#Nah that edible was horrible

[mukeovernetflix]

...

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

wibta if i keep having sex with my friends dad? nsfw warning

i (20s cismale) got invited by my friend (20s nonbinary) to try out some new edibles they made last thursday. this isnt too weird because both of us are unemployed (they get disability, i get money from unemployment, and we both live with our parents) and usually during the day their dad (50s cismale) is at work so we get the house to ourselves. well last thursday was different because i came over late in the night when their dad was home, and he offered to make me some dinner too. i get the munchies really bad so i was immediately like yes please and thank you while i fucked off to my friends room. we played some smash bros while we waited for the cookies to kick in, and when it started to hit his dad called us both out for dinner. dinner was great, and his dad is super chill — so he let us raid his alcohol cabinet. i dont think he knew either of us were stoned for the record (im naturally really quiet/dont make eye contact, my friend sounds high 24/7 naturally) so i dont think he was like trying to get anyone drunk or anything. my tolerance is pretty good but my friends is shit so it didnt take long until they were like blackout drunk and passing out on the couch, while their dad and i were both drunk too (not blackout but pretty drunk, and i was still high) and sitting on the opposite side of the couch next to eachother

important fact about me - i crossdress like femboys or whatever theyre called. i like looking really feminine and cute and confusing people. im not trans or anything like that gender is just a game and i am winning it. but i do tend to dress up in very egirl/goth gf clothes if you know what i mean, and i look pretty convincing ive been told (friend tells me i would pass for ciswoman with the makeup on). i think their dad maybe forgot that i was me (he usually sees me in boy clothes) and he started hitting on me? i didnt think i was gay or bi either until he started doing it and i got really flustered but i didnt stop him? again i was fucked up so the attention felt really nice despite it being my friends dad. but anyways he kept getting closer until he kissed me, and it felt nice so i let it keep going? which was probably super fucked up in retrospect. but anyways stuff gets hot and steamy, their dad doesnt bother lifting up my skirt, one thing leads to another and we have sex. he definitely noticed im not a girl during that (its pretty hard to miss lol) but he didnt stop so we kept going for a while

after we were done he and i passed out on the couch in a kind of awkward position, we both woke up in the morning and i think thats when he realized im me, but he didnt seem to freak out even though hes straight?? or at least i thought he was straight. but we had sex again in the morning and then when my friend woke up we all had breakfast and i went back to my friends room and we hung out more and got high again. while we were though i accidentally spilled the beans to my friend, and they FREAKED out on me and said that i was so gross for doing that, and they cant believe that it happened, stuff like that. they kicked me out of their room and their dad had to drive me home because i was shaking bad from it. but while their dad drove me home i was super pissed and mad and not thinking straight (haha) and so i tried to convince their dad to take a detour so we could fuck again. and he was like, okay sure, so we did?? but now i feel horrible for doing it knowing that it grossed my friend out so much, but i really like their dad and he seems to like me too, and i want to keep banging him :(

What are these acronyms?

[communistkenobi]

its hypocritical of me to be like “dont let stupid shit on the internet get to you” and send you an ask doing exactly that, you just have (god forbid) critical thinking skills and idk ig i just needed the reassurance that idiots making good points for horrible reasons werent invalidating the justified arguments against academia (especially since u work in it). sorry for reading too much into vent posts ✌️

oh Nah ur good monarch. It is good to occasionally get “bro please consider logging off” messages from well meaning people. I appreciate the reality check I’m gonna go take an edible and play god of war love and light <3

[lovemesomesurveys]

1. What is something in your life that you feel hopeful about right now? Well, I finally tried edibles to see if it helps my anxiety at all, as well as my insomnia, appetite, and pain. I’ve had horrible anxiety, more so than ever, this past year and the medications my doctor would allow weren’t working. I was feeling really hopeless and scared. The only thing that did seem to help was my pain med, which of course isn’t its intended purpose but I was taking it for that as well, which wasn’t good. I finally decided to give edibles a try with the hope of course of it actually helping me and to also take less pills. 

2. What was the last thing you worried about that turned out better than expected? Well, I’ve been trying this new regimen for the past week now and figuring out the right dosages and how many a day and  so far it is working. I have definitely cut back on the pills, which is really good. 

3. Name somewhere you are planning on visiting in the near future? I sadly have no travel plans. I’m hoping perhaps my new “medication” will help me feel motivated and have the desire to want to get up out of bed more and perhaps at least take a drive to the beach and park as close as we can so I can enjoy it from the car. I’d take that over nothing right now. I really miss the beach. :( Like I said, though, I’m still playing around with the correct amount and what type I take for what. I need a mood lifter kind. While it has helped some of my issues, it also makes me really tired and have zero energy which is not helpful if I want to go somewhere.

4. How often do you go grocery shopping and how much food do you usually get in one go? My mom goes twice a month for our big grocery trips. We get a lot of stuff.

5. What is a meal you eat extremely often? Or do your meals & food choices vary a lot? I have cream of wheat for breakfast, Taco Bell at least 4-5 times a week, and I have a sandwich for lunch just about everyday. I have pizza fairly often, too. It’s so wild how my appetite has changed since being home from the hospital because prior to I ate a lot of chicken, particularly chicken wings. I had that all the time before and now it’s rare for me to get chicken wings or chicken strips. I don’t know why.

6. When was the last time you felt unable or unwilling to speak your mind to someone? That’s kinda just how I am for the most part. I’d like to speak up to a couple people, but I just want to cause any drama or hurt anyone’s feelings. I just imagine the conversation going completely wrong and everything getting twisted. I won’t be able to say what I want to say in the right way. I’m getting hurt, too, but it’s best I just don’t say anything.

7. What was the last thing you changed your mind about? I don’t recall.

8. Who was the last friend you saw, and what did you do together? I don’t have any friends.

9. Who tends to show up in your dreams? Do you ever wonder if you appear in anyone else's dreams? I always have random people pop up in my dreams for some reason. Like people I know, but I’m talking like for example this kid I went to elementary and middle school with. We weren’t friends, but acquaintances. I didn’t have a crush on him or anything either. Sooo, I really have no idea why he’s the one to pop up on my dreams randomly. 

10. What is something you wish you could say to someone who is no longer in your life, or something you wish they could know? I sometimes wish I could talk to Ty again and tell him some things, but I guess at this point it really doesn’t matter.

11. Instead of flat earth, what do you think of the simulated earth theory, that we're basically all just a giant computer program or virtual reality? Nah.

12. What worries you most about your future? I’m truly afraid of getting worse or never getting much better. I’m afraid of living a life mainly stuck in bed or at home. I’m afraid I won’t be able to travel again or go places. My future terrifies me.

13. What is something you do to feel better when you're scared? I have to just try to distract myself somehow. 14. Who do you feel you can count on the most in life? Is there anyone you wish you could count on more? My mom, 100%. I know I always can.

15. What makes you trust someone? When was the last time someone broke your trust? It’s usually just unless I have a reason or feeling that I shouldn’t. You just kind of vibe with someone and gauge how comfortable you feel and how much you want to share. 

16. When was the last time you shared a secret with someone, and how did they react? I don’t recall. 

17. Are you more likely to give advice or to ask for it? I used to be the one friends came to for advice all the time, but I’m certainly in no place to be giving advice to anyone right now. I also don’t ask for it generally. Very rarely. I keep a lot of shit to myself. 

18. When was the last time you felt totally lost, figuratively speaking? How about literally? >> I constantly feel lost, figuratively speaking. I almost never feel lost, literally speaking. <<<

19. In what ways are you emotionally strong? In what ways are you emotionally weak? I feel extremely weak emotionally. And physically.

20. What is the strangest book you have ever read? How did you find out about it? One of them that randomly came to mind is “The Giver.”

21. Do you prefer to watch movies or tv alone or with other people? Is there anything you refuse to watch alone? I much prefer watching with others. My mom, brother, and I have several shows we watch together. I find it fun to have someone to react and obsess with. 

22. What was the last thing you broke? How about fixed? I don’t recall.

23. Is there a sign or symbol that means a lot to you for whatever reason (eg. seeing certain animals or birds, 11:11 or other repeating numbers, syncs, butterflies, hearts in nature, etc)? My favorite number since I was a kid has been 8. That number comes up a lot in my life, too. The number 9 does as well. I don’t know what it means, if anything, but it’s interesting. 

24. Do you have any personal ghost stories or paranormal experiences? No.

25. What do you get complimented on the most? Ha, nothing anymore. I’m a mess. 

26. What is something unusual that you find attractive? I find hands attractive, but I think that’s not so unusual or uncommon. I can’t think of anything that would be “unusual.”

27. What time do you tend to eat your first meal of the day? And your last? I tend to eat around 11 or 12PM and my last meal around 8. 

28. What was the subject of the last video you watched? I’m watching a YouTuber that does a lot of videos on abandoned places and companies that went bankrupt and/or closed down. The one I’m watching now is about Bed, Bath, & Beyond. 

29. When was the last time you traveled out of town, and where to? Over a year ago to the beach. 

30. How would you describe your overall aesthetic? I don’t know, man.

[survey--s]

541.

How did it feel outside today? Really humid - it’s horrible. It rained this morning but made absolutely no difference lol. We’re due storms later though so fingers crossed this weather breaks as it’s been so sticky this week.

Are there any animals in the room with you? Yeah, Purrlock is asleep under the table. The others are upstairs.

How did you spend yesterday afternoon? Doing as little as possible lol. I mostly watched Friends and messed around online, then when my new laptop arrived I set that up and went on there.

Are any of your siblings taller than you? I don’t have any siblings.

Name a song that reminds you of a past relationship: Lips of an Angel by Hinder.

When did you last have a nightmare? I honestly don’t remember - I very rarely have true nightmares, just really bizarre but realistic dreams.

What's the goriest thing you've ever seen? Nothing too gory, thankfully. I don’t really “do” blood.

Have you or do you attend pep rallies regularly? Nah, they’re not a thing over here.

Have you ever seen a building on fire in real life? No, thankfully not. Fire really terrifies me.

Have you kissed anyone and their first name started with an F, D, or L?  Yeah, a D and an L.

Have you ever been in therapy for anything? Yeah, I was in therapy for generalised anxiety when I was a student.

Do you think clowns are creepy? Yep - especially the make-up.

If you had to write an essay about a popular song... what would that song be? Imagine by John Lennon.

When did you last have some fruit? Yesterday, unless you count juice. I had OJ with breakfast.

What's something you have to look forward to? I have next weekend free as well which is nothing short of a miracle for me lol.

Is there any part of your sexual/romantic history that you have not told your current significant other about or that you will not tell future partners about? Yeah, just because it’s never come up rather than because I’ve kept it as any kind of secret.

Have you ever developed feelings for someone whose sexual orientation was incompatible with yours? Not true feelings, no.

How many relationships have you been in that actually got sexual? Uh, a fair few? I don’t know, I don’t really keep track of that kind of thing.

Who performs the most random acts of kindness out of everyone you know? Susie, for sure. To the point that I feel bad sometimes, hah.

Are any of your pets “overweight”? Purrlock definitely is - the vet describes him as “a lot of cat” hahah. He’s just lazy and loves his food.

Who’s the most romantic person you ever went out with? My husband.

Last person to tell you that you smell good? My mum, ha.

Last person you told that they smell good? The dog LOL.

What shows do you watch? Mostly just repeats of old shows - lately it’s been Friends, Below Deck, Friday Night Dinner, The Big Bang Theory and a bunch of nature documentaries.

Is there anything you are craving right now? Nah, I just finished lunch.

Think back to the last person you kissed, how many times have you laughed with them? Millions of times.

What are five Halloween costumes that you’d like to wear in the future? Zero. I hate any form of dressing up or costumes lol.

Who did you have your first kiss with? Do you remember what color his/her eyes were? Jimmi had dark brown eyes.

Whose Facebook timeline did you post on most recently? I don’t remember.

Have you ever had a restaurant dish that was made with bugs? If not, would you even want to try one? No. I’d probably try them if they were disguised and not like, whole on the plate. Insects are probably going to be a huge part of our diets in the future, like it or not.

Which edible flowers have you tasted? I can’t remember off the top of my head, but quite a few.

Who was the last non-relative woman you spoke to in person? The Tesco delivery driver.

What was the last video you added to your favorites on YouTube? I don’t remember. I don’t think I’ve added any, to be honest.

Who was the last person that apologized to you? Suzanne for being unwell? I have no idea why she felt the need to say sorry for that, but there you go lol.

What comes to mind when you think of pregnancy? Ew.

Do you prefer bar or liquid soap? Liquid for sure.

Do any of your family members have an upcoming birthday? My dad’s birthday is next week.

What is your favorite flavor of Jolly Ranchers? We don’t have those here.

Is your favorite animal endangered? Yeah, tigers are very endangered sadly. Penguins aren’t though, luckily.

Are you better at writing fiction or non-fiction? Fiction.

Have you ever dated someone one grade/year above or below you? Yes to both.

What is the middle name of the last person you texted? He doesn’t have a middle name.

Have you ever come close to drowning? No.

So… remember Girl Scout cookies? Any favorites you had/have? We don’t have those over here.

Why did you ignore the last person you ignored? Because he was trying to wind me up (on purpose).

Which cartoon character would you want to keep as a pet? Snoopy!

Do you like chocolate milk? No, I’m not really a huge fan of flavoured milk.

What is something you hate, but wish you loved? Hiking and more outdoorsy activities.

What’s the cutest thing your S/O does, but denies it’s cute in any way? Cuddles with all the animals - he claims he doesn’t like them but the way he treats them TOTALLY proves otherwise lol.

Who have you hugged in the past month? Mike, my mum, Susie - I think that’s it. I’m not really a big hugger.

Last bad news you heard? My FIL’s brother died a few weeks ago.

Have you ever dined alone at a restaurant? Not a full-on meal but I’ve sat down and had coffee/cake etc. alone.

Have you seen a baby being born in real life? NOPE. No thank you.

Do any of your exes know each other? Yeah, everyone in my old town knew each other pretty much, lol.

What’s an opinion you find impossible to take seriously? Anti-vaxxers.

Have you ever changed in front of the last person you kissed? Sure, we’re married and have been together almost seven years at this point.

Do you have any goats? No but a client of mine has two pygmy goats and they are SO cute. I always go into see them and they give me cuddles, haha.

Do you hang out with your sibling’s friends? I don’t have any siblings.

Have you experienced any severe side effects of medications? Yeah, the pill gave me horrendous mood swings to the point I ended up in tears  most days. I also got some grim side effects when I was getting used to sertraline.

On Facebook, do you have people listed as your siblings who aren’t really your siblings? No.

Have you lost any close family members to cancer? My granddad died of prostate cancer but he was in his nineties at the time so they couldn’t treat it.

Do you know anyone who doesn’t have a middle name? Yeah, Mike doesn’t have one.

How often do you check your emails? Whenever they come in. A messy/full inbox would really stress me out haha.

Would you want your kids to have your hair color? I don’t want kids.

Have you ever had a big YouTuber reply to a comment you left on their video? On Instagram yeah, and I’ve had a few responses on Twitter and stuff too.

Have you ever given a lap dance? Hahah no, I wouldn’t be able to do that and keep a straight face.

[phyllitta]

Had to share because I'm sure other people do this.

Story time beeeeeezeeeeeee....s.

All my life I've had dogs. We lived out in the country, and my first companion was a mutty golden retriever.

Throughout life, I've been blessed with dogs just happening across my path, and more often than not, they end up with me.

Now, last year, we lost both of our dogs. They were both runts, both about to be dumped in a shelter, but somehow ended up in our home when my husband and I just got married. We definitely weren't ready for animals, but I had to keep them. Which is a big deal considering how life changing owning animals can be.

So, as you can imagine, it was a depressing and horrible shock for both my husband and I to lose both of our animals of 15 years.

But after a year of grieving, we're thinking about getting another dog.

Now, it was just a thought, kinda me putting it out there in the universe, but once I gave that thought life, everyone and their mama began to offer dozens of dogs with exorbitant price tags.

Now here's the rub...

It's funny that I get looked at strangely, or told I'm being cheap, or better yet, not a real dog mom, once I say,

"I've found the best dogs just due to happenstance, not cash. I've found the most loyal and reliable dogs when I least expected it, and I'm going to continue doing so. So, no, but thank you for the $500 offer."

Like am I being a dumbass?

People tell me cats choose their roommates. Well, in my life, my dogs have done the same.

They were literally homeless, not in a shelter but on the street, or they were about to be dumped at a high rate kill shelter.

Literally happenstance, dude, and probably the fact I'm a big pushover for dogs.

You're seriously shaming me because I'd rather not pay a bagillion dollars for a dog that might be pure, or come from a great line, or bred for loyalty, or bred....

I'm like, broooo, you're selling puppies from your 2 bedroom home with a concrete deck as a backyard, like drugs out of a car.

Nah, I'm good.

I have nothing against dog breeding, per se. No, I do, I just don't wanna argue with people cause yall love/live to argue here, but that's not what I'm trying to convey here.

I live in a rural area, people dump dogs, cats, birds...

People are even dumping parakeets out here, and they're mating with the sparrows. Say it ain't possible, argue, dont care, but they're here. Because now some of our sparrows out here have blue bellies, green heads, purple feathers. There are so many in fact that I called animal control and were told by them that they are aware. We see keets all the time and actually caught a live keet out here in my pine tree and gave it a home for a while before turning it over to a bird shelter.

Like it's your typical rural town where big city dwellers come dump animals.

But yet I'm the asshole cause I don't wanna pay 500 bucks for a puppy?

Yeah, that's my story/rant/huh/seriously/thought of the day.

P.S.

That edible really wanted me to get this out apparently.

[lime-gutz]

Sup! I was wondering if I could get some hcs of the mercs trying to take care of a high reader? I'm completely cooked now and just wanted to ask ( no need to do it if you don't want to) take care and stay hydrated

This is. Absolutely the best ask I have ever received ever.

No specification for anything romantic so these will be general hcs! I will also being adding the 1-10 scale based on how helpful I think they would really be lmao, also!! Hope you're doing alright!

Hcs under the cut:

Engineer:

He'll do his best to help you with whatever it is you're needing! He's not at your beck and call of course, he's usually running around the place for his own projects but he does his best to help you when he finds the time to! Such as if you're experiencing cotton mouth he's there to toss you a bottled water or just a drink in general to help with it.

