#could this mean she also works under Waltz doing his dirty business

[dicktat]

Everybody is talking about evil/renegade Aiden. But what about renegade Mia. A monster just as fierce as her brother, she-renegade with animalistic traits of a wolf. Tortured by disease and filled with justified rage, she fights and kills alongside her beloved feral brother🖤🖤🖤

[steve0discusses]

S5 Ep10: Kaiba Embarrasses Himself on International Television Again

We start off this duel by teasing us into believing that this is a part of a theme park:

The Kaiba theme park is a weird mix of actual horrorscapes and animal crossing cutesy stuff...you can really tell what parts were Mokuba and what parts were Seto in this park.

But Leon takes it well, just kinda standing there as he’s done this entire arc--being a general forgettable nice boy who just...doesn’t do anything. Like he gets up, he plays cards, he sits down. Having him on top of a rock with melodramatic Little Mermaid waves crashing at his feet is laughably the opposite of Leon’s whole vibe.

Leon just seems like the type that listens to coffee shop ambient Youtube videos when he wants to amp himself up. This kid appears to attend a private school...somewhere...I think, and just went to a dueling competition in his school outfit because he literally doesn’t have a style of his own hanging in his closet.

Like Yugi wears his school outfit, but he does that ironically, to off-set the amount of makeup and hair spray he has in his hair. Leon wears the school outfit maybe because he admires Yugi so much, but is like “time for my rogue bow I wear in my hair. That’ll scare my competition.” He completely missed the point of the 00′s alt school outfit scene.

I do way too much art to not see the imagery. I feel like this is half my job, and playing “where’s the hidden Freudian meaning?” is half the fun of going to any art museum.

(read more under the cut)

Anyway, Seto got tired of no one paying any attention to him, so he stepped out of his 14-monitor mancave, he very quickly pulled his Dragon outfit out of the (dirty) laundry, flicked a couple sea crabs out of his pockets, spritzed it with Febreeze and called it “good enough.”

Like, is it just me, or has dragon jacket greyed out a tad from last season? Like it’s starting to get a little...worn? Like what funk is coming off of Seto Kaiba right now?

Also notice that he brought his giant stash of cards to the duel. He’s going to put on this show as if he’s not going to pull out the giant stash of cards. But like...he’s going to pull out the giant stash of cards. Like Hell boring ass Leon is going to play his deck of Candyland characters again.

Leon is declared a winner on Technicality and it’s like.

Damn Seto, for reals?

So congrats, Leon, you did literally nothing, again, and yet you mystifyingly  persist on this show. Clearly you aren‘t going to grow a second head out of that ponytail like professor Quirrel in the last act of this arc.

That’s when Yugi’s hazy memory recalls something from the Before Times of “that time period before I was possessed by a needy ghost that eats up 3/4 of my memories and time.”

So Schroeder is Atari. Neat.

Also, this makes Zigfrieds outfits a hell ton more endearing when you realize he’s this Willy Wonka game company owner making toys for children. Kinda makes you wonder why Seto’s such a stick up the ass in comparison when it’s like--dude Kaiba, maybe you could learn a thing or two about whimsy. It could really help out your inconsistent park.

Anyway, Kaiba quickly realized who hacked the park and so, understandably, he asked Zigried to leave, which...backfired?

Y’all card culture is a lot. Everyone in the audience covered their faces in shame because they were so embarrassed by Seto Kaiba and I’m like...not sure why? Because he didn’t do a duel? Against this guy who snuck into his tourney not unlike Rex and Weevil? This asshole?

Recall that the last time Seto played a guy who had a fake name it was Marik freakin Ishtar and he killed a LOT of people (actually, it was Alister, pretending to be Pegasus, but he also killed a lot of people so that still tracks). Card culture can’t seem to learn from their mistakes, although Seto clearly sees the problem with dueling a professional hacker in a digital card game on a hologram that may or may not be able to murder you. At least its not a magic.

And so, tired of being humiliated on television, Seto decides to bust out the dueling gloves (well, not those gloves. You know what I meant) and use the equipment he BROUGHT WITH HIM and clearly never intended not to use in the first place.

(I hope you enjoy this dutch angle that wasn’t quite dutch enough, so it just looks like they’re lounging)

Roland patiently walks over from...somewhere? I don’t know where Roland comes from whenever he pops up, but he waltzed over to hold onto this suitcase as if that’s a formal part of his job.

I say this so often but like...I don’t know what Roland’s job is. He’s like a valet/butler/duel referee/duel cheerleader/CEO/and I will spend the rest of this series trying to understand it. Part of me is like...could Roland be a temp worker at an agency who just gets rehired for a different Kaiba Corp job every couple of weeks?

That weird ass fourthKaiba, I will never understand Roland.

Just one letter away from being a Zigfriend, Kaiba. Just one letter away. I know this because I misspell friend a LOT.

Zigfreind? Zigfriend? Damn it, both of them look the freakin same to me, this sucks! Why can’t I spell friend without autocorrect!?

Just the amount these two fight when Seto clearly barely even remembers who this guy even is.

Leon shows up in the seats, pretending that he’s totally cool about winning on a technicality right after Zigfried went on a rant about how shameful, irredeemable, and mortally embarrassing winning on technicalities are.

He seems to take it pretty well, smiling, sitting next to Rebecca, and then dissolving right into the background because this kid’s whole deal is being way too nice to exist on this show.

Y’all we just had that art meme where people were redrawing that “How to draw manga face” and guys...that’s what our anime used to look like.

I mean look at that uncomfortable chin there, that tapers in for some reason. Those eyes melting off of her face. The lack of any 3d sense. This was an anime ideal for a very, very long time.

Anyway, the “how to draw manga face” is a perfect masterpiece and never needs to change. (But it is fun to make fun of it although I guess the person that drew it was actually a kid, which makes sense from a publishing perspective to have a kid make a book about how to draw stuff for kids.)

We see a little flashback of Schroeder and why he hates Seto Kaiba, and can I just say, I kind of love this little outfit. Kind of a shame that it’s stuffed into a flashback.

Which is when we found out that Zigfried thinks Seto Kaiba did a plagiarism.

Which is hilarious because it was Gozaburo Kaiba who was plagiarizing Seto, so like...who did it first?

OK guys. Lets talk about this.

APPARENTLY, there was some sort of contest to work with Pegasus...kind of like an architecture contest (which is a thing, when a city is doing a big project, they send out a call, and big firms will compete to see who builds it) and I GOTTA know what Pegasus’ theme was.

Like did he say to all the little rich kid geniuses “I would like something that makes my cards ALIVE, can you do that?” Then when Pegasus got a hell ton of holograms and was he like “But ALIVE--it makes it alive, right boy?” And when he was shaking the hands of each stupid kid was he like “So if I hypothetically put my dead wife on a card and slapped it into the machine--could she EXIST. Like...enough? I just need her to legally exist is all, and not like..literally of course...but enough literally to be a sin against God, can you do that?”

I just want to know if Willy Wonka Wonderkid Von Schroeder had any idea he was creating a resurrection chamber for a dark wizard. Like he has no idea that he dodged getting his business bought straight from under him and his soul shoved into a card. And it’s not like Schroeder was going to abduct Yugi’s Grandpa and ensure that Yugi would be there to save him down the road. Like I’m pretty sure Schroeder would have been sacrificed waaay before that whole island contest even went down.

Zigfried got so freakin lucky. I can’t believe he’s mad. But then again...

...the man swims in milk pools so like...maybe his logic center is busted? Maybe he wanted to die in a horrific murder island? I don't know what Zigfried is into, but I do know that because Zigfried doesn’t have millennium rod powers linking him to the millennium eye--so would it have mattered? There’s destiny reasons that Pegasus chose Kaiba.

Course...we never found out where the scales ended up, have we? We think it’s Shadi, but have we seen Shadi bust those out since Season Zero?

Man that would be a good plot twist that will absolutely not happen.

Yo, make horse guy into a dark wizard, show, I dare you!

Anyway, that’s all for now, but if you want to read from the beginning, here’s the link:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[hajimewhore]

Body Swap 👫 (Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader) ➸Rated T, fem!Reader, 1.8k words   ➷Humor, awkwardness, lots of swearing, more d*ck talk but mild mild nothing goes on, just very uncomfy, the secondhand embarrassment is real in there (like every part honestly)   ➷ Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, ✈Part 4, Part 5

“Uh, this… isn’t what it looks like?” 

Come’s your kneejerk response to Tooru’s exaggeratedly disgusted expression, you can tell he’s about 0.2 seconds away from throwing a fit.

“I went out of my way to wait for you, because I’m that good of a friend, you’re welcome. But you were taking so long, I figured I’d come in and drag you guys out. So. can someone please explain,” he shoots you (Hajime in his perception) a hard look, “What the hell is this?!”

Tooru is flushed in the face, and though his stellar performance and comical gestures were entertaining, you balk a bit at his outburst.

It’s a bit intense, and you feel a nervous sweat down your back. You can seldom say you’ve been on the receiving end of Tooru’s anger, and your struggling to come up with the right words to save face.

“I can explain?”

And what you came up with turned out to be excruciatingly underwhelming, and the baffled look Hajime sends you tells you that he also found your response pathetic.

Being in Hajime’s body with your hands clutched at his skirt, pulling away as if the garment was crafted using hot coals the second Tooru made an entrance, You’ll admit... it looked highly incriminating, and you’re going have some painful explaining to do.

“Well it looks like you’ve got your dirty hands on my bestfriend,” Tooru opts to refer to your actual self as his bestfriend, “What, Iwa-chan, can’t get any action? Trying to cop a feel before school? I didn’t think you were like that!”

He finishes the first segment of his rant with a huff. Under normal circumstances, you’d be appreciative of the rank up on his bestfriend list. Currently though, Tooru is getting under your skin, and as young man, you’re a little offended that he’s talking to you like that.

Tooru takes two strides (curse his long legs) across the threshold of your house, eyes narrowing in on you.

You glances to Hajime to ease the situation, he’s the only one that can say anything to help alleviate the situation.

Tooru follows your gaze, eyeing skeptically for an explanation. Hajime clears his throat, and you think you just might be saved. He’s always been quick to resolve altercations, whether its verbally or physically.

“....Hajime wanted me to wear my skirt shorter, but I said it was against school dress code.”

Hajime states as a matter of fact, and you gasp, what the fuck Hajime, but Tooru’s absolutely scandalized gasp overshadows your own.

“You asshole, that’s not—” 

Tooru is quick to interrupt you,

“You absolute heathen Iwa-chan! Who knew you’d turn out to be such a dog!”

Tooru snags your collar with a tight fist, and you instinctively wrap your hand around his.

Uh... you’re not gonna have to fight Tooru, are you? It’s Hajime’s body, so you’d gladly let him get bruised up as retribution for that comment, but you’re not too keen on getting punched in the face by Tooru protecting your own dignity.

“It’s not like that!”

You scramble for a way to dig yourself out of this one. Tooru’s locked his glare on you, exuding pressure.

“Then what is it like Iwa-chan?”

You glance from Tooru’s scowl to see Hajime’s smug expression behind him, your brow ticks at the sight of it. 

‘That little...’

Weren’t you just saying last night how excellent of an actress you were? Time to put that to the test.

You forcefully remove Tooru’s fist from your collar, adjusting your tie. Tooru allows you to gather yourself for a moment, scorn still etched across his features.

Averting your eyes to the side with a serious, contemplative gaze, you muster all the dramatics you can to pull off your next line. Internally, you think smugly that you must appear picture perfect for a drama noir film. If only it were raining too, that would set the atmosphere ideally. But an actress must work with what she’s got. 

Tooru seems decently invested in your dramatics, and Hajime is looking at you with contempt, as if he drank sour milk. Now that a pregnant pause has settled in and you’ve garnered the crowd’s interest, you sigh, long and wistfully,

“She never wears her skirt like that... I thought she might be struggling with her self confidence, so I was just trying to make her feel comfortable with herself. I’m such a brute though, I guess I got carried away.”

You cast your gaze sheepishly to Tooru, rapping your knuckles lightly against the top of your head to emphasize your point.

Tooru blinks at the explanation, takes in the information, considers the evidence in his mind.

His eyes begin to water, as expected, tears brimming at his long lashes as he spins around to pull Hajime (AKA you) into a bone crushing hug. He’s got a suffocating grip on him, all the while crying about ‘Hajime’s’ reasoning.

“I didn’t even notice! Forgive your stupid bestfriend, I should’ve said something too! How did I miss that?!” his dramatics always seem to up yours, Tooru is currently stealing best-in-show from you, “Waaaah, I’m sorry, you’re perfect the way you are!”

He cries into what he thinks is your shoulder, no doubt using the fabric to wipe his face, much to Hajime’s disdain. Meanwhile, Hajime is glaring hard and venomously at you for that bullshit display.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

He mouths, and you stick your tongue out, giving him the cheekiest expression he’d never want to see on his own face.

“Whew, alright,” Tooru straightens, clearing his throat and flicking his last tear off with the swipe of a hand, “Now we really have to go. Hike that skirt up and let’s get on with our day.”

He’s back to picture perfect Oikawa Tooru, no evidence of his outburst to be seen (asides from the wet spot on Hajime’s shoulder).

You try to grunt in agreement as casual and Hajime-like as you can.

For the sake of getting to school on time without any further incidents, Hajime pulls the uniform skirt up a tad higher, vowing to lower it when you fucking nuisances are out of the picture.

Your final class is almost over, and you’re feeling.... extremely uncomfortable.

Not because the school day went bad, no, you found it easy to converse with his classmates and teachers. Notetaking was relatively simple, you’re learning the same material as Hajime anyways.

You’re physically uncomfortable, and the pressure of your bladder about to burst is driving you crazy.

‘I can’t take it any more!’

You shoot your hand up, and your teacher gives you an odd look before you excuse yourself to the restroom.

You head to the furthest end of the building, the women’s restroom is generally vacant so the men’s should be the same, yeah? And you definitely don’t want to be caught in the women’s, despite how empty it could possibly be. So with a heavy sense of shame, you waddle into the men’s room.

If someone’s in there, it’ll be fine. Just be in, and out. No big deal.

Oh. 

Oh fuck no.

“Iwaizumi, hey.”

Matsukawa fucking Issei glances up to the door you just waltzed through. Matsukawa Issei, middle for the Seijou men’s team, tall and messy haired flirt, the same Matsukawa Issei that helps you with your blocks and techniques, friend of Tooru and Hajime... and he’s staring straight at you with a casual nod of his head. 

You try to return it as casually as possible, despite your bones and every being shaking in you. 

‘Fuck, I forgot men I actually know use the men’s room.’

“...Mattsu–” nope not Mattsun (so much for being casual, you almost fucked up the way Hajime refers to Matsukawa), “–kawa.”

He raises an eyebrow for the briefest second, before returning his attention to the urinal, unzipping his pants. Un. Zipping. His. Pants.

He doesn’t give you much time to dwell on the slip up, already entering conversation about how your day is, to which you give short response to, trying not to shuffle your feet to the urinal. You really don’t want him to catch on to your discomfort.

You heavily contemplate just going into a stall, but you think that might be weird for guys to do. Now that you think about it, isn’t it weird to piss in the urinal directly next to the other guy? If you chose one spaced out would he get offended? Goddamnit, you never learned men’s room etiquette. Screw this whole situation, and screw Matsukawa Issei for needing to relieve himself at this exact time. 

Well, it’s too late now, you’re already standing at the one directly next to Mattsun. You can’t exactly take your sweet time picking another urinal and shuffling about while Mattsun is here engaging you in conversation about his fucking math class.

If it was weird to choose the spot beside him, Mattsun doesn’t say anything about it, going about his business. 

Thankfully, if you could even be thankful for a situation like this, you’re so overwhelmed by Mattsun’s unexpected presence that it’s keeping your mind off the having-Hajime’s-dick thing. The discomfort is still there, but you have to pee so badly, you’re not too bothered by it at the moment. You’re also intently focusing on not blushing, willing the blood flow to your cheeks to cooperate with you for once.

Simultaneously, you’re concentrating on not looking at Matsukawa fucking Issei’s junk. You’re getting good at multitasking.

But apparently, not good enough. Your willpower wasn’t as strong as you thought, and your focus slips for a moment as you gaze down and–was someone going to tell you that Matsukawa fucking Issei was HUNG?

“Is there something wrong with my dick?”

You shoot your eyes back up to Mattsun, who’s tilting his head with a thick brow raised. 

‘Hajime, if you hear about this, I am so sorry.’

“Nope, it’s perfectly fine,” you respond curtly, before coming to the realization that Hajime probably wouldn’t like you telling his friends that their dicks are ‘perfectly fine’, “I mean, no. It’s seriously ugly.”

You cringe at your save, if you could call it that, and Mattsun (finally) zips up. He casts a momentarily offended look at you.

“I think you mean ‘seriously huge’.” 

He laughs deeply, heading to the sink. You completely agree with that sentiment, and you’re glad he knows he’s well endowed, but it’s best to keep those thoughts to yourself.

You follow suit, laughing as sarcastically as you can without letting your voice crack. 

“Whatever, man.”

You proceed to have awkward sink talk with Mattsun, and upon exiting the restroom you thank the gods when you see his class is the opposite way to yours. 

“See you at practice.”

He waves, and when Mattsun is out of sight, you sigh in immense relief. 

Just how many dicks are you going to see before you swap back? You sob internally, returning to your class.

But that does bring up a point, Men’s Volleyball Practice. 

You’re marginally grateful for that encounter with Mattsun, because now you’re acutely aware of the locker room changing time before and after practice. 

