#I have kids who still ask how to copy and paste their assignments

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

Tbh the strangest and most concerning thing about kids that I’ve observed get steadily worse is how these kids just…don’t know how to use a computer???

Like if you put a 12-15 year old kid and my 50 something year old mom next to each other and asked them to copy and paste using a computer, both would look at me like a deer in headlights!!

And yes I know some of this is because schools just don’t really have computer classes anymore (like I had ones that taught “proper” typing, Microsoft office programs like Word and PowerPoint, etc.) but like??? Every school I’ve been to so far has had computers for students so they’re all on devices all the time yet still don’t know how to use them.

Hell, they barely know how to type a URL in! Like! Huh! I’m genuinely concerned about them not knowing how to use a computer properly and how they use it so freely without proper thought and care as to what they put out into the world.

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

Can I get headcanons for the TEC boys with a reader who’s good at art?

Never A Frown With Golden Brown

Summary: TEC x Artist! Reader

TW/CW: mentions of crime scenes

A/N: Good news, guys! REQUEST ARE NOW BACK OPEN!

Knocked out the majority of my queue, so fill free to request anything (as long as you read my DON’Ts first! <3

Reblogs are appreciated!

- Bill isn’t a muse, and he told you as such

- Anytime it was time for portraits for school, his mom was too poor to pay the extra money (though it became more obvious it’s because she didn’t want to have any reminders of him)

- It would be no different with you. He spotted you during art class actually paying attention to the assignment, and scoffed

- “You know, there are better ways to put your normie brain to the use”

- You simply pretended not to hear him as you continue to draw the still life in front of you

- Overtime, you would catch him watching you draw, paint, photograph, even write sometimes. He got red faced and mad when you pointed it out, but that didn’t stop him

- In fact, you just made him more curious. He’ll admit: your inking was acceptable, you knew how to compose a shot and he guessed your coloring was alright

- You probably drew him Major Violence with Battle Broad for his birthday, and he just held onto the piece of paper like it would be lost forever if he didn’t

- Will stuff every doodle/unfinished drawing you’ve threw out over the years. Will get pissy if you point this out, saying that “YEAH! Well, maybe I want to draw better than you!”

- I actually think he does know how to draw, just doesn’t apply himself. If he’s feeling generous, he’ll return the favor by drawing you in a notebook and tear it out for you

- Would die of embarrassment if he was asked to be your muse for photography. Of course he’s going to agree to, just that it’s embarrassing he’ll be seen in this light! DUH!

- (Later on, would ask if you have any copies he could take home)

- It’s weird being admired like this. He’s only seen this with artists from a long gone era…not with his pimply nerdy self

- ….but maybe he’ll accept it. Maybe.

- Josh saw you drawing for the journal club. They needed a cover, and you were the “art kid”, so you were made to take the burden of it

- He likes to think he’s artistic himself (writing wise), but the way you effortlessly blended in the watercolor onto the paper…it entranced him

- He stayed up all night writing the “perfect” sci fi story for you to visualize. Maybe you can draw it like Frank Frietrzza, or even Jack Kirby

- Slides it in your locker and hopes for the best.

- Waits a couple of days, and calls himself foolish for even thinking someone of you fallible (while also stating that “you couldn’t handle the caliber of my art skills!”)

- It isn’t until he sees you also slip in a visualization of the drawing that he was sold!

- Loves to watch you in art class while you produced the most beautiful landscapes within just your imagination

- Wants to hear about your process at all times and would get giddy hearing you talk

- Secretly? He’s jealous. He can never seem to get the ideas in his head right onto the paper. It’s like a mental block for him or something.

- So, he may or may not steal some of your drawing ideas from you. Will adamantly claim he didn’t, but you knew. You always knew

- I’m you can get past that, maybe you two could be a creative writing duo

- Josh takes control of the writing; you take control of the illustrations

- It’s a weird harmony of sorts, but it works nevertheless

- For Pete, I think he would actually like a photographer

- I don’t know why, but staring at movies all times of the day means he has a keen eye when it comes to the little details

- Saw you at the darkroom while you were about to finish up. He (sort of) followed to the light and watched you examine the last photograph

- Woah…even in black and white, you know your stuff! That lighting really hits the plants well, and the composition almost wraps said plants into something…monstrous

- You end up catching him in the act, but unlike the others, he just continued to stare…creepy

- When he got home, he spread out his favorite horror films and capture every one of his favorite shots (probably stole a camera or used a shitty camcorder)

- Maybe asks you if you can take shots like this (yes, he be one of THOSE people who want free requests)

- He’s a little sleaze ball as well. The type that would BEG you to go into crime scenes and take pictures of everything, but especially the bodies

- If not…maybe a portrait of himself? Probably never got one because his parents were too poor to get one themselves

- Since Pete’s also a creative person (FXS), those “self portraits” are him in his zombie crawl look

- Internally kicking his feet when he gets them done, but acts all tough when you asked his opinion on it

- Even if you guys did break up, he still has them, sometimes even looks at them when he’s feeling bitterly nostalgic

- Jerry would love a sculptor. Someone who can seemingly make fantastical stories with just a piece of clay and such

- You met because he accidentally destroyed one of said sculptures. You were letting it air dry and Jerry was tripped up by some bullies (or even the club), crashing right down onto one of them

- After helping him clean up, he started to also notice your other work on the ground and WOAH! Is that Xena the Princess Warrior?!

- Didn’t have time to stick around, but would watch you sculpt during free time in art class

- The way your hands meticulously move around the clay itself…how it made these blobs into impossible shapes…fascinating

- It distracts him every day of his life. Even at club he’s starting to feel flustered when thinking about you and your work

- Will eventually ask if he could watch you up close while you sculpt

- He’s a romantic at heart (a little). Absolutely red faced and flustered watching you. He’s never met anyone this talented since…well, forever, really

- I think you could inspire him to create a little. “Checks out” (stalks) your profile and tries to replicate some of your more simpler pieces

- It’s…something, but he’s trying, alright?

- Would bond making mini figurines of DnD characters and keeps them up his shelf to admire

- He loves his artistic S/O so much <3

[eod-agent-13-12]

Some Guides to Writing / Depicting my Phoenix (Florian)

I honestly don't mind it if people put my Phoenix in for an easter egg or cameo for their own works. Please just tag me when you do and please follow common decency practices!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

General Florian things:

Florian tends to "balance out" whoever they're with. So if they're with someone more extroverted, they tend to let the other take the stage. However, for more introverted individuals, they do tend to intiate contact more often.

Florian tends to use they/them in agency premises and during missions. However, civilians typically use she/her when Florian gets brought up. They don't mind either being used.

Classmates and coworkers tend to call them "Fe" as a nickname. (The name stuck since elementary and people just got used to calling them that.) Typically, fellow Agent Phoenixes (and those they consider family) are usually the only ones who can call them "Florian" or "Flor".

They're more reserved when one doesn't know them much but are physically affectionate when they're close. They platonically hold hands with friends quite often if the other wants to.

Science is something they find fascinating. Computers and chemistry would've been something they know a lot about due to a mix of college education and mere curiosity.

They have hints of "burnt out gifted kid" occasionally and tend to underestimate and downplay their abilities, especially their intelligence.

Sentimental to a fault. Archiving and preserving memories is important to them due to a history of individuals rewriting the narrative and archival loss.

Candy. They always have candy on their person and passes it to people who seem hungry. And snacks. It's a survival tactic formed by "classes sometimes take too long and it's already past lunch already."

Agent Firelight (Also known as 13-12) - This is the agent Florian would've been had they not been assigned to Reginald or the same set of missions (in the case Reginald did start off with handling multiple agents). Some of these traits do appear when they're Phoenix as well.

The codename "Firelight" didn't come from any achievements. It's from a nickname their pa gave them as a kid. Fellow agents found out about it and it just stuck because they tried to hide it.

The agent number 13-12 is part of a longer string that comprises agent numbers and designations. (I still have to make that system.)

Paperwork is something they dislike but know how to move around in. Bureaucracy and legal processes were something they had to handle due to their choices to help the community before they joined the agency. Due to this, the person who can reasonably file forms quickly and accurately is them. They don't like to admit they could so this trait only appears during emergencies.

One would know the sender is Florian if the envelope they send had three signatures as a way to prevent tampering. Other similar anti-tamper measures is in their arsenal.

They keep two copies of the papers that pass through them. One is for the main office and the other is for archival purposes and evidences.

Plushies. They love plushies and huggable things. Their hugs are often tight. They like hugging a pillow while they sleep but they can do without.

They often joke that they're the "walking backpack" as they typically carry things most people might need. (Safety pins, bandages, extra pens, they have it.)

There are more but please feel free to ask if you have any questions. I'm happy to blab about the lore! :DD

[muddyorbsblr]

the evangeline chronicles episode 3: indefinite goodbyes

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: 2016

Summary: Evangeline takes her last assignments for a while, bidding Grey a "see you later"

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+ | mention of sex tape; mention of child sexual exploitation; mention of revenge porn; pedophiles; death by assassination

Feedback is greatly appreciated! Remember, likes are great but comments & reblogs are treasured.

"This is highway robbery, what do you mean it's a thousand BitCoin a quarter for all this to go away? That's like---four million a year with this rate."

Evangeline pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to take a deep breath. She was on the other line with the mother and manager of some reality star who had entered a contract with an up and coming rapper to have a sex tape get leaked with the intent of building up the woman's potential star power. Only when the tape "leaked" for both the reality star and the manager to cry victim and try pinning it all on the man who was none the wiser.

She currently had a copy of the contract that could exonerate him sitting comfortably in her hard drive.

And now, nearly a decade later, reality star was in the process of building her family with a different rapper who had some rather alarming skeletons in his own closet. Evidence of which was also sitting in that same hard drive. Along with a full hour long recording of a phone call that was twisted and edited seventy ways to Sunday just to launch a smear campaign on one of the few musicians that wasn't deeply embedded in the seedy underbelly of their industry.

Sure, some decisions were made by said musician in the past year that Evangeline didn't entirely agree with. Or at all. But that hardly made her the devil incarnate like this family was trying to make her out to be.

Nearly an hour into this call, and she was still in negotiations with the mom/manager on a deal that would ensure that the sex tape not be passed around anymore. But considering the rollout that they'd done of the initial "leaking", completely scrubbing the video off the face of the Internet was nearly impossible to accomplish short of divine intervention.

And as much as a good number of hackers on the dark web would jokingly say otherwise, Evangeline was not a god. Not by a long shot.

Enter the offer she laid out on the table for the reality star and her team, that she would do periodic sweeps throughout the year to ensure that the threat of the video having a widespread reach online again would be minimized. The amount of work that entailed alone would cost them a pretty penny. Add to the fact that she didn't particularly like them as a person, and Evangeline was about two more "negotiations" away from doubling her asking rate.

"Listen, Kris, I feel for your daughter, I really do. She doesn't want her kids to stumble upon how Mommy made her billions. But considering the context on the tape itself just being a massive breach of contract with how you made it seem like it was her ex's fault that it leaked when we all know that that's not the case."

"Hang on how did you--"

"You reached out to me, and when you did that you opened yourself up to a discovery process so invasive even the courts would take pause. So I don't really think you're in any position to tell me what highway robbery is considering how you tried to rob a man of his reputation. And don't get me started on the other shit your daughter and her husband have been up to the last six months. The price just went up to a thousand and five hundred BitCoin a quarter, you wanna make it two?"

"No!" she shouted. "No no that's…fine." She sounded like she was steaming on the other end. She was probably more used to being the one doing the strong arming. "We'll take it. Thank you, Evangeline. For your protection."

"Failure to make payment by the tenth day of the quarter will be considered breach of agreement," the hacker said dismissively. "And my protection detail stops. Are we clear?"

"Crystal. Th-Thank you. Again."

She didn't bother with the pleasantries, cutting the line of the secure call and massaging her temples as she padded around the hotel room she was to be living in for the next few months. Just then another call went through the line, greywolf.

"What?" she groaned.

"Oof, I take it the call with Mrs Momager went about as well as I thought it would?"

"Little Miss I pushed out five billionaires really tried to tell me that my rate was highway robbery," she told him. "She really forgot for a solid hour that I have the documents that could literally bury them and drain them. In that order."

Grey's laughter rang clearly through the speaker, both hackers deciding they were no longer in need of their voice distortion if they were to talk with one another. "She still took it, though?"

"She did. At the rate I'm going I might be able to buy a second and a third house by the time I'm 30 from their money alone. Cash."

"Sweet." The sound of a toddler laughing in the background came through, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Anyway, this wasn't entirely a social call. There's a message on the help line about a streamer pressuring girls on those chat roulette type sites to do some raunchy shit. And then he takes videos of that and sends it to his buddies through Telegram. The guy's location is in Brisbane, and I'm about to send a blast in our chat seeing who's available."

"I am," she told him, already typing away to see where the streamer's location was. "Fucking hell, some of these girls look like they just started puberty."

"Hang on, you're in the area?"

"Yeah, I'm here for the next few months. I got a sweet gig designing some crazy sets. Could do without some of the bitchy assistant producers, though."

"Do you have equipment in that neck of the woods, though? I can call someone to back you up or give you access to one of their storage units?"

"No need, Grey. I brought some stuff over here a few months ago when I confirmed I got the gig. Could use a lookout, though."

"You got it, G."

It was a fairly short drive to her storage unit, getting together what she needed for this assignment. Firstly, thin insulated gloves under a layer of her usual leather gloves, to increase her protection from her weapon of choice.

She knew looking over this case that authorities would not take his actions as seriously as it deserved. He was gonna keep on doing this to as many girls as he could get his grimy hands on and ruin them with unforeseeable ripples. This could very well haunt them into their working years, compromising them at work because their manager had seen their tits on a group chat and now the sick swine of a person would think himself entitled to the poor girl's body.

This individual was a threat to society for as long as he breathed. And he needed to be neutralized.

Next was the weapon she'd chosen for this particular creep. An arrow with no fletching that was made of dry ice; she would only have a maximum of three on hand, so margin of error was quite narrow. She needed not to miss. Cleanup wasn't going to be much of a problem, considering that the only evidence of what the murder weapon would have melted long before anyone would even find the body.

Lastly, a mask to cover the lower half her face to protect it from potential frostbite if her skin came into contact with the arrow.

Once she'd made her way to the rooftop of the building across from where the man was readying for another stream, Evangeline started up a call with Grey. "Okay so right now he's just on a call with his creeper buddies on Telegram. He's passing around pictures of the girls he was on calls with last night. I'm gonna go ahead and record this, send in another anonymous tip to the FBI so the rest of these degenerates see their day behind bars."

"Good call," she told him, readying her compound bow and carefully opening her case of arrows. She took a breath, loading an arrow onto the mount and aiming for the streamer's neck through the open slats window. With Grey going silent, awaiting for the moment the world would be down one menace to society, she could hear what they were talking about in that Telegram call.

Those tell-tale sharp inhales and groans and moans as they talked about how one girl's breasts were still perky and "sitting so pretty" and was still defying mother nature because they had just come in, had Evangeline seeing red. She drew her bowstring back and fired, letting the arrow fly and watching as it flew between two slats and went through his neck with little resistance.

"Like a hot knife through butter," she murmured, letting go of her breath when she saw the reprobate fall from his chair, the sounds of his panicked friends calling out his name and asking him if he was okay.

"Mate, come on this isn't funny! Move, for Christ's sake!" said one.

"Should we call the cops?!" said another.

"And tell them what?" A third man, older sounding, seethed. "They find his body, seize his computer and when they find the photos guess who they're gonna look at next? Us, lads! Is it really worth it for us to call it in if it's at the cost of our own freedom? You know what they do to blokes like us in the slammer?"

Evangeline cut off their tap into the call with an exhausted sigh. "No honor among creeps, I guess," she said sardonically. "Grey, there's something I gotta tell you. I might be out of the game for a few weeks. Maybe longer, depending on how things go. This might be the last time I'm hands on for a while."

"Really now? Do tell."

"Not much to tell," she said, closing the trunk of her rental and starting on the drive back to her storage unit. "I've just been hooking up with this guy for the last few nights and…I don't want anything to blow back at him. Who knows, this thing might be short-lived and I told your nosy ass all of this for fuck and all, but yeah…I'm hands off for the next few weeks at least."

"Is it hot freaky actor guy?" he asked excitedly. Her silence told him all he needed to know. "Holy shit it is! You actually got with him, tell me are the rumors true about his hardware?"

"You nosy bitch," she chuckled. "If anything those stories have been watered down. And I want words with the bitch who said he doesn't last. All the training I've had, and I still got winded. Doesn't last my fucking ass."

"Well then, enjoy your ride on the glowy magic stick, then. For your sake I hope you're hands off for a very long time. You deserve to be happy, G."

"Speaking of that atrocious nickname…" Evangeline debated against telling him this particular tidbit, but ultimately decided it might be worth it just to get a laugh out of it all. "Looks like I won't be escaping it any time soon."

"Hot freaky actor guy calls you that in bed, doesn't he?"

"Shut up, Grey."

And thus ended the urban legend that was Evangeline. At least for a few years…

A/N: I'm pretty sure it's becoming a bit obvious who Evangeline is by now…but anyways…the reveal chapter is coming tomorrow! 🎉🎉

'the evangeline chronicles' taglist: @jaidenhawke @holdmytesseract

[ihartyoongi]

BUCKET LIST ☆ 09

Saiki really wishes your bucket list did not consist of activities that required more than one person.

There he is, with you and sadly, one little kid with turquoise hair.

You smile bashfully at Saiki, you're holding Yuuta's hand and Saiki is holding his other hand. From another person's point of view, you look like a couple going on to the playground with your kid. Saiki has the picnic basket to his side, you three walk to a clear spot under the tree but it's still quite crowded. Which Saiki absolutely hates.

You smooth out the blanket across the trimmed grass, telling Yuuta he can go play on the playground since it's close by

"Thank you Cinnamon Bun!" He yells at you in excitement, kissing your hand then running off to the swings.

You snort, glancing at Saiki who's already shaking his head. Yuuta has been binge watching this new show that has been playing in the mornings on the weekends. When he first saw you this morning when you were walking by Saiki's house, it clicked in his head that you're indeed the character named Cinnamon Bun from his new show.

"How does he have so much energy, it's ten in the morning?" Saiki rubs his eyes, setting down the basket in the middle of the blanket.

"Tell me about it, he followed me all the way to your house in a hurry" You add a "heh" at the end of your sentence. Saiki is not sure if you found it funny or annoying, but he rather not ask. You both sit facing each other, the sun rays slightly shining through the trees.

"I made club sandwiches, oh I also cut up sausage and made fried rice. I bought hot sauce" You start bringing out food and condiment items out of the basket, showing them off to Saiki and explaining what they are.

Saiki could care less, truly, he was hoping he could get a day off from you since he's been spending the past three months with you. Since you're in his class, right next to him and Kaidou invited you to the friend group, he's seen your face in his dreams even!

Then being assigned to you as a partner for this damn bucket list project, he cannot just escape you can he?

You're fixing up the food, adding rice and shrimp to a plastic bowl and adding hot sauce to it. You pass it to Saiki, whose hoping the shrimp is cooked and not raw. He really does not want to experience food poisoning.