That doesn't at all mean he won't find you and your mannerisms funny when you're high though. Your delayed responses to questions or actions, he thinks you're absolutely hilarious when you give a really funny answer back to someone in your high state. He just thinks you're a hoot! He teases you about the things you say and do sometimes when you're no longer high but not in a cruel way to mock you, just in a fun way.

8/10

Pyro:

Pyro I don't think helps much with anything actually. They don't totally understand the concept of what being high means??? They kinda just interpret that being high means you're more fun and funny in their eyes if I'm being honest.

Likes the silly things you do and tries to participate with you, but overall not at all very helpful in the taking care of you part.

0/10

Scout:

Also not super helpful but isn't like. Horrible I guess you could say at the very least.

Would most likely ask you for some too, he definitely hasn't ever smoked/has eaten edibles at all but..you know. To satisfy his curiosities he'd ask you for some too.

The most he'll do for you is toss you a bottled water and if he can stand to be patient enough, will take you to your room if asked but that's about it. Otherwise he'll just never let you live down the things you say and do while you're high.

4.5/10

Soldier:

"WEED IS UNCONSTITUTIONAL MAGGOT!!!" [Fucking kills you]

You ask him to help you and he ends up just ending you.

I would say I'm kidding but. This is also Soldier so like I'm. Half joking GRGSGHAHHAH

But uh half jokes aside, Not at all helpful to you in the least bit. He's kinda??? Like Pyro in a way where he doesn't completely grasp the concept of getting high other than the fact that. You get high, and he just views that as you getting high on the job I guess you could say.

-1/10

Spy:

Also!! Useless!!

He doesn't really help you much at all, he's not a weed smoker himself as he prefers lung cancer (cigarettes), but obviously it's not his personal business if someone smokes weed or not nor does he care if you don't, he ain't gonna stop you it's literally not gonna effect him in anyway ya know?

But in terms of being helpful? Nope, notta, zip. He'd probably say that you smell funny right to your face and then promptly just walk away. He also finds your antics while being high a bit amusing if he had stuck around long enough to witness you.

0/10

Medic:

Ah. He's been to college once. He knows what to do.

You'd think it would be surprising to know that Medic has indeed gotten high before but, as a personal hc, nah I wouldn't be. I mean, dude loves experimentation I literally wouldn't doubt if given the opportunity back in college a friend had offered him some he wouldn't have hesitated to try it.

So! Skipping past his own embarrassing experiences when high he most definitely knows how to take care of you. Doesn't mean he's happy about it though.

He'd probably would chastise you the whole time about how he could be doing something more important but noooo he has to the time away from other things to focus on his high as the heavens teammate. But, he's a doctor, a doctor with experience of being high himself back in the day and so he does know what he's doing.

10/10, only downside is his complaining and grumbling about it...slightly amused at the situation although he won't admit that.

Demoman:

OH HO NO HE IS. DEFINITELY NO HELP, IN FACT HE MADE IT WORSE.

So he had offered you beer as a solution to your cotton mouth maybe. Big mistake oh god oh no oh man. Without getting into the nitty gritty, you got cross faded as fuck as you weren't watching your alcohol consumption as you were focused on getting rid of your cotton mouth.

Yeah let's just you had to be taken to the Medbay to be treated by Medic.

-10/10

Sniper:

He is a weed user himself! He's a socially anxious man and getting a bit high just calms his nerves considerably. Doesn't do it when in battle of course, can't have him high when battling, that's not very professional but he does do it off field.

So from having daily personal experience, he knows what to do and while he isn't a people person he sticks around for a bit to help you out with things you need until your high passes.

10/10

Heavy:

"...You should come sit down."

Although he doesn't have personal experience with getting high, seeing your poor cognitive abilities at the moment had him just a wee bit worried you might fall over and insists you should lay yourself in your bed or have a seat, preferably with him or with someone else just so you can be supervised.

He finds your antics a bit amusing and does get up up get you some water or a snack considering he is admittedly worried about you getting up.

10/10, he does his best to take care of you without completely babying you as you're an adult who can make the decision of getting high and he won't stop you.

[blonde-toddy]

Random and Not So Random thoughts while watching Bridgerton: Season 1, Episode 8

So the finale is here.

And baby do we need some resolutions.

This one is titled "After the Rain"

I hope that's a good thing.

Couples montage then lonely Violet. She was blissfully in love with her husband, that's for sure. 8 facking kids worth.

Yes Simon and Daphne are a love match....but they are ripping my heart out right now.

Why are they being so cold?!?!

Way to reference the ruse Daphne. Ugh.

I'm glad that King Granville is here.

Yes push those assholes together.

That shoulder touch. See, irresistible. They are all about each other.

The very picture of devotion, indeed.

Benny and Eloise!!!!

She's wearimg that ugly neck thing again.

No Benny, she thinks Delacroix is Whistledown.

What?!?! Francesca is coming back.

Oh Marina you still pregnant.

Now you shipping Penelope and Colin. That's not weird or anything seeing as you were ready to trap his ass.

Something is amiss!

For Violet to be so wise with her sons, she's awfully thick when it comes to Daphne. I just don't understand.

Daphne is done done done with Violets advice.

I ain't mad at her.

Aww Portia is trying to finesse her way back in. Violet can't stand her.....

Okay Daphne! Let's just hand out all kinds of forgiveness today.

Oh shit. Sir Crane!

Daphne and Portia are GONE!

Ooooh her beloved is dead dead dead.

Yeah girllllllll. All that time you thought he abandoned you. And he was at war.....shit.

What a pill.

I'm glad Daphne has some kind of friend.

Daphne and Marinas storylines are kind of bizarrely parallel.

Jesus Eloise, wtf!

Awww she's trying to save her friend.

I don't think Delacroix is Whistledown.

Oh this is so uncomfortable.....Benny on the low shit.

That shoulder shrug was cute.

"Lock. The door "

Where you going Daphne....what you doing?

Your Graces.

Awww Daphne is still trying.

Damn Simon if she deserves it, step up and give it to her.

Will and Alice ❤

Aw shit Will took Featheringtons bait.

This can't be good.

The deed to the crib?!

This man is out of his mf mind.

Stop it with Anthony and Sienna already!

Simon knows Will is up to something..........

Oh shit he's still there.

Marina you better marry him.

You a damn fool.

Good luck.....you're missing tf out I think.

Right, Portia, right.

Oh she definitely still pregnant.

What are you looking for Daphne?

Ooooh she found the letters he wrote to his father.

And she's reading the mfs.

Oh man.

Yeah girl. It's fucking awful.

Here we go again with hoe ass Anthony.

Under the bleachers. Okay you freaks.

And Will throws the fight.

Featherington is so full of shit and those bookies know he played them. That is going to go horribly. I guaranfuckingtee it.

Simon knows whats up....but he's in no position to judge ANYBODY right now.

Daphne getting serious insight.

I appreciate the relationship between Daphne and Lady Danbury.

She needs someone to be straight with her.

She's giving that mother-in-law type advice and I love it.

You really out here judging him Simon.

Will fucked up but he's still right! Worry about your wife and your life! What's this really about?!

Oh Portia...don't get too excited.

That shits coming back around.

Breakfast together. Is this progress?

Daphne has a peace about her.

She ain't giving up on her man.

To Bridgerton House they go to see Dear Francesca.

Simon is so charming. He is duplicitous af!

Suddenly everyone is just cool with everything. Okay.

Must be the edibles.

Yes girl, look at your hot husband. He is impressive.

Um. Eloise. I think you're wrong boo.

Everybody doesn't have the advantages you have homie! I'm glad Penelope checks her when she gets on that high horse.

Simon with the kiddos just laying it on thick for my girl Daph. Teasing the fuck out of her.

Even Anthony looks all proud and shit.

Delacroix still finds away to shade Portia and it's hilarious.

He lost her mf dowry.

Yes Marina. The bun is still in the oven.

Hastings house is lavish af!

Gawd that picture.

This is not the end. No. No. No.

I share in the doctors exasperation.

Idk what the fuck has happened to Anthony to turn him on his head like this.

Ok mf! You know what, take Sienna to the ball.

Finally giving her the love she deserves from you.

Oh look at these assholes looking at themselves.

"You wound me."

She's light roasting him again and it's lovely.

Come on my babies. Get it together. Y'all are precious.

Also if I ever marry, I want a regal ass portrait like that.

She wants to dance with her man. Same, girl. I want to, and I want you to, too.

Oh we have classic bantering Simon and Daphne.

Come. On. Already.

Fix it.

Fuck....the way they look at each other.

Welp. Party time.

Noooo not one LAST dance.

Ok Will flexed for his baby.

Simon still looking all judgy. Man you better get your own house in order.

Eloise is a living doll, but she's not here for the fellas just yet....or maybe ladies. Or maybe nothing at all. We'll see with her. Just not yet.

I appreciate the evolution of her and Daphnes relationship.

Aww Mr. Finch.

Portia flexing. "The Duchess extended an invitation, personally." She made sure they knew how connected she was.

They're still roasting her wack ass husband though. But fuck him.

Yep he's fucked.

Wtf does Benny do at these balls?

Awe Colin and Penelope.

Penelope bout to confess.

Well Colin killed that. Like dead in the water.

Ya boy is going to Greece.

Sorry Pen. The confession must wait.

Shes devastated. Hell nah she ain't dancing.

Oh Eloise...now is not the time.

Eloise got all that tea!!!!

Hold up this footman looks cheeky. More of him maybe.

Anthony bout to scoop his lady......SIKE.

Sienna pitting an end to this shit.

Anthony you've let her down one too many times.

And Sienna apparently has no desire to put on airs.

Are you sorry though?

And wtf do you do now?

Toss the flowers. Check.

Aww she saved Whistledown.

What a peach.

Come on assholes. Look at y'all looking at each other.

And he still plans on leaving.

Lady Danbury out here dropping wisdom. Listen, Simon, listen!

I honestly do think it's different for them. I think it's different for everyone.

Oh Daphne, Violet is dropping hot ones this time.

What a fucking pep talk.

And now they dance!!!!!

Its that slo-mo smoldering stare for me.

More rain?!

Daphne letting that shit wash her worries away. Go girl.

I mean y'all are cute but this is Daphne and Simons moment.

Cheers to the cane of Lady Danbury.

Danbury put everyone out. Her matchmaking and scheming never end.

At least Simon stayed in the rain with her.

Look at them.....

She told him bout the letters!!!!

Idk man. This love confession is on par with "I burn for you."

She wants to stay with you and love you every day. Man you have a rider. Y'all have dragged each other through the shits. Y'all need this rain.

But there's this lovely thing called a choice.

You really just gonna let her walk away this time and NOT follow her?!

Fucking hell.

Meanwhile at Featherington house.

Oh fuck.

Lord Featherington is dead. I knew that shit was going to blow up.

Fuck. Poor Portia.

Daphne just chilling.

Oh. Ok. Here comes the Duke.

Oh come on Simon. Yes you do. You know EXACTLY what to do.

Nothing else matters when y'all tangled up in them sheets.

They are just so tender!

Yes! Take it to the bed.

Daphne kissing on Simons neck and wanting to give him pleasure and affection >>>>>>>>

A million times over. Its fucking hot. Look at her honing her skillset.

Ride the mf girl!

Ok then! Flip that ass!!!

Out here long stroking the fuck out of her. Got dang.

Oh now you bout to hit that ecstacy.

Is a "congratulations" or "good job" in order?

These beautiful assholes!!!!

I just love them.

All this build up for Simon to ejaculate inside Daphne....but so worth it.

Awww poor Penelope.....

Eloise is convinced Whistledown is Delacroix.

I do love Portia.

Her and Marina grew to an understanding I think.

Marina girl, I think you're making a wise choice marrying your baby daddys brother. Just saying.

Who tf inheriting the Featherington Estate? And have we met them?

Hyacinth is forever in my heart.

Simon and Daphne got that glowwwwww.

Awwe Anthony is all broken up over Sienna.

Ahh yes Anthony, a loving union is the problem. I'm ready for your drama Hoe.

Aha! I knew Delacroix wasn't Whistledown.

Ooooh Eloise!

And you saved her ass.

Really?!?! Pen?!

I can see it a bit.

Aww Daphne is having a baby!!! She got her wish!!!

Simon looks equal parts terrified and amazed.

Aw yall keeping the alphabetical name tradition. How fucking cute.

But you know what, I'm here for it and I find myself satisfied.

And also thirsty!

That's why I went right back and started the series right over again. Yes I did. And I'm proud of that.

Now I will start the books and obsess about season 2.

What a beautiful much needled ride during these times. I feel alive again.

[unwhithered]

Amy Musketeers characters + 32. "Make a wish"? <3

Athos isn’t particularly subtle about sneaking up behind him - it’s hard to be sneaky when you’re sixteen and growing so fast that the length of your limbs changes from one day to the next. Porthos stares fixedly ahead and pretends not to notice anyway. Jumps a little in real surprise when hands cover his eyes, because he wasn’t expecting that part.

He growls playfully, shaking Athos off, and when his vision is clear again Aramis has appeared in front of him holding - holding a little chocolate cake from the bakery down the street, the top of the box popped open to accommodate a lit candle. Porthos opens his mouth. Closes it. Swallows hard. He can’t remember the last time he had a birthday cake.

“Happy birthday!” Aramis says, smiling bright enough to light up the foggy October morning like it’s midsummer. “Sorry we couldn’t fit seventeen candles in it.”

“What are you waiting for?” Athos asks, jostling Porthos’ shoulder. “Make a wish already, I want to eat cake for breakfast.”

Porthos seizes the opportunity to close his eyes and lean forward, blowing out the candle softly. He wishes for a hundred more birthdays just like this - with his best friends in the world and nowhere important to be, nothing important to do. When he opens his eyes again both of his friends are there in front of him, beaming, a little fuzzy around the edges. If anyone asks Porthos will blame his watery eyes on the cold. No one does.

Aramis passes out plastic forks and they all crowd close together, inhaling chocolate at 7am like they’re starving. “What did you wish for?” he asks with his mouth full.

“If I tell you it won’t come true,” Porthos replies, blushing. Aramis opens his mouth - to ask again, probably - and ends up letting out an undignified squeak instead when Athos reaches out to smudge frosting on his cheek.

---

Porthos is tired and cold, soaked to the skin just from the short dash from his car to the front door, and has nearly forgotten to be disappointed that his friends seem to have forgotten his birthday for the first time in half a decade. Almost everybody forgot his birthday for almost all of his life, so he shouldn’t be surprised. It’s just a return to form. And it’s not because they love him any less, he tells himself as he hangs his dripping sweatshirt by the door. They’re just busy. It happens.

He kicks his shoes off a little more aggressively than is strictly necessary, strips his wet socks and soaked t-shirt and throws them toward the washer-dryer in the corner hard enough to hear them bounce off the metal with a wet thwap, and turns toward his room.

Only then does he hear the frantic noises in the kitchen, a low series of “fuckfuckfuck” from Aramis, Athos chiming in with a characteristically dry, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

Porthos hesitates, then backtracks. He sticks his head cautiously around the doorframe - and nearly retreats when he sees the mess inside. There’s flour everywhere. All the way up on the ceiling fan, in fact, and in Aramis’ hair. Aramis is standing near the counter, pointing a spatula surprisingly menacingly at Athos, who has...is that frosting in his patchy attempt at a mustache and goatee? And between them on the counter, a cake that’s slightly higher on one side than the other and covered unevenly with chocolate frosting. 

He clears his throat.

Athos holds his hands up as if to indicate his innocence, though he’s standing barefoot right in the middle of the mess. “I told him we should just buy you a cake.”

“Yes, well...” Aramis scuffs his foot sheepishly through the flour on the floor and lowers the spatula. “This one was made with love?” 

Athos snorts and the spatula comes back up, flicking more frosting onto his stained shirt. He raises his hands higher and backs away. “I hope love is edible.”

“Eh,” Porthos shrugs and bites back a laugh. He doesn’t succeed at hiding his wide, pleased grin. They hadn’t forgotten after all. How could he ever have thought they would forget about him? “I’ll eat almost anything. Love can’t taste that bad.”

Aramis sputters, waving the spatula at him this time, before turning away with a huff. “I got the right number of candles this year,” he grumbles, jabbing them into the cake a little harder than necessary. “See if I ever do something nice for either of you again.”

“Hey now.” Porthos crosses the little kitchen and throws his arm around Aramis’ shoulders, leaning into him. Not his best idea ever, he realizes too late, the flour coating Aramis already pasted onto his bare, wet side and arm. “I’m sure it tastes great. Thank you.”

Aramis huffs again, but he’s smiling when Porthos sneaks a sideways glance at him. He does in fact stick twenty two candles in a ring around the cake, so many that by the time he lights them all the first ones have begun dripping wax, which Porthos politely doesn’t point out. Candle wax is probably edible. And Aramis baked him a fucking cake, so he’ll eat it even if it tastes like a brick.

By the time all of the candles are lit and the cake is on the table, Aramis is smiling again. “Make a wish,” he commands.

Porthos leans obediently over the table, closes his eyes, and blows out every candle in one breath. Aramis cuts the cake, and Athos elbows him gently in the ribs and smirks at him. “What did you wish for?”

“Same thing I wish for every year,” he replies. It’s true. Every year for half a decade, and hopefully for the rest of his life, he wishes for this - another year with his friends, another birthday full of laughter and food.

“Some day you’ll tell me what it is,” Aramis interjects as he shoves plates into their hands.

“Nah.” Porthos takes a bite, and it isn’t horrible. He grins at Aramis with his mouth full and wipes stray frosting onto his friend’s nose. “If I tell you it won’t come true.”

[soriseerakyra]

Flight of Fancy -6- (Black! Reader)

“I thought you said that you were going on a date,” Ari says with a slightly scrunched up nose.

“I’m his date,” You correct the smoothing the bodice of your cream-colored dress. You had to admit, you looked better than you thought you would when you saw the thing on the rack. The garment seemed to fit you like a glove, its mermaid shape accentuating your curves. “But you're invited because it's a party.”

“Seems like a cop-out to me,” Ari says with a teasing tone. You can see the younger girls rusting through her closet, looking for a dress that wouldn’t scare Bruce’s guests too much. “But a party is a party.”

“I don’t think it’s the type of party that you’re thinking it is,” you slightly sheepishly watch Ari's reaction through the mirror. “There will be lots of his friends there, sure, but I think there… I don’t know like this…”

Ari cranes her head over her shoulder just in time to find you crooking your pinky in the air, making a mock fancy motion.