You bury your face in your arms, taking note to sprint like hell and get to practice early. You’ll be damned if you have to spend any amount of time struggling to avoid eye contact with your friends’ abs, as well as Hajime’s other teammates'.

A/N: AHAHA the CHAOS. Anyways, we all know Matsukawa got that horsec*ck. Thanks for tuning in for this week’s episode of y/n’s awkward panic. Iwaizumi Is So Done. 

taglist: @cybergovl​ @thatoneoddgirl8 @keijikunn 

Masterlist, Part 5

[holylulusworld]

Stolen reputation

Summary: Losing your job is more than you can bear…

Pairing: CEO!Dean x Accountant!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradburry, Jo Harvelle, Lisa Braeden

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of cancer/cancer treatment, accusation, mentions of anxiety

Nervously chewing on your lower lip, you wait for Dean Winchester to finally say a word. Usually, you work with his brother Sam or on rare occasions with his father but Dean, well Dean Winchester is the man they send you to if you messed up.

You wreck your brain since Jo told you worriedly that Dean Winchester wants to see you at his office. The last time that man talked to you was when he asked if you could bring him a coffee too as his secretary quit yet again.

“Do you know why you are here?” Dean’s voice low and stern brings you out of your thoughts. “I asked you a question Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Jo told me you want to see me, Sir. I know I was late last week but it was the first time and I swear it will never happen again,” apologizing for the only mistake you made in the five years you work for Winchester Inc. you dare not to meet Dean’s gaze.

“You think I would waste my time for nonsense as coming too late to work? This is serious, Ms. Y/L/N. Stealing money from our clients’ accounts is a crime. You are lucky I did not call the cops,” Dean barks and your head snaps upward to meet his gaze.

“I would never steal, Sir. I swear I do not know what you are talking about. I work hard, never make mistakes, and came too late only this once in over five years. I’m loyal and reliable. I never stole anything,” close to tears, you feel your anxiety rise again. Your lips start to quiver, and you need all your strength to not start to hyperventilate.

“Do you think I am dumb, that Lisa is dumb?” You shake your head, wiping a few rogue tears away.

“Lisa? I don’t understand. She talked to me just yesterday, asked me questions about the accounts I had to close as the clients left us,” you want to open your laptop to show Dean the data but he grasps it, tossing it onto the couch.

“Stop lying, Y/N!” He slams the palm of his hands onto the leans of your chair, making you flinch.

“I do not lie, Sir. Cole signed the papers. He would’ve seen any mistake or if money would have disappeared. I swear, there is nothing wrong with my accounts.” Dean doesn’t believe you, rather gets papers out for you to sign.

“You’re lucky I got the money back from the account you transferred it to. This way, we can keep the cops out of this and not lose our reputation for being safer than any bank,” Dean hands you a pen, glaring at you. “You are fired. Sign this, pack your shit and leave.”

“Sir, please, I need this job. I didn’t do anything wrong. Let me check the accounts, or ask Charlie. I know she can find out if I manipulated any account, Sir. Give me the chance to prove I am innocent,” you try but Dean points toward the papers and you know – he will not give you a chance.

“To think I believed you are different, Y/N,” Dean huffs, grabbing your wrist harshly to lead you out of his office. “I’ll stay next to you and watch you pack your things. You are not allowed to enter this building or have contact with one of the employers ever again.

“Y/N,” Jo gasp watching tears run down your cheeks while you toss the few belongings you brought to your working place into your bag. “What happened?”

“Lisa said I stole money,” you sniffle. “Mr. Winchdester didn’t let me prove I am innocent so she won and will get my position.”

“That’s what she wanted after all,” Jo, grunts. “I can’t believe she lied to get your job,” Dean furrows his brows at Jo, searching her face. “Shame, Y/N. How will you pay for your dad’s…” You shake your head, pressing your index finger to your friend's lips.

“I’ll find a way, always did Jo. Losing a job is not the end of the world…”

Three months later…

“I am back bitches and…” Charlie looks at your working place, wondering why Lisa Braeden sits at your place. “What the fuck happened, Jo?”

“Lisa the bitch Braeden accused Y/N she stole money from two accounts. Dean didn’t give her a chance to prove she’s innocent. Cole tried to talk to Dean but he stayed adamant. I think she works three jobs now to pay for her dad’s treatment.”

“Holy fucking shit!” Charlie yells before she waltzes toward Dean’s office. “Why did no one call me or Sam? I bet we could’ve found the culprit in no time and I am sure, it’s not Y/N.”

“Charlie, what the…,” Dean gasps when Charlie shoves him aside to get access to his computer. “Charlie?”

“Show me the accounts, now. I don’t believe Y/N stole money. If you do not give her a chance, fine, but I will check her story before judging her.”

“Fine, check it. I bet you will not find anything proving she’s innocent…” Dean enters his password, opening the accounts. “There. Money got transferred to this bank account.”

“Did you look at the time stamp Dean?” Charlie looks up at Dean, pointing toward the time stamp. “I mean, Y/N was in Melbourne with Sam, Jo, and Cole at that time. I know as we had a great video chat sleepover that night.”

“What? No, this is impossible,” Dean swallows thickly, nervously rubbing his scruffy cheek. “She could’ve accessed…oh, no…we changed the system back then. You can only access the account from the main server at this building.”

“Exactly, Mr. Winchester. Not only did you accuse the poor girl, but you also fired her. Do you know what it means to get fired by a Winchester?” Nodding Dean looks at the next account and the time stamp. “Same date and time, Dean. If anyone stole the money, it was not Y/N, Jo, or Sam. I was at Paris and I don’t think you stole the money to fire Y/N…”

Whilst Dean tries to find out where you moved to or how to apologize for not giving you a chance to prove you are innocent you work three jobs. You even had to move out of her apartment to spare money as your father’s condition got worse.

“How is he today?” Rubbing your sore eyes you look up at Alex, giving the friendly nurse a sad smile. “You look tired, Y/N.”

“Just came home from my night job, had a shower to spend a few hours here before my day job starts,” you huff, hating you lied to your father. “Dad asked why I am always tired, you know, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I got fired.”

“Whatever that guy said is wrong. I know you for three years now. Never would you steal anything, Y/N,” Alex looks at your father, giving you a soft smile. “He’s doing better, the therapy seems to help.”

“It’s worth working three jobs, I know it,” grasping for your father’s hand you gently press it to your face. “One day he’ll get better.”

“Mom, I know that I shall not mess with a Winchester, but that douche fired Y/N. You know, the girl I told you about. Her father has lung cancer, and she spends all the money she earns with three jobs for an expensive experimental treatment. You know Dean Winchester, tell him he’s an asshole for ruining the girl,” Alex angrily hangs up the phone, shaking her head at Jody’s words.

“Was that your mom?” Claire sighs, watching you sleepily read your father his favorite book. “Does the girl ever sleep?”

“Not with three jobs and her dad’s condition,” Alex explains what happened to you, your job, and Dean Winchester, unbeknownst Claire’s father is a good friend of Dean. “Poor girl will break down sooner or later…”

Dean doesn’t know if he’s allowed to enter your father's hospital room. Only stealing glances he watches you talk to your father, telling him it’s an honor to work for John Winchester’s company.

“You know the company dad. Always work, but it’s worth it, just like you said. The Winchesters are fair men,” you almost choke on your lie but your father would worry about you, and that’s the last thing he needs.

“I’m so proud of you, sugarplum,” you nod, holding back the tears when your father drifts back into sleep.

“I wish you had a reason, daddy. I’m working three lousy jobs,” pressing a soft kiss to your father's cheek you forget about your sorrows for a moment. “Get better dad, that’s all I want.”

Dean hides behind a corner when you leave your father’s room. He can see the bags under your eyes, a sign that you haven’t slept for too long. You lost weight too, just like the smile you used to ‘wear’.

“What can I get you? Whiskey, vodka, or beer?”

Dean nervously looks at you, waiting for you to recognize him at the end of the bar. You are busy explaining a drink to a customer so he must wait before you turn your attention toward him.

“What can I…?” You clench your jaw when you meet familiar green eyes, “get you, Sir?”

“Hi, erm…uh, beer would be fine, Y/N,” he stammers pointing toward the other guest. “Some nuts too?”

“Sure,” turning around you take deep breaths. You hate Dean Winchester, but you can’t lose one of your jobs, so you place a beer and nuts in front of him. “Anything else, Sir?”

“Y/N, when do you get off? I’d like to talk to you,” you wipe your hands at your jeans, not meeting Dean’s gaze.

“Sir, I have to ask you to not use my forename. It’s Ms. Y/L/N or bartender to you. If you excuse me now, I can’t lose another job because of you,” you jerk your head toward two waiting customers. “Other people want to have a drink too. Goodnight, Sir.”

“Y/N, damnit,” grumbling Dean moves to the other end of the bar, looking at you, expectantly. “I want another drink, no, the whole bottle, and your company.” He places his wallet onto the counter, slamming two-hundred bucks onto the counter. “Stay.”

“I got no time, okay. If you want to sue me or call the cops for the lies Lisa told about me, do so,” with two fingers you shove the money toward Dean, glaring at your former boss. “I don’t need or want your dirty money. Go and spend it at someone else.”

“Sweetheart,” Dean tries, “Charlie proved it wasn’t you who manipulated the accounts of our customers. I’m sorry for not giving you a chance.”

“Not giving me a chance?” You toss the dishtowel you use to clean the counter into Dean’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me? I lost my reputation thanks to you. I work at night at a bar, clean toilets during the day, and in the morning, I work at a diner barely making any money. Sorry doesn’t fix shit, you son of a bitch!” Emptying the bottle of Whiskey over Dean’s face you nod at your boss who mouths ‘you are fired’. “Fuck you, Winchester…”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you a stalker? Do I need to call the cops to get you off my back? Is making my life even more miserable your new hobby?” Brushing past Dean who waited for you at your father’s house you ignore he tries to talk to you.

“Y/N, please wait. I made a dumb mistake. I never wanted you to lose your job or reputation. Lisa came to me, showing me, the accounts and I did not check the date, okay. I should’ve looked closer at the data, but I was so mad. I wanted you to be the new head of the financial department. I felt betrayed, sweetheart.” Dean grasps for your hand, not wanting you to believe he fired you on purpose.

“I’m not your sweetheart, Winchester. My name is Y/N, not sweetheart, baby girl, or the other shit you call your secretaries. I might not own money, a house, or fancy shit but I got dignity, which means I do not have to listen to your stupid pet names for me.”

“I apologize for the pet names, sw…Y/N. Please, let’s go inside and talk about the data, Lisa’s lies, and the stolen money. Dad, he told me to get you back.”

“Your father?” Not believing John Winchester even knows you exist you blink a few times. “Why should he want me to come back? I don’t think he remembers we ever talked.”

“You’re wrong. My father, he remembers your work, the data you handed him just in time for a big deal. John Winchester only remembers people impressing him. You are one of them.”

“John Winchester remembers me…” Mumbling the words you smile. “I’ll tell my dad John Winchester remembered me.”

“Can we talk now? I’d like to have my best worker back. I will do anything to make it up to you,” Dean offers, holding out his hand. “Let me prove I can be fair.”

“I need to sleep for my job in the morning. Maybe I find some spare time between my job at the diner and my cleaning job,” you turn on your heels, looking for your keys. “If you excuse me now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Jesus, sweetheart you are hard to crack. Shall I fall to my knees?” Angrily turning around, you glare at Dean.

“You don’t get it.” You slap his cheek harshly. “It’s not about losing about a job, it’s so much more. I invested five years into your fathers’ company. I spend more time at my desk than with friends or dating. My father was proud of me. I could pay his bills from the hospital.”

“We can find a way to help you, Y/N. Let me…”

“I am not done!” Your angry eyes meet Dean’s, and he gulps, not knowing if he shall be turned on by or scared of you. Suddenly my job was gone, my home too, just like the reputation I build for years. I lost everything as you used your downstairs brain.”

“What the…oh-I get it,” Dean huffs, hanging his head in shame. “You know about me and Lisa. It was after a Christmas party. I got drunk and you know the rest.”

“Only as you banged her doesn’t mean you had to believe her lies. You could’ve handled the situation like a Winchester. Sam or your father would’ve checked the data and not believe that woman.”

Dean nods, taking your hand to squeeze it tightly. “I’m honestly sorry, Y/N. I should’ve treated you with respect and checked the data. I promise to do better if you give me a chance and come back. Work for us again and you’ll get the respect and position you deserve,” you consider Dean’s proposal, glancing at your watch.

“No pet names,” Dean nods, laughing at your angry expression. “I mean it. Not all girls like to get called sweetheart at work.”

“Okay, noted, Y/N. No pet names at work,” he grins now, looking at your hand in his. “Maybe one day I can call you sweetheart outside of work…”

“You can dream, Winchester…you can dream…”

Part 2

Tags in reblog

[littlestarofthewest]

Title: Boss Ass Bitch | Word Count: 2645 | Rating: Explicit (18+!!!) 

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader (in this chapter)

Tags: modern AU, mechanic AU, work in progress

Chapters: [1] [2]

Your first week in your new job flies by quickly. Molly's got so much to teach you that you can't focus on anything else. Only during your breaks, you have a moment to look through the huge window that lets you watch the boys in the garage. 

Most of the time, they're busy with their work, but sometimes you can hear their laughter through the wall when they're joking with each other. Once in a while, one of them comes into the office to talk something out with Molly, but you're too busy to pay attention.

By the time week two rolls around, you feel confident to be on your own. Molly leaves her number just in case and assures you that you can always ask the boys if you have more questions. You smile and nod while thinking that you'll try to avoid that option.

Come Monday, you get to the shop almost an hour early, but you're still not the first there. The door is open, and the lights are on. When you make your way to the office, Charles comes along the corridor that leads to the boys' changing room. 

Surprise graces his face when he sees you, but then he smiles. "Good morning."

"Morning."

"You're early."

"I thought it might be a good idea to get a headstart," you say, suddenly feeling stupid. You're a grown woman, after all, you shouldn't be so nervous. "You're early yourself."

Charles shrugs. "I get up with the sun most of the time. Just can't sleep any longer."

"I wish that was me," you sigh. "I don't mind sleeping in."

"I hope you'll still have a good day."

"Thank you," you say, warmth spreading in your chest. Unlike most people, Charles sounds genuine, and you can do with the encouragement. You still smile after Charles when he walks over to the car he's working on, but then you put yourself together and disappear into your new office.

The first two hours go by quickly, and you have a good feeling about your work. So far, you know exactly what to do, and you're confident you can make it through the day without messing up. Thanks to the big window, you can see that Arthur and John arrived as well. 

You watch the boys for a bit while all three of them bend into the same car, involved in a serious discussion. Compared to your first day, they are moderately dressed for once. Charles and John both wear blue overalls, and while John's is so dirty that his one appears black, he at least closed the buttons. 

Arthur's wearing blue pants as well, with a simple gray shirt, and you're once again pissed because they can look this good without effort. With a sigh, you go back to an email you've started when the office door opens.

"Hey Molly, we need-" Arthur says while coming in but stops himself when he sees you. "Sorry, I was looking for Molly."

"She's not here today," you say, getting nervous again. "In fact, she's not coming anymore. She put me in charge."

"Oh good," Arthur says, and just like Charles, he seems pleased. "I just need the schedule, and then I'm out of your hair."

The nervous feeling wanders from your chest up into your throat. "Schedule?"

"Yeah, so we know which cars to finish first. Or the 'yeet sheet' as John likes to call it."

You remember Molly mentioning that as well, and a light turns on in your head. "Yes, of course. Molly prepared it on Friday."

You see the sheet in front of your inner eye, but then nothing. Arthur walks up to your desk, rubbing his hands. "Great, can I have it?"

"I, um, don't remember where she put it," you admit. "I can call her."

"No need, you can just print out a new one," Arthur says, rounding your desk. "I've done it a few times when Molly was busy. Let me show you."

Arthur leans over your shoulder, pointing to the folders you need while you sneak side-glances at him. You already found him attractive from afar, but up close, it's way worse. He has lovely blue eyes with sort of a golden ring in the middle, and his beard looks so soft, you have to fight the urge to rub your face against his. 

Arthur's scent doesn't help either. There are strong undertones of the garage, like motor oil and metal, but also something fresh like recently washed sheets. You take a deep breath and try to focus on what Arthur is showing you, but then he leans in even closer to read the folders' names.

"That must be it," he says, pointing to one of them.

A shiver runs down your spine when his breath ghosts over the skin on your neck, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. You wish you could turn around and bury your face in his chest but instead, you print out the file he needs, your eyes hefted to the screen.

"There you go."

"Thank you, my lady," Arthur says. He walks over to the printer and waves a little goodbye with the piece of paper before leaving you alone in your office. 

You use the next few minutes to stare blankly at your screen, trying to stomach what just happened, from Arthur casually calling you 'my lady' to you feeling like a cat in heat just because a guy stood a little too close to you.

Over the last few weeks, you've been so busy with the job change that you didn't even think to take care of yourself. Being confronted with three good looking guys every day clearly doesn't help your situation. You decide to battle your horniness the second you get home today and go back to work.

You manage to get through the rest of the week without any more hiccups, and aside from some annoying or unfriendly clients, this might just be the best job you've ever had. In the mornings, you often run into Charles, getting your first smile of the day. Then you exchange some small talk with Arthur while he's getting his caffeine fix in the break room, and John's usually the one to stay late, closing up with you.

