She stared at the many buttons on the inside, almost tempted to hit the one for the 99th floor just to see what would happen. Would it even work? She felt like it would be the same thing as trying to take an elevator to Mt. Olympus or something.

She resisted the urge, hitting the one for the 62nd floor like she was supposed. It would not do well for her to be fucking around on her first day of work, after all. Especially with how… demanding it seemed to be.

She stood alone in the elevator, hands resting in front of her until the elevator stopped on the 25th floor. She kept her eyes trained on the ground, not particularly in the mood for conversation.

Until she glanced stripped red and white fabric out of the corner of her eye. Her breath hitched slightly.

There was no fucking way…

Still keeping her eyes trained as low as she could while still getting a good view, she almost collapsed.

Homelander was right there. Next to her. Alone in an elevator.

This felt exactly like the setup of several explicit dreams she had had before. The memories made her cheeks heat up, almost red enough to match her curly hair.

Should she say something? What do you even say to the greatest hero ever? She’d probably end up embarrassing herself, but-

“I’m guessing that you're new here?” Homelander’s voice cut through her thoughts, a hint of amusement lacing it.

Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod he’s actually speaking to me.

“Yes,” her voice cracked so badly she felt like a part of her died inside. She quickly cleared her throat, “y-yes, sir. I-I just started today. Internship. For college. I’m, umm, Mia. Mia Cormac.”

Homelander chuckled and oh she felt like her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

“Well,” he held out his hand and she shakily, but eagerly took it, “it’s so nice to meet you, Mia Cormac.”

“Y-yeah. You too,” she swallowed. She thought for a few seconds to decide if she wanted to keep talking and against her better judgement, she decided to speak sons more, “I-I don’t want to seem like some sort of deranged super fan or whatever, but… I just want to say I… admire and respect you so much, sir. What you do is just… amazing. You… you’re my favorite hero. Really.” She was internally kicking herself. Sounding like a deranged super fan? There had definitely been more insane people than her when meeting their idol. Sounding like a lovesick puppy, however? Yeah… She swallowed, “…sorry.”

But to her surprise instead of calling her a freak, Homelander smiled at her. Actually smiled.

There was heat building up somewhere else besides her face now.

The elevator suddenly dinged, signaling their arrival to the 62nd floor. She didn’t know if she was grateful or angry with it.

“W-well, this is my stop. I-it was a pleasure meeting you… sir,” she said. But as she stepped out of the elevator, a gloved hand gently wrapped itself around her wrist.

Her eyes were wide as she looked back at Homelander who was still smiling at her. Though, there was a hint of something a bit more then friendliness in it, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

“Mia,” he said, almost sounding like he was savoring the taste of her name on his lips, “I really do hope to see you around.”

He let go of her and the elevator closed as he stepped back inside before she could respond.

Mia took a minute to catch her breath, looking around the hallway. Everyone walked by like it was just a normal day. As if Homelander hadn’t just talked to her - hadn’t just touched her! Her - a mere mortal.

She hadn’t believed in God since she was 14, but she had more or less been convinced since soon after that belief had developed that Homelander was the closest thing this universe would ever have to a god.

And he wanted to see her again.

She let out another shaky breath, rushing to find the meeting room she was supposed to go to. She didn’t have time to be giddy about all this. If she hadn’t been encouraged to not fuck up before, now failure - cliché as it may sound - was absolutely not an option. Not if she wanted to cling onto that hope of ever seeing or talking to him again.

[mariatesstruther]

okay but wait @bumblepony u GENIUS. you gave me an idea:

mariatommy step up au

in which pro-dancer maria miller is in desperate need of a waltz partner for the american dance championships. to her rescue comes tommy miller, the younger and more troublesome and secretly phenomenal swinging-dancing brother of famous ex swing-dancer, joel miller

guess what i did 😋 i made it long

so we start with pro-dancer maria miller as she wins as many dance titles as she possibly can, trying to prove to her mother that quitting law school for dance was worth it. she’s already been taking home a fuck ton of titles as a ballet and lyrical soloist, but lately she’s been interested in smooth forms of ballroom, like the waltz and tango

a good friend of hers, frank, has been her partner for three months, and they’ve been unbeatable so far. literally every competition she they shows up at, other dancers will groan and rolls their eyes like “aw come on bro this is unFAIR” because they already know who first place is going to: maria motherfucking miller. every goddamn time

then, four titles in and two months away from their biggest competition, frank tragically breaks an ankle doing some stupid gardening shit with bill. and it is exactly that: a tragedy. he’s maria miller’s partner, and now he can no longer be that. he might as well be a dead man

frank makes bill tell maria, both because it was his idea to have sex do work in the garden and because he’s too scared to. when he does, she cusses him out so bad that, for once in his life, he has no grumpy smartass response. maria is fucking pissed—because that entire competition, that title, that trophy is supposed to be fucking hers. they already have the perfect choreography, the perfect costumes, the perfect music, the perfect everything. she’s already made space on her awards wall for the crown, the sash, and three-their trophy. this is a batrayal, frank. how could he do this to her????? how could he?????