“Aw shit, Pea, what the hell did you invite me to? Bridge with the oatmeal gang?”

“It’s not like I could go by myself,” You defend hands on your hips and slight pout coming across your lips. “I stick out like a sore thumb.”

A part of you didn’t want to say it out loud and you hadn’t wanted to make Bruce feel bad, but when he had first broached the idea about having a party, you had initially wanted to turn him down. You had been to those kinds of things as Kenya’s guest plenty of times, and most of those spaces had been overwhelmingly white. If Kenya wasn’t running everything and hadn't had the confidence of a queen you probably have felt extremely uncomfortable. But you had left that confident woman behind, and you would’ve been alone if you hadn’t invited your closest friends. At least now if someone gives you a dirty look or if it's boring, or worse, Bruce is feeding you to the wolves, you would have your back up there. Still, you kind of wished you could have invited Kenya to this thing, another pair of eyes watching your back wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all.

“I’m sure he gets down in some way,” Jo-Jo comments while popping a cookie in her mouth and scrolling on her phone. You were glad that she had chosen an edible instead of her usual pre-game blunt. You were sure this was the type of party that you didn’t want to smell like smoke at. “You don’t get to be called a playboy because you throw boring parties.”

“I’m just wondering if there is going to be dancing and if so, is anyone besides us going to be on beat,” Ari comments with a sly smirk as she slips a form-fitting shimmery silver gown over her head.

“Ari!” You scold but have to fight to keep the small smile from curling over your lips

They always had a way of making you feel a little better when you were overly nervous.

You cast a stray glance at yourself in the mirror, as you fix your earring in place. If you tried your best, maybe tonight wouldn’t be as horrible as the knot in your stomach told you it was going to be. And even if it was at least you looked good, right?

“Anyway, how does one even get to a manor? Do we need a password?” Ari said smacking as she rolled a tube of ruby red lipstick over her lips.

“He said he would send a-,” A shrill chime from your phone interrupts you as the device begins to ring. “A car.”

“Hello?” You question when you answer the phone. You’re so preoccupied with the call you don’t notice your friends mocking you and your date over your shoulder.

“OooH you hear that Jo he sent a car,” Ari says in a sing-song tone.

“Rolling in the lap of luxury,” The loc bearing girl says dryly with a wry smile on her lips.

“Hey 3B there is some old guy down here saying he’s here to get you,” you hear the gruff voice of the security guard/front desk person. “I can send him away if you want, looks sketchy to me.”

“Oh no that is for me, I’ll be right down,” You say fighting back a chuckle.

You get skeptical but resigned ‘Okay’ before the phone clicks.

“It’s time,” you say, turning to look at the girls behind you, and you feel a slightly annoyed frown come over your lips. Thier mocking had turned into them simply making faces in the mirror. 

“Are we twelve?”

“Nah,” Ari says grabbing her clutch and making her way to your apartment door. “But we're about to turn this shit up to thirteen!”

You feel your eye twitch slightly in annoyance. A slap on your back causes you to jump slightly and you find yourself staring into Jo-Jo’s dark eyes.

“It’s too late to uninvite us now,” She says with a bit of devious smile. She rolls her shoulders, her suit jacket pulling tight before relaxing when her shoulders fall. “At least it won’t be boring.”

With a groan you follow the two girls downstairs, locking the door behind you.

You reach the lobby just in time to see Ari throwing a playful wave at the white-bearded security guard and Jo-Jo throws up a peace sign right behind her.

“Pea,” He calls stopping you before you could follow your friends outside.

You toss a glance at the man on your shoulder, “What’s wrong, Cal?”

His bushy eyebrows knit close together and his warm dark brown eyes look at you with worry.

“I-I just don’t get into trouble, okay? There are people out there that will take advantage of you girls cause you look young and they think you’re stupid cause you are out having fun.”

You feel a little warmth and a tinge of sadness creep up on you. What had he seen to make him feel like he needed to warn you like this?

“I promise you that where I’m going I’ll be safe,” You say. You hesitate to say the next part of your sentence. “The guy I-The guy I’m dating wouldn't hurt me.”

He gives you a skeptical gaze that a father might give a daughter, “At least tell me his name.”

You hesitate again but think better of it, there is no way that he would tell anyone right? “Bruce Wayne.”

He’d taken out a pen and pad to write down the name of the offender and stopped as soon as the name raced past your lips. He looks up to you with a slightly wide skeptical eye.

“As in-,”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence passes before you begin shimmy your way out of the door without seeming too rude.

“I’m going to go now, Cal.”

“Uh-huh.”

You find yourself quickly missing the warmth of the lobby as the evening air nips at your cheeks. However, you have little time to process the weather as you’re slightly awed by the sight in front of you. A shiny black limo sat waiting, for you, still glistening in the nearly completely set sun. Either the thing was brand new or it was meticulously cared for.

You are so zoned in on the sheer extravagance of your ride you nearly miss the man, who would be your driver, calling your name.

“Miss,” He calls, opening the door and beckoning to slip into the warmth of your vehicle.

“Sorry,” you say with a bit of an embarrassed smile, “I’m not usually an airhead I promise.”

He gives you a polite quirk of his lips, “I promise, ma’am, I hadn’t noticed such a thing at all.”

You would have been grateful for the overlooking of your moment of ditziness if you hadn’t looked into the man’s eyes. While he was seemingly being polite, there was a bit of judgment in his eyes. Not in a harsh way, more like he was pursuing you. You felt a little sting in your chest as nervousness prickled down your spine. A part of you felt like you had met someone much more important than just a limo driver.

A “thank you,” slides past your lips as you slip into the vehicle. It comes out much quieter than you hoped it would and you are wondering if the man even heard it over Ari’s excited squealing. You find yourself gulping in relief when he closes the door behind you and makes his way to the driver's seat.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Jo-Jo is quick to notice your change in mood and the slightly pale look on your face the moment that you slip into the vehicle. “Your energy is all off.”

“Yeah, just Calvin warning me about some creeps that have been around the neighborhood,” You lie smoothly. You knew that if you had voiced your concerns that you had just fucked up some sort of first impressions, they would have tried to talk you out of it, and then told your not to give a fuck about what some old man thunk; and you in no way wanted the man to hear that you’d never live it down.

She gives you a look, clearly based on whatever your aura is giving her, that bullshit excuse is not enough. For your sake, though, she brushes it off and casts her gaze out of the window.

It’s not long before the car is moving and the city lights pass you. Aside from the drivers that could be crazy at night, there was something always calming to you about driving at night. Your mother and father used to take you out on late night drives when you couldn’t sleep like as baby and the effect seemed to stick even as an adult.

“This sure is Fancy, chickie,” Ari says pointing her camera at you snapping a quick picture before you could protest. “Like a chocolate goddess.”

The compliment stifles the complaint in your mouth and you feel your cheeks heat up. The only form of protest you manage to squeak out, “Don’t post it yet. You might have to get permission, I don’t know if this is supposed to be private or not.”

“I won’t say where we’re going,” She says almost completely ignoring you as she tags the picture and posts it. The phone is up again as she poses to make sure she gets the perfect selfie. “I gotta do something since there is no music in this bitch.”

Another embarrassed groan passes through your lips.

“This seems like something Kenya should have come to,” Jo-Jo comments mindlessly.

“Why? Because she’s just as uptight as the rest of these one-percenters?” Ari asks with a chuckle.

“Maybe,” Jo-Jo says with a chortle and a shrug of her shoulders.

“Just seemed like it would be her thing.”

You tune the rest of the conversation out. You don’t want to hear any more about what Kenya would have liked, or what she would have done. You had felt guilty enough for taking the job, now you have to feel guilty for not inviting her? Shouldn’t she feel guilty too? She practically sold you to the man after all. This is the way it's going to be, and you weren’t going to apologize first, because you weren’t the one that was wrong first.

There is no telling how long the more than slightly bitter thoughts bounce around in your head. You try to keep them away, feeling yourself frown in irritation the more and more you think about them. But they plague you the whole ride over to Bruce’s party. They absorb so much of your time you almost miss Ari’s declaration of your arrival.

“Holy Shit, Pea,” Ari says with her hand and the glass, face pressed against the window. “You bagged a big one didn’t you?”

You don’t see what she’s talking about until the limo makes its final turn into the driveway.

To say that the manor was impressive would be an understatement. You imagined that the manor must’ve been a grand sight no matter the occasion, but something about seeing it all lit up and people crowded outside as they tried to squeeze their way into the exclusive residence gave it a different feeling. Like it was something out of a fairytale. The nervous energy you had been feeling about attending the party came back at you in full force, and a wave of nausea churns in your stomach.

You close your eyes and try to calm yourself, there is no reason to be nervous. Technically this party is for you after all, and as the guest of honor, you should be able to do anything that you want right? At least that’s how your friends tended to act when it came to parties where they were the center of attention. But you had never been that outgoing or eager enough to command that much attention.

A warm hannd clasps around your shoulder and you turn to see Jo-Jo’s warm eyes looking at you with concern.

“We can go home if you want,” She says smoothly.

Ari, not having noticed your worried disposition jumps in with a scoff, “And waste this outfit? I think not.”

“Shut it,” Jo-Jo says curtly, only momentarily cutting her dark eyes at the young girl before giving you her full attention. “It’s up to you.”

You pull your lip into your mouth biting at the full flesh. Reluctantly, you cast a shy gaze at your excited friend. A thump of guilt runs through you when you see Ari’s arms crossed and full pout on her ruby red lips.

“It’s all right,” you say with a sigh and small. “If it gets too bad I’ll let you guys know and maybe then we can go somewhere else?”

You don’t miss the small pump of excitement that Ari does. Jo-Jo gives a skeptical look but relents with a shrug.

“It’s up to you.”

In no time at all the three of you are escorted to the front door and into the foyer. The place is crawling with socialites and you’re whisked into the Manor so fast you don’t have much time to appreciate the decadence of the building.

You hear the man that drove you here ask you not to move, that Bruce would be down to escort you through the party and you find yourself planted in front of the door, moving side to side whenever people would leave or enter.

“This is bullshit,” Ari says after the fifth couple squeezes by you. “Look at them schmoozing. I want to schmooze. Find a rich guy to take care of me.”

“We’re here to support our pea,” Jo-Jo chides the younger girl.

But you can see the bored look come across her face as she surveys the party. A guilty feeling wells up in your chest.

“You know now that we are here I feel much better, you don’t have to stay here with me, I’m sure Bruce will be down in just a minute. I’ll be fine.”

Ari looks at you skeptically her red lips pulling down into a frown.

“Really, I’m fine, go and have fun.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” the girl says with a devious grin on her face.

She moves so fast that she’s almost a blur as she disappears into the surprised crowd. It isn’t long until you hear her chatting and she has a little circle around her, the people enraptured by her gift to seemingly make anything interesting.

When you look back at your other friend you see her eyes locked onto a painting across the room.

“You can go check it out,” you say with a nudge and smile.

She casts a pensive glance at you, rocking back and forth on the heels of her boots as she tries to decide if she is going to leave to fend for yourself.

“This might be your only chance to see it,” you comment nonchalantly. “Who knows I may get fired next week and we’ll never be invited to one of these things again.”

Jo-Jo lets out an unconvinced snort, “Not likely.”

And though your friend is standing her ground you can see her eyes fluttering around the room, different paintings now becoming apparent to her. You knew it was taking everything in her not to run over and examine each one.

“Go,” you nudge her, “I’ll be fine.”

She hesitates for a moment before giving you a nod. Her long-form elegantly and nonchalantly striding to the first painting that caught her eye.

You give her a wave as she goes over. A sigh forces itself out past your lips. You were always happy to see your friends having fun, but still, you wished you could be a little more clear about what you wanted. You did want them to stay and wait with you, hell you would have stuck by them the whole night if you could. But what kind of friend would you be if you held them, hostage, the whole night?

Still, it had been about ten minutes since you were asked to wait here and you were starting to get weird looks from other partygoers. The smile you had plastered on your face to make it seem like you were supposed to be there, was starting to make your cheeks ache.

Aimlessly you begin to wander around the party, never straying too far from the front door, you could at least look like you were trying to blend into the party. You peek into one of the rooms and you’re a little stunned by what you see. Standing in what looks like a well-furnished kitchen stood a man surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. They seemed entranced by the man, judging by the goofy smile on their faces and the way they leaned in to listen to what he said. When he laughed they laughed, almost like he was a puppet master controlling the room.

Almost as if he could feel you staring at him he turns his head slightly giving you a view of his profile. You’re stunned and a little confused by his appearance. Thick dark hair and expressive blue eyes, if you didn’t know any better you’d your experiment had done too good of a job; reducing Bruce to someone only a year or younger than you were.

His eyes, or at least the one you can see from where you are, widens in recognition and you could swear you could see a smirk cross his face before he turned his attention back to the crowd in front of him.

Why did he look at you like that, like he knew exactly who you were? Did you know any Bruce Wayne mini me’s?

A warm hand wraps itself around your waist, and you can swear you can feel every finger searing into your skin. You would have jumped if a familiar scent hadn't washed over you calming you instantly. You look up wide-eyed into the smirking face of your date and have to fight to keep a relieved smile from washing over your face.

“Bruce,” You say with a breathy sigh. The relief in your tone made the smirk on his face deepened, something you weren’t sure was even possible.

“You look surprised,” He said, a smug tone permeating his voice. “It is my house, I’m pretty sure that I’m allowed to be here.”

You smack his arm slightly, pushing the fact that his arm is still wrapped around you and that it feels good to the back of your mind.

“It’s not that,” you say with a bit of a pout. “I’ve been running around here looking confused and then…”

You let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, casting a glance over your shoulder at the gentlemen who still had that entire room wrapped around his finger.

“I thought...”

“You thought that I suddenly de-aged twenty years?” He questioned with a slight chuckle as his gaze only briefly flickered over to the man.

“More like thirty,” You say your tone beginning to match his smugness.

“Harsh,” He says with a faux pout. “That’s my son, well one of them."

“Son?” You question with furrowed eyebrows. The fact that he has multiple of them doesn’t even register in your ears.

“Adopted,” he says with a nod of his head, “All except one.”

The way he says it, it’s almost like he expected you to know about the existence of his children. And perhaps you should have, it was more than likely that there was some kind of profile or at least picture out in the world somewhere. He was exorbitantly famous after all, and in Gotham, you imagined that there was no detail about his life you could avoid unless you were trying to do so. Well, unless it was someone like you who lived under a rock, almost completely cut off from the social world. Unless you counted the few fake accounts that you had to keep tabs on your favorite groups and the proper way to wash your face and arch an eyebrow.

“Sons,” If you were capable of being upfront about the complexities of your mind, you would have told the man in front of you that you were about to zone out for the next sixty-seconds so you could properly determine your feelings on the subject. But you weren’t and so you stared at the man with a slightly narrowed gaze and parted lips.

Didn’t bachelor usually mean, like no attachments? Or maybe it usually didn’t matter whether or not men had children when they were rich and handsome because they were rich and handsome men. 

And how would you feel about dating a man with children? Granted, from looking at the...man? Boy? Maybe boy was more appropriate. There were times where you still felt more like a girl than a woman. He was old enough to not give a shit about what his father did. But what about the rest? What if they were significantly younger? And what if they didn’t like the fact that their father was flitting around town with someone who still felt like a girl? What if they thought you were some kind of leech?

There is a warm hand on your face and a large thumb runs over your cheekbone comfortingly. If there was a word to describe the feeling of suddenly refocusing you would have used it. You blink and suddenly you find yourself looking into concerned blue irises. Had they always been as nice as they were tonight? Maybe it was just the fancy lighting of the chandeliers he had in his house.

“Are you all right?” He says with furrowed brows and a slight frown quirking on the edge of his lips.

You find yourself a little taken aback. Perhaps it was the first time you found him to be genuinely concerned. Like he was afraid of rejection. Any other time there would have been at least a spark of playfulness in his eyes. A hint that he wasn’t taking everything seriously. But this was different. He was wondering if this was a deal-breaker for you, and what that would mean for your “relationship.”

Suddenly, a feeling runs over you. Perhaps it was the pitiful look in his eyes or the frown on his lips. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the thumb that was still running over your cheekbone so delicately, as if you were made of glass. But you decided that you didn’t care about his sons. Not that you didn’t care if they existed or not or about their being. But they weren’t something that seemed like baggage, it was just a part of him. And you would love that part of him just as much as you loved everything else.

Love?

“No,” you say, voice slightly trembling but your hand coming up to cover his. “I’m not alright.”

He takes a deep breath, a sigh almost, and you aren’t sure what it means. He doesn’t pull away from you and he doesn’t look like he’s taken your words as rejection. Could it be that he felt the same way you did? Or at least he had been reading you just as much as you had been reading him.

“Pea! Where are you?!”

The high pitched squeal snaps you out of the moment that you had been having with your date. A slightly embarrassed chill runs its way down your back as you see a slightly twirling figure begin to spin it's way toward you.

The younger girl comes to a perfectly placed pose in front of you, a hand on her hip and flute of champagne poised in her hand.

“This place isn’t that bad, no Megan The Stallion or City Girls or anything to shake my ass to or even do a little two-step or a jig, but this shit right here,” she stops to shake the flute and downing it. “And those little cheese things they have going around on those fancy plates are totally worth it.”

If you weren’t in public perhaps you would have slapped a hand to your face. Or maybe if you had been anywhere else or at anyone else’s party you wouldn’t have cared. It was just Ari being Ari after all. But here you felt not embarrassed, but worried? What if he didn’t accept your friends and the way they were? You’d have to cut him off then and you really didn’t want to.

As if sensing your worry, Bruce makes the first move.

“Well, I’m sure that I can find someone around here to liven up the music here,” He says with a charming smile affixing to his face.

Ari considers him for a minute, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of you for little more than a hot second.

“No need to worry about it on my account,” she says an easy smile crossing her face. “Between you and me if you played anything with any kind of beat to someone might have a heart attack.”

She ends it with a friendly nudge to the ribs and tossing a swift look over her shoulder at a few couples who were looking at the three of you with more than a little bit of interest. With the frowns on their faces, you couldn’t rightly tell if they were upset that they hadn’t gotten the chance to enrapture the billionaire the way the two of you had or if there was something a little more sinister flowing through their thoughts.

“Between you and me, that might be the most exciting thing that's ever happened at one of these things,” He quips back.

The two share a laugh and your tense shoulders finally come down from your ears, relaxing as you realized that this whole thing was going much better than you had envisioned it going.