They're all so nice that you consider yourself spoiled. Still, you deserve a treat, so you use the weekend for some intense self-care. At first, you feel a bit guilty when the boys enter your mind as you pleasure yourself, but you can't help it, and it does wonders for your body and soul.

You go back to work on Monday with a big smile on your face, and time flies by. You're not even tired when it's time to go home again. As your last act of the day, you do a little inventory check. It's your job to stock up the break room and buy necessities like toilet paper and cleaning supplies.

When you come back from the kitchen, the garage is dark. Arthur's been the last of the boys, but it seems that he went home by now, so you grab your clipboard and head for the guy's changing room to see if they need anything refilled.

You should have noticed that the lights are still on, but you're busy writing down what to buy the next day. After waltzing into the room, you look up and freeze on the spot.

Arthur is standing in front of the lockers with a towel over his head to dry his hair. The problem is that that's the only thing covering him. You stare at his naked body, your eyes roaming from his feet upward over his manhood to his bare chest, and you can't bring yourself to look away.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you forget to hold on to your clipboard, and it clutters to the ground with an overly loud sound. Arthur comes out from under the towel, staring at you with surprise.

"Sorry, I- I didn't- I mean, I thought-" you stammer, unable to finish a single sentence. "God, I didn't mean to-"

You're still staring at Arthur until he has the sense to put the towel around his hips. Finally, you can move and get on the floor to retrieve your clipboard and a few loose pages. "I'm so sorry, I thought I was alone."

"It's fine, don't worry about it," Arthur says, his voice calm.

While you can feel your face grow hot, Arthur doesn't sound embarrassed at all. You put the pages back into the clipboard and dare to look at him again. In hindsight, you shouldn't have done that. The towel is barely covering Arthur, so you still have an excellent view of his body. You can't help but take it in, and when your eyes meet Arthur's, there's something challenging in them.

"Do you want to come over here?" 

You know you should turn and run, but Arthur's voice lures you in as if he was a well-built siren. Your feet take you the few steps over to him all on their own, and you're enveloped by Arthur's fresh scent. He takes the clipboard and places it on a bench next to you before reaching for your face.

Arthur lifts up your chin, and when you look at him, there's still the fire in his eyes, but he's smiling. "Hey," he says, and you feel calmer somehow.

You manage a shaky "hey" as well, and Arthur's fingers trail along your face before cupping your cheek. 

"Mind if I kiss you?"

You can't remember anybody asking you this before, and your brain has a hard time coming up with an answer. After all, Arthur's right there, still built like a demigod and still deliciously naked.

"I- um, I wouldn't mind," you say, still wondering why he would even want to.

Before you can think of a reason, Arthur already leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He keeps teasing you, but when you're still frozen on the spot, he retreats.

"I'm not trying to pressure-" Arthur starts, but your mind finally catches up.

You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Since you're way less gentle than him, Arthur matches your eagerness, his tongue rubbing hot against your own. 

Despite your little fun sessions at home, you still feel charged with sexual energy, and you can't help but grind against Arthur with your whole body. He takes to kissing along your neck, and his hands wander to your breasts.

"Have to admit that I've been thinking about this," he says as his fingers rub your nipples through the fabric of your top. "Those blouses and the damn skirts."

You just tried to look professional, so it's quite a nice piece of information that your get up railed Arthur up just as much as his clothes bothered you. 

"Take them off then," you say, growing bolder. This is already happening, so you might as well go the distance.

Arthur growls as he fumbles with the buttons of your shirt, and the second he gets them all open, he pushes down the fabric of your bra to expose your naked skin. Kissing down your body, Arthur sits down on the bench, pushing up your skirt next.

When he caresses your thighs, you eagerly spread your legs, and Arthur pulls down your underwear before his face takes its place. You let out a little squeal when his tongue touches you, but he keeps going, and you hold on to his shoulder to keep yourself upright.

Arousal pools between your legs and you just know you're going to paint Arthur's face with your juices if he keeps going like that. Digging your fingers into Arthur's hair, you can't help but rub yourself against him, eager to get as much friction as possible.

Arthur keeps licking you with slow, hot strokes of his tongue while his hands wander upwards until he can touch your breasts. Your nipples grow hard in the cold air, and he keeps teasing them until you can't take it anymore.

You hold Arthur in place, your thighs shaking as you come, and his moans are just as bad as yours. Usually, you'd be quite satisfied now, but you can only think about wanting more.

After releasing Arthur from your iron grip, you pull the towel away and climb on Arthur's lap. While kissing, you reach for his cock, making him groan against your lips. You've never done anything like this before, but now you can only think about riding Arthur until you forget your own name.

You take position over Arthur and carefully lower yourself onto him until he's fully sheeted inside you.

"Jesus Christ, you're tight," Arthur groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

As slowly as you can, you move up again, making Arthur curse. It feels just as good for you, the constant rub bringing even more heat, and you put your arms around Arthur's neck so you can ride him properly.

He's holding on to your hips, doing his fair share to lift you up, but he gets distracted and nibbles and licks wherever he can reach you. You wish it wouldn't turn you on that much, since you're usually not one for one night stands or sex in weird places.

Although it's late, you can't shake the idea that Charles or John could come back. Even worse, what if Dutch showed up? You roll your hips for more friction and deliberately clench your muscles around Arthur.

"Goddamn, girl," Arthur growls, "don't do that."

Arthur holds you in place when you don't stop, pushing into you with a few sharp thrusts. He moans with his head buried against your neck, his whole body going rigid when he comes.

You hold still to give him a moment, not ready for him suddenly lifting you up so he can put you down on the bench next to him.

Arthur dives between your legs, his beard scratching your thighs as he licks you again. All you can do is hold on to the bench, skitting towards bliss without a break. You arch your back when you hit your breaking point, and Arthur lets you rut against him until you're completely satisfied.

All you can do now is stare up at the ceiling and catch your breath. Arthur cleans himself up with his towel before running a warm hand along your thigh.

"I'll be right back," he says, and soon he offers you some tissues to get yourself cleaned up as well. When you sit up, Arthur watches you intently. "You alright?"

"I was supposed to do some inventory for the order tomorrow."

"That's what you're thinking about?" Arthur huffs.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so used to planning everything," you explain. "This is not how I imagined my evening."

"Me neither. It's bad enough that you're distracting me during work. I didn't think it would happen after."

You wish you could say something to that, but you get so flustered that you focus on putting your clothes in order instead. 

"Don't worry about the order," Arthur says, "I know what we need; I can just tell you."

"That would be great," you say, picking up your clipboard, but before you take any notes, you look Arthur over. "Maybe you should get dressed first."

"Why?"

"It's distracting."

Arthur leans back with a smile, giving you an even better view. "Really?"

You lean in to give him a kiss, right before clutching the clipboard to his chest. "That list better be on my desk tomorrow at 9am."

"Yes, ma'am," Arthur says, but he doesn't move, so you turn tail and run.

If you stay, chances are you're going to eat your dinner off of him.

[iwanttosetmybrainonfire]

Would anyone be interested in something like this? I've never written anything before and i dont really know how English punctuation works.

Basically it would be a pretty long fic in which may left neil at 11, he ends up in foster care, somehow meets renee through the gang (still working out the timelines), and basically becomes her unofficial little brother.

****************************************************

"Maman?"

"Maman, ich bin müde", when that only earns him a dirty look, he sighs.

"Maman?"

"It's mom" her tone is not soft, never soft, but she doesn't reach to scuff his head or pinch his leg for having mixed up his languages. He takes it as a good sign.

"Mom, I'm tired" he tries again, "I don't want to sleep in the car again, can't we find a motel or something?"

She's distracted again, she's been doing that a lot, lately. She's also been a lot more lenient, too. Usually, this kind of request was met with a backhanded slap, and the reminder to be grateful he's still able to breath, let alone whine. But today is not that kind of day, and David is not the type of kid not to take advantage of that.

"Mom? Please?"

"What?"

"Can we sleep in a bed today?"

She hums, "If we find one, sure"

Even if she's been granting an awful lot of his wishes in the last month, he doesn't dare ask if she means it, in case she changes her mind.

They sit in silence for a while. It's boring. He almost misses having to learn German. At least he could listen to the radio, back then. Then he remembers the beating he got when he failed to properly translate his thoughts and proceeded to make a blabbering fool of himself in public. It's boring, silence is boring, but it's safe. David rests his head on the window. He sleeps.

When he wakes up, his mother is still, her hands tight around the wheel, her gaze fixed on the airport's entrance.

"Abram",his first Truth,"What's your name?", She snaps

The response is immediate, "David Waltz"

"How old are you?

"12"

"Where are you from? What's the story?"

"I'm from X. I'm flying to England with my mother because my father opened a business overseas. He's already there, we're catching up to him."

These are not his first Lies, nor will they be the last, but he's a Liar at heart, so he lets himself imagine that they are Truth. The most believable lies, after all, are those that one believes to be true.

"Good, be good and never forget that. Don't look back, don't slow down, and don't trust anyone"

It's a mantra. It's what kept them alive for the past year and a half. It's the only truth he was allowed in way longer than that.

"Be anyone but yourself, and never be anyone for too long", they finish together.

They gather their stuff.

Airports are all pretty much the same. He's seen enough of them that he probably wouldn't even need to read the signs to know where to go. Still, his mother always gets really stressed, worrying about their fake IDs. The best was to not get overwhelmed, he's learned, is to sleep through most of it. That's why he doesn't bother to put up much of a fight when she tells him to take a nap, even if he woke up about an hour ago. They're sitting in a waiting area, the gaits nowhere near getting open, but there's a wall at his back and his mother by his side. That's enough, for now. He brings his duffel bag close to his chest and nods off again.

It's the sound of clothes shifting that wakes him. Someone is sitting next to him. It's not his mother.

A glance at the windows tells him it's early in the morning. A glance at the clock on the opposite walls confirms it's 4.23 am. The flight took off at 9:45 pm.

He stands. Trying to look as casual as possible, he scans the room. His mother is not here. But airports are huge, it's possible she just went to check something out, although it would be unlike her not to wake him.

Just as he's about to walk off, the old lady sitting in his mother's spot looks at him.

"Is something wrong, dear? Aren't you a bit young to be here alone?"

She seems worried.

He keeps looking. His palms are starting to sweat. It takes him a moment to realize she's talking to him.

"Uhm, no nothings wrong, I'm fine", she doesn't look convinced so he adds "Just, have you seen a woman here? This tall, black hair, duffel bag?"

She hasn't, she tells him so.

His palms are definitely sweating.

He excuses himself and rushes to the bathrooms, locks himself in a stall. It takes a few minutes to get his breathing under control, when he does he's sound of mind enough to look for something, anything that might lead to her.

He starts by his duffel bag. Nothing is evident, except the tags on his clothes are folded wrong. He keeps looking. He finds nothing.

He picks up his binder. It feels lighter. He opens it.

It looks the same, exy cutouts of the ravens,all evidence of his unhealthy obsession with Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama still intact. He checks in between pages. All his contacts are gone, no way for him to remember, since they were all written in code. Most of the money is gone, too. He could live on the few hundreds left for a few months, vut there's no way an eleven year-old could rent a place without being suspicious.

He checks frantically again each page.

He finds it.

'Be good'

The writing wasn't rushed. It looked normal. It was possible the note hadn't even been written recently. It certainly didn't seem so, the edges of the paper thinner, as if held for long.

His father's men hadn't found them. It wasn't code for "Hide, I'll find you when it's safe",not this time, if it wasn't already clear feom the way she took everything. Still, the words were written as if heavy, as if they held a deeper meaning he couldn't understand just yet, as if they weren't the most shallow of goodbyes.

She left him.

She hadn't run.

She left him.

That was the Truth.

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (Part 20)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, angst

------

Something roused Daphne from her sleep the next morning but she wasn't sure what. Her head felt like it was imploding in on itself and she winced when she opened her eyes. She was vaguely aware of a heavy weight over her middle as she lay on her side facing the wall. As her senses tried to gain their equilibrium, her ears picked up on frantic banging at her door. She heard a pained groan at the noise that was attached to the arm around her. 

"Daphne! Open the damn door!" It was Foggy and he sounded like he was having a meltdown. She slipped out from the arm, swiping some panties from her drawer and putting them on quickly. The banging was making her head hurt like a bitch and Foggy's panic had her putting on the t-shirt she’d previously stolen from Matt since it was big on her and long enough to cover her ass. She padded over to the door, grimacing at how the noise got louder. 

She swung the door open and Foggy almost knocked her off her feet as he rushed inside.

"Matt’s missing. He didn't go home last night and he didn't turn up for work. I can't get a hold of him! He- he could be bleeding out in an alley or something! We need to find him!" He panicked with wild eyes. Her brain felt like it was working through molasses and she blinked at him with bleary eyes.

"Didn't you hear me?! He could be dying!" He screeched.

"I'm fine," Foggy whipped his head over to the bed, confusion and shock on his face for a moment as his eyes landed on Matt. He was sat up now, sheets pooling around his waist as he rubbed his tired eyes. His hair was sticking up in every direction. 

"W-what? Oh! Well I guess you two made up then," Foggy quipped, sounding much calmer than moments before.

"It's too early for this shit," Daphne grumbled tiredly, pushing past him to get to the kitchen. She got started on making a pot of coffee. Her eyes seemed to be in a permanent squint at the light that felt like razors to her brain. 

"Not that I'm gonna complain about you two fixing things, but you couldn't have let me know? A phone call? Anything?" Foggy grouched at Matt who sighed in response.

"I was a little busy," Matt said dryly. Foggy nodded, cheeks a little pink as he glanced from Matt to Daphne and the tequila bottle on the coffee table before landing back on Matt again.

"Can I get some privacy?" Matt asked wryly, gesturing to his naked body. Foggy scoffed and threw the backpack he was carrying at him. Naturally, Matt caught it no problem.

"Clothes?" Matt questioned softly. Daphne glanced over at him briefly before grabbing two cups out of the cupboard. Her brain still wasn't functioning yet.

"Yeah well… I wasn't sure if I'd find you bleeding out or something and I figured it's a little less weird to take you to the hospital in normal people clothes," Foggy replied as he turned his back so he wasn't watching. He still sounded a little salty over the whole thing. 

"Well I was fine," Matt muttered, standing up and getting his clothes on. Daphne may have peeked at him. It seemed like Foggy had picked black sweats and a t-shirt for him to wear. 

"Alright, I get it. But this is… this is nice. Like old times right? You two having some crazy make up sex," Foggy started. Daphne shot him a glare as she poured out two cups of coffee. 

"I swear, if you make this weirder than it needs to be, I will stab you in the face," she threatened, narrowed eyes and a scratchy voice. Matt chuckled as he waltzed into the kitchen and Foggy looked offended.

"Wow. Note to self, Daphne is mean with a hangover," he huffed. 

"She's mean all the time," Matt quipped without missing a beat. She squinted at him, handing him a cup of coffee for him to sort out with sugar and creamer or whatever he wanted in it. Her hospitality ended at making the coffee and pouring it. He took it with a grateful nod and small smile. 

She flung three sugars into her own coffee and a generous amount of creamer.

"I don't get a coffee? Now I'm just hurt," Foggy muttered in contempt. 

"Are you hungover?" She asked with a quirked brow. 

"A little!" He pouted. She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the smile on her face at his antics. Grabbing a cup, she poured him a cup and gave it to him. She walked over to sit on the sofa as the boys sorted their coffees out. Before long, Foggy flopped into the armchair and Matt sat next to her on the couch. 

"Sooo…" Foggy started, finger tapping on the mug he was holding.

"Foggy," Matt warned carefully, glancing in his direction. 

"What? You really expect me to not want to talk about it? It's me," Foggy snorted. 

"We had sex. It was great. Story time over," Daphne muttered, blowing on her coffee to try and cool it down faster. She really didn't want to have this conversation. It would have been weird waking up with Matt in her bed and dealing with that but of course Foggy had to come over to just sprinkle more awkwardness into the mix.

"You hear that, Matt? It was great," Foggy grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. Matt smirked, trying to hide it as he took a small sip of his coffee. 

"I can share with the group what Karen says sex with you is like if you want?" Daphne asked with a devilish grin. Foggy's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed, mouth opening and shutting. Matt laughed, glancing to his side at her.

"I'm actually curious what she says," he probed, continuing their teasing. 

"No! No, no, no! We don't need to go there! I'll shut up, I promise," Foggy squeaked. Daphne smirked triumphantly and slurped some of her coffee. Karen hadn’t even spoken to her about sex with Foggy, she hadn't even been sure it had happened until now. 

They drank their coffees with some comfortable silence. There was only a twinge of awkwardness in the air. Matt and Foggy ended up talking about a case they were currently working on as she nursed her hangover with a coffee. Once the cups were empty, she was mildly surprised when Matt stood, gathering the cups and moving over the sink to wash them. Her green eyes scanned her apartment and she pouted at herself. She’d made such a mess the night before in her drunken state and she hated it. 

"Alright, as much as I'd love to spend time with you two assholes, I need to clean this place before I rip my hair out," she muttered as she stood up. 

"You did make quite a mess," Foggy grinned teasingly. She flipped him off and leaned against the kitchen counter as he stood. Matt used the backpack to store his suit and mask, only just making it fit. She was hopeful that they'd leave without incident but she almost forgot Foggy was Foggy. 

"You know what, we should go on another double date. Karen would love it," Foggy mused as he and Matt walked to the door. She blinked at him unimpressed as Matt thwacked him across the head.

"Stop," Matt huffed, shoving him closer to the door. Foggy grumbled under his breath as he opened it. 

"I'm not sure I wanna be Captain of this ship anymore if you both bully me like this," he grouched.