but maria miller does not dwell on problems: she fixes them. she has replace bill or withdraw from the competition—which she has never done in her entire life. withdrawing, like losing, is not an option. she needs another partner, and she needs one fast

of course homegirl tess would come through—her best friend, retired fellow dancer, and one of the most reputable talent managers in the region. maria calls tess hoping to get in touch with her ex-partner, joel miller, because she wants only the best. he’s known and respected in the dance world as an amazing swing dancer and phenomenal lead in partner-work—much to her chargrin, unfortunately, he’s not dancing anymore. he’s apparently too busy with a new baby, which—great, beautiful, kids are great—does not help her. maria needs someone available, someone good, and someone now

enter tommy miller 🤠 who maria is at first not even willing to consider, because he’s never danced competitively in his entire fucking life (“are you fucking with me, tess? are you trying to fuck with me? i thought we were past the point of fucking with eachother. i though we were friends.” she says, when tess tells her. she gets an eye-roll in response)

to his credit, tess tells her, he’s been dancing alongside his joel all his life. he’s watched him and learned from him and is apparently just as good—he’s even danced with tess, and he impressed her. this impressed maria. when she asks tess why he hasn’t done anything officially to actually prove himself, tess says he’s “not the competitive type,” which is a major turn-off. maria is more than the competitive type—she’s the competition entirely.

still, tess convinces her to give him a chance. they basically meets blind-date style because tess is just like “dude just trust me trust me TRUST ME. meet him at our studio on saturday and freestyle with him. one song. then tell me what you think”

so maria goes, and she waits. she’s dutifully ten minutes early, as she is to every rehearsal. what would be five minutes before their meet time, she hears the studio doors open behind her and lets herself be only a little pleased that he is early. then she turns around to him—and boy, is she very much so pleased

tommy is broad-shouldered and well-dressed and tall, but not too tall, and well-groomed for a man—especially with one with so much hair. my god, just this man have a beautiful head of hair. as admires him, she also appreciates that (aside from his audaciously hot suede fur-lined jacket and cowboy boots, lord help her), he look’s ready to dance: black loose muscle tank, black breathable joggers, and black sneakers held in his left hand. in his right hand, to her suprise, is a single red rose.

is he fucking with me? she immediately thinks. a rose. a fucking rose?

“what’s that for?”

“uh, the rose? it’s—,” he hesitates, clearly thrown off guard. somehow, with only three measly words, maria notices that his voice is nice and low and gravely and— “it’s for you, ma’am. you’re maria, right?” —southern and sexy and distracting. his voice is far too distracting. it will present problems for her.

“right. i’m maria,” she repeats, mostly to remind herself who she fucking is—maria fucking miller. maria miller, who does not get distracted by tall sexy cowboys at dance rehearsals. “you’re tommy?”

“yes, ma’am.” he has to stop. he has to stop with the ma’am thing. it’s another distractor.

no distractions. she’s at a rehearsal, albiet an unofficial trial one. it is still a rehearsal—one for a competition that she will win.

maria straightens her shoulders, gets her head on straight, and steels her voice to say coldly: “well, tommy, i don’t like flowers. i like trophies. you think you can get me one of those?”

at that, tommy smiles as bright as the sun, white and pearly and perfect. distraction number three. she’s fucked. “i reckon i can,” he says, amused and sure.

“then prove it,” she responds, voice still steely. “let’s dance.”

and they do

for @bumblepony for your amazing writing as always and @marceltheshellwithflipflopson for your loveliness and inspiration and @clickergossip wifey and @ameerawrites miss u baby and @liveandletcry23 MISS U CAT and @hypnotisedfireflies because the work youve been doing with IO????? INCREDIBLE????? its been making me want to get back to writing so bad

all my mariatommy truthers love u guys kiss kiss kiss

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Yuu can do it!

Part 68

First - Previous - Masterlist - Next

The guest room in Octavinelle is nice. Opulent to the point where it felt like a crime to touch the delicate engravings in the wardrobe, but not flashy like Scarabia. It was still flaunting its wealth, sure, but in the ‘sheets with an uncountable number of threads’ way rather than the ‘goblet studded with gaudy diamonds’ way.

All of this to say, the pajamas were soft, and the Yuus were going to find a way to steal something from this place if it was the last thing they did.