"Arianna Van Buren,” she says, giving him an elegant hand for him to shake.

You’re a little surprised that she’s given him her full name. She’s always hated people knowing she came from a wealthy family, especially one with a recognizable name.

“Bruce Wayne,” he says cordially, but without the pomp, he usually gives when he’s throwing his weight around. “Van Buren, Real Estate right?”

“This one is a dancer,” she says, a little haughty. “But I’m not in the Russian Ballet so I wouldn’t expect you to know that.”

“Ouch,” he says laughing good-naturedly.

And while you’re sure that the jibe didn’t bother him, you are a little surprised when the arm around your waist pulls tighter to him. Ari notices too, and a small smirk crosses her lips.

Feeling a little bashful you turn your gaze away from the pair. It just so happens that you find yourself, looking back at his son. Only there is another one there with him, this one slightly taller than the first but younger. He flashes his gaze at you when the older one tells him you're looking and winds up turning around, a little abashed. The older one, seemingly more than comfortable mortifying strangers, waves at you with a smile.

'Oh God' you think with a shudder of anxeity rolling through your shoulders. 'This is really happening isn't it?'

As if destined by the gods of making you crazy, Ari notices that you have checked out of their little sparring match. And while she normally was a little gregarious and never rude, she seemed to lose her train of thought when she glanced over at the boys who were talking about the three of you.

Bruce is also quick to notice that her attention has turned elsewhere.

“My sons,” He starts with a hint of pride in his voice. Even though he wasn’t their biological father he was still proud of the men that they had become. “Dick Grayson and Tim Drake.”

“Uh-huh,” the enraptured girl replied.

A sinking feeling explodes in your belly as a grin spreads over her face. She’s quick to cover it up though, turning to face the two of you with a doe-eyed look on her face. You shuddered at its appearance, it was something that she always did when she found a new person that she’s set her eyes on.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go mingle with the rest of the guests,” She says with a light tone, betraying the sinister intention she had for one or both of the brothers.

“Ari I don’t thin-,” You begin to warn as she flutters her way across the room. The hand on your waist squeezes slightly and you cast a questioning gaze to the man beside you.

“They’ll be all right,” He says with a bit of a smirk. “They’ve been in hairier situations.”

“But,” you begin in protest, turning to look at the group, or pair now. Dick, the older of the two had snuck off somewhere. But Ari didn’t seem to mind too much, she seemed to settle her mind on Tim, the much more reserved of the two. As she flirted, you could see the blush beginning to spread across his cheeks from across the room. “She might eat him.”

The older man nearly lets out a snort, the notion seems absurd. “Trust me, he’ll be fine.”

You relax slightly, who were you to get in the way. They were adults after all, and if he was so sure that they’d be fine maybe they would be.

“If you say so,” you relent.

“Good,” he says, flashing you a winning smile. He begins to lead you away from the room. “Let me give you the tour of the place.”

As if he knows the hesitation in your mind he sweeps you away from the congested foyer and the rest of the downstairs rooms, choosing to take you upstairs and show you the art decorating his walls. Normally, you would have been a little wary of him leading you away from the party, he would use whatever chance he got to tease you, but this time you were grateful. You could deal with the prying eyes at work; for some reason working at Wayne Enterprises meant that someone was always watching you, even if they didn’t have anything to do with your job. But you supposed it made some sort of sense. After all, the company was practically the lifeblood of the city. It made sense that not only would people be curious but that they would be critical of any mistake or flaw. The difference from work and this place was the simple fact you couldn’t just leave a conversation whenever you felt like it with some sort of fleeting excuse. That would be seen as rude, and lord knows you didn’t want to be known as the rude black girl at Bruce Wayne’s party. That would follow you anywhere you went.

The upstairs part of Wayne manor is as quiet as it is beautiful. There were a few guests who had also escaped the heard downstairs to admire some of the truly beautiful pieces in Wayne’s collection. Luckily, those people weren’t inclined to stop what they were doing to kiss the ass of their host. Judging by some of the fleeting glances that they paid the billionaire, you doubted that they cared much about him in the first place.

He seemed particularly inclined to steer you toward one room in the house specifically. And when he opened the door of said room, you almost let out a snort of excitement.

“Look at all the books!” You swoon walking into the private library and letting your fingers run over the spines of the books on the first shelf that was accessible to you.

“It’s beautiful,” you say with a bit of a dreamy smile.

"It is, isn't it?" He says with a small admiring smile on his face. There was a bit of wonder in his eyes. You imagined that he adored the place. "I don't think that I appreciated it as much as I do now that I'm older."

"I don't expect children to be too excited about a library or invested in the intricacies of fine architecture," You joke.

"True, but I'm a little embarrassed to admit that it took me a lot longer to appreciate it then it should have."

After your chuckles fall quiet you find yourself examining not just the books but the room in general. Being in the manor was like being in a movie. His library not only boasted a pair of the most comfortable chairs that you had probably ever seen but they were also placed in front of the fireplace. Real or fake you couldn’t tell, but the crackling sound that came from the area gave the room a homey feeling, despite it being anything other than homely.

“Is this your family?” you ask, eyes coming to rest on the large portrait of a family. The room was dark and so the faces of the adults were obscured but the stoic face of the young boy in the middle gave you no doubts about what this was a painting of.

He doesn’t answer immediately and you turn to look over your shoulder at the man.

His face was passive, but the intensity of his eyes told you that he was thinking hard about what to say to you next.

While you had not understood who the man was when you had first moved to the city, it wasn’t long into your tenure at Wayne enterprises that you had heard nearly his entire life story. Not only at the office by gossiping employees but also on the news. It seemed that any chance they got to do some sort of expose on the man’s life they did it fully. And because of that, you feel a little bit of guilt begin to swell up in your belly. Perhaps it would have been better to say nothing. Judging by the pensive expression on his face, you were almost certain that the wound from that tragic day had never truly healed.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine,” he said after another moment of silence. “If I had a problem with you seeing it I wouldn’t have brought you here. It’s just-”

“It still hurts,” you finish when he trails off. And while you cannot say that you could necessarily understand the pain that he was going through, there were hurts in your past that you still hadn’t completely gotten over so you could understand how something so dramatic could still affect him now.

“Can I ask why you brought me here?”

He looks at you slightly surprised, “Sorry did I get it wrong? I assumed you would like to see something like this.”

“You’re not wrong,” you say slightly put off that your tastes were simple enough to be sussed out so easily. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” He questions as he takes a few steps toward you closing the distance between you.

Your breathing hitches slightly when he’s directly in front of you and you can feel a rush of heat flood it’s way up to your cheeks. It gets worse when you try to meet his gaze as you begin to realize that it’s just a man you may or may not have feelings for locked in a semi-lit room, away from the prying eyes of the party guests. As the thoughts run through your head you realize you can’t exactly hold his gaze for more than a few seconds without feeling small.

“I’m just not a party person,” you admit somewhat bashfully. “At least not this kind of party.”

“Oh, and what kind of parties do you actually like?” His tone is slightly teasing, and from the slight way that he’s leaning back, you realize that he’s trying to make you more comfortable.

“The kind where I get dressed up and sit in my living room and watch movies all night.”

You cringe slightly as the words come out of your mouth. Ari had scolded you on that very behavior when you were in school. You had told her that you fully booked Friday night. Being suspicious, she came to your room only to find you swinging around a lightsaber while Return of the Jedi was playing in the background. From then on she’d never believed you when you said you were busy.

“Kind of weird, huh?” You say a hand coming up to rub at the back of your neck as nervousness had begun to overtake your body.

“Not at all,” he replies simply.

While you’re feeling nervous you can’t help but flick up a skeptical glance at the man who simply gives you a reassuring smile.

“If you think that I couldn’t tell this wouldn’t have been something that you would be super excited about you’d be mistaken,” he says looking at you seriously.

“Then why the party then if you knew I wouldn’t like it?” You question eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“To be honest, I like to think of myself as more or less traditional when it comes to things like this. And if you had been anyone else maybe I would have simply asked you to dinner first or maybe the movies since you seem fond of those.”

The little jab causes a small smile to rise on your lips.

“But being that you are a person who would rather stay in than go out on the town, I figured this was the best way to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Have our first date,” he says with a smirk on his face.

“This isn’t exactly what I would call a ‘date’ even if I am your date,” you say pursing your lips slightly. Though you should have expected the flirtation, you after all invited it. “And why wouldn’t you think that I would like to go out to dinner? Don’t tell me you’d be embarrassed by me.”

If he had been someone with bad intentions, you are sure that the last line would have gotten some sort of reaction out of him. But he didn’t even flinch. A part of you wonders if it’s because he’s so good at maintaining his cool or if he really wouldn’t have cared what people would have had to say about him being out with you. You weren’t blind to the fact that you and your friends stuck out as soon as you walked into his manor. But you also weren’t inclined to be hidden like someone’s dirty little secret.

“Embarrassed?” He questions with a click of his tongue, a chiding edge to his tone.

It happens before you can blink. Your body pulled toward him in an instant. To stop yourself from crashing into the man your hands come up to meet the man's chest.

His arm is wrapped around your waist like it was earlier, but it feels different now. You aren’t being shielded away from the prying eyes of the other guests. It’s just you and him and it feels different.

There is an urge to look away to save yourself from the indignity of the doe-eyed stare you would surely give him. But he seems to be able to read your body language and acts before you can.

The warmth of his free hand runs over your chin and down your neck as he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“I don’t think you understand what I mean,” he says with his tone low as if he was afraid that someone else would hear you. His voice rumbles in his chest and it sends butterflies twirling from your throat down to the very bottom of your tummy. “If I had taken you to dinner, or a movie, and someone saw us what do you suppose would happen?”

“I-I don’t know,” you say thickly trying to keep unnecessary words from spilling out of your mouth. “I suppose we’d have to tell H.R.”

You can see him having to stifle his laughter, in the end, a few chuckles escape in its place.

“That too,” he said when he had collected himself. “But as someone who values their privacy, I thought it’d be obvious why I didn’t want to force you out into the public.”

‘Into the public?’ You question yourself. Due to the haze of attraction and the heat of embarrassment clouding your mind, it takes you a minute to catch on to what he means.

“Oh,” you say blinking in realization. In truth, it was something that you could have easily figured out yourself if your mind wasn’t already addled. Since becoming aware of the man you couldn’t count how many expose’s and covers of local newspapers and magazines had his face on them. It was like every move he made, no matter how trivial it was, made headlines.

“I didn’t think you wanted paparazzi following your every move or digging up your personal life, just because you went on one date with me.”

He was right that perhaps that wouldn’t be what you would want normally. But things weren’t normal right now were they? And when it came to him nothing would ever be normal. If you had agreed to a proper date with him would you be able to stand it? And what if I didn’t work out? Would they scorn you and call you names? Or worse. What would happen if it did work out? Would you want to deal with the scrutiny that would come with? The questioning about your intentions, especially when it came to his money. And an even scarier thought would be having to deal with all, the insidiousness of innuendos. About your color, your shape, even your femininity.

“I want to go to dinner.”

It tumbles out before you can stop yourself but you know you mean it, even if you normally wouldn’t be brave enough to say it.

“Are you sure?” He asks his voice no more than a whisper. His arm pulls you against him even tighter leaving almost no space in between the two of you. The fabric of your dress you can feel him pressed against you. He is solid and warm and your hand can’t help but trail down his form before grabbing onto and scrunching the lapel of his suit. Later some would notice the slight wrinkling of his suit. Perhaps they would fix their mouth to make a snide comment, but think better of it.

“Mm-hmm,” you say with a nod.

Words were beginning to fail you now as your eyes had begun to leave his eyes and instead focus on his lips that were dangerously close to touching yours.

“Positive?” He teases his head dipping over yours.

Perhaps showing your age you pout slightly and decide to be brave. The balls of your feet have to bear your weight as you push yourself up slightly.

And with barley sigh your lips catch his.

[annathewitch]

An Apple A Day

Summary: Leonard McCoy x Reader. An unexpected encounter with Leonard McCoy at the Academy leaves you with a poor impression. Will he manage to redeem himself when you encounter him again years later?

Word Count: 6,000

Warnings: Little bit of swearing, and a tiny bit of angst. Incidental o/c death.

A/N: My entry into @thefanficfaerie’s West Wing Challenge! I LOVE The West Wing and it has some really quotable lines. I chose “Nature, like a woman, will seduce you with its sights and its scents and its touch, and then it breaks your ankle, also like a woman.” It screamed cynical post-divorce Bones to me... This is the first thing I have written to completion in a long-while - I hope you enjoy it!

..........

Your training as a cadet is intended to prepare you for the unexpected and unexplained. After all, there’s so much out there in deep space that cannot be predicted. However, you’re more than a little startled by the man lurching out of the bushes with a shout, as you take your usual shortcut across the Academy grounds from the botany lab back to the dorms.

You find yourself assuming a defensive stance, noting with detached surprise that Lt Commander Ono’s persistence in teaching you basic combat skills has actually paid off. Still, it’s a relief when you don’t have to test your tenuous muscle memory further, as the man — another cadet judging by the reds — simply grunts a string of inventive obscenities and sits heavily on the path in front of you clutching a tree branch.

He’s most likely drunk, but, just as you’re thinking you should really check, you realise that you actually know him.

“Cadet McCoy? Is that you? You, uh, startled me.” You crouch down beside him and he squints at you, a little unfocussed in his gaze. You gesture towards yourself. “Cadet Y/L/N? We have an advanced xenobiology class together?”

He grunts again and you try not to feel too hurt that he clearly doesn’t recognise you. The class you take together is compulsory for all science track cadets and you’re not the type to draw attention by debating with your professor. Not like McCoy. It still stings just a tiny bit because by any standard, even in his less than pristine current state, he’s an attractive guy.

“Are you okay?” You wave vaguely around in the direction he came from.

He shifts a little and winces, and just when you think he’s not going to answer, he sighs. The whiskey scent of his breath confirms your initial suspicion that he’s had more than a couple of drinks.

“I’m fine. I just need a minute.” It seems like a dismissal, but as you stand he actually looks at you properly and bites out, “Dammit. Help me up would ya.”

“How could I refuse such a gracious request.” You roll your eyes, wishing that he had stumbled across some other poor unsuspecting cadet and that you could be back in your dorm. Still you stick an arm out and brace yourself as he uses it to lever his unstable frame from the ground.

It becomes apparent that he is less than fine the minute he tries to take a step away from you. He bellows like an enraged bull, and does what looks like an awkward pirouette before toppling towards you. It’s all you can do to catch him under the arms and stop him crashing to the ground again. Unfortunately, this means he practically faceplants in your boobs and you’re on the receiving end of another boozy exhale.

“Shit, McCoy, you’re no ballet dancer. How much have you had to drink?”

“No more than usual. It’s my damned ankle!” McCoy protests, righting himself on one foot. “Stupid fucking tree.” Turning pink around his collar, he glares at the fine specimen of an apple tree that was probably here long before the Academy built a dorm right next to it and long before an intoxicated cadet decided to take exception to it.

“What did the tree ever do to you? Besides produce perfectly edible fruit?” A single apple, presumably from the branch McCoy was wielding, is sitting at the edge of the path and you pick it up. “White Pearmain. Dates back to the 1200s.”

McCoy looks at you with a raised eyebrow as if you’ve grown an extra head. “What are you? Some kind of fruit historian?”

“Botanist, actually.” You pocket the apple. “Look, can you manage from here?” You ask, more out of hope than expectation.You’re vaguely curious about the situation and, before this evening, would have jumped at the chance of spending some time with the tall, dark and brooding cadet, but right now he just seems grumpy and ungrateful.

“There’s a satellite med-centre just around the corner. Can you help me there?” It takes a pointed look for him to mutter something unintelligible and growl, “Please?”

You smile as if to say ‘there that wasn’t so hard now’ and he huffs impatiently.

“It won’t be staffed at this time of night,” you point out.

“Doesn’t matter.” He does a kind of wobbling hop in the direction he wants you to go. “Are you gonna help me or not? Please?” He adds without any prompting this time. When he’s being polite, there’s a pleasing southern lilt to his voice.

You glance around, but there’s no one else in sight and by the time you could comm security you could have deposited McCoy where he wants to go. Even if it seems patently pointless.

“Fine. But I want to know why you were lurking in the bushes in the first place.” You stand on the cadet’s good side, and let him lean his weight across your shoulders. You reprimand the part of your brain that insists on making you aware that underneath the liquor he smells warm and spicy.

With you as a crutch, you make steady shuffling progress to the med-centre, mostly in silence except for McCoy’s occasional cursing when he tries to put too much weight on his injured ankle.

The centre, one of the daytime ones for check ups and routine treatment, is in darkness when you get there and you resist the urge to tell him ‘I told you so.’

“What now? You can’t just sit out here until morning?”

“Don’t intend to darlin’,” he grins crookedly as he places the palm of his free hand against the entry pad and to your surprise the door slides open. “Doctor’s privileges,” he stage whispers.

“You’re a doctor?”

“Got it in one Sherlock. On rotation at Starfleet Medical between classes.” He steers you both towards the exam room which also swishes open at the touch of his hand. “Physician heal thyself,” he announces with a flourish and a smug grin.

He hops around the small room leaning on the counter and furniture, rummaging in drawers and cupboards while you loiter awkwardly by the door unsure if you should just make your excuses. Doctor or not, surely this is breaking one of Starfleet’s many regulations?

“Uh, are you sure this is okay?” You ask tentatively. “Maybe I should just leave you to it?”

McCoy glances up from the cupboard where he’s going through vials of what look like hypospray cartridges. “It’s fine. Anyone asks, you had nothing to do with it.” He puts some medication on a little trolley next to the biobed, and hauls himself onto it swinging his good leg up then more carefully lifting his injured one up after. “You mind giving me a hand here?”

It’s not really phrased as a question, and part of you would dearly like to leave him to it, but for some inexplicable reason — maybe its the way he’s looking up at you from under his messy fringe — you find yourself asking, “What do you want me to do?”

“Play Doctor with me,” he drawls and you belatedly remember that this man is most probably drunk and not more than fifteen minutes ago jumped out of the bushes at you. You file away a reminder to reconsider your life choices when you eventually get back to your dorm.

Thankfully, McCoy seems sincere about the doctoring part, and all he wants is some assistance removing his boot. He administers his own hypo first, which he tells you is a painkiller, but he still muffles another string of curses as you ease the boot over his heel while he steadies his swollen ankle.