"Out!" She said firmly, pointing to the door. Foggy smirked, holding his hands up in surrender as he slipped out the door. Matt glanced her way as she padded over. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but settled on just nodding. She was grateful. She wasn't sure what he would have said. 

She watched as Matt took Foggy's arm in case anyone saw him and she shut the door as they walked down the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she set to work cleaning up the place. A tidy apartment and a few cups of coffee later, she found herself soaking in the bath and relaxing. She didn't have anything to do that day so she took the time for some TLC. She couldn't do anything with the Grimes case until the ball later that week and there was no new news on the Italians from Brett. There wasn't even any progress with the Keiran situation because his mouth was still wired shut and he wasn't in great condition. It was a rare moment of calm for her.

As she relaxed in the tub, her hangover started to wane and she found her thoughts straying to the night before no matter how hard she tried to fight it. It had been wildly different to her previous times with the vigilante. Usually they skipped foreplay, just getting right to the rough and dirty stuff and that was that. They'd got what they wanted. But the night before was a whole world away from that with all the intimate touching and how they took their time. She couldn't remember everything but she kept getting bits and pieces of it as it clicked together like a jigsaw puzzle. She remembered how excited she was to see him, how she told him she'd missed him. She remembered how her stomach fluttered when he used his fingers to ‘see’ her face properly. She remembered how it was the best sex she'd ever had. But it was all so intimate. She hated herself for it. Never had she been that way with someone before but she'd been drunk and so had he. She’d let her guard down fully with him. She was annoyed at herself for not letting him leave when she should have. 

She didn't so much regret it, since there was no way she could regret the way he made her body feel. But she felt weird about the vulnerability of it all. How it made her feel. She was just glad he didn't make a big deal out of it like last time. She’d told herself she wouldn't fuck him again, no matter how good it was, because it seemed to make things messier. But her plan had failed and now she just had to hope they would move past it. Yet she still found her mind drifting to the way he touched her, like she was made of gold, and it made her stomach feel weird. 

---

The week seemed to fly by and although Foggy came to see her most days with coffee and food, she hadn't seen or heard from Matt. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. It was only two days away from the ball now and Mrs Grimes had called her to tell her that she was on the guest list. She also sounded very disappointed she didn't have a plus one but thankfully didn't press it. Now she knew the plan was definitely on, she needed to go and get a dress. That's what led her to walking to the firm. She needed Karen. Karen knew about the ball and she needed a woman's eye. Foggy had slipped up once when he came to see her and told her he'd told Karen about the plan. After getting an earful from Daphne, he replied with how she specifically said not to tell Matt, which he hadn't, so he didn't do anything wrong. She couldn't argue with that logic and she didn't really blame him for telling her. It made it easier for her anyway since now she needed Karen's help to pick a dress. 

She hadn't called her to ask, she figured she'd just go find her. She was dreading going shopping, it wasn't something she ever enjoyed. And this was in an upper-class part of New York and she knew she didn't belong there. When she got to the firm, she could hear raised voices coming from inside. She lingered at the closed door, her curiosity burning and stopping her from making herself known. 

"We need to tell her, Matt!" Foggy yelled. She didn't think she'd ever heard Foggy be genuinely angry before and she raised her brows a little.

"No! Telling her is only going to put a target on her back!" Matt retorted hotly.

"She has a target on her back either way, and I can’t keep lying to her! She's my girlfriend now, Matt. It's not fair!" 

"It's not your secret to tell!" 

"No, just one you're forcing me to keep!"

It was painful listening to them argue if she was honest. Like being a little kid and hearing your mom and dad fighting about getting a divorce. She didn't like it. She opened the door and the pair turned to her in surprise from where they stood in the waiting area of the firm. She guessed Matt hadn't known she was there in the heat of the moment.

"Pro tip, you won't need to worry about it if you keep yelling like that. I could hear everything and it could have been just as easily Karen at the door," she said blandly, giving them a stern look like she was telling off children. 

She closed the door behind her and walked into the room with a sigh.

"Tell him, Daphne. He needs to tell Karen the truth," Foggy pleaded.

"I think Daphne would agree with me on this," Matt bit out.

"Hey! Whoa! I'm not getting in the middle of this," she muttered with her hands raised. They started arguing again and she couldn't even make out what was being said in all the noise. 

"Shut up!" She bellowed. Deathly silence took over the room as they both looked her way.

"Sit the fuck down. Both of you," she ordered hotly. She expected them to argue as they went back to glaring at each other for a moment, or as much of a glare a blind man could give, but then they reluctantly sat down. 

She stomped over to the desk, turning around and perching herself on the edge of it. 

"What exactly do you think will happen when Karen finds out the truth, Foggy? You think she's just gonna be like 'okay' and move on? She's gonna be pissed. She's not gonna see it as you guys trying to keep her safe. All she's gonna feel is the betrayal of the lies. There's a big chance she won't talk to you both for a while. She believes in Daredevil, she'll come around once it wears off. But that initial sting is gonna cause some shit, so I hope you're ready for that," she explained seriously. He looked torn up and glanced at his hands in his lap at her words. 

She turned to Matt then who was sitting with his mouth set in a grim line.

"I get why you kept it from her, and eventually she will too. But the longer you keep this from her the worse it'll be. I know it's not something to take lightly. Once you tell her, you can't go back. But there's gonna be a line you cross where she won't be so understanding about lying if you keep it from her for too long. And it would be better if she hears it from you instead of finding it out some other way," she muttered.

"That didn't help at all. You're saying if we tell her she'll be pissed but that we should tell her?" Foggy frowned. 

"I'm saying you both need to grow up and deal with this like adults. Talk it out and work a compromise. Karen deserves to know the truth but you need to do it right and make sure Matt's ready for it," she glared.

"Matt's never gonna be ready for it! I'm not just gonna sit here and keep this secret, I didn't sign up for this! And I'm not gonna sit here and take advice from an emotional mess like you!" Foggy yelled at her. She felt a punch to the gut at his words, genuinely shocked by his hostility towards her.

"Hey! Don't talk to her like that," Matt warned, his jaw tense.

"Oh right. I forgot it's only okay if you do it," Foggy sneered cruelly at him. Matt stood up looking ready to take a swing at him. Daphne felt her anger go from simmering to boiling and she slipped off the desk and stepped closer to Foggy. 

"You know what, Foggy? Fuck you. I get you wanna tell her, that you don't like lying, but it's not black and white here. And you did sign up for this. You told me about what happened when you found out the truth yourself. You chose to come back, to be the best friend again. You chose to stick around, so you don't get to sit there and throw it back in his face when you feel like it! You don't forgive someone just to dangle it over their head later! That’s called being a shitty fucking friend! You're either in or you're out with this, there is no in between! So maybe you should pick a damn side and get your head out of your ass instead of blaming Matt when you chose to be here!" She roared. Foggy looked genuinely taken aback by her ferocity but she didn't stick around to hear him be an asshole.

She pushed passed him roughly, storming out and slamming the door behind her so hard she heard it rattle. She was fuming as she stalked down the street. She wasn't exactly Matt's biggest fan and she loved Foggy, she really did. But she wasn't going to sugar coat shit with him when he was playing victim. Foggy had decided to stick around and it rubbed her the wrong way how he was acting with this. Like he couldn't grasp how much of a life changing big deal it was for his best friend. She told him how it was and it was up to him to decide what to do with her words. She honestly expected better from her friend. He’d really hurt her with his words and she wouldn't have expected that from him of all people. It was uncalled for.

After wandering the streets to calm down, she got out her phone to call Karen. She hadn't been around and she hadn't gotten the chance to ask where to find her. And as awkward as it might be after the argument she'd just had, she still liked Karen and needed her help. Mrs Grimes had told her the dresses might need some alterations so she didn't have time to waste since the ball was two days away. After a few rings, she picked up.

"Daphne, hey!" It sounded like she smiled down the phone.

"Hey! Are you busy?" She asked, shaking the shitshow she'd just been involved in away from her. She didn't have time for their drama.

"I was just dropping something off at the Bulletin and then heading back to the firm," she explained.

"Could I steal you for a bit? I need help with the whole ball gown debacle and I could really use your advice," she asked hesitantly. 

"Sure! It sounds like fun. I'm almost done here if you wanna meet me?" It didn't sound like fun but she didn't correct her.

"Alright, I'll be there soon," she hung up after and made her way to the Bulletin. 

Before long, the pair were standing outside of La Grande Vie and Daphne was filled with dread. The people milling around inside the store were all well dressed and although Karen somewhat blended in with her formal wear, Daphne stuck out like a sore thumb in her boots, jeans, plain tee and hoodie. Her purple hair in a messy high pony. She blinked up at the sign for a moment, wondering if it was too late to just tuck tail and run.

"Fuck. I feel like I'm in Pretty Woman or something," she grumbled miserably.

"Something you're not telling me?" Karen smirked. Daphne snorted and shook her head, biting back a whine as Karen grabbed her hand and all but dragged her in the store. 

An older man in a silk, pink patterned shirt came up to greet them with a warm smile.

"Hello, welcome to La Grande Vie, my name is Louis. How can we help today?" He asked with a French accent. He seemed genuinely nice but Daphne didn't miss the curious glances he kept sending her way.

"Uh… Mrs Grimes sent me… for the ball gown?" She phrased it like a question, like she was unsure if she should even be here. His eyes lit up as he clapped, looking overjoyed.

"Of course! Ms Weaver, welcome, welcome! And who is your lovely friend?" He asked with a smile, looking at Karen who blushed slightly.

"I'm Karen. Moral support," she smiled shyly. The man laughed a little, no doubt in understanding. It didn't take a genius to figure out this was Daphne's first rodeo.

"Please follow me, we will select some dresses we think suitable, but you will get to decide which you like most," he said as he ushered them to the back of the store. There were some thick black curtains and he walked through them, the girls in tow, to reveal some kind of private back area. There were plush looking seats and a changing area behind another curtain. It was all so fancy. Louis gestured for Karen to sit which she did but then he stood in front of Daphne, seemingly examining her from head to toe. She felt her cheeks flame red at the scrutiny and Karen shot her a wry smirk.

"I have some dresses in mind to go with your beautiful complexion and fun hair. You are a wild one, yes?" He asked with a knowing grin. Daphne snorted, lowering her head.

"She most definitely is," Karen piped up amused. Louis rushed off acting as if Christmas had come early for him. Daphne moved to sit and wait with Karen. Just as she was about to remark on how out of place she felt, a beautiful woman walked over with a tray, champagne flutes resting atop of it. 

"Drink, ladies?" She asked with a polite smile. 

"Thank you," Karen said and the pair took one each. Daphne's was gone in seconds. 

"Okay! Let's begin!" Louis beamed as he walked back in, clapping his hands. There were a few girls, all as equally beautiful as the last, following him with dresses. She felt like a troll next to them. The ladies ushered her in the very roomy changing area, closing the curtain behind them.

"Are you ready for a fashion show, Ms Karen?" She heard Louis ask from the other side of the curtain.

"I am," Karen giggled in response. Her friend was having far too much fun with this.

Daphne wasn't sure what she hated more. Shopping in general or dresses. But by the time the girls were getting her into her 6th dress, she was ready to give up. All of the dresses had been beautiful but she was under no illusion that any would suit her or that she'd like them. But she didn't have to like them, they just had to be lavish enough for her to blend in at the fancy ass ball. But Karen and Louis seemed to have other ideas and had no issues with telling her no when they didn't think one hit the mark. 

One of the girls zipped the dress up for her and she glanced at herself in the mirror. This one she liked the most. It was simple yet at the same time ridiculously pretty. It was a rich black colour, a velvety texture that was soft to touch. It had small off the shoulder sleeves with a v cut out the middle to create a harsh, deep sweetheart neckline. It clung to her body tightly, dipping into her small waist before flaring out dramatically in princess-y style. It was hard to picture the full look though with her hair and make-up done. 

The girls helped her into the simple black wedges. She'd been firm on the fact she couldn't walk in normal heels and Louis had picked these for her. The curtain was pulled back in the same dramatic flourish as the last billion times, but instead of Karen and Louis giving her a scrutinising gaze, Karen looked pleasantly shocked, covering her mouth and Louis stood up beaming.

"This is it! This is the dress, is it not?" He glanced at Karen to back him up and she nodded.

"Wow… Daphne, this is just… this is the dress," she murmured in awe. Daphne blushed, shifting on her feet. This day had been weird from start to finish and it wasn't even over yet. It felt weird to be looked at so closely by anyone and the spotlight was firmly on her. 

"Alright. I'll take this one then," she smiled with a shrug. She'd been waiting to say that with all of them but she did feel a pang of reassurance at their reactions this time around. 

Louis ended up taking measurements from her so he could alter anything needed and said the dress and shoes would be sent to her apartment the next day. After Louis' dramatic but endearing goodbyes, the pair finally left the store and Daphne could finally breathe. 

"Glad that's over," she snorted, the pair walking arm in arm. They'd been in there so long that it had started to go dark. 

"It wasn't so bad," Karen smiled at her.

"Easy for you to say. You were spectating," she muttered with a playful glare. 

"The dress really is something though. You'll be the belle of the ball," she teased, getting an eye roll from Daphne. 

They both said their goodbyes with Karen saying she would come over the next day to do her hair for her and help her get ready. Daphne was grateful for the support. They ended up getting in separate cabs to head in their different directions. Daphne's was home. Today had really taken it out of her and she needed to rest up for the impending doom of the ball. Once again, after sleeping with Matt, her nightmares had gone. She knew they'd turn up again eventually but she was enjoying actually being able to sleep while it lasted. Once home, she got ready for bed and snuggled under her blankets with a sigh.

She kept thinking of the fight with Foggy and Matt and it made her feel sad. She hated that they were fighting, it was so weird. They were best friends, Nelson and Murdock. They shouldn't be acting this way with each other. And she couldn't deny that she was hurt with how Foggy acted with her. She said she didn't want to get involved but they'd dragged her into it anyway. All she did was tell the truth and he'd been an asshole to her. Something she expected from his counterpart, not him. Matt hadn't snapped at her, he'd even got mad at Foggy when he was a dick to her. They seemed to have swapped roles and she didn't like it. She had no idea what Foggy would choose to do and it made her nervous for Matt. No one really knew just what the consequences would be of telling Karen and it was a big deal. She didn't know what would happen to their friendship if Foggy went through with it or if he'd even stick around anymore. 

She frowned as she lay there. There was a reason why she didn't make friends or connections and this was it. She felt like there was always some drama or something to stress about in her personal life. Yet she couldn't remember what it was like when she was alone and she was sure she wouldn't want to go back. That's why she was so worried. Depending on what Foggy chose to do, her life would become very different and she'd only just gotten used to it how it was now. She fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion with her mind spinning from uncertainty. 

[yourmomswallet]

Rugby Star

Jonathan will always be your MVP.

The big day. The final game of the semester. Jonathan’s moment: leading the college to victory. He’s been working his team and himself to the bone over the last few weeks to make certain that they would nab the championship.

With nerves on edge, Jonathan is the first to arrive in the locker room. Of course, as the captain, he makes sure to always be the first to show up to anything related to the team. Setting down his bag, he takes his shirt off to change. The way his hands noticeably shake would give away his nervousness about the game. If only you were here to calm him down.

The past few weeks had been gruelling on the poor man. With finals, theses, and the final games, Jonathan seemed to be made of stress, ready to burst at any moment. You were like his saving grace, his personal “coach.” You were at his side whenever you could be, always trying to assist him, give him advice. He couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t at least try to help him out in his times of need.

What he wouldn’t do to be held by you, back to chest, your hands running through his thick hair. You fingers seem to work magic whenever they met his scalp. Just what he needed when he became stressed like this.

As the players start to rush in, the energy in the room changes. Jonathan straightens up and mimics the energetic atmosphere around him. When he walks around to chat with everyone, he can’t help but take his time before looking in his bag. He hasn’t changed into his full uniform, all but his shirt and shoes missing.

He remembers what you said that afternoon before he left.

“I know you’re stressed, so I left a little special something in your bag.” He couldn’t miss the wink you gave him as you waved goodbye to him.

It was now or never. Opening the zipper, he doesn’t find any surprise, other than a small plastic bag of granola. He smiles at the joke you wrote on it. A snack was a pleasant surprise, but he thought it would be something a little more special than that. You always left a little something to eat for him.

Reaching for his jersey, he can see a bit of light pink fabric. What could you have possibly put in here?

Not wanting to show anyone what you had picked out for specifically him to see, he looks around to make sure no one is close to him. He lifts the jersey and sees the intricate panties. It wasn’t a full piece of fabric at all, just strings of lace. His heart rate picks up and his head feels hot. He can’t stop his quick, flashy hand movements from the surprise as he tried to cover up the panties with a towel in his bag. Of course, his frantic hands caught the unwanted attention of a certain blonde.

“What is this, dear JoJo?” Dio waltzes up to see exactly what Jonathan was trying to cover up. Dio’s hands rest upon him as he manoeuvres solid shoulders to get a peek at what’s inside the duffel bag.

“N-nothing that’s of your business!” Jonathan takes a defensive stance, trying to zip the duffel back up. His face is red hot.

“Then what’s this?” Dio snatches something out of Jonathan’s hand.

Escaping to the middle of the room, Dio looks at his hand. Before Jonathan can register what happened just moments ago, his eyes see pink lace in the hands of Dio. 

“Look here, boys! Our seemingly innocent captain has a dirty secret!”

Hands reach out for the panties so everyone can get a good look at them. Dio’s face is smug and mischievous as Jonathan’s turns bright red and exasperated.