You may think they have a death wish but, you see, they had been casually stealing stuff from all the dorms for an entire semester, and no one actually cared that much. Whether they just thought they were too pitiful to prosecute (Leona), or they just seemed to like them as people (Riddle, which was unfortunate for him), or wouldn’t notice (Kalim)... well, they had been steadily making improvements to their dorm.

Ito squinted at the blue, purple, and silver room. They weren’t even sure there was anything they wanted from this place.

Not that that mattered. They did most of the things Kuroki and Enma asked them to regardless of what they wanted, since their wants usually weren’t typically more than a mild preference, but still…

“None of these colors would go with what we already have.”

“We can always sell it and get a bunch of cheaper things,” Kuroki said, brightly, not deterred in the slightest.

Ito shrugged. Fair enough.

“I’m surprised you’re down for this, Kuroki,” Enma said mildly, peering thoughtfully at the label of what appeared to be a complimentary wine glass (which he held out of Ito’s reach the second he saw them looking, the prick). “I mean, if there’s anyone here that’d prosecute someone for a crime, it’d be Ashengrotto-senpai.”

Kuroki waved him off. “It wouldn’t be worth the hassle. Beyond the fact that places like this always factor theft into their profit margins, and I’d bet my ass Azul does that plus some, and I’m sure the guy was expecting us in particular to pull something… we’re in international waters, technically, so everything done here is technically not a crime.”

“Ohhhhh… so that’s why the school’s here,” said Ito, a tiny lightbulb pinging above their head. “The Headmaster’s tax fraud is harder to pin down if the taxes don’t go to a specific country.”

“Probably,” said Kuroki, though he seemed less than happy about Crowley's immunity to the law. “It’s probably also why people think we’re spies or assassins. If you’re gonna pick off a student, this is the place to do it.”

“Cowards,” Ito said, absently picking up a makeup holder to see whether it was something they could reasonably carry out of the place. Most of the Octavinelle students had naturally flawless skin (according to Floyd Leech), and therefore didn’t really wear makeup, so they might not notice... “If you’re gonna assassinate someone, you should at least put yourself at risk, too. Not fair if you don’t.”

“I don’t think assassins are trying to be fair,” said Kuroki.

“They should be!”

“Ito, in the nicest way possible, you have literally never done anything in the ‘fair’ way, ever,” Enma added.

Ito pressed their lips into a thin line. “Yeah, I have.”

“Name one time.”

Ito opened their mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again.

… they had to have played nice at least once in their life, right? Statistically, it had to have happened…

They snapped their fingers. “Oh! Rock, paper, scissors is fair!”

“First of all, the fact that you had to resort to that is sad,” said Kuroki. “Second of all, no it is not, I don’t know how you make yourself lose every time, but you have to be, you’ve lost too much for it to be statistically possible.”

“It’s because they always put a bit of emphasis on the one they want us to use,” Enma said, sighing. “They’ll say rock, paper, scissors, shoot. It’s stupid, but it works more often than not.”

Kuroki made a ‘huh!’ sound, officially enlightened.

Ito pressed their lips into a thin line. Damn. They’d been had.

Time to make this someone else’s problem.

“I need a midnight snack with all this thinking,” Ito lamented.

A pillow slammed into their face, and they pouted as it fell onto their lap.

“Fuck you,” Kuroki hissed, snatching up the pillow again just so he could throw it at them a second time.

Ito, understandably, dodged this one. They didn’t think that was a joke that deserved two pillows to the face.

Kuroki seemed to disagree.

But he got his win in the end. Enma managed to grab Ito while they were distracted, dragging him into a hug… of sorts, if you ignore the way they were trying to claw their way out of his arms. Not because they were particularly against a hug, they were just feeling spiteful.

“You’re never leaving our sides again,” Enma said, cheerful despite the red marks they'd carved into one of his arms.

Ito squinted. “You were looking for an excuse to say that anyway.”

“Mmm, and thank you for giving me one.”

“... I think I preferred getting hit in the face with a pillow.”

“Deal,” said Kuroki.

“Wait –.”

“Not while I’m holding them –!”

Alas, they were too late. There was a pillow in their very near future.

Enma and Ito shared conspiratorial looks.

Kuroki was smart enough to take his pillow back.

Alas, they were in a bedroom.

Enma and Ito reached for the nearest pillows.

Kuroki looked like he was regretting picking a fight. “Hold on, what if I say ‘sorry’?”

“Too late! Get him!”

“Grim! Grim, wake up and help me!”

~

“... so we have to steal the pillows,” said Enma, picking a feather out of Kuroki’s hair.

“The ones at the dorm were a little worn out…” said Kuroki.

Ito lit up. “And we can always use those old pillowcases we stole from Savanaclaw, so our red and yellow aesthetic can be maintained!”