"You like hot sauce right? Oh jeez, I should have asked you before adding some huh?!" You grimace as if you're in pain, mentally punishing yourself for not asking Saiki.

"It's fine, Y/n".

You perk up your head at the sound of your name, placing a fork into the bed of rice and handing it to Saiki. You take out the digital camera and begin filming Saiki eating, zooming in dangerously close on his face.

"Bet you're tired of sticking around me" You say, waiting in anticipation and praying the pink haired boy does not agree.

"You're alright" He responds, digging into the food and cracking open a can of sprite. He ignores the fact that you're propping up the camera to show you both. He throws a peace sign at the camera, and you copy him right away. Then, you clap your hands together and take out a packet of four coffee jellies.

You can see Saiki's eyebrows rise in slight exhilaration, maybe? You unwrap the plastic surrounding the jelly containers, and pass one to Saiki.

He immediately dismisses the bowl of rice, scooping up a big piece of coffee goodness and munching on it.

The birds are chirping too loudly for your liking, but at least the sun is lazily shining through the trees and giving you some vitamin d. Which at this rate you truly need because the doctor told you yesterday that your vitamin intake is lowering, even though you take them everyday.

You also forget about the fact that Saiki can read your mind, at this moment he's focusing on trying to find a clear answer on what you are going through.

Illness or just a sickness? They really don't clarify what's wrong. He shakes his head in annoyance, wondering why you will not tell anyone about your condition.

He sees your cracking skinned knuckles, and your broken nails. Plus, you seem to be losing hair but its not so noticeable. Saiki just seems to notice more than anyone since he's been so focused on what's troubling you.

"So!" You exclaim, interrupting Saiki's contemplation. He snaps back into reality when he sees rice pieces hanging on the sides of your mouth. Hot sauce is also coating the outlines of your lips.

"You got.." He waves his finger at his own mouth, attempting to show you that you have something on your face.

"Huh? Oh, yeah oops". You wipe the rice away with a napkin, painting the white paper with red coloring and grains.

"This picnic of yours is on your list, right? I'd hate to waste your time" He asks, setting down the empty plastic that was once carrying the coffee jelly. You nod, pulling out the crumbled paper with color writing. You point at the sixth activity, clear letters spelling out "Cottage picnic!".

"Cottage?" Saiki asks with a mouthful of rice. You nod, quickly explaining how cottage seems to fit the aesthetic of a picnic.

Saiki blankly stares at you, his interest plummeting down the more you talk.

He hums at everything you say, the higher your voice gets, the higher pitch he hums.

"You're totally ignoring what I'm saying". Your loud smacking of lips catches his attention, he reads the label of the chips you're eating.

Double hot chips. XXTRA.

"Yeah, I gave up listening" Saiki speaks, his hand reaching for your chips. You willingly give him some to try out. He throws some in his mouth and nods, he seems quite satsfied with the outcome.

"So good, right?!". You continue snacking on them, watching over Yuuta who's killing some kid at the climbing wall.

"He's a handful" Saiki comments, putting away the plastic bowls and utensils into the basket.

You hum, mimicking how Saiki was doing it moments earlier. He notices this, raising an eyebrow at you in amusement.

"Am I handful?" You ask suddenly, propping yourself up on your elbow. Saiki shakes his head, as if it was a reflex. You hum again, not believing him at all.

"I feel like I can be a burden" You admit, your tone flat and low. A lightbulb goes off in Saiki's head.

Is Y/n finally going to talk about what's happening to them? He thinks to himself, leaning forward and patiently waiting for you to continue.

"Because jeez! I do eat alot of snacks right?! I feel like our friends always seem to buy snacks for me and I feel bad for it!".

Saiki's shoulders slump in disappointment at your chattering. He should've expected this, you will never straight up admit something is wrong.

Saiki reassures you that no one is forcing themselves to buy you snacks, they do it because they want to. He sees relief wash over you, and he's glad.

As you continue being a chatterbox, he starts thinking of methods on how to get you to talk about your illness.

And of course, nothing seems to work according to how stubborn you are.

He grabs the camera and presses the stop button, replaying back the footage of you sipping cherry coke. He makes sure you're not looking, and smiles gently at how loudly you drink.

You're quite a handful, Y/n.

☆

Saiki did not know what went through his mind when he asked you to hang out all night. More like a sleepover but he thinks that the word "sleepover" is too much of a friendly term. He hands you an t shirt of his and some basketball shorts that seem to fit you just fine.

"Woah, I'm transforming into Saiki. Good grief, good grief, what a pain, what a-" Your sentence comes to a halt as Saiki holds up a finger and goes "I don't say that so much".

"You totally do!" You burst out, stabbing your thumb into Saiki's ribs. He jerks away, sighing and taking out a sleeping bag from his closet. He's had sleepovers at his house of course, Kaidou and Nendou always called him up to arrange such things.

"Let's go downstairs, my parents should be asleep by now" Saiki insists, his body halfway out the room. You follow him willingly and into the kitchen, where all your snacks you bought from the gas station are.

"Jeez" You both say as you hover over the table full of mini soda cans, sour and sweet candy. Plus, a variety of chips. And don't forget the two tubs of ice cream in the fridge!

"Jinx, you owe me a soda" You pop open two cans of cherry coke, chugging one down and burping loudly.

Saiki holds up a finger to his mouth and shushes you. A soft "Sorry" comes out of you, sipping the other can and crushing the empty one.

"We have plenty of soda, why would I owe you one?" Saiki crosses his arms and starts eyeing the cheesy chips. The bag is practically calling his name so he rips it open, the cheesiness smell overwhelming but he likes it that way.

You offer him a can of sprite which seems to be his favorite.

You both sit next to each other at the dining table, ripping bags of chips and cookies. A tummy ache is bound to happen to you both but that doesn't seem to be a concern for either of you two.

Ever since Saiki found out you have a sweet tooth like him, he's been smothering you in snacks and shares his with you.

After minutes of desperately munching and heavy breathing, you lock eyes with Saiki. You immediately shift your eyes to the very interesting tub of double fudge brownie ice cream. Saiki brought it out after you began drinking the coke. Stabbing a fork into the frozen dessert, you scoop up a good amount of softness into your mouth. Saiki finds it odd how you use a fork to eat ice cream, but he also thinks you're unique in that way.

His stare examines the dark eyebags you've had for the past weeks. Along with the fading bruise on your nose from when he hit you with a ball in PE class. Why hasn't it gone away?

Saiki reaches out and brushes strands of hair out of your face.

"Your eyes .. look so tired" He whispers, his fingers still tucked into your hair. You hold up your hand to push away his wrist, but you end up grasping his fingers instead.

"Because I am" You mumble, holding his hand in place. Saiki's gaze flicker from your eyes to your hair, as if he's trying to decipher what comforting words he can say.

"Tell me what's wrong. I want you to be the one to tell me. I don't want to read your thoughts to find out what's wrong with you."

You stand up and step back, your bottom lip trembling as tears threaten to come out of your eyes.

"Nothing is wrong, I swear" You choke out, your throat becoming dry as every slow second passes. Saiki shakes his head, not buying what you are saying. He steps forward, placing his hand on top of your head.

He ruffles your hair a bit, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You look up at him and see sympathy drawn on his expression, his words coming out delicately but you cannot focus on what he is saying.

Need to come up with an excuse ..

You stumble back and begin fanning yourself, all the stress he has caused is heating you up. Your shaky hands pull out a doctors note and you show it to Saiki.

"I'm just fatigued, which is why I'm always out in PE, g-got it?" You stutter, he carefully takes the crinkled note from you and reads it.

L/n Y/n has fatigue and may tire quickly, do not let them participate in PE as this can harm them.

Saiki crumbles up the paper and throws it across the room, stepping closer to you in apprehension. Now he seems really upset, his eyes glistening in worry. He exhales shakily.

"Tell me the truth please" He murmurs. You let out a nervous laugh, your hands covered in a light coat of sweat. You rack your brain, coming up with solutions on what to say.

You cannot burden your friends, can you?

"It's nothing, I promise" You say in a low tone, wiping your palm dry of wetness. Saiki hangs his head low, letting go of your wrist and placing his hands on his head in frustration.

"Okay, if you say so". Although, he is not convinced at all. I mean come on, the way you look and the way you act contradict.

He holds up his pinky, his gaze practically burning into you as he waits for you to link his pinky with yours.

"You promise me?" He softly speaks, knowing you take pinky promises very seriously so he knows something is up if you decline.

"No, I'm sorry I can't I-" You end up choking up on your words, shaking your head profusely and rubbing your neck nervously.

"I'll tell you sometime, I promise" You wrap your pinky with his, returning his gaze. Saiki decides to just accept it, he's closer than ever to finding out what is bothering you. He'll just have to wait.

Saiki just hopes you're not dying, seeing that you're wilting like a decomposing flower.

Snuggling into your sleeping bag, you tell Saiki goodnight. He says it back, watching you in the dark until he knows you're asleep. He reaches down and caresses your hair, his lips twitching in concern.

"Please be okay" He whispers quietly into the dimly lit room. You said you're afraid of the dark so Saiki took out an old night light. He sighs, his fingers tangling in your hair. His heart seems to flutter, as the scent of your shampoo finds it way to his nose. He sniffles, continuing to tuck your hair behind your ear.

"Goodnight Y/n, my best friend".

Saiki drifts into sleep, his arm dangling over the bed and his fingers still knitted into your hair. And your strawberry shampoo still lingering in scent.

[zelphin124]

SeasonTale - Chapter 4

Let’s note that Autumn changes his name later in his story, but he is called Fall for his past. This change will be significant, and he wishes to be called Autumn. Calling him Fall is practically an insult.

(Then again, he takes a lot of things as an insult-)

Masterpost

Onto the story!

~o0o~

Everything was always dying. 

Mainly the trees, which Fall found interesting. They would only grow warm-colored leaves only to have them fall and die. No matter how often he raked, more leaves would always be on the ground. 

It was good for the soil, apparently. 

Fall was surrounded by trees glimmering red, orange, and yellow. He loved those colors. It gave him a sense of belonging. 

Unless the red was a darker shade of blood. 

Fall rested the rake against the tree, wiping his brow. His gaze wandered to the town. He could smell Fall!Grillby cooking the morning pies. Despite the rumors of war, everyone seemed to be at peace. 

At least, as much peace as they could be in. 

The Fall Kingdom was not full of friendly people. Everyone fought to survive. Everyone had to be tough; kill or be killed. Those who were nice were often slaughtered first. There weren’t enough supplies for anyone anyway, and peace was not an option. 

The sun hid amongst the distant mountains as its rays shot through the colorful trees. The smell of pumpkin, cinnamon, and apples flooded the air. There was a tint of smoke from the factories in a faraway land; Fall was never told what that land was called. 

Not like he cared, anyway. 

“How’s the raking going?” 

Fall turned around to see his dad. Fall!Gaster glanced at the ground and frowned. He adjusted his oversized hood and mask on his colorful jacket. He had a cocky smile and scars to scare people away. 

Fall copied his frown, realizing it looked like he got nothing done. “I-I can explain–” 

“Those darn leaves, eh?” Fall!Gaster chuckled. “Looks like they got the better of you.” 

“What? No, I made all those piles over there!” Fall pointed at the three piles more giant than him next to a circle of trees. “That took me all morning!” 

“Yet, it’s not enough,” Fall!Gaster bent his torso to meet Fall’s eyes. “You’re not going to let a tree be better at its job than you, are you?” 

“No–” 

“Didn’t think so.” 

Fall sighed, grunting at the leaves already adding to his piles. “Can you help me?” He asked. “It would get done faster…” 

“Me? Help you? Kid, raking leaves is your job. I provide a roof over your head, and I make sure you don’t die. That’s my job.” 

“But–” 

“If you care about me, you’ll continue to rake until you’re done. A good son wouldn’t ask his father to help him.” 

Fall clenched his jacket, trying not to show regret. “Yes, Dad, I’m sorry.” 

“I’ll maybe accept your apology,” Fall!Gaster altered his wrists, staring at the sun. “Well… I’m going to need you for another assignment tonight. Hurry up, you’re gonna borrow something from an old friend of mine.” 

Fall knew his dad never meant ‘borrow’ when he told him to grab something. He often associated the task with stealing but Fall!Gaster always denied that. It was simply people repaying him what he deserved, as he put it. Fall didn’t question the orders; he wanted to please his dad and not be a disappointment. 

He picked up the rake and started working again. When his dad wasn’t looking, he used magic to burn the leaves, making them disappear quickly. I wonder which house I’ll go into tonight, he asked. Hopefully, it isn’t creaky like the last one. 

“Do you understand the map?” 

Fall flipped the map around a few times before he found the house. “Yeah. What am I grabbing again?” 

“Think, Fall, I told you this already.” 

“Uhm… A key?” 

“Yes, it’ll be a large gray key that glows blue with its gem. I need this for a future mission I must complete myself,” Fall!Gaster stretched his bones back and forth, making sure he was still flexible. 

“Mkay,” Fall got up from the chair, rolling up the map and putting it in his pocket. “Do I get to use the knives this time?” 

“Yes, actually,” his father replied. He pulled back the curtain where the weapons were stored. Fall immediately spotted the knives that were made for him. They glimmered in the darkness and begged to be used again. 

Fall!Gaster picked up the knives and handed them to Fall. “The blades are sharp. Feel free to use them on anyone who gets in their way.” 

“Wouldn’t that… hurt them?” Fall asked, putting the knives in their holders around his belt. 

“That’s the point,” he confirmed. “I’m showing mercy to them by sending you. Honestly, they don’t deserve to live anymore.” 

Although he was used to his father saying such vile things, he never knew the reason why he hated the ones he stole from. “What did they do?” Fall asked. Maybe his dad was right in hating those who wronged him. 

“You’re too young to understand,” he shrugged. “Now go, I need that key as soon as possible.” 

Fall wandered in the dark alleyways of the Fall Kingdom. Most monsters would think the eerie environment would freak them out, but it brought Fall peace, as he was used to it. Anything calmer than the hostile vibes would scare him. 

He rolled across the street and snuck to the edge of the town, making sure the knives didn’t fall out of his pockets. The map wasn’t super clear on which house he was supposed to break into. Big cabin with a red roof… It was the only description of the house he had. Surely, it wouldn’t be super hard to spot—

Bingo. The large mansion with the red roof was a few hundred feet away from him. There was only one light on: the lamp out front. Smoke exited the chimney peacefully. The walls were made of round logs and cut-in windows. It truly was a beautiful house. 

Fall spotted one of the windows on the side was cracked open. Everything he was taught started to come into play. He didn’t have time to study language or math; his school was one of stealth, defense, and stealing. Fall!Gaster made it clear it would be dire to have these skills, and it was the right thing to do. 

Thankfully, the window wasn’t creaky. Fall rolled into the house with ease and started searching the drawers. 

However, the peaceful aura of the house filled Fall with fear. He felt no sense of danger or any threat nearby. The house was so quiet that one could hear a water droplet fall to the floor. The darkness wasn’t scary at all. The house was filled with an apple smell, and many family photos were across the walls. 

Fall tried to ignore everything around him as he moved swiftly through the house, opening drawer by drawer. He found nothing within the living area and the kitchen. However, when he entered the first bedroom, it stopped him dead in his tracks. 

A large picture hung on the farthest wall of a goat family. There was a mother, a father, and a young kid. They weren’t from the Fall Kingdom. In fact, they didn't seem to fit into any kingdom when Fall thought of all the seasons. They were bright like the stars and looked very powerful. 

But their smiles seemed so genuine in the photo. They seemed so happy; an emotion Fall had never felt. Fall figured they weren’t so happy now, with how the world spiraled downward. He thought he heard about a goat kid being slaughtered and the former King and Queen grieving their loss. Maybe this was the prince, Fall tilted his head. The prince who had died. Whose death had caused chaos in the world. 

The lights turned on. 

Fall spun around, grabbing his knives and facing the monster before him. His breath quickened, and his hands started to shake. No, they found me! No, no, no, no–

“Told you,” one of the goats said, smiling softly. 

Fall lowered his daggers. One of the goats he knew, Fall!Asgore. His red leafy cape hung from his sides as he adjusted his shirt. His horns were long and curly. He bowed his head respectfully before looking at the goat beside him. 

The second goat was the one Fall saw in the picture. His outfit was white and shined like the stars. He was tall and proud, and his body language showed his power. However, Fall found no fury in his eyes. He could only see kindness and patience, which the little Sans didn’t understand. 

“Thank you, Fall!Asgore. I promise you made the right choice,” the taller goat had a deep and soothing voice. 

Fall!Asgore cleared his throat. “How am I gonna deal with Fall!Gaster if he finds out? Surely, he will know I betrayed him. He will wonder where his son is.” 

“Let me deal with him,” the bigger goat responded. 

Fall!Asgore bowed low and exited the room. 

He started to curse in his head. My dad’s going to kill me… I failed the mission. Please don’t hurt me… Fall backed up as his soul pounded in fear. He held the knife in fear as a whimper escaped his throat. “G-Go away–” 

The white goat slowly sat on the ground, not breaking eye contact with Fall. His hands were open and gentle, gesturing for him to relax. “Fall!Sans, don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” 

Fall held the dagger higher, shaking his head. 

“I’m serious, I mean you no harm,” he tried to reassure. “My name is Solstice, Solstice!Asgore.” 

“How the hell do you know my name?” 

“You’re pretty well-known as Fall!Gaster’s pet, child. You’ve been doing his evil deeds for all five years of your life.” 

When Solstice didn’t move from his spot and continued to talk to Fall slowly, he lowered his knife and took a step closer. He looked at him, then back at the photo. It’s the same person… 

“I want to help you, Fall,” Solstice continued. “I want to help all of you. I plan to free you and the other Sanses from their bondage. But I won’t force you.” 

“There are others like me?” Fall sat down in front of Solstice, looking up at him curiously. “Like, my same species?” 

“Yes, there are monsters like you. They correlate with the other seasons. Winter, Summer, Spring, you were supposed to meet each other, but others have ulterior motives…” The goat sighed, patting his fingers on his knees repeatedly. “Thanks to your friend, I’m able to be here with you today to rescue you.” 

A loud explosion sounded outside. Fall turned his head abruptly, worried. That means I need to hurry up… 

Solstice noticed it, too. “I don’t have much time,” his voice became a whisper and rushed. “This might be my only chance to rescue you from your father.” He extended his hand, concern in his eyes as he glanced toward the window once more. 

“Are you dumb? I need to prove to my dad I'm a good son!” Fall frowned, standing up. "I... need him to be proud of me."

“He’s manipulating you. There will be nothing that you can do to earn his approval. He will use you for evil, but I’m here to end that,” Solstice stood up, his hand still extended toward the kid. “I don’t want you to endure the pain you’ll face. I promise you will feel at peace and free when you come with me. I don’t have much to go by, but not enough time…” 

Fall watched as desperation filled the old goat’s eyes. He glanced behind Solstice, where Fall!Asgore was standing. 

“Trust him, kid. I do. Your father isn’t up to anything good. He will help you,” Fall!Asgore said. 

Fall heard the final explosion outside. He could return to his father and continue to try to earn his approval by obeying everything he said, only to be met with more tasks and disappointment. Deep down, he felt like his actions were wrong, and these kind strangers confirmed that. 