After a few breaths, he presses a few buttons on a tricorder and passes it to you. “Move this over my foot and ankle, slowly,” he instructs before tacking on a hasty, “please.”

You do as instructed, waving the instrument methodically up and down making sure that you don’t miss any spots. You can see an image forming on the display behind the biobed, but have no idea what it means.

McCoy is twisted around to look. “That’ll do, thanks.” He squints and mutters under his breath, something about a Jim or maybe a John.

“Is it bad?”

“Nah, just a sprain. An hour under the regen unit and it’ll be good as new.” McCoy has you bring over a piece of equipment sitting on the countertop, and talks you through setting it up around his ankle. He adjusts the settings himself though and it’s not long before he’s reclined comfortably with the unit gently whirring and bathing his foot in blue light.

There’s no other seats in the room, and so you perch on the countertop. Five more minutes, you tell yourself, and you’ll leave the doctor to it.

“You still haven’t told me why you were hiding in the shrubbery, McCoy.”

He glares at you, eyebrow raised and the pinkness creeping up around his collar again. “I was hoping you would forget about that.”

“If I’m going to get kicked out of Starfleet for breaking into a med-centre, an explanation is the least I deserve.”

You hold his gaze and eventually he huffs sulkily and looks away. “We didn’t break in. And I fell. Fell and sprained my damned ankle.”

You frown. Fell, not tripped. It dawns on you after a moment — the tree branch and the apple. “You fell? Don’t tell me you fell out of the tree?” His silence and flushed face is incriminating. “Why the hell were you in the tree in the first place?” A horrible thought crosses your mind. “Were you... spying on someone?”

“No!” McCoy protests, “I’m an idiot not a voyeur! My fool of a roommate managed to lock me out! I was trying to break in to my own damned dorm. Climbing the tree seemed like a good idea at the time.” He grumbles something about hypo-ing someone’s ass, presumably directed at his roommate.

His indignation seems genuine and you’re a little relieved that you haven’t managed to find yourself alone in a deserted med-centre with some kind of creepy stalker. Though on reflection he’s still a drunk who thought climbing a tree was a sensible course of action.

“You know you could have called security, unless you make a habit of breaking and entering?”

He props himself up on one arm to glare at you again, though you’re starting to think that perhaps it’s just his default expression. “I told you already we didn’t break in. And clearly,” he waves an arm in the general direction of his foot, “I’m not a very successful cat-burglar.”

Your lips twist in a wry smile. McCoy looks just a little bit self-satisfied and settles back with his head resting on his arms.

“So, you’re a botanist then?”

“Yup.”

“Rather you than me.” He chuckles a little as he says this and though a second ago you were starting to warm to him, now you bristle at his tone.

“You’re not a fan of nature then?’ you ask archly. “You seem pretty fond of trees.”

“Touché, darlin’.” He grins again at you, not seeming to register the coolness of your question. “Me and the natural world rub along just fine, as long as we maintain a respectful distance from each other. Trouble is, you botanists and geologists and biologists, you get all starry eyed at the thought of all those new worlds to explore, those billions of new specimens to examine — Vulcan vines, seventy different kinds of Denobulan phosphorescent moss.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Sure they look pretty, but you know what I see? A billion new potential bio-hazards that you scientists are just desperate to expose us all to, and it’s doctors like me that are going to have to pick up the pieces. People think that its red shirts who give doctors the most trouble, but give me a phaser burn or shrapnel injury over a blue shirt who’s inhaled a mystery pollen any day.”

This outburst is unexpected, and you’re unsure whether you want to laugh or be offended. Maybe both. “Well that’s a remarkably cynical view of Starfleet’s scientific research programme,” you say drily. “And here I was thinking we were discovering the wonders of the universe.”

McCoy props himself up on an elbow again and jabs a finger at you. "Discovering the wonders of the universe my ass. Nature, like a woman, will seduce you with its sights and its scents and its touch, and then it breaks your ankle, also like a woman.”

You think the noise you make is a disbelieving snort. Any sense of warmth evaporates as the doctor incriminates himself as just another egotistical, opinionated ass. He looks so utterly cocksure it makes your blood rise. You pull out your comm theatrically and flip it open.

He frowns. “Who you calling?”

“The Cretaceous period. They want their dinosaur back.”

“Very funny. That’s cute.”

Cute? You snap the comm shut, and throw your hands up in the air. “I mean, seriously?” You don’t even know where to begin. “I help you and then you insult my profession and my gender. Is there anything else you’d like to criticise - my family perhaps?”

McCoy jerks upright, looking surprised. “I meant women like my ex-wife and her cronies. Not you.”

“Why thank you for exempting me from the seducing, ankle-breaking majority. Though I guess I’m still a reckless botanist.” You berate yourself for staying as long as you have, swayed by a pretty face, and hop down from the counter. “I think I should be going.”

“Come on,” he drawls, “we were getting on so well. You know this is actually the best date I’ve been on in years.” He winks at you. An actual wink. The man is delusional.

“You need to seriously rethink your definition of a date.”

“Okay. I’ll take you out for coffee sometime then.”

“It’s tempting.” You mime an exaggeratedly thoughtful pose. “I mean, what with you being an irascible divorcé with a ton of emotional baggage that you’re dealing with by getting drunk, falling out of trees and insulting women you barely know and all. However, I fear I must decline.”

“Ouch!” he clutches a hand to his chest. “A simple no would have worked.”

You remember the apple you stuffed in your pocket earlier, and throw it at McCoy who catches it awkwardly before it thumps him in the chest.

“What was that for?” he grumbles.

You shrug. “You know what they say. An apple a day...”

As you turn to leave, you imagine for just a second that a look of disappointment flashes across his face. He’ll get over it. A guy like him will forget all about you in a couple of days.

You don’t regret turning McCoy down, even if you pause for a moment when the flowers arrive a few days later, with a comm number and a request to let him make it up to you. You don’t regret it either when he catches your eye in class, while he’s defending the point you were trying to make to the professor, though you have to remind yourself that he thinks you and your colleagues are nothing more than accidents waiting to happen.

By the time you get your first posting on the science ship USS Intrepid, the night you had to help a cadet who fell out of a tree has become nothing more than an amusing academy anecdote, and you’re far too busy to ever think about what might have been, had Cadet McCoy been a little less of an ass.

...........

It’s amazing then, how clear your recollection is of that night years ago as you’re being wheeled through the corridors of an unfamiliar ship inside some kind of stasis tube. It’s the unmistakeable southern drawl, alternating barked orders with unexpectedly gentle reassurance, that sends you straight back to a long-forgotten exam room light years away in San Francisco. If you could focus, you know there would be a messy dark fringe and pair of serious hazel eyes hovering over you.

It’s getting harder to breathe and the tube feels more and more claustrophobic. The overhead lights start to flash by more quickly as you realise the medical team has started moving at a run.

“Don’t worry Y/N, we’ve got you,” you hear McCoy say gruffly. “You hang in there.”

It goes dark.

There’s unconnected flashes of things — a spray of warm water with the sharp tang of antiseptic, hooded faces, the feeling of a mask that pinches across the bridge of your nose, piercing beeps — but the first thing you’re really aware of is waking up in a biobed with the gentle whir of a tricorder being waved over your chest. You try to sit up and a hand presses down on your shoulder.

A figure in a familiar biohazard suit leans over you. “Well hello there.”

“McCoy?” Your voice is little more than a croak and from somewhere behind you another pair of hands swabs your cracked lips with something syrupy.

“Got it in one, Sherlock. How’s my favourite fruit historian feeling?”

His brow is arched expectantly. He remembers.

“Like an elephant sat on my chest.” There are bands of tightness around your rib cage, but you take a deep breath anyway. “Or maybe like I fell out of a tree.”

McCoy barks a laugh, and you attempt a smile. But he’s quick to resume his serious doctor demeanour. “Y/N, you were exposed to toxic spores from a fungal sample that an Ensign was working with. You started bleeding into your lungs. You had us all worried for a while.”

“I remember,” you whisper as it comes flooding back — the shrill of the bio-hazard alarms, Ensign Collet’s containment chamber not quite properly closed, and the quiet Frenchman coughing up blood. You remember triggering the containment protocols on your lab section and dragging Collet into a decontamination chamber while the rest of your team look on from the other side of the glass. “Collet?” you ask, already knowing what the answer will be.

The doctor shakes his head. “His exposure was more serious than yours. By the time the Enterprise team arrived planetside it was too late. I’m sorry Y/N. It was a miracle no one else was exposed, you were very brave.” His gruff sincerity is too much.

“Stupid and reckless more like,” you growl, as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut so you can’t see the ‘I told you so’ expression on his face. Tears drip down the sides of your face into your ears. “I think I need to sleep.”

“Okay.”

A hand presses your shoulder again, then there’s the clunk and hiss of an airlock and then silence.

The next time you wake up, everything seems a little less sore and your breathing is easier. You focus on the room for the first time. It’s a tiny little box, with an observation window on one wall and the biobed, a little table and two chairs. Apart from the airlock, there’s another smaller door, which you assume must be a bathroom. You sigh — it’s just like every other isolation unit you’ve seen.

McCoy comes in, still in the suit, and helps you sit up in the biobed. He checks your vitals, murmuring approvingly every so often. When he’s done he sits in the chair beside your bed.

You try and scrutinise his expression through the plastic visor. “Hit me with it McCoy. How long am in in quarantine for?”

“Until you’ve been asymptomatic for three weeks. Spock, Commander Spock that is, is ninety-nine percent certain that will cover the maturation cycle of any spores that might have survived decontamination.”

“Three weeks.” You blow out a breath and nod. “Okay, I can do that.”

“I’ll get you a padd to help pass the time and Uhura will hook you up with a comm link if you need to contact anyone. It’s going to be pretty dull though.” He reaches out a gloved hand and rests it on your arm. You stare at it mildly surprised at how nice McCoy is being, given, well... before. He seems to remember himself and pulls away, flexing his fingers.

“Will you come and talk to me?” you find yourself blurting out. “I mean only if you’re not busy. Of course you’re busy, but, I don’t know anyone else.”

“Me?” The eyebrow is doing its thing again. “I could find you someone a bit less... irascible.”

“Oh. Right. That. I was probably a bit harsh.” You’re surprised to find that you’re disappointed.

The doctor stands up and paces the few steps towards the window. He rocks back and forth on his toes a couple of times, before turning back to face you.

“No Y/N. I was an arrogant, self-absorbed, asshole, with a chip on my shoulder a mile wide, and within a hair’s breadth of becoming a drunk. You punctured my ego with ruthless efficiency. I was hurt at first, and determined to prove you utterly wrong, but the more I thought about it, the more obvious it was.” McCoy lifts a hand to his head as if to run his fingers through his hair until he realises he can’t and he just ends up smoothing the top of his hood awkwardly. “Dammit Y/N, I’m just surprised you want to even speak to me after what I said. It’s been years and I still cringe.”

You grin wickedly. “Come on. I thought we were getting on so well!”

The doctor groans. “Are you going to remind me of everything I said word for word? If you are I’m going to get Spock in to sit with you instead. You’ll be begging me for mercy after three weeks.”

“Not word for word...”

You’re surprised by how much you start to look forward to McCoy’s visits. He brings cards and you argue good-naturedly over the cheat rules of Ferengi poker and he teaches you the basics of chess. Sometimes you just talk. He asks you questions about botany and where you’ve been posted since leaving the academy and seems genuinely interested in your replies. In return he tells you all about the less glamorous side of serving on the flagship, with an unexpected flair for the dramatic. You wonder if he notices that neither of you talk about anything too personal.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a tiny bit disappointed on the days where the doctor can’t spend more than a few minutes with you, taking vitals and swabbing for spores. Usually Christine Chapel comes and sits with you then, and you try and slip unobtrusive questions about McCoy into the conversation. If she notices, she’s too polite to say anything.

It’s one day towards the end of the third week, that the person in the suit is someone new. Though you’ve ever met him, you’ve seen his face in holo-form a million times and would recognise the Starfleet poster boy anywhere.

“I’d stand to attention, Captain, or salute or something, but I’d probably fall over.”

Kirk smiles dazzlingly, “Relax, this is a social call. Call me Jim.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jim. Take a seat.”

He sits, leaning back with one leg crossed, looking for all the world like he’s lounging in his quarters not sat in an isolation unit with a stranger.

“Bones sends his apologies, he was called away. I offered to come and keep you company and it’s past time I introduced myself to you as a guest on my ship.”

“Bones? You mean McCoy?”

Kirk grins. “Yeah, it started as a joke at the academy and kinda stuck. I don’t think he minds, much.” He sweeps a glance over the room and shudders. “I’ve spent my fair share of time in these units, but not three weeks. I’m amazed you’re not climbing the walls.”

The corners of your mouth lift into a half-smile. “I’m too tired to climb anything, Captain. Jim. McCoy’s been kind enough to distract me.”

Jim leans forward propping has elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “So I hear. You know, when I’ve been in isolation he usually just visits me to stab me with hypos and yell at me that I’m ‘out of my corn-fed mind’.” He does a passable imitation of McCoy and you giggle. “I like to think grumpiness is his form of affection.”

He spots the chess set. “You play?”

“Badly.” You scrunch up your nose. “McCoy’s been teaching me, but I’m not as quick on the uptake as usual.”

He rub his hands together in a rustle of fabric. “Well then let me teach you a couple of moves to help you beat him.”

You play for a while, Kirk coaching you through a couple of Vulcan gambits. It’s only when you’ve begun to relax a bit that he turns the conversation back towards you and McCoy.

“You know I didn’t ever think I would get to meet The Botanist,” Jim says as he casually moves to take one of your rooks.

“What do you mean.” You eye the Captain suspiciously. He clearly knows more than he has let on so far.

“You’re her, aren’t you? The botanist from the Academy. The One That Got Away.” Jim wiggles his fingers in air quotes around the last part.

“That’s ridiculous,” you snort. The idea that your encounter had meant anything more than a bit of wake-up call to McCoy was madness, wasn’t it? You move a piece blindly.

Kirk shrugs. “All I know is that one night he met you, you turned him down — quite spectacularly by all accounts — and he couldn’t think about anything else for weeks.” He moves his queen. “Check.”

“But he got over it after that, right?” You hop a knight over one of his pieces and capture a pawn.

“Sure, he stopped crying into his cereal after a while. But I think you were always his biggest regret. There’s more than once when he’s in one of his more reflective moods that he’s wondered what if he hadn’t screwed it up with the Botanist. Checkmate, by the way.”

You’ve lost all interest in the game now anyway. Surely this is an exaggeration. “Why are you telling me this Jim?”

He stands and puts the chair back at the table. “I know McCoy. Even if he denies it, there’s a part of him that thinks maybe this is a second chance. His feelings run deep Y/N, I’d hate to see him get hurt if he’s wrong.”

“So you want to know if I plan to, I don’t know, seduce him, then break his ankles — metaphorically speaking?” This is a lot to take in, but it’s clear that you’re getting The Talk from Jim. It’s hilarious and mortifying at the same time.

“Metaphorically speaking, yes. He’s different than he was in the Academy Y/N, if you give him a chance.”

“I already know that, Jim. And I’ve never been the ankle-breaking type.”

“He’s still the grumpiest man I know.” Jim shakes his head.

“Irascible.” You smile. “But I think I’m getting to appreciate irascible.”

“Well... good.” As if a switch has been flipped, Jim’s serious expression is replaced by one of pure sunshine and he give’s you a jaunty wave as he let’s himself out of the airlock.

You flop back on the bed, hugging a pillow. There’s far too much to think about here when all you want is to sleep.

The final couple of days in quarantine drag. Something has shifted between you and McCoy, with the knowledge of what Kirk said hanging between you and you wonder how much of that Kirk has shared with his friend.

Though he visits as usual, the doctor seems more on edge, a little more watchful. It’s impossible to really tell anything, though, with the biohazard suit masking the truth of his expression. You’re itching to be out of this room, to have some privacy, to actually look into his face and tell him... tell him what?

Hi Doctor McCoy, I used to think you were an asshole, but now I want to jump your bones?

“Did you say something?” McCoy looks up from the biobed display and you realise you must have been mumbling. You feel heat rush from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair.

“Nope,” you choke out. “Nothing.”

He regards you with his customary raised eyebrow. “So, we’ll being doing your final decontamination tomorrow and then you’re free to go. Everything looks normal here and all your swabs have been clear for weeks.”

“Oh!” You knew it was coming, but it’s only just hit you now that it means the end of your almost daily visits. “We should have an end of quarantine party or something!”

McCoy busies himself entering some data into the panel on the wall. “Well, actually, Doctor M’Benga is going to oversee your procedure tomorrow.” He looks up at you frowning a bit. “I’ll hope to check in on you later when you’re settled in your quarters though.”

Hope to. You nod, deflated. This is it then. You think you should say something. You thought you would have time to prepare, but he’s making his way to the door so it’s now or never.

“McCoy!” He pauses at the airlock and looks back at you, just as your mind goes blank. “Thank you, for everything. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you better.” You kick yourself mentally at your brilliant choice of words, which convey exactly your strength of feeling towards the doctor.

“Me too. Uhm, you that is. Getting to know you.” He clears his throat. “See you tomorrow Y/N.”

Emerging back into the real world is a bit of an anti-climax. Sparse white rooms seem to be the norm on the Enterprise rather than a particular feature of the isolation unit, you realise when Christine wheels you into your quarters for the first time. Still at least you have more than about 90 square feet of space to explore, and not everything whirs and beeps at your every movement. Still, it could use some plants.

Christine gives you a quick tour, before retrieving a bag from the wardrobe. She looks at you knowingly.

“Doctor McCoy mentioned that you have nothing with you. So I thought you might appreciate some clothes.” She opens the bag and pulls out some comfy looking loungewear that’s positively luxurious after weeks of disposable scrubs. “Someone will replicate you up some uniforms, but I thought it might make you feel a bit more human.”

You rub the soft fabric between your fingers. “Thanks Christine.”

“I, uh, also threw in a bit of make-up and a hairbrush and stuff. I can help you get ready if you like?”

You’re only going to be sitting on the couch, and then the bed, at least for the next 24 hours, but the thought of looking a bit more presentable sounds nice, and you’d be lying if there wasn’t a small part of you hoping that if McCoy comes later he sees you as more than a patient. “Sure, why not.”