They high-fived. Gotta love when life works out like that.

~

“I don’t want to be awake at god-awful o’clock,” Ito complained, only a step above a tantrum, and willing to throw away that small decency at any moment.

Kuroki sighed. “It’s – Azul’s orders. If we’re staying here, we have to do it.”

Ito peeked through their eyelids. Kuroki was running his fingers through his hair, trying to get the tangles out. Enma was still leaning over them, poking insistently at their cheek to keep them from falling asleep again. Grim was passed out at their side, the lucky bastard.

“You should quit your job,” Ito grumbled.

“I could say the same about you,” Kuroki said. “Say what you will about Azul, I don’t care for the guy, but at least he actually pays me.”

Enma lit up as an idea occurred to him: “You could both quit and join me!”

“Sam’s shop isn’t big enough for that,” Kuroki said.

Life was terrible for one Enma Yuuken.

And it was going to get worse!

Ito sat up for the sole purpose of glaring at Enma. “Why do I have to wake up but Grim doesn’t?”

“Because he can be carried,” Kuroki shrugged.

Ito thought about this. Their pride, or a couple minutes of sleep, which would they be more comfortable sacrificing?

They looked at Enma.

Enma sighed, deeply. And then he scooped them up. “Fine, but just until breakfast –.”

Ito had already passed out against his shoulder.

~

“So, let’s go over what we know,” Kuroki said. He was clinging to Ito’s arm while they walked, as if scared that they would suddenly be put under a spell again once they got too close to Scarabia.

Which, admittedly, might be true, the spell could be distance-related… Ito didn’t think it was, though. They weren’t sure why. Their head hurt whenever they tried to think about it.

Enma chanced a glance back at the Octavinelle students to make sure they were out of earshot.

They were very out of earshot. Floyd had taken it upon himself to make sure that Enma and Jade were never within five yards of each other, minimum.

(It had made breakfast slightly awkward, since Jade and Enma had been made to stand in opposite corners of the room with their plates.)

Jade waved at Enma.

Enma immediately looked away, the tips of his ears tinting red. “Well, the stuff with Ito confirms that there’s definitely someone with the ability to mind control. So, it’s either someone with a grudge against Kalim-senpai or someone who benefits from him being taken down.”

“So… anyone with any social capital in Scarabia at all – or someone who thinks Kalim-senpai is really annoying,” Ito summed up, swirling their coke bottle cheerily. Their heart was pounding in their chest once again! Hell yeah, caffeine!

Wait, they were a little too jittery.

Eh. Surely, that was fine.

“... yeah,” Enma said. “The secret grudge thing would be harder to find out, I feel… sure, someone could be an open dissenter to sow chaos, but sometimes it’s better to just let others talk…”

Ito hummed. “Nothing worse than an echo chamber.”

“If it’s hard to find a grudge, then we should do that second, right?” Grim said.

The Yuus immediately cooed over how smart their monster was. Truly, they grow up so fast. Look at him, making basic observations on how to best spend their time! Maybe next month he’ll stop believing Ace when their friend so-nicely offers to teach Grim fake slang!

… ugh, even being an asshole in their own brain wasn’t distracting them from how shitty they felt. Truly, it was incurable.

“Did I eat yesterday?” they asked.

Enma frowned at the, from his perspective, completely random topic change. “Er… yeah, why?”

“I dunno,” they said, frowning. “I feel – weird – I was wondering if, maybe, the person mind controlling me forgot to tell me to eat.”

Kuroki’s eyebrows knit. “I mean, maybe? You kinda just did… whatever we told you to. You didn’t start eating on your own, but when we asked you to you did.”

Ito’s eyes widened as a horrible thought occurred to them: “Wait, what about the bathroom?”

Enma snorted, patting them on the back briefly. “Don’t worry, we figured it out by that point.”

“Oh thank fuck.”

Kuroki grinned, but his amusement was quick to fade. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“Not really,” Ito said. “Last thing I remember, I was in the kitchen snacking on bell peppers at an ungodly time of the morning. Life really does screw you over in your happiest moments.”

“The culprit is an early riser, then?” Azul cut in, throwing his arm around Ito’s shoulders.

Son of a –.

Kuroki turned his head and sunk his teeth into Azul’s arm.

The group of teens stood there for a solid ten seconds, staring in a mix of shock and horror.

“Get your dog,” Azul said.

“Eavesdropping isn’t polite, senpai,” Enma said.

“You –!” He finally managed to tear his way out of Kuroki’s mouth. “You three do it all the time!”

There wasn’t any blood and, even though Ito had been expecting that (biting hard enough to draw blood is, well, hard, after all), they were still relieved to see it.

“When we do it it’s for the good of mankind,” Ito deadpanned. “When you do it it’s because you’re annoying.”