The goats didn’t attack him when he came in; unlike previous times, he’s broken into other places. They were kind and patient and showed no disappointment toward him. They looked like they wanted to help, and Fall believed them. 

“Okay,” Fall took Solstice’s hand. “Does this mean I don’t have to rake leaves anymore?” 

Solstice smiled, guiding Fall out of the bedroom and toward the back door. “No, you won’t have to rake leaves anymore.” He sighed in relief, yelling something to Fall!Asgore. “Thank you again, my faithful steed. Protect your house and your family!” 

Fall!Asgore nodded, smiling softly. “Thank you for rescuing him.” 

Solstice guided Fall out the door; his touch was gentle and reassuring. “Let’s get out of here toward your new life.”

[voulezloux]

Hello hello I am here to bother you <3

What’s your comfort movie or tv series?

And what’s a quote from a book that stuck with you?

Hope you have a great day 🫶

this is gonna expose me so hard oh my GOD

my comfort tv shows have been niche one off shows that were on netflix for the longest time before being taken off and i’ve been unable to find them since 😭😭 shows like cheapest weddings that’s from australia, frisky business about a sex toy company called lovehoney from the uk, shit like that. if they were vhs tapes, i’d wear them down so bad that’s how much i watched these shows. my comfort movie is the recording of shrek the musical 😭 it’s literally one of my favorite musicals to ever be made unironically. i have a tattoo for it and i even referenced it in my big bang fic. it was on netflix for the longest time before i was taken off in the past couple years, and i legit had a bit of a panic attack before i found out i could buy it for streaming on amazon prime. i do plan to eventually get a physical copy of the musical just in case!

i could not for the life of me remember literally any quote from any book i’ve read (it’s more of the impact of the overarching story than a quote itself for me) and it’s been so long since i’ve been able to sit down and read a book (i’m very ashamed of this too) so instead i’ll recommend books ive read in the past that i loved growing up

it’s kind of a funny story - ned vizzini

the giver - lois lowry

copper sun - sharon m. draper

endangered - eliot schrefer

flowers for algernon - daniel keyes

number the stars - lois lowry

the outsiders - s. e. hinton

paper towns - john green

the giver is honestly my all time favorite book and i fucking despise the movie adaptation of it (sorry meryl streep) i once annotated and lent my copy of it to my high school boyfriend who then broke up with me a month later and never gave it back so get fucked [redacted]

a lot of these books i read as apart of english courses throughout school, save for it’s kind of a funny story and paper towns. there’s something that john green said in a vlogbrothers video about paper towns that i cannot for the life of me find. i found a scathing review from 2012 about it’s kind of a funny story where they put a 2012 mindset on a book published in 2006. im not say that it makes up for what they said was bad about the book, but it lends itself to why there were ignorant things written in the book. ned vizzini also wrote be more chill, which is also a musical apparently, and sadly took his own life at the end of 2013. it’s kind of a funny story is written based on his stints in psychiatric wards and it hits harder considering the circumstances around his death

copper sun i read in 8th grade and it’s a very good read. i read it so fast that i finished it before i was supposed to (nerd) and my english teacher had us do an assignment where we predicted the end of the book. i asked him what do i do since i finished the book and he told me to act like i didn’t finish the book and pretend to predict the ending. i obviously did not do that and instead gave the ending away and drew a crude stick figure depicting it

flowers for algernon fucking hurts. it’s both a book that makes you feel great and then it takes it away from you because you were feeling too great. i still recommend it bc while it hurts, the story itself is still wonderful. the outsiders is a pretty standard read for middle school kids and still a great book. we read it in 7th grade and watched the movie during the last week of school. number the stars is about the holocaust and two friends with one being jewish living in a nazi occupied town. there’s one scene that has stuck with me for years since i’ve read the book where someone is killed by firing squad by nazi soldiers (i won’t spoil who) and i can’t remember if it happened on screen in the book or im confusing it with the death by firing squad scene in the film life is beautiful (which is also about the holocaust and made my entire 8th grade english class cry) which happens off screen. endangered is about a teen girl trying to save a group for bonobos during a country’s civil war. its apart of a four part series by this author called the ap quartet

sorry to ramble but thank u for asking 🥺

[sleepy-achilles]

That teen angst Leon fic was great! How about Leon and Shawn during this phase? I can imagine Shawn being the more understanding parent. Poor taker couldn’t catch a break 🤣

Papas Boy

Shawn is the understanding Parent, solely because, despite what everyone thinks, shawn knows Leon and him are copy and paste. He knows how Leon works. Yeah Leon's got takers curse, but Leon is Shawn in every other way. How he thinks, how he acts, talks, hides. And that makes Shawn extremely protective of his boy.

And yes I got a bit side tracked from the ask but that's because I got distracted watching a Netflix doc about kids excused of being troubled teens and suffering because of that.

------------------------------------------------------------------It was crazy. Shawn went from Leon's least favourite to his favourite over night.

Shawn is being slightly dramatic. Leon didn't hate either parent he was just closer to taker for obvious reasons. Leon still loved Shawn like he was the entire world and that didn't change after the incident. But now he had a deep rooted hatred for taker that no one could explain.

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

It's the night after Leon smashed up Brad Daniels car. Shawn and Leon are the only ones home. Shawn watches as the boy pulls at his shirt uncomfortably. "Its gonna be like that for a few weeks." Shawn comments. Leon looks at him. "What?" "The tshirts will rub against them, atleast the tattoo you can cover, can't cover them. There will always be rubbing." Shawn explains. "How do you even know?" Leon asks. "Because your not the only one to get nipple piercings and try hiding them from others" Shawn huffs as he continues eating. "Also I do your washing. The ink on the tshirt I washed was a dead give away" Shawn adds.

Leon nods. "Can't argue there." "Just don't let your father find out until you're older, yeah?" Shawn asks. Leon squints at him as the house creaks. "¿Por qué estás siendo tan relajado todo el tiempo?" (why are you being so laid back all the time?) Leon questions as cassie stumbles in. Shawn smiles. "¿Quieres que yo también sea el policía malo? Seguro que puedo arreglar ese bebé" (You want me to be the bad cop too? I can sure arrange that baby) Shawn smirks.

Leon shakes his head. "Im going to school." Leon huffs grabbing his car keys. "Wait for your sister and remember, you are grounded." Shawn calls. "I know and I know!" Leon shouts as he walks out. Shawn glances at his youngest who looks barely awake. "Aw baby, grab something to eat on the road" Shawn chuckles handing her, her lunch box and then a snack. "Thanks papa, love you papa!" She calls as she rushes out.

Shawn smiles slightly. There's still a sweet boy in his baby. And that's all that matters to him.

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

Leon watches as the smoke rises to the ceiling. He keeps smoking as he feels the vibration of Matthews voice. His head rested firmly on the boys chest as matt speaks on the phone to Val, twirling the cord like a girl. It made Leon smirk, knowing matt and val had typical girl talks.

Leon never smoked inside at home, but he was in mattie house and Matthews parents are never home. Matthews dad is a military man turned cop whilst his mother is a nurse. It's the only reason Matt is a only child. His parents don't have enough time to make a child. Matt just happened to be conceived the one day they both had off.

'You are supposed to be home.' His papas voice echos in his head. 'Homework assignment.' 'Takes you twenty four hours does it?' Leon can't help but chuckle. Got him there. 'Youll father will be home in an hour. He doesn't have to know if you-' 'I'll stop by Joe's on the way home.' 'Good boy.'

Leon sits up and stretches like a cat. "Going somewhere Bub?" Matt asks. "Papa wants me home. Wants me to grab some pizza too." Leon yawns pressing the cigarette bud to his stomach to put it out before reaching down and pulling on his tshirt. "Want me to walk with ya?" Matt asks. "Sure." Leon nods standing and grabbing his jeans. Matt watches as Leon pulls his jeans up. Leon glances back at him as he pulls his leather jacket on. "You coming, or what mutt?" Leon asks. "Yeah, bye val" he hangs up.

-

Matt takes the cig from between Leon's lips and smokes it. Both men are leaning against the pizza shop, waiting for the pizzas to be cooked. "Your parents home this week?" Leon asks quietly, glancing up at the bigger boy. "Nope. Another weekend alone." Matt hums keeping his eyes on the cars driving by. "Still grounded?" "Supposedly so." Leon mutters glancing back at the pizza shop. "Gotta lay of your parents man." Matt hums. Leon looks back confused. "What?" "Their there for ya, you know? I spent my last birthday with you guys because my parents forgot. I won't lie, I'd probably be a dick to them if I saw them, but dude, if I had your parents I'd never say a bad thing to em" matt explains. Leon sighs. "You know your always welcome at ours matt.. but there's just somethings you don't know." Leon mutters. "What like ministry? Cmon boy, you ain't the only supernatural around here. Its death valley." Matt smirks baring his fangs.

Leon rolls his eyes. "Look, what happened to your face. With your dad. It's shitty. But, ministry isn't your dad. Taker is your dad, not him." Matt tells him. Leon huffs and pushes off the wall. "I know." Leon states. "That doesn't make shit easy." Leon mutters watching as a familiar car pulls up. "He fixed that quick." Matt mutters pushing off the wall, putting the cig out. "No shit." Leon whispers as the boys get out of the car. "You boys supposed to be grounded?" Brad smirks holding a very familiar baseball bat. "Fuck off Brad." "I know your daddy ain't in town. And my dad's on duty" Brad smirks moving forward. Matt stands infront of Leon. "Fuck off" matt growls.

That's when matt is hit with a bat, sending him to the ground. "Fucker!" Leon yells, knocking out one of brads goons trying to get him. He goes to swing for the other when a baseball bat hits him across the head. He groans as he falls to the ground. He rolls onto his side and that's when he starts getting beat on.

He can't be mad, yeah he deserves this, but not now. Not this time in his life.

--

Shawn frowns looking at the clock. "He'll make it. Right?" Cassie asks. "Of course baby, hot fresh pizza too. Thats probably why he's taking so long." Shawn explains. He can't get ahold of Leon.

That's when the door opens and closes. "Leon?" Cassie calls. "Got pizza." Leon mutters as he walks past the living room too the kitchen. Shawn stands and follows after him. He can't help the gasp when he sees how broken and bruised he is.

His favourite leather jacket is ripped. "Leon.." Shawn signs. "I didnt start it." Leon whispers. Leon can heal himself, the issue is, he needs to have area he can almost copy the healed tissue to the broken. Which is why he'll never be able to heal his face, stomach or back. Bruises heal normally, cuts, broken bones will heal magically and just leave a scar or bruise. This tells Shawn that both sides of Leon's ribs are broken or bruised. "What happened?" Shawn asks taking in Leon's bruising eye and busted lip. "Got jumped waiting for pizza. Matts okay. Sent him to his mom to get fixed." Leon explains placing the pizzas onto the island as cassie walks in. Cassie frowns as she catches her brothers face. Leon turns away from her.

"You should go clean up before-" "before I see him?" Takers voice cuts through the room. "Cassie, John, go eat in the living room." Taker orders. The two children glance at their brother before taking the pizza away.

"You are supposed to be grounded. So unless your about to tell me papa did this, you better explain yourself" Taker growls. "Fuck off." Leon growls. Leon goes to walk past taker when taker grabs his arm and pulls him back. "You pickin fights with Brad again?" Taker asks. "Is that what he told you? He jumped me and mattie when we were getting pizza. I didn't even touch him. But let me guess he's chiefs son so who cares? What about matt? Matthews dad is a cop and yet no one believes him!" Leon rants.

"You cannot talk. The only reason you aren't sitting in a youth prison is because of me and my status in this valley" taker growls. Shawn doesn't like where this is going. Leon tugs his arm with no luck. "Whats it going to take for you to behave, huh?" Taker growls. "Military school? Boarding school?" Taker pushes. Shawns eyes widen.

Shawn all for the troops, but as a child of a military man, he would never wish that life on his own children, and taker knows that.

"Taker, enough" Shawn warns. "Hell maybe I should send you to one of those troubled teen industries? Huh? How about that?" Taker yells. Leon's eyes are wide with actual fear. "UNDERTAKER! ENOUGH!" Shawn yells pushing Taker away from Leon. Taker looks at shawn. "Go cool down. Now" Shawn orders, his hand rested on Leon's hip as he keeps the teen behind him.

Taker huffs before turning and walking off. Shawn turns to Leon. "He doesn't mean that...he's just scared. Scared about what's going to happen with you." Shawn states. Leon keeps his eyes down. "Baby, I'm scared. Anytime I see you, you have a new bruise or scar. Hell, your body can't even heal from this." Shawn sighs cupping Leon's face. Leon looks at him as he leans into his touch. "Ill stay home for the rest of the week." Leon whispers. "Thank you baby" Shawn smiles softly. "Go shower up. And when your dad comes to apologise-" "ill listen to him and accept it." Leon nods. "Atta boy. Go on." Shawn nods. Leon smiles slightly before limping away.

Shawn sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He understands the anger towards taker. Fuck Shawn did the samething before cassie was born, ministry had drained him so much and it just took a while to see they were not the same person.

Shawn just hopes this doesn't last too long.

Shawn picks the ripped jacket up and vows to fix the boys favourite jacket.

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

Leon's 17 when Shawn watches him become vinces new cash cow.

"Your dad tells me you've been having some issues lately" Shawn lifts his head to see vince stood with Leon by the makeup table. Shawn hates seeing the man so close to his son. He hates that vince has taken to Leon the same way he took to him, the same look in his greedy eye and everything. "You know, if you wanna be a wwf superstar still, you gotta drop that bad behaviour. I'm not dealing with another bad tempered michaels" vince states resting a hand on the back of Leon's neck and squeezing. Shawn watches how Leon tenses. "Yessir." Leon whispers. "Good boy. Be a shame to waste you." Vince chuckles running his hand down Leon's arm. "Goodluck tonight." Vince squeezes his arm before walking off.

Shawn feels sick. His own son. His carbon copy. Is that what Shawn looked like when vince talked to him? He stands as Leon rubs his arm.

When vince told him he owned him, he didn't think his son would be included.

Shawn approaches Leon and pulls him to the side, the shadows. "Stop." Shawn mutters removing Leon's hand from his arm. Leon looks at him. "I know I've asked you to be behaved. But not for him." Shawn tells him. "What?" Leon whispers. "Not for vince. You make his life hell. He asks you to jump, you tell him to get fucked." Shawn explains. Leon nods. "Good boy. Remeber, you always protect number 1 before anyone else" Shawn tells him, pressing his finger to Leon's chest. "And we keep this between us?" Leon asks. Shawn chuckles. "Knew there was a reason I liked you" shawn smirks causing Leon to laugh.

He can't protect himself, but he sure as hell will protect his child. His son has been through too much these past few years to become another mcmahon victim.

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

"Any reason your being a massive dickhead towards vince?" Taker asks at the dinner table. "Any reason your sticking your nose in my business?" Leon bites. "I agree with Leon." Shawn speaks up shocking everyone. "What?" Taker asks. "What? Not like Vince doesn't deserve it. You always told Leon to not take shit off anyone, he's doing as you told" Shawn hums before popping a piece of steak in his mouth.

Taker and John glance at each other as Leon smirks and eats his veg.

For once, Shawn just wished Taker would leave Leon's bad behaviour alone.

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

Another day, another fight.

And Shawn's left to clean up.

Shawn sighs as he climbs the ladder. He looks out at the city as he reaches the top. The he drops down next to his son.

"Howd you find me?" Leon asks quietly. Shawn looks at the young man. 18, and one of the top stars of the wwf. And yet he's doing the worst mentally. "Its called heartbreak ledge for a reason." Shawn hums leaning back. "Its been what 3? 2 years since the incident. You finally gonna tell me why your still giving dad a hard time?" Shawn asks. "Why?" "Because I can see those demons in your eye Leon. Its good for the character yeah, but it ain't good when that character follows you home, trust me." Shawn explains. Leon sighs. "I..I have nightmares still...a familiar shadow, sound...smell..just sets it all off. And dad..he just expects me to shrug it off all the time and I can't. I'm just...so angry at the world. Everyone. Because why is it always me? Why am I cursed but John and cassie are gifted? Why am I fighting life or death. Why am I death?"

Shawn frowns and pulls the boy into a hug. "You don't have to be okay baby. But you need to talk. You need to let us help you instead of letting that anger build up. Instead of letting it break you even more." Shawn explains. "Hell, I'm still suffering from something that happened to me when I was 16." Shawn admits. Leon pulls back slightly. "Seriously?" Leon asks. Shawn nods and looks up. Leon sees that look he's seen on his own face. "Had a shotgun pulled on me. By someone I was supposed to be able to trust, like you and Paul. I..well what happened doesn't matter. Sometimes even the pyros can set off those memories. Just when I think I'm over it, a fire work goes off too close...or a Explosion from kane. And I'm just a scared 16 year old boy trying to survive again." Shawn explains. He doesn't have to say it, Leon can do the maths. Hell not like Leon can judge after what 12 year old him did. "Is that why you use arrows instead of guns?" "Yeah...don't like guns." Shawn admits.

"So your trauma is guns and mines knives. What a pair we are, hey?" Leon tries to joke. Shawn chuckles. "An amazing pair, that's what" Shawn smiles. Leon can't help but smile back at his Papa.

"I love you Papa"

"I love you too Peach."

----------------------------------------------------------------------Notes

Mmm we love a reference to the only two killers in fod not being kane or taker.

Also yes Shawn did fix Leon's jacket and yes it's the one he wears to the ring. Even with a broken leather heart patch covering a old rip.

And yes, Leon and Shawn speaking Spanish.

Which I put the translations straight after because putting them in the notes is something I dislike.

[inkedvellum]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ CRUSH CULTURE 𖦹 for kim sunoo

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 002: MINT CHOCO

ㅤㅤㅤㅤABOUT. ㅤㅤKim Sunoo knows how to chase excellence, thinking he would never trip over anything — least of all a girl who looks at him like she's read a version of him he's never shown to anyone.

ㅤㅤㅤ( x𖹭 ) campus journalist! sunoo x fem! oc/reader ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ feat. enhypen (varsity! heeseung, varsity! jay, aussie-based! jake, campus journalist! sunghoon, student council president! jungwon, overachiever! sunoo, journalism club cartoonist! ni-ki)

ㅤㅤㅤGENRES.ㅤㅤhigh school au overachievers slowburn fluff comedy angst (slight)

ㅤㅤㅤWARNINGS.ㅤnone (slowburn premium pro max)

ㅤㅤㅤWORD COUNT. 4,111 words

Mornings were scared of Kim Sunoo. While most were still dreaming in their sleep, his desk lamp was already glowing before sunrise — chasing deadlines in pajamas, bed hair, and sleepy eyes, but with a blazing spirit.

While cross-checking through his to-do list, he heard a gentle knock on his door. It paused for a second before opening the door. It was his mom nudging her door open with her elbow, balancing a tray of a steaming plate of toast, scrambled eggs, and a warm mug of milk. Sunoo blinked up from his desk, startled. He had his pen tucked behind his ear with a sticky note on his cheek.

“Oh—mom! You didn't have to—”

“I always have to,” she said with a fond smile while setting the tray down at the side of the table. She ran her fingers through his hair, tousling it with a mother's gesture of affection, adding, “You can run the whole journalism club, but you still forget to feed yourself.”