“Tell me now, JoJo. Is it your girlfriend who wears these? Or does she make you put them on?” Dio pretends to be in deep thought with hand on chin. 

“Dio, we have quite an important game coming up in just a few minutes. As your captain, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop with the childish antics and get ready.” Jonathan’s resolve is slowing fading, just not his blush.

“So it is you who wears them.” He states for the rest of the team to hear. 

“That’s not appropriate for anyone here to know. It’s also not true.” Jonathan ends the discussion.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Dio says playfully, purposely bumping into Jonathan as he walks past him. Somehow, panties end up back in Jonathan’s possession. 

Jonathan dresses and puts the panties back into the bag. He’d have to be sure to get back at you for this. Maybe the whole team knowing wasn’t your intention, but he knew you’d feel bad for him and want to make it up in any way possible.

His phone buzzes and dings. Sitting down on the small bench, he reaches for his phone to look at the lock screen.

-hope you like your present. I know they’re your favourite ;)

Jonathan can’t help but blush again as he thinks of the panties you left him, how you looked in them when you were together a few days ago. He can remember it so vividly. The pink panties and one of his shirts. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, even if he had that important exam the next day. 

-I need to talk to you about something before the game. meet me outside the locker room now?

-am I in trouble??

-Just get over here please

He sets his phone down. His socks are the last to be put on, as well as his cleats. He has to be ready for the field as soon as he finishes speaking with you.

Walking out the door, Jonathan sees you waiting for him. You’re decked out in the school colours, some paint on your face to match as well as bright red lipstick.

“Hey!”

Looking up from your phone, you see him waving at you. You push your phone into your pocket and walk to him for a hug. He takes you into his arms without speaking. You can tell he’s stressed out.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” you question into his chest, not being able to reach him any higher.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it caused a bit more trouble than needed or intended.”

“How… uuuh... d-did the whole team see them?” Your head digs deeper into his body.

“I bet you can even guess who showed them off, too,” he strokes your hair.

“Ugh. Dio.”

“Right on the dot.”

“I’m so sorry. I just wanted to surprise you.” You sound defeated as you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Come now. Don’t dwell on the past. Just, maybe… send a picture next time instead,” he suggests.

“Oh. So you want pictures? I thought I send you plenty as is,” you tease him.

His face fills up with pink. He groans and pulls you tighter to him.

“You know what I mean. Sometimes I think you’re worse than Dio.”

“Don’t compare me to that dick. He’s in a league of his own.” Your eyebrows furrow and you point a finger at his chest. He holds your hand and kisses it in apology. The playful anger in your eyes melts and you’re stuck looking lovesick at him. Jonathan has a certain ability to take your breath away and make you fall in love with him all over again. Or maybe you just have asthma.

“So, are you going to wish me good luck or…” he trails off and sticks his cheek out for you. Clearly, he wants a kiss.

“I don’t know,” you pretend to be unsure. Of course, you want to kiss him, but it’s fun to see him worked up. “I gave you a gift for you to see in private and you go show it off like that. Even worse, in front of Dio. I don’t know if you deserve it.” Your head turns away from him.

Jonathan groans at how you twist the situation.

“Oh, come on. I’m sorry. I panicked and he stole them from me. You know I wouldn’t do that.” He turns your head with his hand under your chin.

You can hear how genuine he’s being and begin to feel guilty for making him feel bad, especially right before the game.

“Don’t be mad, please. You know I can’t stand-”

Your lips meet his, effectively cutting him off from talking anymore. He gasps a bit from the shock of the contact but does reciprocate your actions. Your arms pull him in closer to your face, lips moving with his. Jonathan takes this as your acceptance of his apology.

The two of you lose track of time in each other’s arms. The stress seems to melt away with the kisses you give him, as well as Jonathan himself. You hope he feels calmer now from your touch. Your kisses make their way up and down his jaw and neck, leaving red marks in their tracks.

The door opens and Dio’s head pops out, startling you both.

“Best get a move on, Captain. The rest of the team is waiting for you to lead them out.” He slams the door quickly to make sure you don’t get a word in to tell him off.

“Ugh. I’d like to smack the highlights out of his head.”

Jonathan laughs and gives you another hug.

“I have to go now, I guess. Will you be in your usual spot?” He lets you go and holds your hands in his much larger ones.

“Of course I will.” You peck his lips once more and let his hands go.

“Good.” He starts off towards the door, looking back at you one more time.

“Love you, JoJo. Kick some ass!” you shout at him. You wave goodbye and walk away.

Jonathan leans on the door as he watches you leave. What would he do without you?

“Get over here!” yells Dio.

“Coming!”

Running out onto the field was always liberating for Jonathan. Seeing the size of the crowd, the many faces watching, the opponents on the other team. He feels like a new man. The crowd is elated as they see their fearless captain, ready to fight and lead the school to victory. But they start to laugh more than cheer once they catch a closer glimpse of his face.

Confused, Jonathan smiles and waves to just play along. What could be so funny? Did he put his jersey on inside out?

Finally, one of his teammates that weren’t snickering interrupts the silence.

“You know lipstick isn’t part of the uniform, right mate?”

Jonathan’s confused face tells it all. His hand wipes his mouth and finds it to be red. Embarrassed, he quickly walks to the bench for a towel and wipes his mouth and face off. Looking down at the towel, the whole thing is stained red. Even without the lipstick on his face, he still stays red.

He walks back on the field, his mates still snickering. Being the captain of the team, he has to make sure to not let this distract him or teammates. He looks back to see you grinning in the stands, the school's colours on your face in two stripes under your eyes, and of course a fresh application of lipstick. You wave your fingers at him teasingly.

“L-let's do our best!” he cheers as he walks past the team, trying to avoid their gazes. He tries to cover up his quite apparent embarrassment with a cheery smile and encouraging words. He’d have to find some way to pay you back for all this.

[smutmylifeup]

Your Bluff. (KBTBB)

Authors Note: So, this is the prologue to the alternative version of ‘I Want To Play’ I wanted to write it out as the emotions behind the writing are very real unfortunately. Please let me know if you enjoy this version, I’m not sure who the pairing with Rose is yet, so if anyone wants to pick a KBTBB guy for me that’d be fab, at this point it could be anyone. It also probably won’t be smutty for a chapter or two either. Anyway, enjoy. Reviews required pls x.

“The next time our money is late, we’ll be taking a part of the lil red head with us. Tell ya boy he’s out of chances.” 

Rose grimaced, the pain when she breathed in made her lungs feel like they were being stretched to their capacity. She didn’t remember the last time she’d had her ass handed to her like this. Although usually, she’d fight back but she wasn’t alone so that meant she had a bigger weakness that the men stomping on her rib cage.

Luckily enough they only sucker punched her in the cheek once. So her face should be pretty normal, maybe a swollen jaw but nothing she couldn’t get away with at work. She couldn’t afford to miss any shifts. 

Especially now.

She watched through half lidded eyes as the assailants waltz off as casually as they cornered Rose and her sister. She glanced to her left after they were out of her eyesight to check her sister was still there and fine.

Which was pretty much confirmed for Rose when Francis rushed to her side and crouched over her like she was a dying bird.   

“We need to get you to a hospital.” Squawked the ever frantic voice of her sister, Francis.  

This was fucked. 

Rose had only been in England for just over 24 hours and she was already beaten black and blue by her Sister’s boyfriends drug dealers.  

London hadn’t changed much. The thugs that beat Rose were just the muscle behind the much bigger people that didn’t want to dirty their hands. That sounded very similar to some people pretty close to her. 

Shame it wasn’t comforting to know that no matter where you went people were completely fucked. 

With as much as her pain threshold would permit, Rose reached up and slapped Francis’s phone out of her hand before she could dial 999. 

“Don’t need it.” Rose said, pushed herself up, the rush of pain to her ribs was far more intense than she had anticipated and had to lean on a nearby wall for support till it lessened slightly.

“I’m going back to work.” Rose stated, trying to straighten herself as much as her wounded state would allow her. 

“Don’’t be stupid, you need medical attention,” Francis insisted but watched as Rose just shook her head.

“Why are being so stubborn? I’m trying to fucking help you, you asshole. Stop playing the hero.” Francis began to shout at her younger sister.

Well, if Rose wasn’t already pissed, she certainly was now.

After paying, on multiple occasions, for debts that WEREN’T hers and using HER money that she had earned, she was the one in the wrong. Not only that, she just took a shit load of pain that she didn’t deserve...mostly, Rose only got gobby when one of the men approached her sister.

Her brain throbbed signalling her that she needed to leave.

This was no longer her home, it had changed and she had changed since she moved to Japan all those years ago. Francis was no longer someone she recognised and Rose herself no longer felt anything but numbness when looking at her in this moment.

But maybe that was just the pain she was in. 

Sending a peace sign behind her, Rose began walking. Right now, she couldn’t look at the one person in the world she used to trust wholeheartedly, no matter the oceans between them. 

Deep down, Rose knew this day would come. Their bond as sisters would  become distorted, it was written in the lines of her sisters personality and Rose had memorised that script a long time ago.

That didn’t mean it didn’t shatter her heart any less.

The electric bolts of pain seemed to become easier with each step. She was always good with pain, she knew how to take a beating and she knew how to give one but she knew her limits. 

This was not a fight she could win because it was just a warning. Had they wanted to, they could have overpowered and killed both women then and there behind the Wetherspoons. 

Rose wrapped her arm under her breasts to try and ease the insistent throbbing that she wasn’t sure if it was coming from the ache in her heart or the possible multiple broken ribs she has. 

If she ever met this boyfriend of her sister’s again, she was going to return the favour full force. What man puts the woman he promotes he loves in any form of danger for a habit that only exacerbates his traumas from his past?

Answer: he wasn’t a man - he was a lowlife, shit cavern that needed to have a barbed dildo shoved up his piss hole. 

However, she couldn’t forgive Francis’s part in all of this either. To Rose, enabling was just as bad as being the drug addict yourself. 

Rose wasn’t made of money but she had been saving to pay off a debt of her own and move back to England. But now she had next to nothing left, so that idea was nothing but a misty day dream. 

Although, right now, she didn’t care anymore. What did she have left anyway? A sister who had made her own bed?  

Once upon a time, being strong and the voice of reason for her older sister was something she’d grown into the role of. And she didn’t mind but her sibling stopped listening to Rose’s ‘wise beyond her years’ words when she met her new boyfriend just over a year ago.

They moved in together three months after dating and Rose already saw red flags but she gave them her blessing and decided it wasn’t her business to judge their love. And her sister was smitten.

Having to watch her older sister fall time and time after men that used her for nothing but the physical was torturous and she watched her self-worth diminish into nothing but something to fuck and chuck.

But to bounce from that to a man who provided nothing but increasing debt from his drug habit was a million times worse. 

Three times within the last three months Rose had had to bail her sister out, whether it was so they could eat for the month or to pay off the drug dealers. And on her first trip back to the UK in nine months, she comes back and has to pay another hefty amount out of her savings to stop them from doing something more drastic than giving Rose a little kick around.

The only saving grace for Rose right now was that she didn’t actually have a shift today. She was rewarded with a day off, she wasn’t sure why but she wasn’t going to ask.  

As far as she was aware, Ichinomiya and Mr. Oh were back in Japan for a couple of days for business so she didn’t need to worry about them. She didn’t care nor know where the others were. Except for Luke, who she needed to see right now.

He’d been in England for a few days longer than the rest of them. He’d had to perform a black market surgery and that was all Rose knew. Not that his creepy presence was particular missed but Rose hadn’t seen him since they arrived.

She always found it easier to know less of their illegal activities, not that they ever told her anything.

The rest of the penthouse crew followed a few days later with their faithful servant Rose in tow. She had no choice on whether she was allowed to come or not and originally she really wanted to. Especially knowing all expenses would be covered for her transfer in job over there. And with her dwindling funds due to her paying Francis’s leech’s debts, she could finally go home and not worry too much for once.

That didn’t last long. 

Rose looked up as the Tres Spades hotel came into sight. She had never been so relieved to see this place. How long it took her to get here and where she came from was a complete mystery to her, she was running on adrenaline but now that was starting to fizzle out.

Specs of light began to appear in Rose’s vision, her brain clouding over in a hazy fog, the everyday life of London began fading away into white noise as she entered the lobby. 

She could feel her consciousness begin to fade, perhaps she was more injured than she first thought. Mouth opening but unsure of whether she was able to make herself speak, attempting to call out for Kenzaki who she knew would be at the main desk.

The last thing Rose remembered was a flash of Lilac and the call of her real name from several voices before she fell into a warm darkness. 

She welcomed the silence, part of her hoped it’d be eternal.  

[ssa-montgomery]

Pretty Boy Like You Chapter 1

Word Count for this chapter: 2776

Story Summary:  Alec Lightwood is fresh out of college and working for his mother at her law firm. With Alec shouldering the responsibility of the family business Jace and Izzy are free to work where ever they want leading them to Pandemonium, the best strip club in the city. Izzy works the bar, Jace works security and Alec can’t work his head around the appeal of strip clubs. Magnus Bane can’t work his head around the appeal of the cocky guys who act like their better than everyone else in his club. Alec is sure he could never fall for a stripper and Magnus is determined not to fall for a rich city boy.

Characters in this chapter: Magnus Bane x Alec Lightwood, Izzy Lightwood x Clary Fray (Mentioned), Jace Herondale x Simon Lewis (Mentioned), Maia Roberts, Ragnor Fell, Catarina Loss, Raphael Santiago, Dot Rollins, Maryse Lightwood (Mentioned), Jordan Kyle (Mentioned)

Warnings: Swearing, smut, strippers/strip clubs, lap dances, pole dancing, future smut, sort of enemy to lovers, mature-rated so if you’re not comfortable with that stuff probably best to avoid this one :D

A/N:   Hey everyone! Welcome to my new fic :D This is my first ever mature-rated fic so I really hope you enjoy it. This story will contain smut at some point so just keep that in mind! With school back again my updates on my fics might be a bit slower than usual but I will try to update whenever possible. The end of this chapter is really just a funny dialog section and I promise we will get into the action next chapter. Thank you for reading!

Feedback is what motivates me to work so please let me know what you think! Reblogs are also greatly appreciated.

Taglist is open!

“Hey, Alec.” Isabelle leaned around the door to the study, her nails gently tapping on the wood. Alec was seated at the desk, his laptop open in front of him. He had his mouth pressed into the palm of his hand as he read over the work on the screen. “You busy?”

“No,” Alec said shaking himself out of a trance. He could almost still see the letters floating in front of his eyes when he looked away from the screen. He closed his laptop over and slid it to the other side of the desk. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate to ask this but mom’s busy, could you drop me off at my interview?” Izzy asked. Her expression was hopeful as she waiting for Alec’s answer.

“Yeah alright fine.” Alec agreed. He knew Izzy had been waiting for an interview for a while now, it was important to her and he wasn’t going to say no when it came to something like that. She had only just turned 21 and was trying to find her first bartending job. With Alec following into the family law firm Maryse didn’t mind what her other children worked at. Jace had been working security at a strip club in the city for almost a year now.

“Thank you so much, Alec. I think Jace needs a lift too.” She said running her hand over the back of her neck before ducking out of the room again.

“Tell Jace he can walk! It’s not his interview.” Alec shouted after her.

Alec pushed his chair away from the desk and reached his arms up towards the ceiling, feeling his back crack when he stretched out. He had been hunched over the desk for hours now working away on a file for his mother. To be honest, he was glad to get out of the house and away from the work, even if it was just to drop Izzy and Jace off at work. He loved what he did, he had studied for it, but the seemingly endless paperwork was still overwhelming at times.

Alec stood up and pushed his chair back under the desk, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of it as he did. He slipped it on and made his way out of the room and down the stairs to the main hall. Alec’s family had always been well off when it came to money, even after his parents separated a few months ago, and the large house in the city that they lived in reflected it. Alec had grown up getting everything he asked for and he knew his friends were always shocked when they saw his house for the first time but it was what he was used to and he didn’t even notice anymore.

Alec grabbed his car keys off the table next to the front door and walked outside. It was later in the day and the cold night air was starting to set in, adding a bite to the wind. The beautiful reds and oranges of the sunset were visible between the buildings of the city. Izzy and Jace were already standing next to Alec’s car waiting for him.

“I thought I said you were walking Jace.” Alec laughed.

“And why would I do that when I have such a wonderful brother who is willing to give me a lift?”

Alec rolled his eyes at Jace and unlocked the car doors. Isabelle slid into the front seat and Jace climbed into the seat behind, messing up her hair as revenge for her taking his usual seat. Izzy huffed and pulled down the mirror to smooth her hair back into place.

“So, where exactly am I bringing you, Izzy?” Alec asked, the engine roaring to life when he twisted the keys.

                                                    ~~~

The car came to a stop on the curb out the side the club Izzy and Jace had directed Alec to. The outside seemed like any other club in the city to Alec, the walls were darkly coloured and had no windows in them. A muscular bouncer stood outside the closed doors keeping an eye on the small crowd that had already started to form outside despite the club not opening for another hour. The word “Pandemonium” was written across the wall in neon purple lights.

“Seriously Iz? You couldn’t find a better bartender gig that wasn’t at the strip club Jace works at?” Alec questioned turning to look at her.

Izzy shrugged. “It’s one of the best in town, and plus it pays really well. Clary told me about the job, she knows the owner.”