“You shouldn’t talk to your senpai like that,” Enma said.

“You’re right, I should use more thinly veiled insults,” Ito said, rolling their eyes. “And why am I in trouble? Kuroki bit him.”

“Traitor,” grumbled Kuroki.

“Kuroki does stuff like this all the time, but I expect more from you, Ito,” said Enma.

“Dickhead.”

“Puta.”

“Doesn’t ending in ‘a’ mean it’s a – uh – girl thing?”

“You’re right. I should use your preferred pronouns when insulting you. Puto.”

“Great, thanks. What does it mean, by the way?”

Ito pressed their lips together, thinking hard. “Mmmmm… bitch. Or, literally, I guess I’d be calling you a whore?”

“... oh. Hm. I guess I’m flattered you think I get lots of attention.”

“You would if Kuroki wasn’t around.”

“Hey, if his potential suitors can’t handle a little bit of psychological torture, then they’re not gonna last long, anyway. I’m saving him time!”

~

“... you’re back,” said Jamil, in the most dead inside voice Ito had ever heard.

“No one’s ever excited to see us,” Ito pointed out, frowning.

“Wonder why,” said Azul.

“A true mystery,” Jamil said. And then he flinched, watching the three Octavinelle students emerge from the dark stairway like characters in a horror movie. The only thing ruining this effect was that Jamil looked more annoyed than genuinely scared. “What are you three doing here?”

“Nothin’,” Floyd blatantly lied.

“If you have no business here, I would prefer it if you leave,” Jamil said.

“Even though we came all this way?” Azul said, his eyes wide in mock surprise.

“If you did so for no reason, then yes.”

Azul pressed a hand to his chest, aghast. “Must you have a reason to visit a – friend?”

(Azul paused before the word ‘friend’, as if he had to physically force it out of his mouth. Why is everyone at this school so socially stunted?)

“We even brought a seafood pizza as a little present,” Floyd added.

“It’s Headmaster-approved, so you know it’s good,” Ito said. “You don’t want it to go cold, do you?”

Jamil sent them a betrayed look.

The Octavinelle kids used this as an opportunity to brush right past Jamil and into Scarabia dorm.

Jamil’s eyes widened in horror. He rushed after them. “You can’t just – let yourself in!”

“I’m sure Kalim wouldn’t mind. Is he awake yet?”

“I… was about to wake him up.”

“Perfect!” said Azul.

“Would you mind taking us to him?” Jade asked.

“I would, yeah.”

Floyd beamed. “Sweet, thanks!”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Grim lifted his head from on top of Enma’s. “They sure are lively, hm?”

“Yeah,” said Ito.

~

Jamil’s complaints fell on deaf ears (or, at least, partially deaf ears), and it seemed that Jade had done his homework – he knew the exact layout of the dorm, and was happy to be their tour guide. Did that have some terrifying implications? Absolutely.

But, hey, Ito was too busy helping Enma and Kuroki take note of everyone they passed. It seemed they had taken Azul’s ‘early-riser’ comment to heart.

And there was… surprisingly few people, honestly. Ito had never paid much attention in the mornings, but apparently they weren’t the only one who was not a morning person here. They only passed around three or four people, who seemed to be patrolling the place.

Hm. Looks like Enma and Kuroki would be figuring out the truth sooner than they’d first assumed… aw, that wouldn’t be fun for anyone. Not Ito, but not Kuroki and Enma, either. If the answer was too obvious, they’d get mad at themselves for not realizing sooner. And Ito didn’t want that…

One of the patrolling students’ eyes never left the Yuus as they passed, and their expression could only ever be described as pissed.

“What’d we do to him?” Ito asked.

“Mmmm…” Enma squinted at the guy for a second, trying to place his face. “Maybe he got caught up in the fire we set… but he doesn’t really smell like smoke…?”

“Oh oh oh oh!” said Kuroki, snapping his fingers. “He was guarding the treasury.”

“Oh yeah!” said Enma. “We hit him over the head with a table.”

“How’d you pick up a table?”

“Technically we hit the table with him –,” Enma tried to put them on the right track.

“Spite,” Kuroki and Grim said, in unison.

Ito snickered, rolling their eyes. “I see.”

“... what’s this about our treasury?” Jamil asked, his eyebrows knitting.

Kuroki waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, we didn’t get to keep the shit anyway…”

(He was obviously bitter about this fact.)

Jamil glanced at Ito, who managed a minuscule shrug as if to say ‘you took my memory, reap what you sow’. The boy gave a long, put-upon sigh, before holding his hand out. “Hand over your matches. I don’t need a repeat of last night.”

Grim sniffed. “Matches? Come on, a fire like that can’t be done with mere matches.”