Sunoo gave her a sheepish smile, mumbling a thank you and leaning back again from his chair. “You should eat first before it gets cold.” His mom said, watching his productive little boy at a short distance.

Sunoo replies, “Excellence waits for no one, mom.”

“And so does breakfast.” The mother teased. Sunoo felt her warm hands shortly massaging his shoulders. Then, she presses a kiss to his hair. “Come on, eat your breakfast.” The boy watched her leave, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft thud. The tray sat there, warm and lovingly made, a reminder that someone always remembered him — even there were times he forgot about himself.

He stared at the plate for a bit too long, though.

Sometimes, he wished he could press pause — on deadlines, on expectations he set to himself, on being the reliable one all the time. Unfortunately, there was no pause button, not when you are now the assigned Editor-in-Chief of your school publication — not when the day had just begun.

He sighed, finally picking up a slice of toast, topping it with scrambled egg, biting into that satisfying crunch. He chewed in silence, eyes drifting to the wall where sticky notes and color-coded calendars painted the life he chose… or maybe the life that chose him. The plate grew lighter with each bite, and with it, so did his chest. By the time he was sipping the last of the warm milk, he sticks out the sticky note away from his cheek, pasting it on the screen of his laptop. It read: “Heartfield High Kickstart”

He felt ready to take over another long day.

Kim Sunoo has always been an overachiever since kindergarten. Not because anyone told him to be, but because he liked the feeling of doing things right. From a rewarding stamp of stars and neat notebook to teachers recognizing how outstanding a pupil he is. As much as he looked driven, he loved making friends and giving out his homework for his classmates to copy on — he was chained to this kind of rhythm.

Study, recite, excel, repeat.

Even as a kid, he was the type to organize his crayons by shade and line up his stuffed animals beside him before going to sleep. His loving parents never asked for straight A's, but Sunoo gave them anyway. Not out of fear, and never out of fear, but because he genuinely enjoyed learning. Curiosity was in his bones.

Sunoo skimmed one last time to the mother calendar, then reminded his members to arrive on time for an all-in organization meeting this morning. After hunching his back on his laptop for hours, he slowly leaned back on his chair, sighing as if finally setting down the heavy load of the first few hours of his long day. He stretched his arms way up, looking at the ceiling blankly.

Later on, he finally pulled himself out of his chair and came out of his room to get ready. A refreshing shower shook off the last traces of his sleep, leaving his thoughts clearer and lighter. Back in his room, he tapped his phone to play some upbeat music, the kind of song that would make him brush his hair like a montage. He buttoned up his org shirt. The crisp fabric smelling faintly of floral detergent. Threads were weaved at the back to spell out “The Heartbeat”, with “Editor-in-Chief” labeled beneath it. He hung his lanyard neatly around his neck with his press badge pinned. Sunoo adjusted his collar in the mirror, staring at the reflection of a boy who carried stories on his shoulders. The morning sunlight touched the corners of his room as he zipped up his bag and swung it to his shoulder, walking towards the door.

“Take care!” His mom called, and he turned back to his mom and his dad, who appeared to be busy reading a daily newspaper, flashing them a grin before walking off.

The streets were still half asleep when Sunoo stepped out. The morning sun hadn't fully stretched itself across the sky yet, but Heartfield High was already awake with purpose. Today was the all-in organization meeting, a big one, wherein every student leader and organization member had to show up, bright-eyed, and ready to plan an event that will make the students excitedly anticipate it. The first big task of members of the school clubs this school year is the Heartfield High Kickstart, a yearly awaited program to welcome its students and embrace new challenges for this year. And for Kim Sunoo, as the newly appointed Editor-in-Chief of The Heartbeat, he wasn't just attending. He was one of the people who had to make the whole thing memorable, like it belonged in a headline.

Sunoo arrives at the Office of Student Affairs. It isn't just an office, it is proudly proclaimed to be the home of the best leaders of the future. This office is reserved only for the determined student leaders and the teachers who guide them. It didn't have to be a glamorous meeting room, yet it had everything that made it official. Framed certificates lined one wall, including photos of remarkable student leaders and award-winning organizations — reminding every student who enters the room that their roles meant something. On the other side, cork boards pinned event memos with calendars that mark important dates of events held in Heartfield High. At the front lies a wide whiteboard and the faint scent of old markers and paper with a podium for the speaker. Then, a long conference table where every student organization's president sits, followed by rows of chairs surrounded by low murmur of voices of club members chattering. This office holds the memories of where plans were born and tasks were assigned to establish a righteous campus tradition.

The office had been buzzing in the morning, papers rustling, chairs scraping, a tech student trying to set up a projector that refused to cooperate. Different org representatives scattered across the long table, each wearing their club shirts, logos stitched over their hearts like armor. Sunoo offered polite nods as he passed through. The usual greetings — “Morning, Sunoo!” or “The Heartbeat's EIC is here.” — bounced around the room. He bobbed his head, eyes scanning the whole office to see if any of his staff were present. In one corner, The Heartbeat's student journalists clustered together like they had set up their unofficial base. They eloquently spoke, bouncing ideas off one another like ping-pong balls in a brainstorm and some debates over articles only they seemed to understand. As he approached, a few heads turned, and the talking began to quiet down in their area. Not because they were scared, but because Sunoo's presence meant it was time to get serious. He walked with pure gentleness, and they greeted, “Hello, Sunoo!” or “Hello, EIC!”

The journalists became a bit awkward, though. So he breaks off the silence, “What's with stopping on chatting? I just want to check what is up with you guys.” They giggled, especially the freshies. A second later, a figure emerged from a distance, walking straight towards Sunoo with the kind of effortless cool that turned heads without meaning to. Tall and composed, his presence cut through the usual chatter of the people like a calm, quiet wind. His dark hair was neatly parted, swaying slightly with each step. His face was as unreadable as ever, eyes sharp and focused, and pinkish lips are set in a line of permanent concentration. He didn't greet Sunoo like juniors did. Just a nod, acknowledging his presence. That was The Heartbeat's Sports Editor, Park Sunghoon. Quiet and well-groomed. But a big tease to the Editor-in-Chief.

Sunoo raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his lips. “What's with the runaway walk?” Sunghoon sighs, “Do we actually have to attend this whole meeting?”

“Of course, there's literally a press badge on your shirt.”

Sunghoon holds the badge pinned on his shirt, “Really? I thought this was a pass for a free snack.” Sunoo crossed his arms with a dramatic sigh while the juniors that circled them giggled carefully, not wanting to actually disrespect the senior from the joke.

Sunghoon asks, “Is it my turn to write the minutes of the meeting?” Sunoo adjusted the strap of his bag, then replied, “Lucky for all of you, I'll be the one who will write them before I assign.” The sports editor blinked, offended. “Ugh, the betrayal. And here I was, mentally preparing my ‘Minutes of the meeting: It was long. Everyone survived.’ document.” He dramatically clutched his chest like he just got personally attacked.

A few minutes before the meeting started, Sunoo made his way to the front to sit along beside the other club presidents, now waiting for the student council's president to arrive. The door creaked open as the Student Council's President stepped in, posture poised. He entered the meeting room with quiet authority, every head instinctively turning his way as he walked to the podium. The students slowly stood up, but the President nicely gestured to them to sit down. He nervously chuckled, “No need to formally greet me. Please, sit down.” Students quietly shifted back to their seats, now only waiting for the president to relay tasks to their respective organization.

Sunoo's pen paused mid-scribble. Their eyes met real quick, a glance that said way more than it should. He didn't blink, but his fingers tensed around the pen. As the meeting progressed, tasks were discussed, plans laid out, and voices tossed across the table like confetti. Sunoo jotted things down because that's what he does — show up, do the job.

The president's voice cut through the room, calm and calculated, far too perfect for someone Sunoo once knew in a different light. “For this year's kickstart, the student affairs’ director said that there will be club booths that will start engaging after the school orientation. The booth should be about your org — colorful and inviting, while still maintaining transparency.” Sunoo's jaw clenched at the last word.

When the president glanced his way again, it was barely a second. But it was enough. There was something lingering in it, like an unfinished conversation that neither of them dared to speak out loud.

“Sunoo,” the president called, his head turning towards him. “I trust your team can handle the event documentation and media publishing?”

Sunoo, a bit taken aback as he called him by only his name, nodded slowly, eyes never leaving his. “Of course. We always deliver.”

A beat of silence followed. Then, the president nodded once and moved on. Sunoo looked back down at his notebook, pen tapping gently against the margin. He didn't realize how hard he was pressing until the ink bled through the page.

The organization meeting dragged until early afternoon. Just as everyone thought they were done, the Director of the Office of Student Affairs called the student performers for a quick dry run of the Kickstart program. It wasn't really mandatory, but Sunoo stayed as he was supposed to write the Kickstart script — he needed to see how it all played out firsthand, and he ended up clocking out at sunset.

Now that the golden hour has melted into quiet indigo, the stars began to blink awake. Sunoo seated with legs folded on his bed, laptop sat on his thighs as he scrolled through the group chat of their club. His hair was still a little damp from his evening shower, sticking to his forehead in tiny strands. He began sending out tasks to the chat, precisely addressing assignments for the editorial board members, writers and reporters, graphic designers, video editors, and photojournalists.

Sunoo clicked through his tabs, eyes flicking between a blank document and his direct conversation with Sunghoon.

He chatted,

I need lists of players in basketball, volleyball, and e-sports for the Kickstart script.

Sunghoon immediately replied,

Sure. I have no problem talking to people in charge of volleyball and e-sports. But basketball?

Do you even know who their captain ball is?

Sunoo rolled his eyes at his screen, typing,

Yes. Park Jongseong is this year's captain ball.

At the other end, Sunghoon fumed off a response,

Yeah, and he's an asshole. I hope you know that.

He smirked and answered,

And it's your job to deal with people like him.

After that, Sunghoon left him on seen — obviously have no reason to clock him because literally, it's his duty as a person in charge of the sports section. Then, Sunoo leaned his head to his backrest pillow, having a staring contest with the blinking cursor on a blank page named “Heartfield High Kickstart Script”.

“How do I even start?” He whispered to himself. His mind hit a wall, thoughts scattering like dust. It felt like his ideas had fizzled out, and it left him a frustrating silence.

Kim Sunoo never really minded doing things on his own, that's why he had been the appointed Editor-in-Chief of the respected school publication. He's already used to thriving. But there were moments, like now, the weight of his responsibilities pressed a little harder on his shoulders. Without an associate editor to back him up, he sometimes wondered: if things ever got too heavy, would anyone be there to catch the overflow?

Or worse, would anyone be there to catch him?

Either way, he glided his fingertips at the keyboard just for the sake he had started the script. By the time his ideas slowed down again, the clock had snuck past 11 P.M. He let out an exasperated sigh, eyes half-closed. The soft yellow glow coming from his desk lamp flared over his clouded vision. He opened his eyes to see, caught himself gazing at the light that pooled over his journal from his desk. A thought tingles, feeling like his journal was luring him to write.

“At the right time,” he smiled and got up from his bed, making his way to his desk. He opened his journal, clicked his pen, and flipped through pages full of words and stories.

One day in fifth grade, little Sunoo randomly opened a blank notebook just to doodle out of boredom. Until he wrote: “Today felt good, but I think I talked too much during Math.” with a neutral emoji face and then went on. He didn't really like admitting that there were days that he was not really in the mood to listen to the lesson, so what he wrote that day wasn't for anyone else to read. It wasn't homework, either. But it became a habit. Journaling became his way of untangling thoughts and letting his brain exhale.

Eventually, his journal entries grew less about the day — it became more about how he felt. They were strangely meticulous, dated, color-coded, sometimes even outlined. But they carried more feelings than logic. When he was happy, he wrote exclamations. When he was sad, his words sank to the bottom of the page.

By middle school, someone handed him a flyer for the journalism club, and he didn't think twice. He joined as a literature writer, and suddenly, his journals weren't just for himself anymore. They were printed, read, and reacted to. His words brought weight and purpose, and it led him to be recognized as one of the most active campus journalists in the district.

Now in his senior year, he had become The Heartbeat's Editor-in-Chief, he still wrote. He still journaled, but lesser. And tonight, he is still at the same desk.

Sunoo closed his journal with a relieved exhale as if he sealed away the weight of his day between its pages. The notebook settled on the desk. He padded back to his bed, the glow of his laptop screen waiting like an old friend. Though the weight of his day remained, it was lighter. Out of habit, Sunoo clicked the familiar bookmark on his browser named “the 3 A.M. rambler”, expecting to see a new post or reread an old piece. Instead, he was met with a blank page. He furrowed his eyebrows, very confused. He refreshed the page once, twice, like it would change something. It didn't.

Sunoo sighed, “Wow, it was really gone.” At that point, he exited to the page that now doesn't exist, going back to his script document. “I can't believe I still got the chance to talk to them before they're literally gone. I feel like I got scammed.” He muttered, half-joking — but not really.

He stared again at the blinking cursor for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and began typing on the script again because deadlines don't actually care about missing blogs.

The Heartfield High Kickstart officially began. While the orientation was happening inside the campus, student organizations pitched up their booths in a blur of cardboards, banners, and rolls of tape in the courtyard. Each booth was trying to outshine the next with giveaways, mini photobooths, and freebies.

Sunoo paused briefly at The Heartbeat booth. It wasn't flashy but a minimalist-like newsroom. The important setups that finished first were the freshly printed copies of newsletters stacked perfectly and the sign-up sheet taped at the edge of the table.

“Ni-ki!” Sunoo called out, raising his hand for the tall boy to notice him.

“Huh?” Ni-ki blinked.

The boy was crouched near the booth's leg, doodling a cartoon version of the staff on a spare sheet of bond paper. “You forgot the banner,” Sunoo said, pointing to the rolled tarp still untouched under the table.

Ni-ki gave him a lazy peace sign. “Sorry. I'm manifesting someone else to do it.”

Sunoo slips a few strands of his hair at the side of his head, rolling his eyes at Ni-ki's response. “You're literally the reason we're unhinged.” He muttered, kneeling to tug the tarp out himself.

“Hey, I drew you with angel wings!” The club's cartoonist defended, flashing the paper at his face.

Just then, Sunghoon shoved something at Sunoo's chest. He looked down and found himself seeing a name tag sticker slapped on his shirt.

Sunoo caught it and squinted at the scribbled label: “Hi! My name is Mint Choco.” It was obviously written in Ni-ki's messy handwriting. He blinked. “You guys, seriously?” Park Sunghoon only smirked. “You said you needed a name tag. We thought it suited you.”

Ni-ki added, “It’s either that or Editor-in-Cheese.” Then, he wiggled his brows. “Your call.”

Sunoo groaned but peeled the back off the sticker anyway and slapped it crookedly onto his chest. “If anyone asks, I'm quitting tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Sunghoon said, chuckling. “But not before the day’s over, mint choco lover.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at the tarpaulin that Sunoo was carrying as he leaned over from the next booth made by Cupids — the school's athletic committee, naturally surrounded by basketballs and dunk tops.

“Need help with the heavy lifting, boss?”

Sunoo stood up, brushing the dust off of his hands. “Only if you promise not to break anything.”

“Can't promise anything, but I'll try.”

Their banter was brief, interrupted by the sound of applause and a short welcome speech booming inside the campus. Just across the courtyard, he caught a glimpse of him — the Student Council President — talking to a group of his officers. Their eyes didn't even meet. Sunoo diverted his gaze just as quickly, his jaw tightening. He hated that he could still see him like that.

Still, the day moved on. When they finished setting up, Sunoo stood back to see the booth broadly. The booth looked more alive, thanks to the mock headline banner, “BREAKING NEWS: YOU COULD BE ONE OF US”, and a laptop playing a looped video of interviews and org bloopers. For a moment, he felt proud.

By late morning, he had made three rounds around the courtyard and checked into their booth as much as monitoring the duties of the campus journalists on the field. In those rounds, it included directing confused freshmen to the admission's office. He let himself stop by a bench, letting his legs breathe for the first time since seven in the morning. His hair was a little soaked from his sweat, his shirt clung a bit too close to his back, and there were faint marks of pen from the edge of his hands while taking notes earlier. For a moment, it was quiet despite the courtyard being packed — enough to catch his breath. It was exhausting, especially when he was sending out half-readable hand signals to his staff on duty, which they either misunderstood or completely ignored. So, Sunoo decided that it was easier to stay near the booth and guide the students who would like to join the journalism club while saving up his stamina to lead his staff again.

Then, he stood to get back to work. Sunoo squeezed through a cluster of people crowding near the Humanities and Liberal Arts’ booth, as this direction would be a good shortcut back to their booth.

When he turned around, a light collision made him jolt a step back. The girl he nearly ran into had taken half a step back too. She was shorter than him, just by a bit. And for some reason, she hadn't moved away just yet.

“Ah—sorry! Are you alright?” He asked with pure and genuine concern to the student he bumped into.

Sunoo instinctively looked down to check if she was okay, and that's when he caught her staring — not at his face, but at the name tag on his chest. She looked up at him, clearly startled. Her mouth parted slightly like she had something to say, but the words never made it past her lips.

The boy's soft lashes fluttered. He didn't mean to stare intently, but something about her eyes caught him off guard. It felt like noticing a glitch in a routine he had always followed. There was an unusual weight to the way she looked at him, like she recognized him beyond what he could see.

It sparked something in him. Neither of it was recognition nor familiarity. Just pure curiosity.

For a second, he forgot what he was about to say. Then, he tilted his head slightly. “Is your head okay?” He questioned, stepping closer. Sunoo's voice was low and steady — laced only with concern. Carefully, almost without thinking, he reached out and brushed her hair back faintly. His palm rested for a second above her temple as he checked for any bump or wound. His hand was quick, but gentle. It was instinct, that's all.

After the Heartfield High Kickstart, Kim Sunoo sat cross-legged on his bed — seemed tireless. The blank page of his journal stared back at him, the top corner filled in with the date.

And then… nothing.

His pen hovered, but no words came. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to write. When pouring out his feelings in his little journal, the words came easy, but now his mind was unusually still. No metaphors or no pretty turns of phrase. Not even a line about the Kickstart booths and how exhausting it was to lead the coverage of a big event. He didn't even know where to begin.

The girl from earlier. The way she looked at him, it didn't feel like a first encounter. He felt like he walked into the middle of a story he wasn't aware he was in. The thought of it slowly consumes him.

He chewed the tip of his pen, and followed a silent breath out of his lips. Then, finally, just below the date, Sunoo wrote:

“Confused, but knowing.”

Immediately, he slammed the journal shut.

(🍄) ｡ㅤㅤ i never knew i'll be making sunoo's backstory very relatable to me to the point it got me typing over 4k words 💀 now let us pretend we did not see on the tags who is the president that i haven't named here yet. i think i got overboard introducing sunghoon in that paragraph (his effortless charm just gets me), while ni-ki just popped out of nowhere (when he actually appeared in the first chapter already iykyk). but i'll make sure ni-ki would get that detailed introduction like sunghoon's, just not now — for the plot 😋 it might be a premium ass slowburn but i swear it'll be worth reading as time goes by, things are just building up and I'm also here for the exciting part as well. thanks for hopping by!