Alec turned the keys killing the engine before stepping out of the car onto the footpath, Izzy and Jace following him. Jace walked over to talk to the man standing at the doors, it was clear they knew each other. Alec looked over at the group that was already lined up against the wall. They were about the same age as him and the majority of the group were girls. They were dressed similar to Izzy, short dresses and skirts paired with high heel boots. Alec couldn’t imagine himself willingly going to a strip club just to spend a load of money standing around watching someone on stage. It wasn’t his thing. Jace gestured him and Izzy over when the bouncer opened the doors for them.

Inside the club was dimly lit, the lights that hung down from the ceiling were the same neon purple as the sign outside. The only proper lighting came from the lights that surrounded the stage in the middle of the club. The stage looked likea T-shaped runway that had poles scattered along the front of it. Already the club was filled with music, the bass of the song practically shook the floor and Alec could feel it through his boots. He let out a groand when he finally placed the song.

“Talk Dirty? Really? Classy.” He said sarcastically.

“You said it yourself Alec, it’s a strip club,” Isabelle sighed elbowing her brother in the ribs. “And it’s a decent song!”

They walked towards the back of the club where the bar was situated. There was a girl no older Izzy standing behind the bar shining a row of cocktail glasses that had been layed out on the surface of the bar. Her short hair curled around her face and a pair of large silver hoop earrings seemed to glow purple with the lights. She was dressed casually, a denim jacket thrown over a black t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Four parallel scars that looked like claw marks ran across her neck towards her collarbone.  

“I was attacked by a dog when I was nineteen.” She said noticing Alec staring at the scars.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare.” Alec apologized.

“It’s alright, I’m Maia Roberts. You must be Isabelle Lightwood?” She asked pointing at Izzy.

“That’s me.” Izzy nodded.

“Right, well I’ll show you the ropes now. If you feel like working after you can take you shift tonight or you can do tomorrow night.” Maia explained. “Magnus is quite flexible with work hours. Oh and Jace, Jordan’s in the back. He’s working with you tonight.”

“Okay.” Jace disappeared through a door to the right of the bar into what Alec presumed was the back of the club that was reserved for staff.

“I actually think I’d prefer tomorrow night if that’s alright,” Izzy said. “Alec, would you mind waiting until I’m done?”

“Okay,” Alec said reluctantly. He didn’t want to leave Izzy walking home at night in the cold and he could survive hanging around a closed strip club for half an hour.

Alec wandered away from the bar when Maia started to explain everything to Izzy. Despite there being plenty of comfortable looking booths Alec could have sat in all around the club he found himself standing against the wall next to the stage. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started to scroll through his timeline to kill sometime. He was so lost in his phone he didn’t even notice the woman who walked past him heading for the door behind the stage.

                                                         ~~~

“Isabelle Lightwood just arrived for her interview.” Dot announced glancing down at her phone where it sat on the table next to her. The screen was lit up with a text from Maia.

“Jace’s sister right?” Ragnor asked dragging one of the chairs from the dressing tables across the carpeted floor to where Dot had perched with her legs tucked up underneath her on a table next to Magnus who was still focused on his makeup.

Everyone else was already finished, having done most of the work at home before they arrived now only needing a touch up before the club actually opened. Magnus, on the other hand, had decided he wasn’t happy with his when he got to the club and had taken it all off. He was now doing his makeup for a second time.

“Yeah, she’s working bar with Maia.” Dot nodded.

The conversation was cut off when the door to the dressing room was flung open hitting off the wall with a bang and Catarina waltzed inside. Magnus jumped at the noise, making his hand slip dragging a thick black line of eyeliner down across his cheek.

“Really Catarina?” He snapped grabbing a wipe to once again remove his eye makeup and start over.

“Did you guys see the Lightwood outside?” She asked completely ignoring Magnus’s comment.

“We were just talking about Isabelle before you barged in,” Magnus said waving the wipe at Catarina’s reflection in the mirror as he routed through his bag looking for the right eyeshadow shade.

“No, no not Isabelle. Oh, what’s his name? Alec is it?”

“Oh, the older brother,” Ragnor said leaning forward in his chair. Catarina had clearly caught his attention. They had always been ones for gossip for as long as Magnus had known them which was most of their lives. They were all over any interesting piece of information they could find. They knew something about everyone who came into the club.

“Well, he’s a total smoke show.” Catarina sighed throwing herself down into a chair, draping her legs over the arm of it.

“Seriously?” Dot asked unraveling her legs from underneath her before jumping down from where she had been sitting, a smirk spreading across her face. “Where is he?”

“He’s just outside standing off to the side of the stage.”

“I’m going to look.” Dot said making her way across the room towards the door.

Not even a second later Ragnor jumped to his feet hurrying after Dot. “I’m coming too!”

Magnus rolled his eyes at his friends watching them run out the door and down the narrow corridor together. Magnus had known them all for most of his life, they were his best friends and he loved them to pieces. They had always been there for him and had jumped at the opportunity to work with him when he opened the club. As much as he loved them, they still got on his nerves from time to time. Only a minute later they both fell back through the door.

“Oh. My. God.” Dot giggled shaking her head. “You weren’t wrong Cat.”

“He is hot.” Ragnor nodded reclaiming his chair next to Magnus.

“You not going to get a look, Raphael?” Catarina asked noticing Raphael who had been silently lying across the velvet couch in the corner of the room for the first time. Raphael was the quietest of the group generally just silently listening in on conversations and adding the occasional sarcastic comment. Despite that, he was one of Magnus’s best dancers. Though he might not act like it Magnus knew he cared, it wasn’t exactly like Raphael needed the money from the job. He ran a successful hotel in the center of the city that brought in a lot of money.

“I’m quite alright Catarina, boys aren’t my thing,” Raphael shrugged.

“What about Izzy? You going to find her before the club opens?” Dot said her tone suggestive as she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Girls aren’t my thing either.”

“And Magnus? I’m surprised you didn’t go, he seems just your type. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes.” Catarina said bringing her foot up to poke Magnus in the back. Catarina was Magnus’s oldest friend out of the group. He had met her the first time he came to New York and she helped him settle in.

Magnus scoffed.

“Some rich city boy who probably works at a law firm is not my type. I’m sure he already has a pretty girlfriend that he’s buying a white picket fence house with and choosing baby names.” Magnus waved a hand dismissively.

Magnus was used to Alec’s type in the club. Young men who walk around like they own the place and can do what they want just because they have more money than everyone else there. He couldn’t stand their stuck up attitudes. Magnus already had to deal with Jace’s cocky attitude on a near-daily basis and he certainly wasn’t going to go drool over another Lightwood.

“To be fair, I’m almost 100% percent sure he does actually work for his mother’s law firm.” Dot admitted.

“Talk about hot people, Maryse has got be to like what 40? And boy Mama Lightwood has still got it.” Ragnor said staring off at the far wall presumably thinking about Maryse.

“Trueblood,” Raphael added.

“What?” Ragnor questioned turning to look at him

“It’s Maryse Trueblood now. She got divorced.” Raphael said casually opening the buttons on the cuffs of the black silk button-up shirt. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Wait so she’s like … single now?”

“Ragnor.” Magnus glared at his friend, a disapproving look on his face. There was only so much he could deal with and his friends were starting to push his limits.

“I didn’t say anything. I simply asked a question.”

“I wonder if Alec is single,” Catarina sighed.

“Honestly Catarina, you work in a strip club. You are surrounded by half-naked men every day, what is so impressive about a fully dressed Alec Lightwood?” Magnus demanded.

“Okay but consider this.” Catarina pointed at Magnus’s reflection in the mirror. “Alec is actually hot.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. No offense taken Cat.” Raphael huffed rolling his eyes.

“Literally sitting right here.” Ragnor threw his hands up into the air.

“Oh, that’s funny Catarina.” Magnus laughed spinning around in his chair so he was facing her. “We both know I’m hotter than any Lightwood.”

“You just have a big ego.” Catarina teased sticking her tongue out at Magnus.

“I don’t know what’s in that families genes but.” Dot let out a whistle and leaned back against the table. Her arms folded over her chest.

“You don’t know what’s in their DNA genes but you want to get into their actual jeans?” Catarina snorted.

“I mean is it even genes because Jace is like, a god and he’s adopted.” Ragnor pointed out.

“His boyfriend certainly agrees.”

“Maybe it’s just like an aura they give off.”

“Okay, I’ve had it with you lot.”  Magnus sighed throwing his eyeliner pencil down onto the table with a shake of his head. “I can’t sit here for another minute listening to you drool over the Lightwoods. I’m going to warm up.”

“Alright, keep your eyes peeled for Alec! He’s to the left of the stage.”

Magnus didn’t even bother turning around, he simply twisted his arm behind his back and flipped his middle finger at Catarina as he walked out of the room. He could still hear their gossiping halfway down the long hallway that lead to the main club. Magnus usually wasn’t one to shy away from a conversation about an attractive person one of them had spotted at the club that night but something about this rich city boy made him groan. He just wasn’t interested.  Jace worked for him and he’d seen Izzy around the club even before her interview tonight and sure, they were attractive but they weren’t Magnus’s type. He was sure Alec would be no different.

Magnus emerged into the club and instantly felt move relaxed. Magnus was most comfortable when he was dancing, whether it was at the club or just dancing around his sitting room with Dot. Magnus couldn’t help himself, his curiosity getting the better of him as he climbed up onto the stage. He snuck a sidewards glanced to where Catarina had told him Alec would be standing.

Oh fuck.

Catarina was never going to let him live this down.

Taglist: @thewaywardimpala

[aftgficlibrary]

Mutual Pining Masterlist

Andreil

a chance to start again by eikoexe (M | Incomplete | 10/?)

Andrew Minyard was a consulting detective - probably one of the best. He lived a life alone and only kept well to his demands, solving more crimes than nobody could think possible. Wymack usually said he was stuck up on the job, Renee had been suggesting he finds himself someone to live with, just so he wouldn’t live a life full of solitude. Andrew said he didn’t need it, didn’t want it, that he was perfectly fine the way he was. But what if one day he met a boy who stubbornly tripped into his life? Who had been wanted by his father for running away? Who needed a place to stay… and who needed a home?

And so Andrew’s life changed when he met Neil Josten.

–

Or alternatively, a Sherlock AU where instead of Johnlock solving crimes, we get our Andreil boys.

Something, Nothing & Everything by TheBashfulPoet (E | 139,900 | 28/28)

Neil Josten is yet another name in a long list of identities used to hide a boy long since dead from a past blood had been spilled to forget. Essentially, he is and always will be nothing. And yet there has always been one thing that made Neil Josten real: music. After his mother’s death, music and singing were the only things tying him the threads of reality by the strap of a well-worn guitar. Too bad he’s pretty sure that it’s also going to be the thing to kill him. Especially when Kevin Day, international rock star and blast of Neil’s past comes waltzing back into his life demanding he joins the upstart and infamous band EXY as its new vocalist. To make matters worse, Kevin’s unofficial shadow, Andrew Minyard with a rap sheet taller than he is has taken an interest in the lie that Neil Josten and has made it his mission to uncover the bloodied truth that lies beneath.

By all accounts, Neil should just pick up his guitar and disappear like he’s done so many times before, but the chance to be real and seen is almost enough for him to plant his feet for the first time in 11 years he’s been running. Going into the spotlight means certain death, but Neil’s just not so sure that leaving it would mean anything different.

stars may collide by broship_addict, llheji (M | 20,664 | 2/2)

Moonlighting as Abram, member of the city's crime-fighting Foxes, Neil is doing a very bad job at staying under the radar. He's busy enough between his friends, patrol, and bickering with Andrew at work, but with the Ravens gang finally within reach and the reappearance of the Monster, he might have bitten more than he can chew.

(Or, how both Neil and Andrew accidentally fall in love with the same person twice. Lame.)

You Made a Monster Out of Me by basicallymonsters (M | Incomplete | 3/?)

He realizes that everyone feels exactly the same way he does, filthy and buzzed and understood and angry. His eyes find Andrew again, sober but animated like the drums are a live wire and he’s electric.

He thinks, if he could be part of this, if he could stand in the middle of the stage in a garden full of monsters, and sing the audience’s veins open, he would never need another drink, or another moment on court.

Prompt: Andreil in a rock band setting – tattoos, harsh lighting, calloused fingers, Andrew’s sweaty arms, Neil’s striking blue eyes, someone’s excellent voice, an uncomfortable undercurrent of drug abuse.

don’t take that sinner from me by wesninskids (M | Incomplete | 2/?)

In Bono, Alabama, a southern town where nobody ever goes, Neil Josten is a blind boy who used to read and write stories. Now he tells them aloud for his friend to write down, but things are quick to turn bland where there’s no color to see. He finds comfort in religion, thinking God can give him his eyes.

Then Andrew Minyard arrives in town in a dusty Impala and a crumpled suit, claiming he’s there to help Renee Walker take care of the church after the local priest’s death. Everyone soon starts wondering what his motives are and why he’d exile himself to a dead-end like theirs, mistrusting every word—but they’re after the wrong threat. Disillusioned and disappointed by religion, this lonely man of God came for a greater mission than preaching and blessing. He’s after something, and he might have just found it.

The blind boy of the town will either be his salvation or damnation, and he’s not sure which one yet.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence /Underage

doe & josten: deductionists by spanglebangle (M | Incomplete | 25/?)

Andrew Doe, rude but brilliant consulting detective, thought he had no need of a partner as he worked slowly away at dismantling the largest crime family in the country, helping out with other cases on the side to relieve the tedium. That was, until a scruffy runaway with a stupid amount of secrets stumbled into his life. Or, more accurately, broke into his kitchen.

/Rape/Non-Con / Graphic Depictions of Violence

roses are orange, and some also blue by apprenticedmagician (T | 1,295 | 1/1)

Dear Valentine, They aren’t poisonous. I checked. From - your pipe dream

wanting what you think you cannot have by orphan_account (T | Incomplete | 1/?)

this was a fic written for the aftgexchange on tumblr, but i decided to continue it as a multi-chapter fic on ao3! this is a fake dating au with no seth, riko/the moryamas, and drake so it’s the softest thing you’ll ever read

neil is a runaway, andrew works at a bakery, and nicky is really, really nosy. being someone’s fake boyfriend is a lot harder than it looks, especially when you’re hardcore crushing on them

double scoop by broship_addict (T | 3,733 | 1/1)

Neil serves ice cream and Andrew might be addicted. There’s a lot of blushing.

Series: Part 1 of share a pint, share a kiss

only fools by kazbrekker_morelike_kazwrecker (E | 19,833 | 20/20)

A flower shop/coffee shop AU that no one asked for but appeared in my brain and had to get out. Neil never played Exy and never met the Foxes at PSU, but his story with his father remains the same. Neil doesn’t like people much but neither does Andrew and everyone knows coffee brings people together

the foxtrot’s not for the faint of heart by kazbrekker_morelike_kazwrecker, smolmoll04 (M | Incomplete | 3/?)

The Foxes are a dance group working their way up from being mostly underground and found their new studio and Wymack as their producer. The Moriyamas are a powerful human trafficking syndicate and instead of Exy, they deal in dance competitions. Neil’s father wanted to sell him to the syndicate but his mother was like NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH and ran with him.

Neil has found the Foxes and a familiar face… He also gets to meet a certain sarcastic five foot tall blond and things ensue…

trust fall by emeryuu (E | 9,948 | 1/1)

Neil is a florist who loves his job but isn’t going to refuse a second job if he can make good money from it. Even if the said job is bartending at a club. Even if that club is a BDSM club.

Andrew is a tattoo artist working at the studio next to neil’s flower shop. He’s a regular at Eden’s Twilight where he always can find a sub willing to do a scene with him.

One night they meet at the club and that’s a beginning of a new journey for both of them. What starts as simple deal to let Neil explore parts of life he hadn’t chance to explore, slowly becomes something much bigger.

Series: Part 1 of games

hazel and gold by obsessedwithfictionalboys (T | Incomplete | 4/?)

AU in which Andrew doesn’t hate everything and Neil does not know how to deal with this beautiful nerd.

Allison/Renee (renison)

we all need sweets every now and then by downintheflames (M | Incomplete | 1/?)

A storm rumbled towards the team as they ran laps on the lacrosse field. Wymack had proclaimed they needed to breathe real air to get all their bullshit out of their system. Allison had complained about the humidity ruining her hair before she stopped to watch the clouds trip over themselves in the sky. Renee liked to think that in another life, Allison would have been a storm chaser. She was staring at the sky in awe while Renee stared at her. Andrew cleared his throat loudly. Neil nudged him softly then silently assured her that she should continue on - that the vulnerability was a good thing. Nicky rambled on to no one in particular about how one time when he was in Germany with Eric… Kevin slid his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the clouds so he could look up exactly what kind they were when they returned to the dorms. Aaron grumbled about how stupid running laps outdoors was. Dan barked at them to get a move on - that they wouldn’t stop unless there was lightning. Matt immediately picked up his pace with Allison following behind him. Renee shook herself out of her thoughts. Allison was her best friend and nothing more. Andrew needed to stop acting like her saying that was such a joke.

too late. by icebreeze (T | 1,555 | 1/1)

Life never goes to plan. Love is no exception to this.

you, just you by zucheenee (M | 17,651 | 1/1)

Allison grabbed another slice of pizza, leaning back in her chair. Renee worried, not for the first time, that she’d fall and give herself a concussion. Allison sighed and flicked a lock of long blonde hair behind her shoulder, suddenly looking up and meeting Renee’s eyes. “Boys are just so stupid, right?” She said, smiling prettily at Renee. Allison always smiled prettily, and Renee wanted to die.

“Right.”