“And it’s the 21st century, senpai, most people use lighters these days anyway,” added Enma.

“Or fire magic!” said Grim.

“Or fire magic,” Ito agreed.

Jamil looked like he was considering taking Grim away from them to get rid of their access to fire.

“Try it,” Ito said, flatly. “See how that goes for you.”

Jamil, briefly, made an irritated face, before turning back to trying to stop the Octavinelle students from getting to Kalim’s room.

Alas, the conversation was not quite as over for Ito. Kuroki’s hands latched around theirs and he yanked on their arm to get their attention.

“Since when have you been close to Viper-senpai?”

Ito hummed, lifting their shoulders in a shrug. “I wouldn’t call us particularly close. He lent me his hair oil brand once, though, that was nice of him.”

Kuroki narrowed his eyes. His eyes flicked to Jamil. “Viper-senpai’s suspicious.”

Ito choked on nothing. “You can’t go around suspecting people of evil just because I might be friends with them.”

“I can and will.”

“I mean, he does fit the criteria,” said Enma, his arms crossed over his chest. “I mean, he has plenty of reason to have something against Kalim-senpai. And he’s the only one whose name has come up as a possible replacement for Kalim-senpai so far.”

“Suspicious,” said Kuroki, nodding along fervently.

Ito snickered, pinching Kuroki’s cheek. “You knew all of this all along, hm?”

“Nonono, I have this gut feeling, it’s him.”

“That gut feeling is called ‘jealousy’,” said Grim.

“No, it’s not.”

“Oh, damn, he’s got us,” Ito said.

~

Kalim was extremely surprised to find that his room had been invaded while he slept. Waking up to the Octavinelle students leaning over his bed might give him nightmare material for the next several years.

But he brightened up soon enough. “Oh! Hi, everyone!”

The guy’s arm looked like it was going to pop right off by the time he’d waved at everyone (he’d individually given every person an enthusiastic wave, because he was that kind of guy).

The Yuus leaned against a wall, watching everyone catch up.

Enma’s eyes flicked to Jamil, before he sighed, throwing an arm over Ito’s shoulders. “So, uh, what do we do if it really is Viper-senpai?”

“Hm?” said Ito, their head tipping slightly to the side. Had Kuroki’s half-joke alerted Enma? Or had he already been somewhat suspicious? He’d mentioned that someone was using the situation to their advantage, way back then.

Kuroki hugged Grim closer to his chest, frowning. “I mean, I don’t really care if Kalim-senpai loses his dormhead spot… and if it is Viper-senpai, then he’s definitely got every reason to be mad… but whoever it was, they shouldn’t have fucked with Ito.”

Ito smiled, holding their hands up. “I’m fine, really.”

“We have to remember, though,” Kuroki said.

“I could hit you in the head real hard and see if it resets your memory?” they offered.

“Terrible plan,” said Kuroki. Fair enough.

Enma just smiled and rested his chin on top of Ito’s head. “I’ll pass, too.”

“Look at them over there!” Azul said, pointing at the Yuus, yanking them into a conversation that was surely less entertaining than the one they’d been having. Sad. “Truly, the prime example of more heads being better than one!”

The Yuus glanced at each other, amusement gleaming in their eyes, because they technically were still one head, just from different universes.

“When there’s more than one person calling the shots, you can make up for each other’s weaknesses!” Azul said.

“Bold of you to think we have any weak spots even when we’re alone,” said Enma. Despite the fact that he was currently clinging to Ito.

Jade raised an eyebrow.

Another good point!

Enma immediately flushed bright red and tried to hide his face in Ito’s hair. Ito lifted a hand to awkwardly pat his back.

“Regardless of all that,” said Azul, shooting Enma a look as if to say ‘literally what is there to like about Jade anyway’ that Enma couldn’t actually see (nor would he answer if he could), before returning to his smarmy smile. “My point is, we can help each other improve our training regimens!”

“... I recommend against this,” said Jamil.

Kalim frowned. “I know you don’t like them, Jamil, but they have a point!”

“The whole point of this training camp is to help our dorm rank higher. If we invite the housewarden of another dorm to join us, would they not get better as well?”

“But you brought Kuroki Yuuya-kun in.”

Jamil blanched, briefly. And then he coughed, delicately. “Well, the Ramshackle students are hardly a powerhouse, grade-wise. Their dorm average was barely passing.”

Kuroki looked like he was barely suppressing the urge to grab the nearest thing made of gold and throw it at Jamil’s head. And only because he had clearly already weighed himself losing that particular fight.

Jamil turned to Azul. “I’m doing this for your own good. Leave while you still can.”