( x𖹭 )ㅤㅤㅤㅤ MASTERLIST

UP NEXT ✶ 003: 143

[tivonasworld]

Ting Mama’s Nagging Voice · 08 | Our Generation Must Learn to Be Human

Your aunts and uncles, struggling through life themselves, are often the loudest voices telling you how to live yours:

What you shouldn’t do, what you must hurry up and do—

Change jobs, get married early, be obedient.

But you have to ask yourself this:

If their advice really worked, why did their own lives turn out the way they did?

A person’s current life is the result of their past thinking and choices.

They’ve become who they are now—do you really want to copy their life script?

⸻

01. Only Those Who Live Clearly Are Worth Emulating

The people you take advice from should at least have their own lives sorted:

Clear careers, emotional stability, balanced relationships.

If someone’s never even been on a train or plane,

why should they be qualified to guide your entire life path?

Sure, their tips on growing vegetables might be useful—

but for lifestyle, marriage, or major life decisions?

They may not know as much as you.

Don’t force-fit someone else’s “standard answer” into your unique life.

Even your parents are just regular people.

They make mistakes, feel lost, and blindly follow others.

They don’t hold the truth.

⸻

02. We’re Not Here to Satisfy Their Emotional Needs

Our generation was raised to play a role:

To meet our parents’ emotional needs.

Crying meant you were immature,

Wanting something meant you were greedy,

Pushing back meant you were disobedient.

So we learned to suppress ourselves—terrified of being “unfilial.”

But have you ever really thought about this:

They had you because they wanted to.

Not for you.

Not because they promised to love you for a lifetime.

And since they chose to have a child, they had to raise you—

Even rats and cockroaches raise their young.

That’s not a favor. That’s the minimum responsibility of being human.

⸻

03. “Filial Piety” Is the Most Common Tool of Manipulation

If your parents love you, it flows naturally.

Children will want to give back—not from duty, but from the heart.

But if all they offered was the bare minimum,

then used “filial piety” to guilt-trip and emotionally blackmail you—

That’s not love. That’s exploitation.

The concept of “filial piety” has long been used as a tool of control.

Remember: Confucius’s own ideas on filial piety got him killed—

because the ruling class needed “filial piety” to keep society in line.

But we’re not living in the Eastern Han Dynasty anymore.

We live in an age of awakening.

We are not bound by thousand-year-old logic anymore.

⸻

04. Psychological Separation Is a Lifelong Assignment

The greatest task for our generation is psychological separation.

Stop trying to escape responsibility through marriage.

Stop fantasizing that having kids will “fix” your life.

Stop thinking you can save your parents.

You’re only responsible for yourself.

Their life is their karma.

Yours is your choice.

You need to build healthy boundaries and walk your own path.

Once you’re strong enough—once your own tree bears fruit—

then you can give, then you can support.

But not before.

Don’t rip your own dry roots to pretend to grow a tree.

⸻

05. No More “One Generation Feeding the Next”: End the Toxic Cycle

So many people wake up because of marriage,

or get trapped in the same patterns their parents lived.

Then they have children, and pass their emotional baggage down.

“I raised you with so much hardship.”

“Everything I did was for you.”

These aren’t words of love. They’re chains.

Generation after generation has survived by emotionally draining each other,

depending on children to give meaning to their own lives.

This ends with us.

We can’t keep living like this.

We must learn to become whole people, before we can raise others.

⸻

06. Real Love Comes Only After You Have Enough to Give

You’re not heartless.

You’re finally awake.

You’re not unloving.

You’ve finally started living for yourself.

When you’re still weak—cut off, block, and distance.

Whether it’s your parents, relatives, or anyone draining your energy—

The farther away they are, the better.

As you grow stronger, when you have your own orchard,

You will naturally want to share and support—

That is real love.

Not given from guilt, shame, or fear—

But from freedom.

⸻

Final Words: When We Become Whole, Our Children Can Become Human Too

A person who has truly “grown into a whole human”

understands what it means to nurture, not just raise.

Not to raise obedient robots,

But to support the birth of a free soul.

We are the generation who must end this cycle—

No more parenting through fear, lack, or control.

Let’s move from survival to living,

From being drained to having the capacity to love.

We must take responsibility for ourselves,

And create new possibilities for the future.

No more one generation feeding the next.

We are the generation that must become fully human.

《婷妈妈的唠叨声 08 | 我们这一代，必须活成人》

七大姑八大姨，自己日子过得苦巴巴的，却特别爱教你怎么过人生：

这个不该干，那个要赶紧；让你换工作、早结婚、多听话。

但你得先问自己一句：

如果他们的建议真有用，他们的人生为什么成了现在这个样子？

一个人的当下状态，就是他过往思维与选择的结果。

他们活成了那样，你确定要复制他们的人生剧本吗？

⸻

01. 有参考价值的人，才值得借鉴

你要借鉴的人，最起码得能把自己活明白。

起码工作清晰、情绪稳定、婚姻平衡。

一个自己连高铁飞机都没坐过的人，天天教育你怎么活；

他们讲的，可能种菜可以听听，但关于生活方式、婚姻选择、人生方向——

他们甚至不如你。

别拿别人的“标准答案”硬套自己的人生。

父母也只是普通人，他们会错、会乱、会盲目，并不拥有真理。

⸻

02. 我们不是来满足他们情感需求的

我们这一代人，从小被养成一个“角色”：

满足父母的情绪需求。

哭是不懂事，想要是贪心，反抗是忤逆。

于是我们开始习惯性压抑，生怕“不孝”。

可你有没有想过：

他们生你，是因为他们想生。

不是为了你，不是为了承诺爱你一生。

既然选择生下来了，就必须养——

连老鼠蟑螂都能把孩子带大，这不是“恩德”，而是最低人类责任。

⸻

03. “孝道”是最容易被用来操控的枷锁

如果父母爱你，那是爱的自然流动，孩子会自然反哺；

不是因为被道德要求，而是因为心甘情愿。

但如果他们不爱你，只是付出最低养育成本，

然后用“孝顺”来道德绑架你、情感勒索你，那不是爱，是收割。

“孝道”这个词，从古至今，往往被当作控制工具使用。

别忘了，孔融就是因为说了点不一样的“孝顺观”，被杀掉了。

因为统治阶级需要稳定，需要用“孝”来管住人心。

但我们现在不是活在东汉。

我们活在可以觉醒的新时代，不需要用几千年前的逻辑来绑架现在的我们。

⸻

04. 精神切割，是我们这代人的必修课

我们这一代人，最重要的功课就是：精神切割。

别再试图通过婚姻逃避责任，

别幻想通过孩子让人生“翻盘”，

也别再想拯救你的父母。

你只能对你自己负责。

他们的人生，是他们的果报；你的人生，是你的选择。

你需要建立清晰的边界，走你自己的路。

你有一天强大了，有余力了，当然可以反哺、可以给予。

但前提是：你有果子了。不是拿自己干瘪的根，硬撑出一棵大树。

⸻

05. 不再一代吸一代，我们终止恶性循环

很多人，被婚姻烧醒，被原生家庭困住，

结果生了孩子，又把自己人生的锅，甩给孩子背。

“我养你这么大不容易”“我这一切都是为了你”——

这些话，是绑架，不是爱。

一代又一代靠情感索取活着，靠匮乏延续，

靠孩子来为自己人生托底，这样的循环必须终止。

我们不能再这样活着。

我们必须学会先活成人，才能懂得如何养育人。

⸻

06. 真正的爱，是有余力之后的给予

你不是冷血，而是终于清醒。

你不是无情，而是终于开始为自己活。

当你还虚弱的时候，请勇敢地拉黑、切割、屏蔽。

不管是父母、亲戚、还是任何吸食你情绪的人——

他们有多远，就走多远。

当你慢慢强大起来，有了自己的果园，

你自然愿意去分享，去给予，甚至去扶持——那是真正的爱。

不是出于恐惧、愧疚、耻感，而是出于自由。

⸻

结语：我们活成人，孩子才有可能活得像人

一个真正“活成人”的人，才懂得什么叫“养育”。

不是养出听话的人，而是扶持出一个自由灵魂。

我们这一代人，必须终止那种靠本能、靠匮乏、靠控制延续的育儿方式。

从“生存”走向“生活”，从“被消耗”走向“有能力爱”。

我们要为自己负责，也要为未来创造新的可能。

我们不再一代吸一代，我们这一代，要活成人。

[cglacia]

April 6th:

Talk about miscommunication. As autistic people communicating is something that is harder for us than neurotypical people, in what ways is communicating generally hard for you?

I just don't inherently know how to do it. Rote interactions, like the ones you have with store clerks or customer service people, are generally fine; I got over those with my first job, and I realize now that my flat affect probably wouldn't even register as notable to your average employee who works with the public. But anything deeper than that is hard because I don't inherently know how to connect with people, or how to make my delivery not put people off.

I also realize that I can't control and am not responsible for how others react to me when the content of my speech and actions is respectful, but it still hurts to be yelled at and to have bad things happen to me because of it, especially at work.

Talk about how being autistic has led to an instance of miscommunication in the past. Talk about social blunders that you've made due to autism. Perhaps a situation where you misinterpreted something or where you said the wrong/insensitive thing.

I avoid people these days as an adult because I was so tired of misinterpreting people, or being misinterpreted. I remember that in elementary school, my teachers would give instructions that I always seemed to misinterpret, and get in trouble for. In fifth grade (age ten), after my diagnosis, my teacher didn't like to accommodate my need for clear, written instructions and would tell me that in middle school and beyond, people aren't going to accommodate that and I needed to start learning that now, which just led to me getting in trouble more.

Of course, I didn't have any problems with vague instructions in middle school; those just got replaced with me becoming a jerk because I completely lost interest in people after the other kids started rejecting me for being weird and childish, and started copying anime characters instead. I remember a teacher had me help a classmate with something and I gave them a backhanded compliment because I saw that in an anime from the super hawt, super competent, smart, but cold bishonen that I had a crush on at the time, and getting that little bit of approval put another character on cloud nine. The classmate told me off and I was genuinely surprised at the time that it wasn't taken well because I didn't understand that people aren't supposed to act like that character in real life. This was in 2007, when being snarky and talking down people for not knowing things was the cool thing to do on the internet. Thank God I stopped all of that during high school.

Recently, at work, I was assigned a task where half of the work would be completed by myself, and the other half needed to be completed by a different team, which requires a specific kind of formal request. I completed my part and sent it off for testing, and the lady who is semi-adjacent to that other team asked me, "Has a request been submitted for this?" I understood this as a gentle reminder that I needed to submit the request, so I did that and showed her the proof, and she emailed me privately and said that I should've filled out this particular form and cleared it with her so that she could submit the request for me. I thought, why did you ask me if the request had been made if you're the only one who's supposed to do that; shouldn't you be on top of whether a request has been submitted or not? But I didn't say any of that because it felt pedantic to tell someone what they should've said; I just said, okay, I'll keep that in mind for next time.

It's little and nobody got (apparently) mad at me, but I've just been hypervigilant at work lately. Just before he transitioned out of being my boss, my boss said in my annual review that I wasn't learning fast enough, and tried to spitball some possible causes, starting with asking me if I had difficulty accepting and applying criticism, which felt like an attack on my character, and then followed it up by saying that he recalled how I said that I was a "fast learner" in my interview, which felt like he was questioning that claim, and thus my competency. He said that none of that was his intention, of course. I have a new boss now who I like a lot better, and I'm trying so hard to put my old boss behind me, but I'm still afraid that the old boss is not the only one who might be questioning my competency, and perhaps wondering if I'm even capable of having a job.

(Sorry if this got too off topic.)

[lacontroller1991]

Mr. and Mrs. Flag (Rick Flag x Fem!Reader)

Requested by @myownworldsstuff​ : Rick Flag and Reader where they are married with Mr. and Mrs. Smith vibes

@h-hxgirl​ @artemis-cr0ck​

Author's Note: I think the title is very fitting 😁

Warnings: Mention of child loss, mentions of abortion, language 

The smell of homemade spaghetti entered Rick’s nostrils as he walked through the threshold into his shared home with you, his wife. Hearing the door open, you quickly wiped your palms on your apron before rushing to greet him.

“Hey baby, how was work?” You asked as he set down a briefcase before pulling you into his embrace, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Work’s work, I had clients all the way up my ass today, bitching about how their stocks are plummeting,” he replied as you hummed, giving him a smile before pulling away. You knew he wasn’t a stock marketer. You knew he worked with some of the world’s most dangerous criminals. In any case, you were there to gather any intel you managed to scrape up for the CIA. What you didn’t expect was to slowly love him along the way. The CIA had warned you not to do what you did, saying that he was just a mission, but to you he became more than that. He became your best friend. He became your lover.

“Well, dinner is ready. Your favorite,” you whispered against his ear as you tugged against his blazer.

“You know me so well.”

You two ate in silence aside from the occasional slurp of noodles and guzzle of wine.

“So, how was your day?” He asked as you twirled the stem of your wine glass between your thumb and index finger, desperately wanting to tell him about how your day really was. As far as he knew, or so you thought, you were a kindergarten teacher at the local school.

“It was alright, I had 5 kids not wanting to take a nap, and 3 of them being rowdy as always. Even though I teach kids, I still don’t want one,” you mentioned as he let out a small chuckle before silence cascaded over the room. Your eyes locked with his as he cleared his throat.

“Listen, sweetheart, I got something to tell you.”

“No, I do too,” you replied, hands fidgeting underneath the table. Normally, this wouldn’t be such a big deal, but this was Rick you were telling. Someone you actually care for. You both paused for a moment, urging the other to speak; however, that was put on hold as you saw something glisten in the moonlight out of the corner of your eye before noticing that it was quiet. Too quiet, you thought to yourself before a rain of bullets ripped through the window. Falling to the floor, you glanced over to Rick who too, looked over to you.

“I’m a secret agent.”

“I do special ops,” you both said at the same time, his news not new to you, but yours was to him.

“For how long?” He asked loudly, army crawling to a secret stash of guns as you copied his movements, reaching for your own.

“15 years,” you stated, loading some guns and grabbing a couple of knives as he cocked some guns.

“Shit. You’ve been lying to me this whole time?”

“Rick, you have been too, this is not the time and place for this conversation. There’s a secret door in the kitchen that will lead to the sewer, we can make it out of here,” you mentioned as he glared at you with mistrust in his eyes before giving in and nodding. Crawling your way to the secret door, you quickly stood up and shot your gun in the general vicinity of the advancing adversaries before you went down the stairs into the small basement with Rick following you. Turning to open the lid, you were stopped as a body was pressed against you and a gun to your temple. Staring into his hazel eyes, you noticed slight flecks of green and brown that you had come to love.

“How can I trust you?” He seethed as you didn’t try to fight back.

“Rick, if I was here to kill you, I would’ve. I’m an agent, yes, but I wasn’t assigned to kill you. Please, let’s just get to safety before we go into this,” you begged as he nodded, opening the lid to the sewer before jumping in, trying to not gag at the stench. Turning on the flashlight, you and Rick made your way through the tunnels before you found the exit you designated for something like this. Climbing up the ladder, you looked behind you to make sure he was following you, and when you saw he was, you opened the hatch and climbed out into the crisp autumn night. Climbing out after you, he looked at you, feelings confused as to what to do with you.

“You got a safe house?” He asked as you nodded, starting to walk the way of the house before he grabbed your arm and shook his head.

“It might be safer if we went to Belle Reve.”

“Show me the way.”

----------

Stepping out of the shower, you wringed out your hair with a towel as you made your way into the small room with an office attached to it.

“So this is where you sleep on the nights you can’t come home,” you quipped as he shot you a glare, cleaning the water off of his guns.

“Home,” he scoffed, clicking the barrel back into place, “what a joke.” Sighing, you took a seat next to him, flinching as he moved away from you.

“That’s what it is for me,” you tried to reason as he glared at you again, trying to remain stoic and not heartbroken that the love of his life is secretly an undercover agent.

“What am I to you?” His voice hoarse from the yelling and then the silent treatment. Placing a small hand on his shoulder, you were surprised when he didn’t move to remove it.

“My husband.”

“No, what am I to you? A target? A mission? Decoy?”

“Mission,” you muttered meekly as he ran a hand over his face before you continued, “4 years ago, the CIA debriefed me on you. West Point Grad. Special Ops officer. Leader of Task Force X. The latter being what they were concerned with. They wanted me to gather whatever I could on your team and report back to them. And for the first year, I did. I went through all of your records on your computers and then some, but what they didn’t count on was that…,” you hesitated for a moment, twirling your thumbs as he waited for you to continue, “...what I didn’t count on was that I would fall in love with you. Yes, you were my mission, but what I feel for you is real. Hell, those assholes who were shooting at us were probably after me,” you finished as you took a breath, feeling his calculating eyes scope you out, trying to tell if what you were saying was real or not.

“Why would they be shooting at you,” came out his gruff question as you turned your head to focus on him.

“Probably found out the information I supplied was falsified. The first year of information was all correct, but once I realized that I did, in fact, love you and was not clouded by hormones, I stopped providing correct information.”

“Why would you be clouded by hormones?”

“I was pregnant,” you whispered, moving to clutch your stomach where the baby died inside of you.

“What?” Rick asked, scooting closer to you, not sure if he heard you correctly.

“I was pregnant with your kid. The CIA found out and terminated the pregnancy,” admitting the horrors of what the agency did to you brought up memories of the procedure. Your eyes filled with tears as you remembered the intense pain that accompanied the loss of your child.

“Shit, baby,” Rick whispered, finally letting his guard down and believing you as he watched the way your eyes glossed over. I know that look all too well, he thought before pulling you into his arms and running his hand through your hair as you broke down. Tears poured down your face as he gently shushed you, slightly rocking his body with yours.

“I’m sorry, Rick. I really am. I really do love you, you have to believe me,” you begged through sobs as he paused for a second, realizing that he didn’t care about your past and your initial mission and that all he cared about in that moment was his wife in his arms.

“It’s alright baby, I understand. We’ll make this work,” he whispered against the top of your head, rubbing circles into your back. After a while, he had moved you and him up against the bed so that you were lying against his chest as his arms wrapped themselves around you.

“Rick,” you called out from his chest. Moving to look down at you, he brushed a strand of wet hair from your face.

“Yeah baby?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” kissing the top of your head, he rubbed your back again as he listened to your breathing become quiet and unnoticeable. Noting that you had fallen asleep, he took the opportunity to shut his eyes and let his mind carry him into a dull slumber.

Author’s Note: AHHH Hope you enjoy!!!

[elias-code]

Asleep in Your Arms - Techno x Reader

Characters: c!Techno x gn!Reader

Summary: While a blizzard outside rages, you find comfort in Techno’s arms. He tells you a story to help relax you, and you end up asleep in his arms. Not having the heart to wake you so he could go to his Syndicate meeting, he sleeps with you.

Warnings: None!

~Ask~

Could you maybe write a small thing about short reader (like 5’) feeling safe in Techno’s arms and maybe falling asleep on his lap before a syndicate meeting and not having the heart to wake you up so he lets you cuddle him during the meeting??