Christine takes it more seriously than you expected, and really ‘a bit of make-up’ turns out to be a full on beauty kit, but by the time she leaves you’re brushed and moisturised and subtly glowing like you’ve spent three weeks in a spa not in quarantine with dubious lung function. Now there’s nothing to do but wait.

Being shaken awake by a large warm hand is unexpected. As is the voice edged with concern calling your name. “Y/N, wake up for me darlin’.” After a beat, “Please.”

You crack open one eye, thinking how southern he sounds when he’s being polite. “M’awake McCoy,” you slur sleepily. He’s perched on the edge of the couch next to you in all his rumpled gorgeousness. “Been breaking and entering again?”

“Doctor’s privileges,” he says with a wry smile. He helps you sit up and you revel in the warmth of his ungloved hands. “You look different. Nice. Nice different not...” he stumbles and tails off.

Though he’s avoiding your gaze, you’re enjoying being able to see him properly again, to see the flush creeping up his neck. You take pity on him.

“Why thank you. I washed my hair in actual water. And Christine worked a bit of magic to make me look human.”

He nods and meets your eyes finally for a second, before jumping up. “I brought you something,” he says, retrieving an arrangement of brightly coloured flowers from the counter. “I checked them out with the botany lab, they’re officially the least dangerous plant in the Alpha Quadrant. Some kind of daisy from Risa. I thought you might be missing some greenery.”

“Leucanthemum Risaii — totally harmless. Thanks McCoy.” You fuss with the flowers a bit, smiling and put them on the table beside you. “So, do you want to check me over?”

He looks at you in confusion. “Um no. Unless you need me to? Dammit, I should have asked how you were feeling.” He reaches out to take your hand pressing his fingers against your pulse.

“No! No, I’m fine McCoy. I just thought you’d need to do some... doctory stuff.”

“Oh.’ His expression clears. “Right. So I, uh, passed your care over to Doctor M’Benga. He’s going to do all the ‘doctory stuff’ from now on.” He turns your hand in his to hold it properly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. After weeks of restricted contact, it feels electric. Kirk just might have been right.

“Why?” you ask tentatively, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your stomach. If it’s true, you want to hear it from him.

He gazes at you with dark eyes and breathes deeply, like he’s steeling his nerves. You feel a little bad that he’s so uncertain, so much the opposite of the first time you met.

“Because I think you’re smart and beautiful. And so I could ask if this idiot doctor might take you out for coffee. Properly this time, not like a drunk entitled asshole. What do you say darlin’?” He squeezes your hand, smiling hopefully and your insides do a flip flop.

“No,” you whisper. His face falls and he swallows thickly looking down at your hands. You place two fingers under his chin and tilt his face until he has no choice but to look you in the eyes. “Coffee’s first date territory. I think we’re way past coffee, McCoy.”

“We are?” His voice is gruff and disbelieving.

“Are you kidding? These last few weeks we’ve had the best dates I’ve been on in years.”

McCoy growls. “Dammit Y/N, are you trying to kill me? You promised me you weren’t going to remind me of that!” He runs his free hand through his hair. “Okay then, not coffee. Dinner?”

“Yes.” You grin stupidly, and without thinking peck a kiss on McCoy’s lips to seal the deal. After a second of stunned silence he briefly kisses you back before leaning back on the couch with you in his arms. He smells warm and spicy just like you remember.

“Jim told me you’d changed your mind about me. He said you promised him you wouldn’t break my ankles. Hell, he couldn’t have made that up, but I hardly dared to believe it.”

“You know he gave me The Talk?”

“He didn’t!” McCoy looks down in horror.

“Oh he did,” you laugh. “It was sweet, but by then I didn’t need convincing.”

“He’s going to be insufferable when he finds out.” The doctor sighs. “Speaking of the infant that is our glorious Captain, he sent you a housewarming gift. It’s on the counter.”

You heave yourself up to standing with a groan and totter the few paces across the room and back again on unsteady legs. “I’m going to need that dinner sooner rather than later McCoy. I need feeding up.”

He chuckles and kisses your hair. “Sure thing sweetheart. Now come on, what’s in the box?”

It’s a plain box wrapped with a big blue ribbon, and it’s heavy. You pull the bow loose and lift the lid. It’s full of perfect red apples, and a scrawled note sits on top — An apple a day!

“Goddammit, Jim! That’s not funny!”

“You told him about the apple? What must he think — I was so mean to you!”

“He heard me call you my favourite fruit historian and wouldn’t let up until I told him the whole thing. He thought it was hilarious, said I deserved it. And I did.” He picks an apple out the box. “I told you, he’s going to be insufferable,” he grumbles.

“Are you not afraid I’m going to start throwing them at you again?” You ask putting the box out of sight on the floor and snuggle back in under McCoy’s arm.

“Are you?”

“No!”

“Well then, there’s your answer. Besides you forget, I’m not your doctor anymore. Apples have no power over me.” He takes a bite out of the one he’s holding and wiggles his eyebrows. “You can throw all the fruit you like at M’Benga.”

“Idiot.” You swat him playfully across the chest, enjoying this less serious McCoy. Something tells you if you can make this work you’re going to be very happy. “Okay so I have a very important question.”

“Fire away. I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of many things.”

“If apples keep doctors away, how do you get them to stay? Pineapples maybe?”

McCoy hums thoughtfully and the vibrations in his chest tickle your cheek. “How long are we talking?”

You prop yourself up so you can see his face, brushing a piece of his fringe out the way. “A good long while.”

His lips curve in a satisfied smile. “Not pineapples then. That’s gonna need kisses.”

“Kisses?” You lean in further so that your lips are brushing his. “Like this?” you whisper pressing your mouth against his more deeply than the pecks you gave him earlier so you can taste the sweet tang of apple juice. He responds with a moan, until you both break away slightly breathless.

“Perfect darlin’,” he murmurs. “Plenty of kisses just like that.”

..........

Taglist: Tagging Urban Shitposters and a few other people I think may be interested. It’s been so long since I tagged I’m not sure who is on my general list. Just ask if you want to be added, or taken off!

@musikat18 @bkwrm523 @bookcaseninja @queenmismatched @outside-the-government @space-helen @starshiphufflebadger @yallneedtrek @feelmyroarrrr @mad-girl-without-a-box @kawaiiusagichansan @bonesmccoybones @thefanficfaerie @janeykath318 @fear0fdeathkeepsusalive @goingknowherewastaken @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse

[spidercakes]

How about Mob Boss!Tony sees pretty boy Peter being harrassed and decides to protect him? Maybe with soft dom Tony and praise kink?

Oh, I love this shit! Nothing gets me like some mob boss stuff. Trope-y as hell but I’m here for it every damn time. The praise kink and soft dom stuff is way more subtle, but its a little bit there!

Warnings for some references to abuse, age difference, and feminization of Peter (which at this point like... duh lmao).

*

It isn’t that Tony has a conscience, really. He doesn’t, never really has outside of his own self interest and the interest of the few people close to him but he doesn’t suffer abusers lightly. Fucking scum of the earth, they are, and Tony has no problem killing them off if given the opportunity. As it is this one is lucky he’s in public or he would have pulled the trigger a long time ago. Bastard has the balls to look pissed off about being interrupted too, and the poor kid behind him is clinging to his suit jacket for dear life.

“I suggest you fuck right off,” Tony tells him, tone leaving no room for debate but this asshole just doesn’t seem to know when to leave well enough alone.

“Oh fuck off, if you were going to pull the trigger you would have,” the guy says and Tony shakes his head.

Fucking moron. “Yeah, not true,” he says and lowers the gun. “I was just avoiding this because I don’t like cops,” he says and he shoots the asshole in the leg. Behind him the kid jumps, letting out a small whimper as, presumably anyway, his boyfriend lets out a loud shriek. “Yeah, not so tough now are you, asshole? Now get the fuck out of my sight before I shoot you in the head,” Tony tells him. Fucker makes a pitiful attempt to crawl off but Tony’s got no time for that so he turns around to check out the kid.

Poor thing looks terrified and Tony sighs. “Hey, its okay,” he murmurs softly, reaching out and the kid presses himself back into the wall of the ally they’re in. Tony doesn’t have much time so he’s got to solve this problem fast. “Relax,” he tells the kid, “I’m not going to hurt you. Only hurt him because he didn’t much leave a choice, wouldn’t have left until I did.”

The kid is still wide eyed and terrified but he’s calmed a small fraction so that’s improvement. Not enough, but something nonetheless. “Wh- why’d you help me?” he asks and oh, perfect opening.

Its not that he likes revealing personal information about himself, but as far as personal details this is his worst kept secret. Anyone who’s spent more than ten minutes with him knows how much he hates his father. “My father was an abusive piece of shit. I’ve got no patience for that and no qualms with giving people like that a taste of their own medicine,” he says, shrugging. He knows the kid believes him, probably because its hard to fake the kind of venom that coats his words and the kind of pain that always makes it to his features no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

The kid unflattens himself from the wall so there’s that. One step down, one to go. “Will he be okay?” Peter asks, looking around the dumpster for his boyfriend. Tony will give him this, he has made it quite a distance.

“Probably,” he lies. Wound like that he’s going to need to be looked at soon, but if he dies its going to be slow. Fucker earned it, treating what looks to be a soft, perfect kid like this one up. Though he supposes he’s not much of a kid, young for sure, but in his twenties if Tony were to guess. He’s got a baby face though, looks a bit younger than Tony suspects he is.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asks, nickname slipping out.

“Peter, and I’m twenty three. Why does everyone always assume I’m a kid?” he mumbles more to himself than Tony.

“Tony,” he says and he reaches out, carefully tilting Peter’s head to the side and sighing. “He did a number on you, hmm. Why don’t you come home with me, let me clean you up?” he asks.

He fully expects the kid to say no but he nods slowly. “Okay,” he murmurs, hands wringing together and Tony sighs.

“You too afraid to go home?” he asks and Peter nods slowly.

Well, that solves that. “Okay. Come on, you can go home when you feel safe,” he says. Its kind of a lie kind of not. Tony doesn’t want to have to keep the kid, he’s not much for kidnapping people who aren’t pieces of shit or people who aren’t blocking his business, but the kid has seen too much to let go and he knows Nat and Pepper will fight him on letting him roam free. He might be able to talk them into it though, and the kid must be some fucking scared to take going home with a stranger who just shot his boyfriend over home. Makes Tony hate the fucker crawling down the alley more but he suspects Peter wouldn’t be impressed if Tony shot him in the head anyway.

*

Peter is sitting with a cup of hot tea in his hand and he knows that Tony is dangerous, no one shoots someone with that little hesitation who isn’t dangerous. But he’s gentle as he wipes the blood away from Peter’s split lip, fingers brushing lightly against his cheek as he examines Peter’s face. Its not too bad this time, he’s dealt with worse but he still feels sore and battered. Tony carefully presses a cotton ball to his lip and he winces, hissing lightly and Tony lets out a soft sigh. “Shh, you’re doing so well. I’m almost done,” he murmurs, fingers moving softly across his cheek again and Peter relaxes some, sitting still as Tony continues to clean him up.

When Tony finally sits back Peter feels exhausted. The adrenaline rush has fallen and he just wants to sleep even if his brain is ringing alarm bells. So this guy is a probably psychopath, at least he only seems to have a thing for shooting abusers so Peter isn’t really in any danger.

Well, okay, that’s not really how anything at all works but Tony has been nice to him this whole time so shooting Quent aside he’s actually an improvement over his previous home life. Peter thinks that’s sad, that some random guy who shot someone is better than Quent. And Peter doesn’t even like guns, never really had but especially not since his uncle got killed in a robbery gone wrong. What the hell has his life turned into?

“You want to go to bed?” Tony asks, guessing at his thoughts and Peter considers it for a long moment before he nods. On one hand this is bound to go horribly, Tony shot someone earlier. On the other hand Tony hasn’t shown any signs of shooting him so maybe he’ll be able to at least get a good night’s sleep before its back to his regularly scheduled nightmare.

“Hey, shh. Its okay Peter, I’m not going to hurt you. Come on,” he says, offering his hand. Peter debates on not taking it but he does maybe out of curiosity or maybe something else. He’s never really been good at making not shitty life choices, his friends can attest to that. Tony carefully pulls him up, allowing Peter to move at his own pace as he leads him down the hall. When they get to the room Peter supposes he’ll be sleeping in he’s surprised at the size of the bed. He shouldn’t be, the whole house is massive, but it still throws him off. “Go on, its okay,” Tony tells him, giving him a gentle nudge forward. “No one is going to bother you in here.”

Peter takes a few steps in, grip on his tea a little tighter before he turns around to face Tony. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Tony shakes his head, “its nothing. Get some sleep,” Tony tells him.

*

When Peter wakes up the next day he feels more refreshed than he has in a long, long time. Probably the fact that the bed is so comfortable. He debates on staying there longer because he’s not stupid, he walked right out of one lions den straight into another and he doesn’t know what Tony’s deal is but he watched him shoot someone. He doesn’t think he’s allowed to just go. Not, he thinks, that he wants to right now because if Quent managed to make it to the hospital he’s some pissed and Peter doesn’t want to deal with that.

But he should at least deal with something so he carefully pulls himself out of bed and pads his way to the door. He pauses there for a moment before he takes a deep breath and exits the room. Nothing seems particularly amiss minus the smell of food and Peter’s stomach growls, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. He hopes he’s actually allowed to eat because whatever that is smells good.

He follows his nose to the kitchen and finds Tony there with a spatula in his hand and its such a weird contrast to his suit. Its a nice suit too, the kind that only people with a lot of money can afford. “Hungry?” Tony asks, brown eyes alight as he looks over at Peter. The tension in his body leaves and he pads closer to see what Tony’s cooking. “Hope you’re not a vegetarian,” Tony says, looking down at the food. “Or a vegan,” he adds, eyeing the eggs.

Peter laughs a little, “nah, I’ll eat pretty much whatever. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who knows how to cook,” he says and Tony makes an offended noise, pressing his hand to his chest in mock offense.

“I will have you know- actually you’re pretty much right. I’m Italian, so food is pretty important to my family, but fuck it took me like ten years to figure out how to boil water without blowing something up. My grandfather told me I was a disgrace to my culture at least twice a week until a friend of mine pointed out that cooking is just edible chemistry and I’m good at that,” he says. “Seemed a lot less daunting after that and I do fine now.”

Yeah, so Peter can smell. “Hmm. I never really had a hard time with it,” he says. Cooking came easy, baking came easier not that he had much of a choice. May had to work plenty and if he didn’t know how to cook that either left him to figure it out or starve.

Tony smiles a little, “bragger,” he says, eyes crinkling at the edges and Peter knows he shouldn’t think he’s as attractive as he is but he’s only human and he’s got eyes. Tony is gorgeous, if clearly hiding a dark side. Kind of like all those colorful frogs in rainforests, they’re really pretty to look at but poisonous. Which is exactly Peter’s type and he really should examine why he has the worst taste known to man in men. Women? He has better luck there even if they tend to have insane fathers to low-key try to kill him like that one time with Liz. To be fair she wasn’t impressed about that either, hasn’t spoken to her father in years. But he doesn’t seem to have the best luck in finding people he thinks are attractive and also aren’t some kind of fucked up or related to someone who is some kind of fucked up.

“Just saying, some of us don’t somehow manage to blow up water,” Peter says, teasing a little and he kind of hopes he doesn’t get shot about it. Quent doesn’t really take any kind of teasing well but damn well expects to be able to say whatever the hell he wants to Peter.

Tony doesn’t react like that at all though, he laughs and shakes his head. “Someone isn’t as creative in the kitchen as me. I take it your feeling better, then?” he asks and Peter nods.

“Your bed is really comfortable.” The softest thing Peter has ever slept in, that’s for sure and after an absolutely insane night it was nice to have somewhere to crash.

He gets a small smile from Tony before he’s shooed to the island in the kitchen with a plate of food. Peter all but actively vacuums it off his plate, unaware of just how hungry he was until he started to eat. “Wow, little young even for you,” someone new says and Peter frowns, mouth full of food.

“Oh shut up, Nat. He’s twenty three,” Tony mumbles, rolling his eyes at the stunning redhead who has just entered the kitchen.

She looks him up and down, “did you verify that on his I.D?”

“Oh my god, I don’t even look that young!” Peter says, annoyed. He doesn’t, he looks his own damn age people are just rude.

“You look like you’re twelve,” the redhead, Nat Peter supposes, says.

Peter glowers, “maybe you should get your eyes checked,” he mumbles and Tony lets out a loud snort, earning a glare from Nat.

“What the hell did you bring home and what did you do to him?” she asks.

Peter doesn’t expect the sudden mood change as Tony whips around to give Nat a vicious look. He lets out a small noise of surprise involuntarily and Nat frowns a little, confused and a little concerned but evidently not afraid. Peter thinks she should be with the way Tony is looking at her. “I didn’t do anything to him,” he snaps, “that’s the condition I found him in.”

Its obvious that Nat clues into something Peter misses and if he thought that story about his father being abusive was fake, which he didn’t, he extra didn’t now. Its pretty obvious Tony didn't appreciate the accidental comparison, if he’s generous about describing Tony’s reaction. “You can’t just bring home strays,” Nat tells him.

“Well I did and he’s fine. He’s pretty funny actually, and he’d probably be a lot prettier if his shit stick of an ex didn’t bruise his face,” he says, sparing Peter a soft glance and he needs to get his god damn head checked because he shouldn’t feel a small bit of pride at that. God, has living with Quent for so long really left him this starved for positive attention? Peter kind of hates him, for just a moment, before the spark of anger fades into general dismissal. He’s just too tired to give a shit about Quent anymore.

“Put him back where you found him,” Nat tells him.

Tony flips her off instead of responding.

*

Its not exactly like Tony really meant to keep Peter, its just that he never really went home and someone had to buy him clothes because he couldn’t walk around wearing dirty alley clothes forever, and obviously he needed new shoes, and Tony genuinely didn’t intend on keeping him around. He’d sort of expected to have some type of moral dilemma in which he had to figure out what the hell to do with him given that he can’t reasonably let him go and he wasn’t about to keep Peter against his will either but that’s not what happened.

Instead Peter takes to him nicely and Tony’s always been a real sucker for the curious ones. Pepper tells him he’s always wanted someone to worship him but that sure shit isn’t true, if it was they never would have been married for seven years but she claims they divorced because she’s not exactly the worshiping type. Neither is Peter but he doesn’t feel the need to fill her in on all the quirks of Peter’s personality that he doesn’t show to anyone else. He likes having what feels a bit like secret access to Peter’s life and its clear Peter gets a thrill out of it too.