Azul shrugged. “You're absolutely right, Jamil. Other dorms are always going to be, on some level, our rivals in the grade standings. I'm afraid we'd best take our leave, boys. Kalim, Jamil, best of luck with your training. Back to spending yet another holiday stuck indoors in the dead of winter, just the three of us. It's unavoidable, I suppose...”

“And after we went to the trouble to get here…” said Jade, his voice as mournful as he could make it past the sly smile on his face.

Floyd looked like he was about a second from turning into a sad puddle on the floor. “We even brought pizza…”

The Yuus have never been so offended in their lives. This is an affront to the art of lying.

“Siiiiiiiigh,” the three of them chorused.

Did they just say fucking ‘SIGH’?!

“Wait!” said Kalim, scrambling to crawl out of his blankets.

It worked?!

“Azul is one of the top magicians in our whole school. I think Scarabia would benefit greatly from having him over!” Kalim said, almost pleading with Jamil.

His ‘friend’ looked unconvinced.

“...Besides, turning away esteemed guests out of hand would bring shame upon the Asim family name.”

Jamil sucked in air through his teeth, caught.

Azul lit up. “Why, Kalim! What a kind and generous soul you are! Naturally, I would be more than happy to share any insights I have with you.”

“The two of us will be happy to assist with cooking and cleaning,” Jade added, pressing a hand to his chest.

Floyd nodded along eagerly. “Yeah! We do it at the lounge anyway, so we're pretty good at it.”

“That would be great! And it would ease Jamil's workload, too! He’s seemed so tired lately!”

Ito perked up slightly.

Their eyes shot to Kalim.

Because… there was something there. A note of desperation that didn’t quite fit the tone of the conversation.

Did Kalim know that Jamil was overworked? Ito supposed that they should have known that already – Kalim had mentioned Jamil being overworked before, way back during the Magift incident. Ito had only really taken note of it because of Jamil’s reaction, the sudden way he’d cut to a new conversation had been interesting, but Kalim…

Well, it was a surprisingly adept observation coming from someone who had just fallen for the most obvious lie in history.

And hadn’t Kalim always been able to tell when Ito was lying?

When did he get so good at that? Why was it only their lies that he caught onto?

Perhaps because he was used to them.

… Kalim hadn’t actually seemed all that surprised, the day he’d nearly Overblotted. Maybe by the fact that Jamil had tried to drug him, but certainly not about the coup. He’d said that he didn’t care what Jamil was doing.

Which was strange, wasn’t it? Your ‘best friend’ is trying to overthrow you as ‘king’ of a dorm, wouldn’t the average person be upset about it? Wouldn’t it give you pause?

Unless, of course, you were already aware of it.

Holy shit. Does Kalim know?

[overalls4all]

Hector always considered himself pretty smart. Maybe he wasn't the top of his class in school, but he had a good way of reading people and could always thunk critically in any situation. So when the Overalls for All Act passed, he could see through the propaganda about "the value of hard-work" and "traditional masculinity". Hector knew these new laws where ways to control men, humiliate them into submission, and turn them into obedient workers.

Unfortunately for Hector, knowing this reality was not a way to stop it. Like all men, Hector reported to the Overalls Distribution Center and started wearing overalls. Despite his better judgement, Hector gave up his office job to work at a constriction site.

Hector's coworkers were the dumb jock types. None of them ever questioned the motives behind the Overalls for All Act. They all happily sung its praises. They were obsessed with their labor and their overalls; it was all they seemed capable of talking about. Hector would add lip-service to these praises, but deep-down Hector hated acting like some overalls-clad drone.

One day, Hector was called into the foreman's office. The foreman was a large, middle-aged man in blue denim overalls. He asked Hector to take a seat.

"Hector, we've noticed some concerning behaviors on site," said the foreman from behind his desk.

"Concerning? What do you mean?" asked Hector.

"I have some concerns about your loyalty to the Overalls for All Movement," said the foreman with a sigh.

"But I love my overalls! I always say the Overalls Pledge. I wear my overalls 24/7. How am I not loyal?"

"Your eyes, Hector. Have you ever looked your coworkers in the eyes? They show no signs of independent thought. They simply hear orders and carry them out. Their words are just repeated from Overalls propaganda."

Hector swallowed. He knew where this was going.

"Your eyes, though, still show a spark of individuality. Of humanity. But fortunately, that will change today Hector," the foreman pulled out a pocket watch from his bib pocket. "Just keep your eyes on this and listen closely to my words, Hector."

Hector was trapped. He couldn't just up and run without gaining the attention of an Overalls Compliance Officer. He could try to resist, but the foreman could already see through his deceit. As his mind raced, his stare stayed fixed on the swaying pocket watch. Despite the stress in his mind, it was almost relaxing to focus on one small thing.