~Ask~

Note: Aww I’m 5’ 5” and this really speaks to me… When I get stressed, I just feel the need to melt into someone’s arms (preferably Techno’s) and sleep. Also I hate being woken up so i would appreciate him being so careful lmao. I couldn’t figure out a way to make the meeting happen so I hope this will do! Also, the story that he tells isn’t mine, I just heard it a lot when I was a kid, so I decided to write that one instead of straight up copy and pasting something else—

—- Enjoy! —-

To Techno, this was just another bad storm, but to you, it was one of the scariest parts of living with him. The only thing that could make the blizzard go away was his warmth. Even though this was your second storm by now, you still weren't used to the sounds. Snow was supposed to be soft and fluffy, but buzzards were far from that and far from anything you'd experienced before.

“When is this going to be over?”

Techno continued to look out the window at the blinding white storm. “I think it’s going to be a while. I don’t think it’s going to let up anytime soon.”

You sighed and put your hands to your face. You prided yourself on being a well composed person, but when it came to storms, something deep in your animal brain wanted to make you hide forever. Your instincts weren’t well-founded when it came to the blizzards, but Techno comforted you nonetheless.

He closed the curtain and walked over to where you were sitting, kneeling to your level and taking your hands off of your face to look you in the eye.

“Baby, it’s going to be okay,” He cooed, “It’s just a storm, it can’t hurt you in here.”

“I know…” He stood and sat next to you on the plush couch, the cushions sinking in as he did so. He put his arm around your shoulders and invited you to lean into him.

“C’mere,” He said, motioning for you to move closer, “Sit with me.”

You complied, just as the storm picked up once again. You scooted over into his lap, leaning your head on his chest. Compared to the 6’5” giant, you were an infant. He was nearly one and a half feet taller than you, and even though you were used to people being taller than you, it always felt different with him. With some people, it was intimidating, sometimes patronizing. With Techno, you always felt at home, like he was the iron giant looking after you. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your head.

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” He asked. It was always comforting when he did that.

“Yeah…” You mumbled, shutting your eyes.

“Alright,” He cleared his throat and began:

“There once was a wealthy farmer who had three sons; Henry, Oliver, and Prince were their names. By the time he was seventy, he was on his deathbed, and he had to decide which son to give the farm to. When his sons asked who he wanted to receive it, he replied: ‘Whoever passes my test will be the one to own the farm when I die.’ The boys leaned in closer in anticipation for the challenge, ‘I will give you each twenty-five cents. I want you all to use that money to fill a room in the house completely. Buy whatever you need at the market, but do not go over budget.’

The boys understood the assignment, but were confused as to why he wanted them to do that instead of more conventional means. He could have just chosen one of them at random, one proposed, but the old man smiled and said, ‘I have my reasons, now go.’

And so they did. At the market, Henry bought the cheapest, biggest things he could find. He bought thin boxes, thinking he could fill the room with them, since they were so bulky. With the twenty-some boxes he bought, he could only fill half the room, and so he lost the farm.

Oliver was next, and initially, he thought he would be able to hire people to crowd into the house and maybe bring some friends, but no one was interested in what little money he could offer them. He came up with another plan, his father wouldn’t know if he bought above his budget, and so he bought the boxes off of Henry, and then some more. Henry charged him his full twenty-five cents, knowing Oliver was bound to lose with those boxes. Instead, when Henry went into the room they were supposed to fill, he saw a few extra wheels of cheese which blocked the entrance, meaning the room had been filled. Seeing this, he notified his father. Oliver had cheated, and so he would not get the property.

Lastly, Prince skipped into town. He was the youngest out of all of his siblings, only twelve years old at the time. He saw what his other brothers did and took note. He figured there’d be no way to fill the room with any physical objects, and so he came up with a different idea. He bought a candle and a match, with two cents to spare. When he got home and lit the candle, the room filled with light, and he explained it to his brothers.

They refused to think that their father would consider the room filled, but Prince insisted he’d stayed within the rules, and lo and behold, the father was ecstatic.

‘My dear Prince, the farm is yours! Unlike your brother Henry, you were able to fill the room. I never specified what to fill it with, and Henry just assumed that he would have to fill it with physical objects, which is not the case. You also outsmarted your brother Oliver, who had no sense of the rules and threw his chances away by cheating. You were the only one to stick to the rules and accomplish the task, I’m proud of you.’”

Techno finished the story he’d told you many times, knowing it was your favorite. You’d talked about it before, referring to it as a ‘lateral thinking puzzle’ or something along those lines. Techno had bought a whole book of them for times like these, when you were stressed. He’d go over them with you and he especially had fun poking holes in them, finding other ways to get to the desired end.

He was about to say one of his usual quips about the story when he noticed you let out a light snore. You were asleep in his lap, his arms around you, protecting you from the storm outside. He smiled, I am not gonna make it to the meeting today, am I? He thought to himself. The voices answered half-heartedly, still discussing how long they thought you’d been asleep for. He didn’t have the heart to wake you, and so he sat there with you until eventually he fell asleep, too.

[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Three

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. So how do you move on from that? Ha! You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

Fluff, swearing, innuendos, canon typical violence (a smidge), light angst, pining lotsa pining

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Word Count: 4,914 (yup, take a glass of water with you)

Series Chapters

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Three

The next time you saw each other, Bucky threw a standard issue nod, curt, more distracted than annoyed, which is to say it’s exactly the kind of greeting you want. It’s reassuring in its ordinariness.

You saluted him from your favorite spot in all of G3, a steel bench with a wooden back across the building you worked out of. There was a plan to develop this side of the street, but luckily the powers that be (Pepper) opted to keep the lot vacant and the seat remained the lone structure in the field. You sat there to enjoy the breeze and the space to think, only limited by the sky above. The only complaint you had were the armrests that prevented you from lying down for naps during breaks.

Bucky disappeared inside the building with Natasha. You nursed your iced coffee until it became a lukewarm beverage before heading in yourself.

Operation First Resort, also known as the time you asked him out on a date, never came up again. Not in conversation at least.

Bucky’s discipline of speaking only when necessary greatly helped matters although his eyes communicated more than you could ever fathom. They were like a lost language. Haunted, beautiful, practically arcane. If he ever thought about that evening as often as you did -  it’s just your wishful thinking.

You also excelled at pretending it never happened, although it didn’t mean you stopped having feelings for your favorite brunette super soldier. To compensate for ranking him number one, you made it a point to ask Sam in passing about collegiate level football and the NFL draft. When Natasha approached you about tracking down a Russian prisoner during your personal time, you didn’t hesitate to help her. Steve was a little harder to crack - maybe centenarians really were your weak spot - but he always received a fresh pack of yellow post-its everytime you sent him a plan to review.

At any point in the past few months you could have found some other emotionally distant, square-jawed heartbreaker. You could walk into any law enforcement office, S.H.I.E.L.D. included, and find one before getting past security. That wasn’t your persuasion though. You doubled down on that crush as if it were a dare and your parents raised you to not be a quitter.

Why stop at crushing on the geezer who jabbed your arm with a manila envelope or the nearest writing implement to get you to look at him, when you can fall in love with said geezer instead?

You don’t like me back? Pffft, let me love you anyway.

You were headstrong when you needed to be - you wouldn’t have landed this coveted analyst gig otherwise - but for the most part, you were more of a “go with the flow, path of least resistance” type. For nearly a year, you handled this situation by not doing a damn thing about it.

All you had to do was hunker down. Bucky was a force of nature. Your best bet was to sit still and endure the beautiful devastation.

In the back of your mind, you knew this - your altered state - would pass. He would start dating again at some point and that would effectively, forcibly serve as the cease and desist order your stubborn mind awaited. He might get assigned a permanent post in Europe. He could come back with a gorgeous partner who was amazing in bed and in the kitchen, with their adorable dimpled kids, who’d speak at least three languages and know judo.

Or maybe you’d always hold a place for him in your heart, and you would do it from a respectable distance and keep that piece of information to yourself. Theoretically speaking, as long as you keep your emotions under lock and key, you can continue to live with liking Bucky a little too much for years and years.

That was the plan. Granted, if this were an actual Avenger-level mission, your plan would never get the green light from the operations floor.

In your line of work, “hero helpline” as you described it to your mother, variables signified risks. Any element prone to change must be taken off the board or mitigated. The only pieces in play must be ones you control. Risks must be reduced to the point where the consequences are more acceptable. Like blowing up a room instead of a building. Taking a punch to the face instead of getting stabbed in the back.

Your approach to handling these Bucky-related feelings relied entirely on your ability to behave professionally and make rational decisions. This plan wasn’t just objectively bad; it was reactive and worse, reckless.

As Sam would say about half-baked mission ideas: “Is it a suicide mission? You know that shit gets people killed right? Just checking.”

Your plan guaranteed hurt feelings. Yours, specifically, but you were the one who insisted on acting like you weren’t into Bucky anymore.

In the weeks that followed his reinstatement as a field agent, bringing up the encounter felt pointless. Then the weeks turned to months and it seemed even more unnecessary to revisit history.

You were just as much as an expert in picking up where you and Bucky left off. At some point, he became your primary candy supplier because he consumed at least a third of your stash at work. He claimed he shared them with Sam and Wanda anyway.

“Rogers is too good for Skittles now?”

“He prefers peanut butter.” He pretended not to catch the sarcasm.

“I’m not keeping peanut butter at my desk.” You huffed at the absurdity. You’d forgotten what the argument was about in the first place. Unreasonable snack requests? Candy not mysteriously disappearing from a locked drawer?

Claire watched these exchanges with “I told you so” written on her face.

It was not expedient to entertain Claire’s theories. Not because you worried about things getting out of hand. Things were already out of hand since your heart decided to love Bucky unprompted, despite the hundred-percent assurance of non reciprocation. Talk about getting these wayward feelings.

You didn’t want to encourage talk of nonsense to protect the one thing you and Bucky shared.

It may not be based on years of saving each other in schoolyard fights and battlefields or embarking on international hi-jinks in the name of freedom; it’s a friendship grown from the trenches of Grid 3, Building A, Third Floor, Operations Analytics Wing.

On behalf of desk workers around the world, you’d argue that there was solidarity created from helping each other keep a straight face when a colleague spouts bullshit to get picked for a leadership position or from covering for each other, like when Bucky ran into you pacing up and down the hall, teary-eyed because of a phone call. Without asking questions, he offered to handle your afternoon meetings so you can step out of the office for a while.

Your office-based camaraderie was just as valid as any bond formed elsewhere. You were determined to hang onto it, with fierce fingers clamped around the neck of this friendship. Frankly speaking, that’s all you’d ever have with Bucky.

You acknowledged the underlying desperation too. The fear of losing him to the messiness of emotions. Other than grin and bear it, there wasn’t much you could do that wouldn’t complicate matters for both of you.

Maintaining the status quo ensured you stayed friends. But how were you expected to keep business as usual, when variables begin to shift?

Weeks after the mission that caused the temporary closure of the Alexander Hamilton bridge just outside the Bronx, Bucky spotted you and Claire returning to your desks from a conference call. He beckoned to you from a meeting room. No smiles, no hello’s, a fairly regular “I need to talk to you” signal from the guy.

“Wonder why Blue Steel wants to get you alone?” Claire asked, batting her lashes at you.

You threw your alleged friend a dirty look and hissed, “Do the words ‘enhanced hearing’ mean nothing to you Chavez?”

She only giggled and pushed you toward the room where Bucky waited. “Hey, if he’s got you food from Vic’s again, can I have it?”

“Seriously CC?” You rolled your eyes but your friend was already waving goodbye, not even looking at you as she walked away. You watched her turn into a corner. After a quick check of the hallway, you headed to Bucky’s meeting room, pausing at the door to knock.

He looked up from his phone and brushed the hair off his face with the finesse of a four year-old. Your heart skipped at least a couple of beats; there was something endearing about the childlike gesture from one of the grumpiest people on earth. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? No, you’ve had what, three by now? How about water?” He maneuvered around the desk and quickly pulled out a chair for you.

“You’re in my building, feel like I should be the one offering you something to drink.” You didn’t even wince at the reminder of your “no thank you let’s not” driveway chat. It’s been months since his send off at the bar, but recalling the exchange came easily to you.

“Boss said I get pantry privileges.” He shrugged as if access to your wing’s kitchen was a big deal.

“I think it has more to do with you being an Avenger than being her former direct report. Sorry to burst your bubble.” You contained a smile by biting on your lip. It was too easy to carry on with Bucky like this, even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“No, it’s because I’m her favorite. Still.” He responded with round, serious blue orbs staring you down, daring you to prove him wrong.

Of course you would correct him because you were a sucker for punishment. “Well, I beg to disagree, because I’m the favorite.” You manage to keep a steady hand while dusting imaginary dirt off your shoulder.

“Can’t win with you.” He threw his hands up but there was a hint of laughter in his eyes. He’d give you that much. “To think I came here hoping you’ll help a guy out.” The Vibranium hand clicked against wood when he drummed his fingers on the table.

You leaned back into the seat, not to relax but to put some distance between the two of you. Otherwise, you might forget to breathe.

Bucky handed you his battered smartphone after a beat. Silver duct tape ran along the back and edges of the phone, allowing him to grip the sleek device better.

You narrowed your eyes at the scratched screen. “What exactly am I looking at?” You zoomed in on a washed out photo of a heap of trousers and jackets on a bed.

“Suits. Gotta pick one,” he grumbled.

Did you even want to know if it was for? Jury duty? A date? Funeral?

He shifted in his seat. “Pepper’s fundraising thing on Friday. Steve’s loaning me a suit. Dumped five of them in my room today. What the hell does that clown need five suits for?”

Bucky’s existential crisis over formal wear wasn’t unexpected. You didn’t remember seeing him in anything other than tactical gear or hoodies and jackets. You wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in his jeans.

Yeah, you’ve thought about sleeping arrangements every now and then.

“Oh you know - jury duty, dates…” What else did Steve do outside of his 9 to 5 saving the world gig? “Press interviews and events, that kind of thing.”

“I guess.” Bucky hung his head as he listened to you list life events he didn’t have the slightest interest in. “Can you pick one?”

“Why?” You’d worn suits before but that didn’t make you an expert on fashion.

“They all look the same to me and you - you always dress ok,” he replied, eyeing you in a clinical way. “I mean, that and that, they go together.” Bucky gesticulated wildly, pointing to random parts of your body.

“Oh so my black boots match the black top and black trousers? Thanks?” You responded, suddenly feeling self conscious about your go-to office attire.

He threw his head back and exhaled. There was a little bit of Steve in the drama of it all. For a second you thought he’d say something about “being too old for this shit.” He caught the giggle you attempted to pass off as a cough. “Are you gonna help or am I gonna have to talk to someone else about a stupid suit?”

“Ok, ok, but can you take another photo because I can’t tell the difference looking at this.” You returned his phone. “Stand with your back to the window when you take pictures. Or better yet, hold them against your body and get Steve or Sam to take photos.”

Bucky rapped his knuckles on the table. “That is not happening. We can have a look at them now.” You sensed a whoosh behind you when he eased out of his chair and reached the doorway in seconds. “Come on. They’re in my room.”

You’d never been inside G5 before. The only people you knew who’d ever stepped foot in that sector were people who lived there. A field dotted by trees, and rumor has it, Happy’s booby traps, separated the grid from the rest of the compound. Visitors have to be personally escorted by a resident to gain access to the apartments.

Pattern shifts implied change, moving variables you were trained to squash with haste.

“Uh, can’t leave in the middle of the workday.” Your eloquence was something else.

Of course the prospect of visiting the G5 apartments interested you, but going to Bucky’s room amounted to testing how elastic the friendship boundary was. You never even considered the idea of inviting Bucky to your place before because it was that far out of the realm of possibilities. He didn’t even have your home address.

“It’s nearly 5. Won’t take us half an hour. Promise.” The metal arm whirred, similar to a car ready for the green light. He tapped the doorframe impatiently.

It didn’t have to be this complicated. He asked for your help. He said it won’t take up much of your time.

Bucky stepped into the hallway. “I’ll show you the kitchen. You can raid the pantry.”

Well in that case… “Let me grab my bag.”

His room was predictably neat and sparse, but the first thing you noticed was the faint scent of his shampoo, like he had just gotten out of the shower and had been walking around the room. Aside from the bed, he had a stool that doubled as a bedside table and a screen mounted to the wall. The only things that counted as personal items were the small potted Spider plant from his old desk and a stack of books below the TV.

You immediately catalogued the selection: a mix of genres, but more than half were biographies and science books. He caught you inspecting the titles as you entered the room but he didn’t say anything.

Bucky remained standing by the doorway and watched you take in the room. No narrated tours of where he spent his private time. No explanations as to why the suits were strewn across the bed haphazardly, the only thing out of place in his spick and span living space.

Desperate for something to do, you sorted the suits, matching the items and laying them out separately on the bed. There was a double breasted number while the rest were classic single breasted pieces. You smoothed the lapel of the one closest to you, already picturing Bucky in this jacket. It didn’t require much effort to imagine how handsome he’d be in any of these suits.

“So uh, which one do you like?” He slipped his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not the one wearing the suit Buck.” You turned toward him. “Which one do you like?”

“None of them.” His disdain for formalwear was apparent. He’d been glowering at the suits like they’ve committed a series of petty crimes.

“Have you even tried any of these yet?” You reached for the navy number with the silk lapel.

“We don’t need to do that. Just - please just pick one out.” He was starting to lose his patience. You could tell from the tight jaw and the frantic mechanical sound his arm made when he formed a fist.

“No, you’re trying them on.” You handed him the navy suit, resisting the urge to say something about how it complimented his eyes. That could make him jump out of the window. “Do you have a dress shirt?”

He mumbled under his breath and you didn’t need super hearing abilities to know it was something very close to regret for asking you to come over.

“You dragged my ass here so you have no choice but to do as I say.” You pointed to a black suit. “You’re trying that one next.”

To be fair, Bucky complained but he usually listened to you. The thriving plant in his room was proof of that. He grumbled and dragged his feet but he eventually grabbed a white shirt from his walk-in closet on the way to the bathroom.

Two thuds signaled he kicked his boots off.

“Hey, what about shoes?” You asked.

You heard him shuffling about and grunting behind the door. Oh the drama. “Back of the closet!”

His closet wasn’t huge, although it was still larger than yours, and definitely five times more organised. He only used half of the storage space. You found a pair of black leather Oxfords after looking behind a row of sneakers and boots. The heel was barely scuffed. This could not have been worn more than once and it seemed like it had been recently polished - like the rest of his shoes. As you stepped out of the closet, you noticed a pair of sweatpants folded neatly on its own shelf.

So he didn’t sleep in jeans after all.

Minutes later, a click alerted you to Bucky stepping out of the bathroom. His shirt tuck was sloppy; he had the face of a man approaching a guillotine, but holy shit he looked breathtaking. You’ve never swooned over anything or anyone but Bucky Barnes in a suit made your knees buckle.

“There he is!” You chirped weakly.

He fidgeted, pulling on his collar and stretching his neck. “I look like an asshole.”

“You look, you know, it looks good.” You tugged on his sleeves gently, catching your breath in your throat when your thumb brushed against the back of his hand. It released a jolt through your hand, like he’d been hoarding static electricity the entire day. You immediately cleared your throat, telling yourself to ignore the tingling in your palm. “Um, can you - you have to tuck that shirt in like a commanding officer is about to inspect it… What do you think of the jacket?”