Like first of all he’s so not as sweet and innocent as he looks and that’s probably his favorite thing about Peter, the way he seems to be able to hide so much behind a pretty face, a face that looks young. There are drawbacks though and Tony is trying his best to not be annoyed with Peter at the moment because he’s decided to sit in his lap in an outfit that should be illegal while he toys with Tony’s tie and he knows that Tony’s neck is sensitive.

He tries to shoo Peter off but Peter smacks his hand, giving him a dirty look and the little fucker. Tony presses his phone to his shoulder to muffle the noise and sighs. “Peter, be good,” he says. Its usually enough to get him to stop his shit, Tony figured out pretty early on that he’s got a thing for praise and Tony has always been fond of handing out compliments, assuming the person he’s handing them to has earned them.

No such luck this time though as Peter leans in, hands wrapped around his tie and Tony isn’t usually fond of mint green as a color but it looks pretty on Peter’s nails. “No, you’ve been in here all day,” he says, whines almost and Tony shouldn’t find that endearing either. Usually he finds that kind of thing irritating as hell, he doesn’t really do high maintenance but he can’t help but love Peter, has almost since he first saw him.

“I have things to do, you know that,” Tony tells him, free hand settling on his thigh.

Peter huffs, “yeah, me. I’m stuff, hang up,” he tells Tony, tugging at his tie a little. 

Oh, that’s more than a little tempting but Tony actually does have shit to do. He doesn’t exactly like dealing with Rogers, never has on account of he finds the guy to be a pompous self righteous asshole but they do have a problem with HYDRA attempting a quiet attempt to squeeze them both out. And if there’s anything they hate more than each other its fucking Nazis. They might actually land higher on Tony’s shit list than abusers so he’s not fucking fond of finding them all over Manhattan. 

Rogers seems to be finding them at alarming rates in Brooklyn too and he’s got less patience for Nazis than Tony, which is almost a little impressive. So they figured they might as well make a temporary agreement, get rid of the fuckers once and for all and Peter, for all his temptation, is not quite as pressing as this. But he also happens to know when Peter’s in a mood, little brat, he won’t just go away.

So he figures he’ll bargain. “Peter,” he says, hand sliding a little higher on his thigh. “If you’re good we’ll do whatever you want, just us,” he tells him.

Peter’s eyes light up as he leans in, “can we go a week in Italy?” he asks and its the largest thing he’s ever asked for. Usually he hesitates to ask for even the small things and fuck sakes, Tony can’t say no to that, Peter will never ask for anything ever again.

He squeezes Peter’s thigh, “sure. If you’re good,” he says and presses the phone back to his ear. Peter releases his tie and squirms a little on Tony’s lap, earning a look for it but Peter shrugs innocently like its a total accident that his ass is right over Tony’s dick. It isn’t and they both know it but Peter settles in, remaining still with Italy on the line. Nat and Pepper so won’t be impressed with him ditching them with HYDRA but Natasha has never minded killing anyone Nazi or not and Pepper is probably more competent with the business side of things than him anyway, he figures he’ll leave things in good hands and if Rogers whines he knows he’s all about family. Can’t possibly complain when Tony’s taking time for his without looking like an asshole about it.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for potentially eventually giving my friend trauma?

I've been worrying about this forever. So it was my (21m) birthday on the 13th and a friend (18-19m) who's like a little brother to me visited. Lately, he's sort of been really into edibles and brought some gummy ones over. He asked me if I wanted one, and I said yes.

The asshole part, what I've been worrying about, is that I have never been high before. I'm a very self destructive person and have been in an incredibly bad place especially recently. It's no fault of his and I would never push it on anyone, obviously, but I ended up accepting the edible because of that. Because I know that it's supposed to be a bad experience. I've read about people talking about how horrible of an experience it would be, and how they were traumatized by such a bad trip, and I thought oh! I want that.

Its not like I did anything bad during that. It was way too much for me in that it made me shake uncontrollably nd I couldn't do anything even the day after except just lay or sit down. My depression affects me in that I sort of just am really out of it all the time. Like nothing feels real and the edible just sort of accentuated that a massive amount. I bring this up because I was not in the right state of mind to be around anything like that but I still put myself into that situation.

I worry I'm the asshole because he's still so young. I don't personally have anything against anyone who uses drugs unless its something that hurts them. Edibles are also legal here. I haven't talked to him in a while either, it was the first time we'd seen or talked in months. I feel that as the adult here I should've stopped him. And I feel that I shouldn't have let him see me doing something too much for me.

I worry so much because he clearly didn't understand what was happening. He pulled his phone out to record at one point and tried to joke with me but I literally could t do anything. He clearly wanted to have fun with me in the way he did with his friends but didn't understand why it wasn't fun with me. What if one day he realizes that he inadvertently caused a really bad experience for me? What if it ends up becoming something of a trauma or guilt for him? He only just graduated high school. I'm the adult here. Aita?

What are these acronyms?

[maomaomeows]

Feral! S/O: Tanya Keys

Request: Might sound weird, but a feral SO? Like living dirty and rough in the wild and not entirely understanding social norms. Can be paired with whoever you’d deem the most interesting!

[A/N Anon, I adore this request. It SPEAKS to me. Paired with Tanya (shes my wifeee) and Snugglemagne will be in a future chapter!]

You flex your hands nervously, eyes darting around the unfamiliar building. The lights are damn-near blinding, and you fight off every urge to run out the back door. You search for your girlfriend quietly, praying for her swift return. The gentle click of claws along the hardwood cause you to whip your head around, staring at the source of the noise. You make eye contact with the source: a small gopher man. You bare your teeth at him, running your tongue along your canines. He takes a step back, wincing at the blaise ferocity. You slowly let your lips relax before twitching your nose at him in greeting. He’s small: he isn’t a threat. You continue to stare at the small man, eyes roaming his small form. What a tiny little creature. How has he survived this long? He mouths words at you in a language you don’t understand, and you turn to look elsewhere. He continues to speak, but you don’t bother taking the time to decipher its meaning. You can hear him walk away, and you feel a rush of satisfaction course through you. He wasn’t a horrible person, but why would he bother talking to you? It’s loud enough in here already. You shake your fur out, eagerly awaiting your lovers return. A few people turn to stare at you once more, but you don’t mind. You flash them a smile, and they turn away quickly. They scurry off to another corner of the room, eager to escape your unwavering gaze. 

‘Why do people do that?’ you wonder, ‘what’s the point of staring, if not to garner a response?’ You shift your legs, growing tired of standing. A dark-furred monkey moves from their seat, gesturing towards it with their drink. Were they offering you a seat? You shake your head gently, waving them to sit down again.

 “Don’t need to sit. I’d rather stand,” you state. The monkey contorts his face into a complex expression before moving to sit down again. He shrugs at you before muttering, “suit yourself.” You can hardly understand him over the deafening roar of the music. You move forward quickly, and he jumps in alarm. 

“What does that phrase mean? Suit yourself?” you ask

“What?” he stutters. 

“Is not a suit clothing?” you pause, wondering if you said that correctly, “a suit is clothing. Why would I dress myself for declining an unwanted offer?” You tilt your head, leaning down to make eye contact with the small primate. You open your eyes widely, searching his face for a response. 

“Chill, babe. You’re gonna kill the poor thing!” Joyful laughter brings you out of your interrogation. There she is. You rise from your crouch, and you can faintly hear a breath of relief whisper its way out of the animal. You choose to ignore the fear. It’s more polite to ignore prey’s fear, right? You move towards your girlfriend, burying your snout into her neck. She giggles again, running her claws through your dense fur. You hum contently. 

“Did you get what you were looking for?” you muse.

“Yeah, the guy is hiding out at 1475 Emerald Lane. You have fun over here?” 

“No, not really,” you respond. She laughs, although you can’t discern what she could possibly find entertaining about the statement. You smile anyways, happy to hear her laugh. 

“You’re so blunt, I love it. Come on, Beast. Let’s get you out of this joint.” 

You twitch your nose at the affectionate nickname. She puts her hand on the small of your back before waving to the monkey behind you: “They’re really sweet, I promise!” she yells. You duck under the door frame, glad to be out in the open again. You don’t like being confined with so many other people. You never know who’s going to snap, or when a disaster could happen. You lean down to kiss her forehead, eager to be next to her again. She pats your head gently, returning the gesture. 

“Are we going tonight? Or tomorrow?” you ask. 

“Tomorrow, probably. I’m tired,” she mutters. She locks her hands with yours, pulling you along with her. She’s too small to actually pull you, but you decide to walk with her anyways. Anything for her. Even being weak. She smiles at you: “You’re getting better at this whole social thing,” she jabs. You attempt to smile, although it probably comes off more aggressive than intended. She smiles anyways, happy to see you try so hard. 

“So I was digging around, and I found a place I think you’ll really love. It’s a Japanese place, yeah? So, of course, they’ve got all the good, raw fish for you.” She waves her free hand around as she talks. You hum, delighted. She continues where she left off, turning around to face you: “But here’s the thing: they also serve bone marrow!” You wag your tail excitedly. It’s been a really long time since you’ve gotten to eat marrow. You bonk heads with her, and she holds your head in place to place a kiss on your nose. You huff, shaking your fur out playfully. You nudge her forward, eager to eat, and she grabs your hands happily. She walks backwards, swinging your hands together playfully. You stick your tongue out at her, watching carefully for potential obstacles. 

“You excited, Vicious?” She teases. 

“Absolutely,” you hum. “Have you ever had marrow? Or is that just a wild thing?” 

“Nah,” she shrugs, “but I’m down to try it. What’s it like, anyways? I didn’t even know that shit was edible.” 

You snicker at her words before speaking: “You would be surprised at just how much you can eat. Bone marrow is good. Soft, slightly fatty, but not…”You speak slowly, taking time to choose your words. There’s so many words to choose from, it’s often overwhelming. You pick the most appropriate word as quickly as you can. She waits patiently for you to speak, and you feel a warmth flow through you at the kind gesture. “It’s not...chewy like fat. Real nutty, has a little bit of sweetness, super rich. You’ll like it.” 

“Sounds dope,” she muses. She smiles at you, and you detect a hint of pride. Is she proud of you? 

“Tanya?” you whisper.

She stops in her tracks, looking up at you: “What’s up, Brute?”

“I love you.”

She giggles, pulling you along once again. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

[bigtimetired]

Softly, Softly

a one-shot in a wider (v unfinished i’m suffering help) au- nearly complete age-swap, set in the 90s for some godforsaken reason, this fic set not too long after damian moves in w bruce- i think that’s all that matters? just under 4k, mostly under the cut- anyway:

12th November 1990

Winter in Gotham is never easy.

It’s generally agreed that the going gets tough from the end of November to the start of February, and things are- not easy, never easy, but more doable- up until that point.

It’s early-ish November- the air is getting chilly, there’s frost on the ground in the mornings. It’s starting to get cold and sharp out, though at this point a person could get away with a regular jacket during the day.

It’s the easiest part of a Gotham winter.

Of course, Dick’s little brother doesn’t seem to have gotten this particular memo.

In retrospect, Dick blames himself for not noticing sooner and nipping it in the bud. The signs had been there for god knows how long; the quiet sniffles, late night rasps, sluggish reactions.

But anyway, the point is that Dick didn’t realise earlier, which is what has them where they are now; Jason bundled up in his hoodie and coat, Dick’s scarf and a hat they found lying around, shivering miserably, and Dick sacrificing his own jacket to act as a blanket.

Jason sniffs again and Dick winces- it sounds disconcertingly liquid.

“Don’t need all this,” Jason half-whispers, weakly waving his hand at his sickbed- his usual mattress, and a sofa cushion arranged in order to prop him up against the wall. It’s debatable how long he can actually sit up unassisted at this point.

Dick hums noncommittally and makes sure their meagre rations are within Jason’s reach- half a bottle of water, a squished bar of chocolate, and two tissues. This isn’t good. They need more.

Is Daly’s still open?

“’M serious,” Jason insists, and Dick nods.

“Whatever floats your ship.”

Jason blows out a heavy, congested, breath. “’s boat, Dickers.”

“Really? Why?”

Jason frowns for a moment, looking so concerned that Dick regrets asking.

“Dunno,” he admits eventually. “Prob’ly ‘cause it rhymes.”

Jason starts coughing then- a sharp noise which sounds like it’s being pulled out of him. The fit fades as quickly as it started- the ragged breathing and rosy cheeks do not.

Dick hands Jason the water bottle; helps him hold it steady when it becomes clear that his hands are still trembling too badly to do it himself.

When Jason’s breathing regularly again, Dick asks, “How’re you feeling?”, even though he already knows what his little brother will say.

Jason grins, pale green eyes blinking slowly. “On top of the world.”

Dick reaches out and tries to measure Jason’s temperature with his hand. Jason pulls the sort of face that only a ten-year-old can muster but stays put.

Dick frowns- Jason’s kinda clammy.

“Ew,” he says out loud, making a show of wiping his hand off on Jason’s sleeve. Internally he makes up his mind. I have to go.

Jason grins again and lets out a quiet noise which would ordinarily be a snort. “You’re ew.”

Dick settles down next to Jason’s mattress, even though he has no intention of staying put for too long.

“Go to sleep, Jay- you’re already nearly there.”

“Am not,” comes the weary reply.

“Uh-huh.”

“F’ck off, Dickolas.”

“Can’t- who else will wipe your nose for you?”

“Asshole,” smiles Jason, eyes already nearly closed. His expression changes then. “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

Dick pauses- takes in the genuine worry wrinkling around Jason’s mouth, the uneven intakes of breath- and comes to the sudden, stomach-churning, realisation that Jason is too sick to be left alone.

It’s with a heavy heart that he abandons his plans to sneak out for a supply run.

“Duh. Now go to sleep, lil’ wing.”

Jason pulls another face, eyes closed now. “Gotta stop callin’ me that.”

“Nah.”

Jason tries to snort again and doesn’t say anything else. Dick keeps perfectly still for what feels like the longest time, watching Jason’s chest rise and fall.

His only reassurance is that, despite the audible wheeze of his lungs, Jason’s breaths are still perfectly regular.

Dick carefully pushes a slightly sweaty curl away from Jason’s face, trying not to focus on how Jason’s usually faint freckles seem a great deal more vivid at the moment.

He’ll be okay.

He has to be.

 Jason wakes up around when the air in the attic is getting cool enough for Dick to have to start stretching in an attempt to stay awake; the cold has always made him sleepy.

Jason’s breath stutters, once, twice, and Dick’s head whips around, heart pounding.

Jason’s breath resumes a noticeable pattern, and Jason peers over at Dick.

“Hey,” Dick smiles, trying to project a calm and certainty that he doesn’t feel. “How’re you now?”

Jason swallows, licks his lips. “Hurts,” he whispers, and Dick’s smile drops instantly.

“What does? What hurts Jay?”

Jason shifts slightly, wincing. “Everything.”

With no small amount of dread, Dick lays his hand on Jason’s forehead again.

Jason is burning up.

Dick exhales, and makes Jason drink some water as he thinks.

“Okay,” he says quietly, more to himself than to Jason, “it’s all okay.”

It isn’t really. Dick is nowhere near as calm as he’d like to be- as he needs to be.

He doesn’t know what to do- Jason’s never been this sick before, and Dick isn’t sure what’s wrong; if Jason needs medicine or if he can sleep it off, if they should be seeing a doctor or if they can get by on their own.

It’s a lot for a twelve-year-old to deal with but deal with it he must. For Jason’s sake.

Jason’s had enough water- Dick takes the bottle from him before he accidentally drops it.

“Have some of this,” he says, grabbing the bar of chocolate.

“Not hungry,” says Jason quietly, just as he did the last time Dick offered it.

“I know, Jaybird, but you gotta eat if you want to get better,” Dick says, rubbing Jason’s shoulder carefully. He seems terribly small and breakable all of a sudden.

Jason still doesn’t seem all that convinced about the whole ‘eating’ thing. Dick decides to pull out the big guns.

“Please, Jay.”

Jason nods reluctantly and begins the incredibly long endeavour of eating a bar of chocolate with as little effort as possible.

He’s sneezed a good eight times by the time the wrapper is empty, but Jason looks marginally more awake now and Dick hopes that the pink tinge to his cheeks is a sign of health.

The water is almost gone, the tissues are used up and absolutely disgusting, and they’re completely out of anything the least bit edible.

Jason is still far too hot, still sweating, and now starting to shiver.

Shit.

Dick doesn’t know all that much about illnesses but he’s fairly sure that shivering like that when you’re not cold at all isn’t a good sign.

“Jay,” Dick tries his hardest to sound both soothing and supremely confident and not at all afraid, “Jay, we don’t have enough things here for you to get better. I’m gonna have to- “

Jason’s eyes widen, and he moves the quickest he has in nearly three days to grab Dick’s wrist in an iron-grip.

“No,” he hisses, “no, you promised you’d stay. You promised.”

“Jay,” says Dick softly, “I- “

“Please, Dick, please don’t go- I don’t wanna be alone- please- “

There are actual tears welling up in Jason’s eyes all of a sudden, and Dick’s heart twists horribly.

“Hey,” he says gently, “hey- I’m not gonna leave you alone, okay? I- uh- “

Dick swallows and then makes what many people might call a terrible decision.

“I’m gonna take you with me,” he says as if he had planned this all along, “we just gotta pop out to the store and back- get some more water, some tissues, all that fun stuff. Okay?”

Jason relaxes, though he doesn’t let go of Dick. “Okay,” he half-whispers. “Just- just don’t leave me.”

“I promise.”

 Rather predictably, things are not going well.

Dick’s eyes are sore and gritty, and he can’t quite tell if his hands are shaking or not. He has Jason tucked under his arm in an attempt to keep him warm and stop him from tipping over- easier said than done on the ice-laced paths.

It’s dark out now, and the streetlights in this part of town are few and far between. Jason’s weighty breaths seem to echo in the mostly empty streets- they’re gonna start attracting attention soon.

“Dick,” mumbles Jason all of a sudden, “we nearly there yet?”

No. No they are not. All the nearest stores are closed and they’re starting to get uncomfortably far from home.

“Uh-huh,” whispers Dick, “just another few minutes, okay?”

“’kay.”

Jason lets out a tremendous sniff then, and Dick rubs his arm absently.

It’s way colder than Dick thought it would be- every breath in is sharp, every breath out creates a thick plume of condensation.