"You are a mindless obedient worker. You do not think. You only obey. You love wearing overalls. You will always wear overalls. You will wear overalls and obey," the foreman spoke in a calm, gentle, yet forceful tone.

Hector's mind slowed down. The foreman's voice was soothing. His fears and concerns began to quiet down in his head, until they were no more than a whisper. Maybe I should just keep listening, thought Hector.

"You are a mindless obedient worker. You do not think. You only obey. You love wearing overalls. You will always wear overalls. You will wear overalls and obey," the foreman repeated. "Now tell me what you are."

Hector's eyes seemed to lose focus. His posture drooped forward. His mouth drooped down, his words dumbly slurring out of his mouth, "I am a mindless obedient worker. I do not think. I only obey. I love wearing overalls. I will always wear overalls. I will wear overalls and obey."

The foreman looked in Hector's eyes and saw nothing. Hector was truly mindless, compliant, obedient, and submissive.

"Good boy. Report back tomorrow for another loyalty session. Now get back to work!"

Mouth agape, yet dumbly smiling, Hector rose from the chair. "Yes, sir!" he moaned.

Hector went back to the site. A group of workers were gathered. Each one wore a stupid smile on his face and uniform overalls.

"I love overalls," said one, as he pawed his hand over his bib.

"Me too. I will wear overalls and obey!" said another, pulling on his straps.

The other men laughed and chuckled watching their comrades tug at their overalls.

Hector joined the crowd. Hector stared blankly, laughing along with the group.

Hahaha, I love overalls too. It feels good to obey in my overalls. Hahaha, he though over and over.

Without another thought, Hector shouted out,"I love overalls!" before stupidly laughing alongside the other dumb workers.

Whatever concerns Hector once had about the Overalls for All Act were gone. He loved his overalls. He loved to obey. He was happy now. Happy and mindless.

[thehoodedsweater]

Since I’ve ranted about my OC Edward a lot here, I feel like I should explain how he would be if he was in the RGB cartoon!

I’m gonna yap so heads up lmao

First fact- Since Egon was made a blonde in the toon, I switched Edward to a brunette (even though he’s blonde in the main universe). Hair color switching is fun, and it also keeps his color palate from being too overwhelming! (This helps with Elizabeth too, since they’re siblings who are meant to look very much alike. Perhaps in one “Episode concept” they would attempt to switch identities and see who has the harder job.) Second- He has a tooth gap now. Just cause. I felt like it would be cute. It adds uniqueness for his expressions too. He also blushes a lot easier, for the sake of it being a toon.

Third- Since the toon seems to exaggerate/change their personalities a little, I made it so Edward’s anxiousness (and crushing on Egon if we’re gonna step into shipping territory) are heightened up to eleven. In the movie universe he’s a little anxious, sure (in the first movie he’s slightly anxious but relatively cheery and willing to help [think kind of like Louis, but not exactly], in the second movie he’s a lot more cynical and anxious due to going to law school and having to deal with the Ghostbusters again after five years [and the amount of trouble they get into]) but the toon would take it up a notch for the sake of comedy and plot. Fourth-He probably gets along with Peter just a little bit more? Due to the toon toning down Peter’s cynicism it makes for a different bond, other than the movie universe where Edward’s constantly at his throat for something stupid (for example, calling him “Eddie” and “Ed.”) In the toon world Edward would still be annoyed with him, but their bond is probably a lot closer than the movie universe. (Especially considering how long it would take for Edward and Peter to get along in it. They do care a lot, it just hides behind a TON of insults and banter. And unfortunately I’d imagine them leaving on pretty bad terms due to Edward leaving to the middle of nowhere [Summerville] without an explantation or leaving a note.)

Fifth-His cat, Kevin, would most likely be a reoccurring background character! Like Slimer, he probably runs around the firehouse and does his own stuff, he probably gets along with Slimer and that pisses Peter off.

Sixth-He would totally take the role of being a Ghostbuster at least once, like how Janine and Louis did. It was most likely because one was out sick/hurt and it causes a lot of chaos for Edward and his anxiety, as he volunteered without thinking to impress Egon. The “episode” idea I had was that Peter somehow got hurt and that resulted in him being unable to fight the ghosts, so Edward takes his place for the day. There’s a B plot of Peter having to do Edward’s “boring secretary work” with Janine, and by the end Edward gets his own Ghostbusters nametag (and maybe a kiss but idk) and the reassurance he did good. Just a wholesome little ending.

WOWWW THATS A LOT OF YAPPING (and I haven’t even STARTED on explaining what his role would be in the Extreme Ghostbusters cartoon..)

Uhm

hope you guys liked it? I know some of you seem to like my ocs and their story so I’m so glad to share it all with you! Thanks for all the support :))

and if you wanna hear more let me know!!