That was a ridiculous question. The lapels rested on his sculpted chest and the suit accentuated broad shoulders you itched to run your hands over.

If he noticed your reaction, Bucky didn’t show it. He focused on fixing his shirt. “It’s…” More fidgeting and twisting. “It’s a little tight. But it’s fine. This is fine. I can wear this.”

You couldn’t stop putting your hands on your waist. “Bucky, why are you acting like trying clothes on is some unbearable task?”

His shoulders drooped. “I’m not-“ He paused when you raised an eyebrow. “I… I don’t go to these fancy things. Steve’s the one who goes and he’s good at talking to people. I’ll be standing around total strangers  not knowing what to say and looking stupid all night.”

Ravishing was a better word, but you would never tell him that. Instead, you fetched the next suit and handed it over with the tiniest smile you could muster so he wouldn’t feel like you were making fun of him. “You don’t look stupid. You can show up in cargo pants and look fine. But a suit makes donors think you care about the foundation, and I know you want guests to donate as much as they can. Think about all the good you’re doing just by putting on a tailored jacket and flashing those baby blues at esteemed checkbook holders.”

That was not flirting. That was a factual description of his eyes.

Bucky didn’t read into it. He accepted the second attire with a little less grumbling this time. The worry etched on his face faded. “You know the foundation also gives money to animal shelters.”

You took a few steps back and reached for your phone to take a picture, which was a mistake because he immediately went on defense mode and the scowl returned with a vengeance.

He waved you off with his black and gold arm which started making noises not dissimilar to a rocket about to take off. “No no no.” The vowels became increasingly longer as he spoke. “No.”

Did he just stick out his lower lip after that last “no” or were you hallucinating?

“Listen, you asked me to help. This is me helping. So put the hand down please and don’t look at me like I just asked you to kick a newborn kitten.”

The buzzing muted when he dropped his arm, but Bucky continued to glare at you.

The joke was on him because that smolder worked for you anyway. You snapped a photo that you would send him later for reference and he promptly marched back to the bathroom.

After the second suit, Bucky surrendered himself to the process. He’d put each outfit on and tell you which jackets he could eat dinner in and which ones made him feel like a balloon two seconds from bursting. You checked the length of the trousers and asked what he thought about lapels and button styles. He never smiled for the photos but at least he looked at the camera directly.

You were crouched on the floor, tugging on the hem of the fifth pair of pants when someone cleared his throat by the door.

Steve’s impressive figure filled the doorway. His brows went up but he masked his reaction quickly with a charming smile. “Uh, hello.” His eyes shifted from you kneeling on the floor to his best friend standing before you. “Door was open so I thought I would drop in.”

“This is a good length I think. What do you think, Steve?” You got to your feet and stepped back to get a good look at Bucky. You gestured for him to spin but that request went ignored.

“The gray makes his eyes pop, doesn’t it?” The blonde super soldier studied his friend’s attire. “Sam told me you were in Buck’s room.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve been brought in to manage the umm...” You paused to see if Bucky would jump in and help explain your presence in his residence. When he didn’t say anything, you turned to Steve. “Wardrobe. Pro bono stylist to, uh, Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve’s grin was as bright as Bucky’s scowl was dark. You instantly recognized a staredown taking shape. The fair-haired super soldier held his smirk while his dark-haired counterpart frowned. Seconds passed and neither person felt the need to speak. They just knew which buttons to push and it usually made for quality entertainment, provided you weren’t involved.

The thing was, you couldn’t quite say for sure that you had nothing to do with the ongoing staring match.

You felt compelled to break the silence. “Gray’s a good color.”

It didn’t stop the nonsense brewing between the soldiers who both happened to be over a hundred years old. Only on paper, of course. Mentally, it would be impossible to prove they were over the age of 13 when they act like this.

“You told me to ask somebody. I found someone, and then I had to put the suit on. All of them.” Hostility oozed out of Bucky.

Steve glanced at you before replying to his friend. “Bud, pretty sure what I said was to ask someone to be your date for the evening.” The snicker was inaudible but it was certainly on his face.

Bucky continued to deliver dagger looks to Steve while you busied yourself with arranging the pile of clothes again. The lack of reply from Bucky didn’t bother the blonde man.

“Now that you have something to wear, all you need is a lovely friend to go with you to the gala.” Steve spoke with a confident booming tone conveying authority and leadership, just like in the ads that ran 24/7 on the public broadcast stations. “Should be an entertaining evening. Good food, definitely. I hear Pepper booked a band. Are you doing anything Friday?”

Oh no, the last line, that was meant for you wasn’t it? Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Steve waiting for a reply.

Why would he care about your Friday plans?

It was best to take that question at face value. “Uh, yeah, as a matter of fact. Gotta take care of something. Family stuff.” You found yourself making a conscious effort not to look at Bucky, who was pretending you weren’t in the room either. You definitely had errands, but you didn’t necessarily have to do them this Friday. “Nothing as quite as fun as the event, that’s for sure. I made Bucky promise to sweet talk at least one billionaire into making a donation.”

You forwarded the pictures you’d been taking from the past hour to Bucky, marking your recommendation with a smiley. You didn’t know what else to do while he continued to stand there openly glaring at Steve. “Hey Buck, I sent you the photos for reference. To help you pick… choose one of Steve’s suits.”

Adding that last phrase made you feel silly. As if Bucky had another choice to make. You were there to settle the suit situation. Now that it’s been resolved, you didn’t need to be there longer than you had to.

“That’s too bad,” Steve said sincerely, but it’s the other man’s prolonged silence that troubled you.

Bucky shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it to the pile on his bed.

Between Steve’s curious expression and Bucky’s newfound fascination with hanging suits in his closet, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being caught in the middle of a telepathic argument.

“Is Sam still around? I’ve been meaning to talk to him about a... thing.” These two don’t even deserve a good excuse right now. You slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Common room,” Steve replied. His eyes followed Bucky walking back and forth. “Left, past the elevators, don’t stop walking until you hear him.” He stepped aside to let you pass.

You squeezed past Steve, giving him a nod before taking quick strides down the hall. You had taken three steps when you heard the door open again.

“Sweets!”

“What?” You turned back, shaking your head at how abruptly you stopped walking when he called out.

More importantly, why did you assume it was for you?

Bucky stumbled out of his room and closed the door. Soapy mint fragrance travelled with him to the hallway, filling your head with his scent.

“Did you just-”

“You’re always giving away candy.” He shrugged and didn’t care to elaborate further.

Sweets. So it was a nickname after all. Yours. From Bucky. Your brain started working on overdrive, seeking meaning in this revelation. Fighting to give it meaning, when it could very well be noise that you should discard.

“I’m passionate about processed sugar, yeah.”

God your cheeks were burning. There was nowhere to hide in the long and empty hallway which was supposed to give the two of you a little bit of privacy.

Something about the way the two of you stood around the hall brought you back to the evening outside the bar. Not for the first time, you wondered if he ever thought about it. You wished you could tell. No - you wished he thought about it.

“Do you need a ride home?” He finally asked, running a hand through his hair.

Sometimes he made you realize he was just as good as you at dodging these self-made traps and skipping to the next part of the conversation.

“No, thanks. I can take the shuttle.” A round-the-clock shuttle service brought employees to drop-off areas and bus stations outside the compound.

He nodded. “I’ll walk you out then." He added, "Ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to let me know when you’re ready to leave?” like you knew what that was supposed to mean or what you were supposed to do in that instance.

“Ok.”

He re-entered his room without giving you another look. You heard Steve say “Why don’t you…” before the door slammed shut.

Just as Steve predicted, Sam’s cheerful voice filled the hall. Instead of following the sound, you headed for the lifts and pressed the elevator button. You didn’t need to see Sam anyway. Like your family errand, it can wait another day. There was something you needed to figure out first.

You poked the button again, knowing it would not speed things up.

This was crazy. You always wondered what the residential building was like, and now that you’ve been invited in, you couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Part Four

Thank you so much for reading :) Comments, replies, questions, hello's are appreciated.

Taglist: @enchantedbarnes, @justab-eautifulmess

Find the other parts here.

[allthingskakashi]

• Bells and Balls •

[ Kakashi x Reader ]

Tags : NSFW, Smut

Words : 4.8k

A/n: I wrote over 4k words just to get some dick.

Okay sbsbajash idk I'd been working on this for like a whole week and i couldn't concentrate on anything unless i finished this lmao so here it is whatever, I can't drag this around anymore. Uhhh hope you like it I'm still not very good at writing smut im sorry. This takes place in the post Anbu and pre team 7 era and Kakashi’s a bit of an asshole but you know you still love him. This is also a little similar to my other fic ‘Yearning’ but here you get the s e x and i’m sorry if the characterization is bad, i put more focus on making it hot i guess ok ill shut up now i hope you like it

You give the sheet of paper in your hand one final glance, and look around the room. There’s a long line behind you and you’re surrounded by your fellow jounins, each here to submit their respective lists.

You were extremely happy with the performance of your team and didn’t have to think twice before passing them. You had no doubt that they would make wonderful shinobi. You looked forward to teaching and guiding them, and judging by the chatter around you, most other jounins had passed their teams too.

The trouble, however, remains with Kakashi Hatake.

A few weeks ago, you had all been named squad leaders and put in charge of a squad, and today was your very first day with your assigned teams. As instructed, each of you conducted a test for the genin and depending upon whether they passed or failed, the final list would be announced.

No one till date had ever passed Kakashi Hatake's infamous test, and everyone was sure that no one would this year either. Most genin trembled in fear of him, being aware of his strict methods.

And as it happens, at this moment, this infamous man is right in front you, standing with his back hunched forward as he hands his paper in to the woman behind the desk.

You wait for your turn, your eyes fixating on the red symbol on his vest as you wonder, ruefully, about the fate of the students he must have failed this time.

You take a step forward as he turns around, having submitted his paper, and the line moves up behind you.

Kakashi peeks briefly at your paper as he passes, letting out an audible scoff at the list in your hand before walking on ahead, hands tucked in his pockets.

You’re momentarily confused by this sudden act, but something is already starting to boil up inside you. You aren’t exactly known for being placid, nor for sitting by and allowing people to give you crap. Your eyebrows furrow as you hastily thrust your sheet onto the desk, before making your way to follow after him.

“Do you have a problem?” you call to his back as a few heads turn towards you.

He stops, taking his time turning back to look at you, half lidded eyes looking as indifferent as always.

His demeanour pushes you further to the edge and you take a few steps closer, craning your neck to meet his eyes, waiting for an answer.

“Well?”

He peers down at you unfazed, completely oblivious to the audience around you, as if they are not even there.

“You’re too soft”, he shrugs. “You don’t know how the shinobi world works” he says bluntly, piercing you with his unwavering gaze.

You glare back at him, your mouth twitching with the sled of retorts forming at the back of your tongue.

“Who gave you the right to—"

But he’s already turning away from you, your eyes meeting with the red symbol of his vest once again.

“Hey don’t you fucking walk away from me!” you yell, going forward to stop him, but he saunters on ahead without turning back; his scent lingering in the air as you stand there, watching his figure disappear slowly along the hallway, your fury seething inside you.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

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

 “Thank you! This is just what I needed.” you chime, digging into the hot bowl of ramen in front of you, your mouth salivating just at the look of it.

You take a big mouthful, revelling in the immediate burst of flavours on your tongue.

“Mmmm.” You moan, “You’ve outdone yourself, Ayame!”

The young girl smiles at you in delight, proceeding to serve you another helping.

You take another blissful bite, closing your eyes to relish the moment.

The streets are quiet around you except for the faint chirp of crickets, as is expected at this hour of the night. It must be past midnight by now, you’re not exactly sure.

You had been tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep. For some reason, the encounter with Kakashi from earlier today had you feeling bitter and edgy. You hated that he was in your head, you didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like you to be this bothered by some mindless comments from someone. You’d had altercations before, worse ones, but they were never enough to steal away your night’s sleep.

And yet, this time…

You had to do something to take the edge off, ideally punch him in the face, but since that was not the plausible choice, you settled for the next best thing. Going for a run and treating yourself to your favourite comfort food later.  

So here you are now, out at night all by yourself. The Ichiraku shop was still open, bless the lords.

You slurp some of the soup from the bowl and let out a loud smack of your lips.

You can feel your spirits lifting, and you’re glad for it. He wasn’t in your head after all, you were just having a bad day, that’s all.

You shift your focus back to the bowl in front of you, moaning and slurping as you go.

“Whoa there, Get a room.”

The sudden interruption of the familiar voice makes you stop cold.

Are you fucking kidding me?

You look up from your bowl, turning your head around to see none other than Kakashi Hatake, standing smug in all his glory.

The strange pang of bitterness is back in the depths of your stomach and you resist the urge to punch that smug look off his face.

“Ah, if it isn’t Kakashi Hatake, the all-knowing wisenheimer.” you say, your tone snide. “Say, don’t you have somewhere else to be? Some genin to fail?”

He comes around to take a seat on the stool beside you, a smirk evident through his mask, almost as if he’s enjoying this.

“I’ve already failed them” he smiles sweetly at you. “Worked up quite an appetite too.” He says, looking away from you to place his order.

You notice as Ayame notes his order down, the distinct shade of pink that tinges her cheeks as does, before turning away and disappearing into the supplies room at the back of the shop.

Ugh. What is with this guy? Why is it so….

You don’t realise you’re staring at him until he looks back at you, raising a questioning eyebrow. You supress your startlement at being caught, pretending as if you’d meant to be glaring at him.

“What the hell are you even doing out here so late?” you spurt, trying to sound irritated but it comes out sounding almost…concerned?

Thankfully, he doesn’t notice. “I could ask you the same.”

You look away, unwilling to answer. You were out here to get him out of your head, and now here you are, sitting beside him in a ramen shop while the entire village sleeps.

It almost feels like you’re the only two people in the world. The feeling makes something churn inside your stomach.

You dab your mouth with your napkin, before swivelling on the stool to face him. You look at him intently, studying his features. He stares back at you, as if waiting for you to say something.

“Why?” you ask, catching him off guard with it.

“Why what?”

“Why does no one pass your test? What’s so difficult about it?” you ask, gaze fixated on him. You expect him to look uncomfortable but he just shrugs.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious” you reply truthfully, watching him smirk at your answer.  

You hate it when he smirks, how his face looks when he’s being cocky.

Ugh.

He swivels in his chair now, turning his body towards you. “Is that so?”, he says through the smirk, resting his elbow on the counter and leaning in.

You don’t know why, but something about his tone and the way he leans in makes it difficult for you to breathe all of a sudden.

But you’re not one to be fazed.

“Yes” you reply, refusing to let yourself crumple under his gaze. Your voice comes out sounding hoarse, and you clear your throat.

He smirks wider at your reply and stretches the next words out.

“If you’re so curious…Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Your heart thuds like clapper clanging against a bell. You resist the urge to gulp.

Was it this hot when I left the house?

You clear your throat again. “I don’t have the time to take part in your stupid games”

The smirk is adamant on his lips, his gaze unnerving.

He breathes, “Do you not have the time…or do you not have the balls?”

His tone is challenging. Or inviting. Or both, you’re not really sure, you’re not thinking straight anymore.

Your jacket is too hot against your skin, you writhe beneath the thick material.

Sliding off the stool, you walk slowly towards him, erasing the space in between you bit by bit with each step, until your bodies are a few inches away from touching. Your eyes bore into each other’s as if in silent battle. It’s your turn to smirk now.

“Training Grounds in 20 mins” you whisper. Despite the hitch in your breath, your voice is clear. “Don’t be late.”

You walk past him without breaking your gaze, brushing your shoulder against his arm as you walk by, perhaps a little harder than necessary, leaving Kakashi to stare after you.

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

You sit on the damp grass with your back against a tree, waiting. Your jacket lies in a puddle beside you.

You count the weapons in your bag, you hadn’t exactly come out prepared for a fight tonight. Two kunai knives, that’s all.

Would that be enough to take down the copy ninja? You hope so. There’s no way you’re letting him win. It’s time someone taught him a lesson and you would love to be that someone. The nerve of him…to actually challenge you.

He really needs to get a life. But then, here you are too…

Why am I here? What am I even doing?

You close your eyes and tilt your head back against the hard bark, your eyebrows furrowing the way they always do when you’re deep in thought.

Back at the shop… the way he spoke…the look in his eyes— God, Stop. Stop it.

Who the fuck cares about the look in his eyes?

Not me.

It’s okay. I’m good.

We’re here to teach this asshole a lesson. An asshole, that’s what he is. Insufferable and stupid and smug and ridiculously ho— horrible. Ridiculously horrible.

You take a deep breath, opening your eyes and standing up so fast that it makes your head dizzy for a brief second. You start walking around, jerking your arms and legs, stretching your neck, even slapping yourself a few times on the face to make yourself focus.

Yes, I need to focus. The lack of sleep is getting to me.

You crouch down to tighten your shoelaces, before getting up and starting some stretching exercises. Gotta loosen the muscles, make sure you have full flexibility. After all, taking on Kakashi Hatake all by yourself is probably not going to be a piece of cake.

You look down to check your attire: running shorts and a tank top, not fully ideal but it’ll do.

You’re bent over, in the midst of doing rotating toe touches when your eyes fall upon a silhouette far ahead, nearing closer and closer. You pause, standing up straight with your hands on your hips as the figure walks slowly towards you, a faint jingling noise ringing through the air, as Kakashi finally comes near enough for you to make out his face in the dim light.

“Late as always” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

Kakashi stands a few feet away from you, holding something in one hand, other hand inside his pocket. He’s not wearing his jacket anymore either, you observe.

“Sorry, had to go get this” he says, holding up what looks like two small bells with strings attached.

You squint at it, coming closer to get a better look. “What the hell is that?”

“Bells”, he smiles. “That’s the test. You have to get these bells from me. You can use any attack you want but… since you’re not a genin, I’ll raise the stakes a little higher for you. You cannot use ninjutsu or genjustu. It has to be purely physical attacks. You have till dawn.”

This little fucker. He knows taijutsu is not my strong point.

But fine. If that’s how he wants to play this, so be it. I’m taking him down one way or another.

“Dawn?” you chuckle, fixing him with your gaze. “I don’t need till dawn” you sneer, coming forward with a kick aimed to his head. He blocks it just as you’re about to make contact, grasping your ankle in his strong hold.

“I didn’t say start yet” he says through a smirk, letting go of your foot.

You take a few steps backwards, glowering at him as he ties the bells to a loop on his trousers. They hang over his thighs with a jingle, silver metal glimmering in the moonlight.

He looks back up at you, eyes twinkling with an unusual sparkle.

There’s that look again…

“Go” he commands, his body tensing up into a defensive stance immediately, ready for you.

You fix your gaze on the shiny metal of your goal and hurl yourself forward, your arms meeting each other’s in blows and defences. You throw a few kicks to his stomach, making him tumble but not enough to knock him out.

You shift your stance, before directing another punch to his face; he deflects it, sniggering.

Okay okay okay, I’m not focusing. I need to focus.

You take a deep breath.

Kakashi stands waiting, his features emanating pure amusement.