In which Allison can’t seem to find the right man, and Renee wishes Allison would get a clue.

lonely ♡s club by modernpatroclus (T | 1,719 | 1/1)

“Next time you need an outlet, come to me. I’ll take you shopping, not beat the shit out of you.”

“Andrew doesn’t usually beat me. I was distracted this morning.”

Renee realizes she’s tired of being set up with gay boys. Allison realizes that she’s ready to move on from Seth when she sees Renee after her latest sparring session with Andrew.

Jean/Jeremy (Jerejean)

playing on by flybbfly (M | 142,179 | 31/31)

"Who knew California Golden Boy Jeremy Knox could play dirty?”

Jeremy grins. “Best kept secret on the west coast. Told you there was a western division striker who could dispossess you.”

“On a practice court, maybe," Jean says. "Try to get it away from me during a game.”

Jeremy leans back, bracing himself on gloved hands. “Luckily, I won't ever have to.”

In which Jean Moreau and Jeremy Knox play exy, share a dorm room, and accidentally insult each another a lot.

between hoping and believing by cryptidkidprem (T | 47,332 | 7/7)

Jean convinced himself a long time ago that he doesn't have a soulmate. Or maybe he just wants to believe that. Things would be easier if he was destined to be alone. It will at least hurt less when he inevitably winds up that way anyway.

And then there's Jeremy, who's been dreaming of meeting his match for years. For some reason, Jeremy seems determined to convince Jean that sometimes he might actually be able to have the things he hopes for, and that soulmate or no, Jean Moreau has people who will stick with him.

Two Bros Five Feet Apart by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot) (M | 27,220 | 9/9)

Jeremy sniffed as he looked at his computer screen and the email he had just opened up. Every colourful picture and excited blurb just another stab to his tattered heart. And there at the bottom, the biggest blow of all, “non-refundable.”

He sighed and slammed his laptop shut, not caring that his rough treatment could damage it. Right now, he wanted to damage something. A significant portion of his savings had gone into these tickets and now he had nothing to show for it, no girlfriend, no awesome vacation, and absolutely zero chill.

Jeremy's girlfriend dumps him on the eve of a romantic vacation. Jean fills in.

dreams of being golden by poetatertot (M | Incomplete | 6/8)

The ocean is a healer. This Jeremy knows better than anyone. It’s why he came back himself, when all turned to nothing; it’s why he took the others under his roof when the shadows at their back threatened to swallow them whole. It’s why he lets Jean in when he shows up suddenly, his pale face a soft light in the darkness. Jeremy sees him and knows he can’t subsist as he is, alone.

The ocean can’t change Jean’s past, but maybe it can wash his future into smooth, clean sand the way it did for so many others.

Stupid (for you) by justdk (T | 1,647 | 1/1)

He’s not the only who cares for Jean, the entire team has his back, wants to see him get better. But Jeremy’s the only one who is completely, helplessly in love with Jean Moreau and it hurts.

Face to the Sun by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot) (G | 1,272 | 1/1)

Jeremy and Jean have been pining for each other for too long. The Trojans plan an intervention.

Series: Part 3 of All for the Game Tumblr Prompts

Shield for a Heart by neilskey (spellitwithyourpeas) (M | 54,949 | 16/16)

“It’s your choice, but you’re rotting away in here, Jean and no matter what she says, you can’t live in Abby’s spare bedroom forever. Time to start fighting again.”

Kevin’s hard and commanding tone was no surprise. The softness had been beaten out of him around the same time as Jean.

“What if I don’t want to anymore?”

Maybe it was because he had been half hidden in shadows-Jean had kept the shades drawn, but light still seeped in the cracks- but Jean thought he had seen something akin to understanding paint Kevin’s cool expression. “He’s gone. You survived. Play or don’t, it’s up to you, but you need to get out of this fucking house.” // Jean's first year at USC. Jeremy falls hard, Jean comes around eventually.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

eyes wide open by jaylocked (T | 13,496 | 2/2)

Jean blinked. Blinked again. Was sure he didn’t recognize the man on his doorstep, with his bright eyes and enormous grin and wavy blonde hair. Waited for him to explain himself with a simple raised eyebrow.

“Hi!” the man finally chirped. The sound was happiness channeled into a single word, and Jean wasn’t sure how he didn’t hate him already.

(based on the prompt from tumblr: "hi sorry I live below you and I hear your dog running around and barking all the time and– no no it's fine I was just wondering if I could pet it?" au)

Kevin/Jeremy

lit me up by thisisallmarvelsfault (M | Incomplete | 2/3)

When Jeremy goes to South Carolina to pick up Jean, he and Kevin go to the court with a bottle of vodka and Kevin brings up Nicky’s “list.”

[Or, the life and times of Kevin and Jeremy.]

Neil/Riko

burn, baby, burn by wesninskids (M | Incomplete | 3/?)

Nathaniel Wesninski is Riko’s precious #2, his best backliner, weapon of choice, and only mercenary—the first piece of his Perfect Court: in exchange of everything, thirteen year old Nathaniel gets his number tattooed on his cheekbone and becomes Riko’s partner for better or for worse. Soon Kevin Day and Jean Moreau join the envied line of Ravens and become partners in their turn, and the four of them chase after glory and find the missing pieces of their Perfect Court one player after the other, drunk on power and victory, caring for one another no matter what.

But then Nathaniel strikes a deal with Lola Malcolm to protect himself, and it’s all downhill from here.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

[little-starlight-beam]

New Year’s

@sheithnewyear  Day 1: New Year’s

I know I’m cutting this pretty close, but here it is! Please enjoy! It probably seems a bit rushed, so please forgive me! I may possibly rework this piece and post it on my AO3. So stay posted on that. So please enjoy!

Keith didn’t know how he agreed to attend the Garrison New Year’s party—that regrettably, was a formal event, something that Keith hasn’t quite gotten comfortable with yet—but he was one-hundred percent sure it was Shiro’s puppy dog eyes. As well as the multitude of calls and texts from Shiro’s cousin, Rei, who had promised to watch Kosmo for a week if Keith promised to attend the festivities.

“You don’t even have to be there long,” Rei pleaded over the phone, “And besides, wouldn’t you want to spend the last moments of the year with a bang?”

Keith groaned, giving Shiro a sideways glance when he walked through their apartment door with Kosmo close behind. They had just gotten back from their morning run and Keith couldn’t be more than happy to see them. “Help me!” he mouthed as he put Rei on speaker phone so Shiro could hear Rei’s begging.

Shiro held back a laugh, making his way into the kitchen with Rei droning on, “Rei why don’t you go easy on Keith, you know how he feels about parties!” he yelled from the kitchen, filling a bowl of water for Kosmo before getting himself a drink.

“Don’t tell me how to live my life!” Rei exclaimed, “And you are going, so why not have your husband by your side!”

Keith threw the phone on the coffee table before collapsing on the couch. He dragged his hands over his face exasperatedly, “I don’t know why you are making such a big deal over this Rei. Shiro went last year without me.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean a few men—and ladies were hitting on your man,” Rei pointed out, “I literally had to pull one guy away from Shiro!”

Shiro entered the living room, raising his hands in surrender, “Don’t make it sound as if I was unfaithful, and you didn’t have to pull him away from me.” He lifted Keith’s legs before sitting on the couch, placing his legs on his lap. “But I do have to admit, I do regret not having someone to kiss when the clock struck midnight.” Shiro gave Keith a knowing smile.

Keith kicked Shiro’s side that nearly knocked him off the couch, “You are supposed to be helping me, not helping your cousin!” he feigned betrayal.

Shiro combated with Keith’s feet with his hovering prosthetic, the boy scout smile never leaving his face. He took both of Keith’s legs in his hands as he rested them over his shoulders. Shiro leaned closer to Keith, earning him a scarlet flush across his husband’s cheeks, “C’mon Keith, be my New Year’s date.” Shiro whispered low like a growl that sent goosebumps down Keith’s body.

Keith gulped, “S-Shiro, you are playing dirty here.” He looked everywhere but Shiro’s looming face.

“I want to show you off to everyone.” Shiro nipped at Keith’s ear, “I need you there babe.”

Keith let out a wanton moan as he dug his heels in Shiro’s back, drawing him closer to him. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck, pulling him down for a heated kiss, “Fine, we can go to this stupid party.”

Shiro smiled down at Keith, pressing his forehead against Keith’s, “Thank you.” He pecked Keith’s forehead, his eyelids, his cheek, his nose. All but his lips that had earned him a glare from his husband. Shiro chuckled before crashing his lips on Keith’s waiting lips. Suddenly remembering they were still on the phone with Shiro’s cousin on the phone, Keith reached blindly for his phone.

“We’ll see you at the party Rei. Bye.” Keith quickly bid his farewell to Rei before he hung up. He threw his phone back on the coffee table, turning his attention back to Shiro, “I’m pretty nervous of going to this thing, you better find a way to ease my nerves.” He wrapped his legs around Shiro’s waist. His hand snaking under Shiro’s shirt, running his fingers along Shiro’s chocolate abs.  

Shiro wasted no time as he scooped Keith in his arms, “I know exactly what you need Red.” He swiftly carried Keith into their bedroom to ease Keith’s nerves.

So here Keith was hours later, dressed in a crisp white suit, a black shirt and a red tie. A recycled outfit from his wedding due part because Keith had no other suits in his dismal clothing collection. He was kicking himself for not taking Rei’s offer to go tuxedo shopping when she offered weeks prior to the party. She had stated that every man should always have at least two suits. Says the woman who has thirty varieties of a ‘pretty black dress’. Though, Keith couldn’t help but admit that Rei was right.

Keith did one last look at himself, “Wonder if anyone would notice?”

“Notice what?” Shiro leaned his arm against the doorframe of the bathroom, “That you would be the most handsome man at the party?”

Keith gave a nervous laugh, looking up at Shiro through the mirror and his breath was taken way. Shiro was also wearing a black suit that was tailored made to accommodate for his cybernetic prosthetic. His starlight hair was slicked back making him seem more mature than when his hair fell over his face. His jaw seemed to be stronger, more defined that made him appear more rugged. The scar across the bridge of his nose didn’t help the matter at all. His sharp dark gray eyes still held their childlike wonder of a boy scout as they looked back at Keith. Despite all that they have been through, what he has been through.

“I would hardly think I would be the most handsome there.” Keith turned to Shiro, “You on the other hand definitely snagged that title. I can see why your cousin had to protect you from the others though.” Keith sauntered over to Shiro. He gave him a peck on the cheek, “About ready to go?”

Shiro nodded, looping their arms together as they made their way out of their apartment. All the while Shiro had the proudest glint in his eyes and an eternal smile on his face as he drove toward the hotel.

Upon arrival Keith and Shiro were greeted by a lanky valet that did not seem old enough to even hold a driver’s permit. But Shiro threw his keys toward him with a trustworthy smile before taking Keith’s hand in his and headed inside. Keith wasn’t one to be taken away by extravagance but setting foot inside the hotel he felt as if he was stepping into a castle.  The ceilings dripped in crystals and gold. The floor was white marble, polished in a way that one could see their reflection in it. Even the Castle of Lions wasn’t nearly as fancy as this place.

They were guided by ushers to the grand ballroom. And to be expected it was dripping with elegance. It was tastefully decorated with gold, silver and black. And forty circular tables were scattered around the edge of the ballroom, leaving enough room for the dance floor to be open.  

“Are you sure this is a New Year’s party and not a wedding reception?” Keith whispered under his breath.

Shiro laughed, reaching out for two champagne flutes as the waiter passed them, “You should have seen it last year.” He handed Keith one of the flutes, clanking their classes together before taking a sip of the bubbly beverage.

“I was wondering when you two would so up.” Waltzing up to Keith and Shiro was a petite woman with long, black hair that cascaded down her back in elegant curls that seemed to come straight out of a different era. She herself, seemed to come out of a different time, holding the grace and elegance of a starlet of years gone past. Though her slanted, dark gray eyes held a sparkle of rebellion just waiting to see what chaos could be unleashed. “See Takashi worked a different angle to get you to come tonight.” Her red lips parted in a bright smile.

Keith choked on his champagne. Shiro patted his back, a subtle shade of pink painted across his cheeks, “Don’t know what you are implying Reiko.”

Rei took a sip from her flute with a knowing cock of her eyebrow as she continued to watch the two men trying to compose themselves, “Well what are we standing around here for? We saved a table over there!”

She quickly linked her arms between Keith and Shiro, dragging them to one of the corner tables where their friends were sitting. It was nice to chat and catch up with everyone again like old times. With everyone being so busy with their lives now. That they never had a chance to find time to get together. It had almost made it seem like old times with their joking and laughter. Things have changed though, yes, but it was easy to get up to track with the changes. Though Keith would never get used to seeing his mother and Kolivan as a couple.  

For hours they sat at their table, drinking too much champagne and eating the h'ordeuvre that Hunk himself catered for the occasion. A fusion of Earth and intergalactic cuisine. In a way, had become a symbol for the galaxy opening to Earth and its relations with the stars.

“We are only a few short minutes in until the clock strikes midnight,” The DJ announced, “So why not ease into the New Year with a slow dance. And who knows, maybe by the end you lucky fellows will get a Midnight Kiss.” He winked as he placed a slow song on.

“Care to dance?” Shiro offered his hand to Keith.

Keith took Shiro’s hand, “I’d love to.”

Shiro held Keith by the low of his back, gently swaying them to the beat of the song. Keith rested his hand on the curve of Shiro’s neck, his thumb rubbing against his check. He never took his eyes off of Shiro. The world around them seemed to fade away. They didn’t hear the countdown in the background. They didn’t hear the cheers as soon as the clock struck midnight. Only thing that mattered was Shiro’s lips against Keith. That this year and the years to come, they would be together. 

“Happy New Year Shiro.” Keith whispered.

“Happy New Year Keith.” Shiro whispered back.

[scriptaed]

slow dancing in a burning room;

genre: just pure angst; mafia!au; best friend!au;

pairing: reader x yoongi;

length: 5.6k

synopsis: pristine is your image, but he is your reflection. dirty, ragged, and destitute, your best friend is your father’s greatest nightmares personified, and so, inevitably, your first love ripples into the memories of your fleeting youth; yet in the twisted works of fate, reunion comes years later when you find yourself entangled in his perilous business as the leader of an infamous mafia, and from then on, it’s only a matter of time until this torturous waltz of yours comes crashing to a burning end. 

prompts:  “do you trust me?” “don’t look at me like that.” “there was a time before all of this.” “keep your eyes on me" “please don’t shut me out.” “you are my best friend in the whole world, okay?” 

Nostalgia is everyone’s greatest enemy, but to you, at this very moment, the rush of reminiscence which flows from his eyes and into the windows to your soul is all that you’ve ever dreamed of; and when he smiles before he speaks, that half-effort, oh-so-smuggish yet bittersweet, soft smile of his, all you can see and hear is the world whirling you into the typhoon of the golden days when he was still by your side.

-

“Hey.”

Looking up, you find the familiar lopsided grin of your best friend as he seats himself on the hand rail across from you; just like he always does.

“Hey,” you flash him a quick smile to acknowledge his presence before glancing over at the gleaming watch on his wrist, “what took you so long?”

“Well,” Yoongi clears his throat and shuffles in place to find a comfortable seating, but with no prevail, raising his hand to point at the watch, “The coast isn’t clear until 11 P.M., missy. If your dad ever saw you hanging with the likes of me, he probably would lecture you for the next week before storming into the hospital and scolding my mother for my ‘negative influence’ on his precious daughter.”

Regretfully, a simple mumble of a “sorry” is all you can offer, but you mean it beyond the mundane connotations of an apology; you’re sorry for the pain, the shame, the derogatory life that comes with remaining by your side, you’re sorry for being the person that you are, yet it’s all you can offer, more than you could offer, it’s enough of an offer, and your best friend knows it, too.

Loud sighs often fill the silences of your midnight getaways together, and this time proves to uphold such traditions. The marks of his breath etches into stagnating air as white, dissipating puffs only to return to expansion of his lungs. “I wouldn’t be able to see my best friend, and I would only be yet another burden to my mother… so we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

“...right,” you mutter in merciful guilt until you find yourself staring at the ticking hands of the platinum watch.

In moments like this, when the night is young and crickets awaken and no one but you and your best friend are filled with the vigor and thrill of escaping from the harsh grips of reality, there is not a single wish which shrouds your consciousness than the thought of freezing time; and if it isn’t for the sway of your best friend, his forefinger tipping from the bottom of your chin until your eyes meet his, like the futile chase for the holy grail, succumbing to inescapable laws of time would have been just a second away.

“Hey, did you come here to ogle at the watch you gave me or did you come here to ogle at me?” a smug snicker cracks the corner of his lips when you roll your eyes at his remark, which continues with a nonchalant, “if you like it so badly, maybe you shouldn’t have given it to me for my birthday. I can always regift it for when your birthday comes around; it’s not like I have enough money to buy you—”

“—I was staring at the watch because I felt bad, okay? I always feel bad… for everything,” your voice trails off into a grumble and you cross your arms with a huff. “And keep it, keep the watch I mean. It looks the best on you, anyways.”

Yoongi turns to quirk a brow at you, intrigued by your remark.

Ignoring the skip of a heartbeat, you hastily proceed but not without averting your eyes to the sparkling city lights behind him, “and for the last time, you don’t need to buy me anything for my birthday. Just… take care of yourself and your mom. Your health is enough to make me happy… but also,” you pause to lock gazes with his equivocating ones, “staying by my side isn’t too much to ask for, right…?”

A millisecond too long of silence elicits panic from your heart.