Dick isn’t good with cold- his head hurts, his chest aches, and all he wants to do is go to sleep for a while. When it’s really, really, cold, his nose bleeds.

“’m tired.”

“Me too, lil’ wing. Nearly there.”

“Can we sit down? Just for a second?”

Jason sounds exhausted.

Dick glances around carefully- no unsavoury characters too close by, though they’d be better off stepping in out of view.

“Yeah- we’ll sit down just around the corner for a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay.”

The two of them make their ungainly way around the corner- off the main street and into a more secluded area.

There’s a deep, surprisingly unoccupied, doorway here- Dick tucks his little brother into the corner in an attempt to block some of the cold out. He pulls off his jacket and gives it to Jason as a blanket.

Jason leans his head on Dick’s shoulder and lets out slow, heavy, breaths.

Dick looks up at the artificially clouded, orange-tinted sky and misses the stars for the umpteenth time.

Has Jason ever seen the stars?

Dick’s eyes are very, very, tired.

Don’t you dare fall asleep, Grayson.

There’s a song playing from a building nearby- words muffled, melody barely audible. A slow, soft, sad song.

Dick breathes in deep, lets it out slowly.

He watches his breath cloud and float up, up, up, until he can’t see it anymore.

“Dick?”, asks Jason drowsily.

“Yeah?”, Dick whispers back, still staring up at the sky.

“I don’t wanna get up.”

“Me neither, Jay. ‘nother minute?”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet again, Dick knowing full well that they need to get up and keep moving but not quite able to do anything with that knowledge just yet.

Something begins to drift down through the orange-haze; Dick watches it distantly, rubs tiredly at his runny nose.

A feathery speck of snow falls softly to the ground before them.

Then another.

Then another.

Shit.

It’s not dry enough for the snow to lodge, but that won’t make their unfinished journey any less miserable.

Then there’s a thump from above- too heavy and solid to be anything other than a person.

Then another thump, and another.

Double shit.

 Damian is having a reasonably good evening, all things considered.

Is it colder than anyone would like? Yes, yes it is.

Did Kent call earlier like he said he would? No, no he did not.

But Damian isn’t letting any of that bother him- there’s crime to fight, justice to uphold, etcetera, etcetera.

Besides, he’s rather enjoying knocking the stuffing out of the would-be jewel thief before him.

Or at least, he would be, if the degenerate would ever show some consideration and stop running away.

Coward.

(Damian’s evening is, perhaps, not going as well as he is trying to convince himself it is.)

The thief clears the gap between two buildings with surprising ease, seeing as he has no grapple gun to support him.

Damian tails him still, grip tight on the non-lethal staff Father had insisted on.

They had argued about it (again) only earlier that evening, actually.

It’s understandable that Father would prefer that Drake abstain from lethal force- Drake hasn’t been trained in the art of death from birth, after all. Drake can barely be trusted to tell one end of a blade from the other.

But Damian is a master- the best of his generation, it had always been whispered. Damian can be trusted to kill quickly and efficiently- or slowly and painfully, as required.

Damian is more than capable of-

The thief swerves suddenly and Damian copies- but the rooftop is covered with a thin layer of treacherous frost and Damian perhaps hadn’t been paying quite as much attention to his surroundings as he should have been- what would Grandfather say?

Damian stumbles, temporarily drops to one knee, before regaining his balance.

It’s a tiny slip- a microscopic mistake in the grand scheme of things- but it’s enough.

America has made him soft.

The thief is further ahead than he should be- he hops down to the next building, and then down again into a dingy alleyway.

Damian continues his pursuit- trying his best to force down the little bubble of desperation- he must catch up in time- he can’t disappoint Father- he can’t.

Damian drops into the alleyway, head automatically snapping to the left to see the thief racing away. They’re on better terrain now- Damian can catch up. He can.

It’s then that he hears it; a quiet sniff.

Almost against his will, Damian turns his head away from the criminal’s retreating figure.

There are two people huddled together in the doorway next to him.

Two very small people watching him with wide, frightened, eyes.

Children- younger than Drake- tiny and alone and shaking with fear, cold, or both.

Instinctively, Damian reaches out to them and they flinch.

They’re afraid of him.

To the best of his knowledge, Damian has never frightened children before. The other children in the League might have been wary of him, but they were never afraid. Drake might have been uneasy when they first met, but soon irritation outweighed all other emotion.

But now one child is clearly trying to shield the other from him- as if Damian is likely to snap and rage.

As if Damian is likely to hurt them.

Something about this does not sit well with Damian- perhaps it’s the novelty of the situation, perhaps it’s the not-very-good day he’s been having, perhaps it’s Father’s philosophy winding around the recesses of his mind.

He remembers, very suddenly, that there are two parts to the Batman’s mission statement, though Damian does tend to only consider the first half.

To punish the guilty and protect the innocent.

Appearances can be deceptive, and youth is no indicator of nature, but Damian is pretty sure that it is the innocent who are staring up at him in mute terror.

He glances after the jewel thief- still visible at the mouth of the alley. If he ran now, he could probably catch up.

But there are two children alone in Gotham on a cold night who are absolutely terrified of him and seem rather lacking in the resources department.

Damian takes in how underdressed the older child is- his full-body shivers and bloody nose. The other child is bundled up and mostly hidden from view but from what little Damian can see, he doesn’t seem all that healthy.

It’s snowing.

Damian looks after the criminal- the guilty who must be punished- and comes to a decision.

He sheathes his staff, drops his shoulders, and looks down at the children, trying very hard to radiate non-threatening energy.

He isn’t sure if it’s working.

“What are you doing out here?”, Damian asks, trying to imitate the soft voice that Father sometimes uses when Damian is…uneasy.

The older child swipes at his nose, doesn’t seem to notice the blood left on his hand.

“Nothing,” he mumbles, still leaning away from Damian.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Damian counters, still trying to do the Voice. “It looks like you’re planning on staying there for a while, and not by choice either.”

The boy looks at him for a long moment, before admitting quietly, “Maybe.”

Damian mentally pats himself on the back for this minor victory.

Protect the innocent.

“Do you- “, Damian starts, but he is interrupted by the second child breaking his silence to let out an extremely unpleasant-sounding, wet, hacking, cough.

The first child turns away from Damian immediately to rub his brother’s back.

When the fit subsides about two minutes later, Damian catches the tiny whisper of “You okay, Jaybird?”, and the even tinier, breathless, “Yeah.”

“You need to see a doctor,” says Damian matter-of-factly.

“I know,” mutters the older boy, not looking at Damian.

“I know where to find a clinic with a fantastic doctor,” Damian offers, surprising himself with the realisation that he is willing to take these two all the way over to Dr Hopkins’ if necessary.

“We can’t- “, the boy starts, conflict clearly playing out on his face. Then his expressions hardens. “We don’t need your charity.”

Damian aches with the urge to point out that they very clearly need someone’s charity, but resists. That sort of barb rarely goes over well with Drake, never mind two virtual strangers.

He sighs. “I know you don’t.”

They’re in a stalemate then- Damian (for reasons which not even he entirely understands) unwilling to leave them as he found them, and neither of the two boys willing to accept his help.

Damian crouches down in a bid to make himself less intimidating, though both boys watch him cautiously. The older one tightens his grip on his brother.

“Do you know who I am?”, Damian asks quietly.

The children stare at him for a moment, eyes skittering all over his uniform and hopefully lingering on the bat symbol.

“You work with Batman,” whispers the smaller boy hoarsely.

Damian nods. “I do. And what does Batman do?”

“Fight crime?”, offers the sick child.

“And?”

The boy with the bloody nose sighs. “And help people who need it. Which we don’t,” he hastens to add.

Damian looks at them levelly and then repeats something that Pennyworth has told him quietly time after time, though Damian has never truly listened to the words until now.

“Everyone needs help sometimes, and everyone is allowed to get help.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, both children watching him with wide, considering, eyes.

“We can’t pay the doctor,” says the older boy, slouching.

“She won’t charge you.”

“You sure?”, whispers the sick one, squinting at Damian.

He nods, which seems to be enough for the sick boy.

“Le’ss go, Dick.”

The newly identified Dick looks at his brother again. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“I can think of plenty of reasons,” mutters Dick, before sighing. “Alright then, let’s go get our organs stolen.”

“She won’t take your organs,” reassures Damian.

“That’s what they all say.”

Dick stands up stiffly and rubs at his nose again. He notices the blood this time, but merely frowns at his hand in response.

“What happened?”, Damian asks, though Dick only shrugs before pulling on the coat previously wrapped around his little brother.

There’s a bit of difficulty then, as the younger boy very shakily stands up and nearly falls over, though Dick manages to save him and prop him upright under his arm.

Standing up now, it’s clear that the boys can’t be any older than about eleven and neither of them looks like he has regular meals.

“Lead ahead,” says Dick.

“Lead on,” corrects his brother tiredly. “’r go ahead.”

Dick shrugs again.

Damian starts walking, though he’s only made it a few feet before realising that the boys are still behind him and only slowly shuffling forward.

They both look exhausted, and whilst Dick may be in better shape than his brother, he’s still trembling ever so slightly and walking stiffly.

Damian tilts his head for a moment, considering.

Then he stands on Dick’s free side- he thinks he knows better than to go near Dick’s younger brother given the sharp look Dick keeps giving him- and props him under his arm.

“Let’s go then,” says Damian, pretending not to see the strange looks he is being given.

Neither boy says anything in response but the three of them begin to make their achingly slow way forward, ungainly as one might expect such a convoy to be.

Damian can feel how horrifyingly cold Dick is under his arm and doesn’t even want to consider how cold his brother probably is.

He twists his cape around with his free hand and drapes it around the other two’s shoulders without breaking stride.

“Thanks,” mumbles Dick.

His brother makes a hoarse noise that may or may not also be a thank you.

“You’re welcome,” says Damian uncomfortably.

People do not often thank him.

(Damian wonders, briefly, if the children would have been willing to trust him at all if he had been carrying a more deadly weapon and doesn’t like how the answer makes him feel.)

They continue to walk in silence.

It’s going to be a long night.

 Many, many, hours later Damian is standing at his father’s side in the Batcave, as his father types away on the computer.

Drake is somewhere nearby, polishing something- Damian can hear his breathing.

Pennyworth is on Father’s other side, dutifully copying down a wall of text from a smaller screen- Damian can’t hear his breathing.

“The thief escaped,” Father says. It is and isn’t a question.

Damian nods, though adds, “I believe he will strike again in the financial district sometime in the next two weeks,” by way of a meagre apology.

“You last reported in from Leslie’s clinic.”

“Yes.”

There is a long pause, as Damian tries to compose his thoughts and Father waits- ever patient.

“I had to protect the innocent,” he says eventually.

Father stops his typing and Drake stops pretending to be doing whatever it is that he’s been doing.

“Oh?”, asks Father, the closest Damian has ever gotten to a ‘go on’ from him.

“There were two children,” says Damian, not looking at his Father. “They needed medical attention, amongst other things. I found them as I pursued the thief and- “

“And you chose to protect the innocent rather than punish the guilty,” Father finishes.

Damian nods. “I did.”

Father actually turns his head to look at him, which means that Damian’s gaze is drawn- magnetised- to his.

“I’m proud of you,” Father says, voice warm and soft.

There is a lump in Damian’s throat all of a sudden.

He nods and chokes out, “Thank you.”

They stay like that a moment, Father’s calm blue eyes on his own teary green.

And then Father says, “Jon Kent called whilst you were out.”

Damian finally looks away from his father. “Oh?”

“He wanted to ask you about your chemistry project.”

Damian clicks his tongue. “I told him I’d tell him tomorrow.”

“Best go to bed then- it’s been a long day.”

Damian nods again. “Goodnight Father. Goodnight Pennyworth.”

He pauses for a very long moment, before eventually adding, “Goodnight, Drake.”

Drake says from somewhere that may or may not be in the rafters, “Goodnight Damian,” and then Damian goes to bed.

Damian falls asleep and dreams of softly falling snow and orange-tinted skies and part of an old, slow, song.

Softly, softly turn the key And open up my heart.

[inkribbon796]

Morning Coffee

Summary: If Yancy’s life these days was summarized it would be: “boys will be boys” which is much better than other labels he’s had over the years.

A/N: It’s the third Sunday, which means Yancy needs a new fic. Have a safe week everybody.

Yancy ran down the hallway, three of his fellow prisoners at his heels. A large travel mug full of coffee in his hands, it was still hot. But it wouldn’t be for much longer if Yancy kept it in his hands.

“This is such a bad idea,” Yancy giggled, trying to keep himself quiet as they rounded a corner and entered the cafeteria.

“Shhh,” Heapass smiled, bumping Yancy forward. The warden was already stomping in, looking furious and angry.

“Youse shush,” Yancy smiled back, holding the coffee mug closer to his chest. “Mornin’, Warden, I think youse dropped somethin’.”

The Warden stalked over, “Yancy, did you steal my coffee?”

“Nah,” Yancy didn’t stop smiling. “I’s just wanted ta make sure it got tah yah.”

“Yancy, give me back my coffee!” the Warden shouted.

“Sure,” Yancy grinned, and then tore off; three of his prison family with him as they ran away. The Warden chased after them, yelling but the four inmates were faster, laughing to themselves as they ran.

They went to Yancy’s cell. Yancy made sure to check down the hall but the Warden’s voice couldn’t even be heard. Yancy closed the bars, but without the keys it wouldn’t latch closed.

“Coast’s clear,” Yancy smiled and all four of them descended into giggles and fits of as they all walked in.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Bam Bam managed to say.

“Did you see his face?” Sparkles smiled. “Do you think he’s actually gonna drink it?”

“Prolly not,” Yancy laughed. “I haven’t had fun like that since Y/N left. Been ages since I pulled pranks.”

“How’re they doing?” Bam Bam asked. “Still visiting?”

“Yeah,” Yancy scratched at the back of his head. “They doin’ alright.”

“How’d you get that cup?” Heapass asked. “I’ve been trying to do that prank for months.”

“Practice,” Yancy bragged. “Warden reminds me a lot of the Ol’ Man. Not my real dad, but the Ol’ Man used ta have dis fook off big coffee mug dat he’d leave on da counter, an’ my siblings an’ I used ta take turns stealin’ it. He’s so paranoid about his coffee now.”

“You sound like a punk ass kid,” Heapass chuckled.

“Yeah,” Yancy sighed. “Used ta do all kinds ‘a stuff like that. Was the good ol’ days.”

“Yeah,” Heapass smiled. “I think I’ve seen some of those brothers of your visit you. You turning into a family type on us.”

“Course not,” Yancy scoffed. “If I was, I would’a left ages ago. This place is home. You guys are my family.”

“You softie,” Sparkles lightly punched in the arm.

“Hey,” Yancy shoved him a little back. “I’s was giving youse a compliment, least yah can do’s is take it.”

“Why don’t you take this,” Sparkles shoved him back.

“There you four are!” The Warden screamed at them, finally catching up with them, two of the guards behind him.

All four of them screamed and lept away from the door of the cell. The Warden yelling and glaring at them.

Yancy wound up getting solitary for stealing the mug, and putting edible glitter in it. It was worth it for the inmate, and he was only getting a couple hours so it wasn’t so bad.

Around the first hour mark he was bored but not quite terrified that the Warden would forget he was in there.

He was suspicious that this stint in solitary had already started to get to him when he turned from the ceiling to look at the door. Yancy had been planning to get up and try to look out the window when he saw someone standing inside his cell. He had bandages over his eyes and a long tan brown coat, there was a lock of his hair that looked like a bleached gold.

“Wha— the—!” Yancy shouted, his back slamming into the wall. “How’d youse get in here?”

The . . . Yancy hoped it was human. He’s seen all kinds of weird stuff being around Dark.

“Yancy shouldn’t panic,” the “guest” said. “The Host bears him no ill will.”

“The Host, huh,” Yancy tried to calm his racing heart. “Did Dark send youse?”

The Host smiled, “No, the Host is merely visiting Yancy of his own accord.”

“Yeah, uh huh, but why?” Yancy dismissed skeptically.

Yancy noticed that the Host was muttering things under his breath, every moment that Yancy made was repeated with startling clarity, as if the Host could see him through the thick bandages.

“It is rare the Host visits anyone, and he wishes to visit Yancy,” the Host admitted.

“So if Dark didn’t send youse, are youse here fer some’in else?” Yancy questioned, a little nervous. “I don’t really get a lot of outside news.”

“The Host merely wishes to verify Yancy’s emotional and mental state,” the Host denied.

“If this is youse roundabout way of asking if I’s got a shrink, I’s all good,” Yancy shrugged.

The Host was only muttering his narrations, all centered around little things about Yancy. It was horrible invasive, but it was odd and Yancy wasn’t sure how he felt about the guy.

“Well the Host hopes Yancy enjoys his time, the Host would go insane in such conditions,” the Host decided. “He should be braced for more company from the outside world.”

“Hey, if youse knows so much, then how much longer am I’s going to be in here?” Yancy asked, trying to bait the guy more than anything else.

“From this point?” The Host clarified, his lips pursing a bit in an eerie lay familiar way that Yancy couldn’t quite place. “Two hours, 57 minutes, and 15 seconds. Yancy will get paranoid for escape before he’s released. The Host could attempt to shorten that time?”

A chill passed down Yancy’s spine, “Nah, I’s good, thanks, don’t need ta shake youse hand or nuthin’.”

“Until next time,” the Host promised, opening the very locked door of Yancy’s solitary cell. “Farewell Yancy.”

“Yeah, see yah,” Yancy said.

The Host looked back at Yancy as he stepped through he paused and held the door open, giving Yancy an expectant look.

“Hey you said I had like two hours,” Yancy reminded, not wanting to get close to him. “I’m good.”

The Host shrugged, “If Yancy insists.”

Slowly the door closed, as if giving Yancy a chance to change his mind before Yancy heard the lock sliding into place. Leaving him unsettled, and sure he made the right choice. The guy was creepy, and if he retained anything from his time around Dark it wasn’t a good idea to follow some random strange creep that teleported into his cell to talk to him.

Just as the Host had said, Yancy was in the cell for almost three more hours before he was let out. He went a bit stir crazy and immediately acquiesced when the Warden ordered him not to touch his coffee again. Otherwise Yancy was unharmed and broke the rules a bit after hours to get some fresh air in the yard before taking himself back to his cell to sleep.

His sleep was mostly dreamless, which he was thankful for. He appreciated a dreamless sleep over the nightmares.