You feel a restlessness brewing within you, a strange energy buzzing through your veins. You’d been itching to punch him in the face and now’s your chance.

You watch him, mentally calculating all your options. His silver hair shines like moonbeams in the dark.

FOCUS.

Drawing a kunai from your bag, you lunge forward, distracting him with a kick to the head as your kunai slashes through the air, just about to cut across the strings when— your hand is caught in his grasp, a ‘slap!’ cutting through the air as his palm clasps around your wrist.

He bores into you, your wrist held firmly in his hand as he turns you around swiftly, gripping both your wrists at the back.

You feel the muscles of his chest against your body as he comes closer, the metal bells hanging over his leg brushing against your fingertips behind you.

You wriggle your hands, trying to break free but it’s in vain. His grip is firm, slender fingers digging into your skin as he leans into your ears, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Not so fast” he whispers, his lips almost brushing the top of your ears.

The words send a shudder through your spine. You feel the black sky closing in on you, there’s a hum springing through your veins.

He loosens his grip as your hands fall, the kunai held limply in your hand. You turn around, your heart skipping a beat at how close he is to you. You feel your resolve weakening.

No.

No.

Stop.

Your hand flies to the collar of his shirt, the other hand holding the kunai to his throat as you push him backwards with your body, your eyes blazing into his.  

Keeping the kunai at his throat, you lower your other hand slowly, brushing it down his chest, his muscles taut under your hand. You trail your hand down along the line of his sternum, down the firmness of his stomach and further down, your fingers lightly caressing the bulge of his trousers before they almost make contact with the bells alongside, right there, just a flick away—

so close—

Before your wrist is caught in a sudden, fast clutch again.

His grip is much stronger this time, unyielding, hungry. Your bones ache beneath his hold.  

You watch something ignite in his eyes as his shoulders rise and fall in rhythm to your heaves. You suddenly realise how out of breath you are.

In the flash of a moment, Kakashi grips your kunai holding hand, holding it away from his throat as he pushes you, the weight of his body pressing onto yours as your feet scrape along the ground, stumbling backwards till your back slams against a tree, the force making your body jolt. The kunai slips from your hand.

His arms pin you defenceless against the tree, his gaze holding you hostage, burning through your skin.

The touch of his skin against yours feels alien. When was the last time you felt the warmth of someone’s skin? You cannot recall.

He’s so close to you, you cannot see anything beyond him.

In the dark, under the moonlight, the edges of his face look softened.

A wind passes by, the sound of rustling leaves filling through the silence. A volcano erupts within you.

Now.

You gulp. Up this close, you can make out the outline of his mouth.

Now.

Your lips press into Kakashi’s in a desperate lurch, your neck straining to meet him as far as his grip on you allows. Your heart explodes like firecrackers inside your chest as your tongue pushes against the cloth of his mask, demanding to be let in.

You feel his grip loosen around your wrists as the mask is off and he reciprocates, his lips on yours, his hand gripping your chin up as his tongue moves in fervent swirls inside your mouth.

A thousand questions swarm inside your head, buzzing but you’re not being controlled by your head anymore. You can feel the thud of his chest against your own.

He trails his hand down to your throat, holding you in place, other hand exploring every edge and curve of your body before it snakes down the waistband of your shorts, down the elastic of your underwear.

You gasp, arching your back as you feel the touch of his long fingers down there, moaning helplessly into his mouth as he rubs along your wet entrance in rapid strokes.

Your head is a dizzy mess of jumbled emotions as yearning overpowers your senses, your previous resolve weakening into a mushy puddle with every stroke and thrum of his fingers inside you.

He pulls away from your mouth to leave sloppy kisses down your neck, his tongue painting patterns along your skin as you catch a glimpse of his face and you see it— his face, glowing under the moonlight. And you realise.

He’s…beautiful.

An overwhelming ache breaks through your senses, creating a frenzied whirlwind of passion and agony in your mind. Your detestation for him crumbles into pieces underneath the weight of your desire, as you realise…

You don’t hate him.

You never did.

Not even close.

Not even a little bit.

Not even at all.

You pull his face up to meet your lips again, planting urgent kisses on his mouth as your hands tease the hem of his shirt. His fingers slip out of you and you can feel the wetness of your panties, soaked through with arousal.

“Kakashi…” you whisper in pleasure as he looms over you, your foreheads touching, out of breath and heaving with exhilaration. His eyes burn with the same passion that you feel inside.

“We can’t…shouldn’t…here…people...” you mutter in struggled breaths, as he plants another kiss to your lips, the sparks from it fogging your mind

“Since when do you care about people?” he whispers against your ear, his raspy voice enough to strip you off of all your remaining sense and judgement.

You pull his shirt over his head in one swift motion, throwing it to the ground beside as he follows, taking off your shirt and then unhooking your bra, tossing both away as his hands reach for you in hungry clutches.

His hands caress your breasts, pressing them and pulling on your hardened nipples, his mouth following soon after. His lips lock around them, sucking hard as you bury your face into his broad shoulders, biting lightly to keep yourself from screaming.

You sink your fingers into his hair, tugging softly as his mouth moves in a wet trail further down your body, strands of his hair tickling your stomach as he goes, his hands tugging your panties, sliding them down the curves of your hips.

Your heart thuds in your ears as Kakashi sits crouching in front of you, parting your legs. He looks up at you, as if asking for your permission, and you give it to him by pulling the back of his head closer between your legs.

He puts your right leg over his shoulder, spreading you for him, his other hand clutching the back of your left thigh as his mouth teases you down there.

The tip of his tongue flicks at your entrance, before it finds your weakest spot, and you feel your body shuddering, barely able to keep your balance.

You tug at his hair harder as his tongue moves skilfully inside you, fingers rubbing your swollen clit simultaneously. You feel every nerve ending in your body come alive as you moan out his name “K-Kakashi…” through trembling lips.

Your insides shudder and a deep moan forms at the back of your throat, threatening to escape as Kakashi puts his hand over your mouth, before pulling you down on top of him with a sudden tug.  

You come down with a thud on his thighs, your body jolting with the force as you watch him in front of you, the copy ninja… bare bodied and heaving in front of your eyes.

Who would have thought…

You straddle him, admiring his unclad torso, before pushing his shoulders down with your hands, making him lie back on the grass as you stoop over him. His eyes are fixated on you, pure pleasure making itself known on his face.

He really is beautiful.

You bend forward, your mouth exploring the smoothness of the skin on his chest, as a strange cold feeling down there distracts you.

You look down, squinting in the dark to find yourself sitting on two glimmering metal balls placed over his thigh.

The bells.

A thrill runs through your nerves as you smirk, glancing up at him.

He’s noticed it too.

His eyes return the same sparkle of mischief as yours as he lies still, waiting.

You press your hands down on his chest, locking your gaze with his as you position yourself over the bells, tilting your head back as you move back and forth over them.

The cold metal of the bells rubs against you, sending tremors through your entire body.

Your gaze at Kakashi again, watching him squirm at the sight of you, his hands twitching to feel your skin.

You keep your eyes on him as you slide down slightly on his thigh, tugging his trousers down as you go. Your hands find the base of his cock as you allow yourself to admire his throbbing length.

He leans his head back on the grass and you feel him getting harder in your hands.

Forming your hand into a fist around him, you move it up and down along his shaft in slow steady strokes, leaning down to bring your mouth closer to his tip, before swirling your tongue in circles around his skin.

His hips tremble as he clutches onto the grass, writhing.

Your lips clasp around his cock, mouth slurping up and down his length, taking your time sliding down to the base and back up, your hands following suit.

You tease him, switching between the tip of your tongue and your whole mouth, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

He quivers and you sit back up, bending forward over his face and pressing your lips on his. A groan from his mouth erupts inside yours as he clutches your hips.

His hands guide your hips back and forth over his length, your lips trembling as he slips into you, his cock finally inside you, pushing into you, filling you as deep as you can be filled.

A new rush of pleasure burns through your senses, your insides stretching as you move your hips around him, back and forth and then in circles.

“A-a-ah...mm…yeah…”, your muffled moans cut through the depths of the forest in the silence of the night.

Kakashi breathes your name, the eruption of your name from his lips enough to send you to a frenzy, filling your heart with drunken fervour.

You moan his name back in reply, hopping up and down on him as his arm snakes behind your waist and he flips you over in a sudden, swift movement, the weight of his body falling over you now.

You arch your back, pushing your hips up to meet his, unwilling to break away even for a second.

You want him so, so bad.

The pointy peaks of grass underneath poke your skin, your nails digging into his back as he nibbles on your neck, thrusting deep, deep into you.

You feel the familiar shudder from earlier again, your mind getting clouded with waves of pleasure coursing through you. Kakashi’s grunts quaver in your ear as you feel his hips jerk in tune to yours.

There’s a tantalizing jolt of ecstasy through your body as you scream out, your quivering voice matching his grunts as you both put a hand over the other’s mouth, your muffled moans melting into each other’s skin. He quivers inside you for a final time before you feel him slipping out of you, as hot wet cum trickles along the insides of your thighs, dripping into the dewy grass beneath.

Droplets of sweat from his hair drips down on you, tasting salty in your mouth. You heave together in exhaustion as he plops down on you, before rolling to the side.

You lie on your back panting, your entire body damp with sweat.

Languor threatens to take over you as you struggle to keep your eyes open, looking up into the night sky.

You see a firefly glowing above your head. You lift a lazy hand to reach it, but it flies away far above, becoming one with the twinkling stars in the sky.

Soft sounds of Kakashi’s breath echo beside you, his foot still touching yours lightly as the both of you lie heaving under the stars.

He turns his head to look at you and you can feel his eyes on you as you try, with all the fibres in your body, to not look back at him.

You know you won’t be able to hold yourself together any longer if you do.

He extends a hand towards you. “That was…”

“Sshhh… Shut up” you say in a slumberous whisper, moving closer into his arm, putting your own around him, your head buried into chest as you feel your eyes getting heavy…not able to stay awake anymore. You feel Kakashi envelope you in his arms, the warmth from his skin against the cold air lulling you to sleep, your mind becoming foggy as you close your eyes, slowly drifting off somewhere far, far away…

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

Your eyes open to the chirping of birds perched on the branches above, rays of morning light casting a rosy glow in the horizon.

You watch the half light in the distance, rubbing your eyes, smiling to yourself.

The night had taken with it the black clouds of denial fogging your mind, your heart is as clear as day now.

You turn your head just in time to see Kakashi opening his eyes, his eyes puffy, imprints of grass marking his soft cheek.

You smile at him as he looks at you, lips curled into a sleepy smile. “Good morning” he yawns, tapping over his mouth with his palm.

“I won.”

“Hmm?” he asks groggily, eyes still adjusting to the light.

You hold up the two small bells in front of him, they jingle over his face.

He chuckles. “I don’t think so. It’s past dawn”

“I took them off before. I won.”

He laughs again, his face lighting up in a way you’d never seen before. He looks even more beautiful in the daylight.

“In all fairness y/n, there are no losers here.”

You laugh along with him now, reaching across and smoothening the imprints on his cheek, keeping your hand there, cupping his cheek.

“So, I passed?” you ask, looking at him, inching closer.

He looks back at you, with the same look from earlier in his eyes.

But you’re not turning yourself blind to it anymore.

“Top of the class” he laughs, pulling you closer, nuzzling your nose with his before pressing his lips into yours.

Notes :-

Did I quote 10 Things I Hate About You on a Kakashi Smut?

Yes, yes i did.

[toosicktoocare]

Okay, I’m very much obsessed with the web comic “Batman: Wayne Family Adventures,” and I want to write little one-shots for it. 

If you’d like to see something written, drop a prompt in my inbox! 

Also found on AO3!

1: Better Than Dick Grayson

Jason’s beat by the time he guides his bike through an underground entrance to the Bat Cave. Patrol wasn’t hard – more annoying than anything else. There’s been an increase in copy-cat villains lurking the shadows of Crime Alley, all who can’t even follow through with a napkin-scribbled plan properly.

“Nice work tonight, Hood.”

Jason slips off his bike, boots heavy against the steel floor below him. He taps the comm nestled in his ear. “Thanks, O. Time to sign off? I’m sure you have an absolutely riveting day at the library tomorrow.” A cheeky smile plays at his lips as he slips his helmet off, huffing around a laugh at Barbara’s drawn-out sigh in his ear.

“I honestly don’t know why I help you every night.”

“Come on, O. You know you look forward to our quick-witted banter every day. That’s our thing – our trademark, if you will.” His smile widens when Barbara chuckles in his ear.

“You’re ridiculous, Hood.”

Jason slips into a changing room, grimacing as he cards his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “Please, O. You know you love me.” His suit is damp against him, an uncomfortable testament to just how much he’s done on patrol in the few hours he was out.

“Maybe a little.”  

Smirking, he shrugs his jacket off and reaches to the back of his neck, working his damp suit off until it’s hanging low at his waist. “You flirting with me, Babs? I’ll tattle to Dick.” He barks out a laugh at the low, impressive string of curse words that echo from his comm.

“I retract my previous statement. My tolerable feelings toward you stem from obligation alone.”

“Babs,” Jason whines, slamming a hand to his chest, “you wound me! Now I’m really going to tell Dick!”

“Well, you’re out of luck. He left for Bludhaven an hour ago.”

Jason pushes down on his suit until he’s stepping out of it, kicking it to the corner of the changing room with the notion that he’ll deal with it later. Tomorrow. He sighs – eventually.

“Detective Grayson summoned for an assignment?” He turns on his heel, snagging a towel that he drapes over his shoulders, using one corner to mop the sweat dripping from his hair.

“Something like that.”

Barbara’s voice goes soft on the other line, and Jason stops, frowning smally. “What’s up, Babs?”

“Damian and Bruce are still out, so I need to get back to them. Can you check in on Tim for me? Steph said he’s been quieter than usual all day.”

“Pump the kid up with coffee, then? I can do that.”

“Jason.”

Jason holds his hand’s up in mock defense out of habit, sighing between his teeth. “Fine, yes. I’ll follow in golden child Dick’s footsteps and take my role as the dutiful big brother.”

“Good. Also, I have that on recording now for the next time you try to sarcastically remove yourself from a family affair.”

“Barbara!”

“Later, Jason!”

There’s a crackle in Jason’s ear, and then the line goes dead. Rolling his eyes, he pulls the comm free, dropping it beside a large monitor in the cave before padding upstairs, eager to shower Crime Alley’s discount villains away.

He swings by Tim’s room first, finding him at his desk, eyes soft and cast toward the window. His expression is somber albeit a tad thoughtful, and Jason promptly pulls him out of whatever muted stupor he’s currently lost in.

“Well,” he starts, nudging the door open wider, eyes flicking to the textbook open at the desk. “You’re doing better than I did. Studying wasn’t really my forte.”

Tim twists around and cocks his head to the side. “You were a straight-A student.”

Scoffing, Jason drops against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Hey. I didn’t say I wasn’t smart.” He nods to the book. “And you’re essentially a boy genius, so do you really need to do that?”

“It’s a good distraction,” Tim sighs, turning back to the window and dropping his cheek against his fist.

“A distraction from what?” Jason’s eyes narrow into sharp slits, watching a small line of tension take to Tim’s shoulders.

“Dick left.”

Jason’s taken aback. Dick comes and goes all the time – they all do. He can’t imagine Tim will be here long, and he, himself, is only staying the night before he heads back to the safe house he’s been frequenting by himself in the morning. Now that he thinks of it, he’s sure he overheard Steph mentioning packing for a trip with Barbara in a few days.

“He’ll come back,” Jason responds, and Tim spins around in his desk chair with a sigh that’s far too long and heavy for a kid his age.

“I know that. It’s just,” Tim pauses, waving one hand around, “too quiet without him here.”

“That’s a bad thing?” Jason cocks a brow, and Tim huffs.

“You know what I mean – Dick’s all energy and smiles, and everything just feels better when he’s here. When we’re all here together.”

This, Jason thinks, is edging a delicate territory he’s not adept to handle. His vocabulary rivals Alfred’s, and yet, piecing together words into a sentence that’s both optimistic and comforting is not something he feels he’s capable of. Instead, he steps into the room, dropping his palm to Tim’s head, and the silence that follows is sharper than Bruce’s best batarang.

“Jason,” Tim finally mutters, voice flat.

“Is this comforting?”

“No, it’s weird.”

Jason rips his hand away, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips. “Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.” He turns toward the door, muscles faintly aching, his reminder that he really wants to shower and sleep. “Night, Timmy. Dick will come back soon.”

He opts not to look behind him lest he wants to feel a big-brother spark of guilt he’s just too exhausted to handle. Instead, he slips out of the room without so much of an over-the-shoulder glance.

---

Jason’s alarm starts softly from his phone, and he slams his hand against it with a low groan, trained to wake at the quietest of sounds. Outside, the sun’s not quite made it up and over the horizon, still casting the manor in a soft glow – a view that Dick swears by. Jason shuffles over to his window and takes in the view for roughly four seconds before he decides he’d rather see it through the visor of his bike’s helmet.

Still, before he can leave, he’s got one more thing he needs to do at the manor – a rather brilliant idea, if you ask him, he came up with in a sleep-ridden mind right before he conked out for the night.

He’s not Dick. He’s better than Dick.

He changes and perks an ear to the sounds down the hall, hearing the others waking. Once he hears Tim’s bedroom Keurig stop running, he acts, plastering a triple-watt smile to his face and storming out of his room.

“Ugh, Jason,” Cass mutters, rubbing her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Jason doesn’t respond, waiting, instead, for Tim to open his bedroom door, and the moment he does, Jason sucks in a long, swelling breath.

“Good morning!” He shouts, dragging out each word, making his voice as loud as possible, a bright bellow that sinks into every crevice of the manor.

Beside him, Cass cups both hands over her ears, and Damian merely turns back into his room, slamming the door behind him. Duke can’t get to his phone fast enough, and Tim promptly jumps out of his skin, his coffee splashing from his mug to burn against his hand and stain the floor. There are footsteps pounding up the stairs, and Jason smiles even wider, his cheeks stretched and tight, and he sucks in another large breath.

“Jason, what the hell—”

Jason cartwheels down the hall, narrowly avoiding a puddle of coffee to stop upright before Tim. He ruffles Tim’s hair, his forced smile fading to something softer, more genuine. “Morning, Timmers!”

“What in the world is going on?”

Bruce is breathless at the end of the hall, and Alfred’s trying, and horribly failing, to hide a laugh behind a cough.

“I’m telling my family good morning,” Jason shouts, arms outstretched. He offers Tim a wink and leans in close. “Grayson’s got nothing on me,” he whispers, tone devious, before he presses a kiss to Tim’s cheek and claps a hand to Tim’s shoulder.

When he pulls away, he slips past Bruce and Alfred, maneuvering around them with a practiced grace that could rival Dick Grayson. “Something smells incredible down here!” He adds from the stairs.

“Oh, Dick’s going to love this,” Duke mutters, ending the video recording on his phone.

“Should I call Leslie?” Bruce asks, worried, his attention torn between the startled and amused faces before him, and the echoing sound of Jason singing Broadway showtunes from the kitchen downstairs.

Tim looks down to his coffee mug, his hand faintly burning and sticky, and he smiles warmly. “Nah, Jason’s fine.”