To others, it may appear as if you’re overreacting, but to you, losing your best friend because of trifling matters of the city mayor’s daughter befriending the son of an ill, destitute mother would be a nightmare-turned-reality. Something as trivial as a second-too-long gaze of silence is enough to strike at your delicate esteem.

“Yeah, of course,” he chuckles, lifting the corner of his lips into a soft grin before glimpsing around at the silhouette of the cityscape laid beneath him from atop the mountain top and patting at the empty spot on the handrail beside him. Jumping off of your own rail, you happily join him under the warm golden rays of the lamppost as the city lights dwindles one by one. Turning his head to glimpse at you only to return to the attention of the dozing city, a smirk of his elicits the narrowing of your eyes. “God, you’re like that overly clingy girlfriend everyone tries to avoid; in fact, I bet everyone thinks we’re dating. Maybe that’s why your dad hates me so much.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in disbelief. “Does my clingy ass and being mistaken as my boyfriend bother you that much?”

“No, I never said it was a bad thing. You, however, did,” he shrugs mischievously, his bottom lip pouting to soften the rather aloof reputation your classmates had bestowed him, but his next words are what surprise you, “I actually enjoy it. Being mistaken as your boyfriend. I like it a lot, actually.”

His words depart as swiftly as they had arrived, whispers floating along akin to a feather in the midnight breeze; but the effect it had and still has on you remains forever etched into the memories of your first love.

You should have said something.

You should have prolonged the moment, maybe even further the blooming love of youths.

You should have done something, anything, because your silence becomes his cue to take a drastic turn for the worse.

“Y/N,” he pauses, turning to gather your full attention as you notice the wavering in his dark warm eyes. “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh?” the word slips, but your mind goes blank. Brows furrowed and chest constricted, your assumptions jump to the worst possible scenario. “Oh no… is your mother alright? What did the doctors say?”

“She’s,” he drawls and takes a deep breath in and out before averting his gaze to the cityscape with a sigh, “she’s not doing well. The doctors are probably going to move her into the Intensive Care Unit, but… I don’t know where we’re going to get the money. Our bank is all dried up. Every last penny—”

“—well, Yoongi,” you blurt, “I can help you. In fact, please let me help you—”

“—no,” he shakes his head adamantly, “I don’t want to owe anyone anything, and most importantly, I don’t want your dad to hate me any more than he already does.”

“Yoongi!” your arm instinctively grabs his in order to pull his gaze back on you. “Is there time for you to be worrying over silly things like that? Your mother’s life is at stake here!”

“It’s not silly and neither my mother nor my father would ever accept money out of pity or from filthy rich people like you!”

His remark pierces through thin air like the way his gaze does to you; taken aback, you recline in your seat, staring at the ground with absolutely no intention to counteract his rebuke. You know it’s not your fault and neither is it his fault for refusing to accept money from outsiders, including you, because you don’t understand his struggles and he can’t blame you for your upcomings.

Both of you know that; so when his apology arrives seconds after tense silence, it’s like all the past conversations and arguments you’ve ever had being stuck on repeat.

You’re already numb to the pain.

It’s as if somehow, your subconscious had already accepted an inevitable end to this thing you call true love.

“...I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry, really,” he takes your hand in his, rubbing it with the warmth of his palms to thaw the cold which plagues your skin. “I don’t mean it in that way. I don’t ever mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” you utter, eyes peering up to meet the soft edges of his own. “I just want to help, Yoongi. Please don’t shut me out.”

“I know, I know,” he nods. “But you understand why I can’t, don’t you?”

Tears begin to well up from the mere thought of his mother potentially on her deathbed, a mother whom you’ve grown fond of prior to her ill state, and the desperation of wanting to help but being disabled from doing so.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that; it only makes it harder for me to tell you what comes next,” he chortles, gently brushing his forefinger against your cheek to catch the few drops that had escaped from your glimmering eyes. “To be honest with you, and I’ve been meaning to tell you this for weeks now, I’m taking up Bang’s offer.”

Immediately, your hands slap his hands into midair.

“What?” you narrow your eyes as you sniffle. “You’re joining his gang? The gang my father has been hunting down for the past years? You think my father won’t hate you even more if he finds out? Are you insane?!”

Frowning at your sudden lash, he retrieves your clenched hands once again in a futile attempt to calm you down. “That’s why he won’t find out,” he firmly states. “I’ve already told Bang not to tell anyone, not even my mother. I’ll just be working for them, a few runs here and there, but I’ll stop as soon as I get enough money to pay for my mother’s hospital bills, alright?”

Sneaking around behind your father’s back with a boy he most definitely disapproves of is one thing, but having a gang member as your best friend? That’s another. As the daughter of the mayor, you’ve always had toxic experiences with gangs. To put it simply, it’s not the gangs that you despise, it’s the violence which comes with it. But you can’t even fathom telling Yoongi something as hurtful as that, so all you do now is look away.

“Come on, Y/N. Look at me,” Yoongi pleads, cupping your chin to adjust your hardened gaze to his. “Keep your eyes on me, okay? Everyone already hates me, and the last thing I would ever want is for my best friend to hate me, too. Please,” his voice cracks, “don’t look away.”

It takes you a few seconds to still the quivering of your breaths. “You know I can’t meet up with you anymore, right? I can’t… if you’re going out to hurt people. I don’t know how I’ll see you as a person anymore, a-and my father? If he ever finds out? You’ll be in more danger than being in a gang alone!”

“I know. I understand. That’s why I wanted to meet up for the last time tonight no matter what—” your mind, eyes, and lips are begging for him not to finish because you know how this will end “—and I promise I won’t do anything too dumb or dangerous or even bad; at the very least, I’ll return in one piece. You trust me, don’t you?”

“...are we ever going to meet again?”

He cracks a lopsided smile and shakes his head, “probably not, if you don’t want to die.”

“...okay,” the words slip without thought, “then can you at least promise you and your mother will be safe?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “definitely, I promise. Do you trust me?”

“I-I do, but I—” your voice cracks when a whimper bellows from beneath the knots of your throat, and out comes the swarm of tears you had tried so hard to suppress as you bury your head into his chest and bawl “—I don’t know how I’m going to live without my best friend, how am I supposed to do that?!”

A chuckle leaves his lips and he pats you gently on the back with the steady, soft rhythm he had always done while accompanying you throughout the past years.

“There was a time before all of this, before you met me, and before we started whatever we have now. You survived then, and you’ll survive now,” Yoongi murmurs, placing a chaste kiss to the top of your head before pulling you into a hug. “You’ll always be my best friend in the whole world, okay?”

None of his words are adequate comfort, because nothing could ever assure you when the rock of your life, the only person you’ve ever truly known or loved, is to soon remove himself into the dimensions of a world your heritage and morals had always prohibited you from; and when he returns is an answer only fate can answer, but for now, it’s a probable never.

And after hours and hours of hugging and crying and thrashing, the three words which come to define the many years ahead of you are all that you profess.

“I’ll miss you.”

Yoongi chuckles and places another kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

And now that you think about it, that’s the closest you two have ever been to confessing.

-

“Hey,” you hear him utter prior to the smuggish grin of his paired with furrowed brows, “don’t look at me like that; you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Yoongi…?” you manage to mumble, narrowing your eyes at the familiar yet matured man—several inches taller, broader, slimmer, and a sprinkle of masculinity, wisdom, and roughness which comes with age, not to mention the fit of his navy blue tux, this man definitely isn’t the same as the boy who had first captured your heart.

“So, does your dad have any special greetings for me today?” he remarks with a smirk. “Something like an ‘asshole’ or ‘filthy rat’?”

“What?” you frown and shake your head in disbelief. “No, he hasn’t mentioned you since. But, what… what in the world are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to attend fancy events like this?” he gestures at all the evening gowns and tuxedos on the ballroom floor your father had organized.

“No, but I thought,” you pause to catch your breath, “I thought you had moved?”

“I did. I just have a few important matters to take care—” he halts mid-sentence, blinking blankly at you before proceeding “—I just wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“...if memory serves me well, I don’t think you’re telling the complete truth.”

“What?” he cracks a smug grin. “You don’t believe me? Ouch, is this how you treat your best friend after, what, five years?”

“I just…” your voice trails as you scan him from head to toe, frowning at the all too characteristic pairing of his ripped jeans and white tee strategically hidden underneath his emerald velvet blazer, “..it’s just, I feel like I’m just dreaming this silly dream again, but you look too real right now.”

Yoongi snorts, the grin plastered across his face growing by the second as his hand reaches out to the small of your back; and before you know it, the distance between his world and yours dissipates into thin air, and with the assurance of his hand stroking your head into the comfort of his chest, you know this familiarity of home is all too real to imagine.

The graze of his lips set ablaze your earlobes as he whispers, “well, then, would you allow this imaginary friend of yours the pleasure of this dance?”

A helpless scoff escapes from your lips which stretches from ear to ear, but the rest of your body follows along when your hands naturally find their way behind his neck. The lock of his hands to the keys of your waist, the fitting puzzle piece of your chest against his, and the small patch of fuzz on the nape of his neck—something which you and only you had come to notice and nagged at him until you were given permission to shave—are all you need to truly realize: this really is your best friend.

Plucks of the harp echo in the drowned background as the two of you sway side to side along to the sea in the midst of a storm, just trying to survive; and while your head lies against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and grinning at the sight of his familiar watch adorning his wrist, each second which passes, staring at the dysfunctional watch which has long succumbed to the decay of time, you’re reminded that even moments like these are temporary.

“...how’s your mom?”

The cloth of his velvet suit muffles your voice, but you know Yoongi understands you perfectly because of the way he smiles into your hair.

And while it’s crazy to think that you would still care so much over someone completely disconnected from your world for the past half decade, it still isn’t impossible to imagine, especially when it’s happening right here, right now; because his smile becomes the reason behind your own smile, and you know you’ll hear delightful news.

“She’s doing well,” he utters softly, yet you can hear the joyful jump at the end of each word. “She’s back at home, resting. I wish you could see her—God, that smile of her’s is light years from her condition back then. She’s so happy, Y/N, so happy.”

“That’s good,” your voice cracks and you pause for a second to recollect your composure, suppressing the tears from making its appearance, because you really do think you’re about to cry from sheer relief. Leaning back to peer up at your best friend, who only reciprocates the most loving, most tender gaze you had laid eyes on in years, you flash him the widest smile you could muster; and as if innate, your hands find its way to brush the wisp of bangs off his eyes, “I’m sure she’s happy, seeing how handsome and well her son has grown up to be.”

Yoongi’s sheepish grin sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach, especially when you notice the gummy smile he had failed to lose throughout the years. “And I’m sure your father is even happier to see his daughter stunning the entire ballroom floor—ah, how blessed I am to be holding her in my arms tonight.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you compliment me like this before,” you frown, suspectedly.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he snorts, “I’m sure he’s even prouder that you’re no longer hanging around a thug like me.”

His remark elicits a roll of the eyes from you as you return your head to the comfort of his chest. “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but do you think he would still disown me if he ever saw me with you right now…?”

You hear him smirk, “do you want me to tell you the truth or do you want to keep dancing?”

Curtish words, as usual; more than satisfied, you smile and shake your head.

“No. Let’s just keep dancing like this. Just like this.”

And so you do, even through the silence as the song ends and the band prepares for the proceeding piece. Watching your father’s business partners passing through the halls and observing a man perhaps a bit too tipsy as clear liquid splashes onto the marble floor to create a trail behind him fails to quench your curiosity.

“But, really,” you lift your head once again to find him arching a brow, “what exactly are you doing here? I mean, I have to attend because of my father, but you’ve never been the type to attend these kinds of things.”

“Again,” he chuckles, “do you want to hear the truth or do you want to keep dancing?”

A snort and the shake of your head as you grin and return to rest on his chest, pulling him in even closer, are enough of an answer for him.

Because even if you had to wait years for this very moment, this motion in time is enough for you and for him…

...but supposedly not for fate.

Crash.

Glass shattering and women screaming pierce your ears. Whirling around in full attention, you catch the roar of fire cutting through the thick air as a blaze of fiery flames flicker across the room lining the walls of the room.

Curses from men and shrieks from women and cries from children bawling into the arms of their parents flood your senses, but all you can do is stand there—petrified with eyes widening and reflecting the illuminating breath of wildfire.

“Quick, Yoongi!” your instincts immediately rebound to the thought of your best friend as you propel yourself into action. “Help me evacuate them!”

Yet even without your instructions, Yoongi had already jumped into action, ushering packs of families towards the exit in a jumbled line; and despite the urgency of the situation, you can’t help but acknowledge just how far he’s come.

The air of the once-ballroom-now-unrecognizable becomes stuffier by the minute and the endless beads of sweat dripping from your temples to the ends of your hair aren’t aiding the process yet either. Fire plagues each corner of the room, making its way into the center, but your search for water in the main reception room bears no fruition.

“Hey, Yoongi! I’m going to find some water over in the stockroom. I remember father used to keep some there,” you call out to Yoongi, who turns around and gives you a small nod before proceeding to evacuate the attendees with sweat gleaming across his entire forehead.

The severity of the situation sends desperation for time and adrenaline in the wake of a fight-or-flight situation coursing through your veins. You have to get everyone out—and soon.

Click-clack, click-clack, you stumble while running in your heels, storming your way through the sweltering halls. The lack of oxygen and pollution of stinging smoke force you to cough every so often along with tearing eyes, but even that isn’t enough to halt your tracks. With the inner elbow to your mouth and a pair of narrowed eyes, you proceed, taking cautious steps forward in order to avoid the planks of burning wood plummeting from the ceiling and sending waves of dust in its aftermath…

...until, in the corner of your eyes, you spot a black silhouette—seemingly belonging to that of a familiar tipsy man—flickering across the room and up the stairs.

Turning around, the roars of flame are all that fill your ears, for you stand there, watching the dubious man escape and contemplating over your choices.

And you don’t know if it’s the newfound power of this adrenaline rushing through you or the assurance of reuniting with your best friend which propels you forward, but naturally, you find your feet storming forward, following the man a dozen meters behind—

“—Y/N, don’t!” you hear Yoongi yelling from the back, and while you normally would have done so, your body has a mind of it’s own, because perhaps—just perhaps—you’ve finally succumbed to the guilt of just wanting to help your best friend out for once. “Y/N! I’m fucking telling you to stop! He’s dangerous!”

The floor beneath you nearly gives into the fire as you take a step forward up the stairs, creaking closer and closer to the bellowing disaster meters below second floor, but even that—the panic attack of your heart and the fear of ending your life early despite just experiencing one of your most elated moments thus far—isn’t as horrifying as the silence in the room where the man, completely absent, as if disappearing into thin air, had whisked you off into.

“W-Whoever you are, what the hell are you doing here and why?” you stammer after clearing your throat. Turning around in circles, you notice the entire room which had once been the second floor stockroom had been cleared, and once you make your second round, ready to depart and find your way back to Yoongi’s voice which lurks not too far off, the door slams shut, jolting you backwards until you notice a torn, crumpled note poorly stapled onto the blank white wall.

Tell your dear bootlicker of a traitor: none of us forgot what he did to us. We invited him in as our leader, but dating the mayor’s daughter and working for him behind our back only made him easier to take down.

Burn in hell, bitch.

“...Yoongi,” you mutter, dropping the horrifying threat to fire creeping into the room and pulling at the door seemingly locked from the outside.

“Y/N?! Where are you?!”

Enraptured by hope, you slam your fists against the door and yell, “Yoongi! Over here! Help, the door’s locked—”

—bang.

You hear someone dropping to the floor along with your heart.

“Augh,” he bellows in pain.

“Yoongi!”

A few more heavy footsteps and gunshots follow, drowning out the shrills of your weeping, until finally, the hasty hustles are replaced by the crackling fire.

“...fuck you if you thought I would die so easily,” you hear your best friend mumbling, words even more slurred than usual. Staggered footsteps follow shortly after, thumping heavier and heavier up to your door. “Y/N… step away from the door.”

Fortunately, you quickly oblige before another piercing gunshot rings across the stuffed air and a loud smack of his foot against the loosened lock causes the door to come crashing onto the floor.

“Yoongi!” you scream and run into his arms as he stumbles backwards from your sudden force. Little time is left for the reunion when a sticky warmth of flowing liquid grabs the attention of your blood-stained hands.  “Yoongi… we have to get your treated!”

“Yeah… yeah, we do,” he nods, eyes shutting in pain but body slamming against the wall and staining the white paint with bright red as he slides down to the floor. “But let me just take a small break.”

“You can do that later, Yoongi! Please! This entire building is about to crumble,” you plead, squatting to grab his hand and attempt to pull him up in vain. “I thought you were their leader, aren’t you supposed to be hard working?! Aren’t you supposed to be strong?!”

“Wait…” his brows cinch in confusion as he peers up at you. “You know…?”

“Yeah, and you work for my father too?” your voice wavers, not because of the secrets he had kept from you but because of the sight of color dissipating from your love’s skin. This isn’t the end you wanted. Even if you could no longer meet him, his own well being is enough of an assurance for you—but this, this isn’t what he promised.

“I…” Yoongi’s eyes glue to the floor and he shakes his head. “...I tried to hide from your father when I joined them, but apparently your dad was keeping close tabs on you and your boyfriend,” he chuckles over his own words, “and so he offered me this job to abide by the laws and hunt down criminals, because ‘the least I could do is to not break his daughter’s heart by becoming one myself…’ or at least I think that’s what he... said.”

His quivering breath becomes ever the more frequent by the second, and even you could tell there isn’t much time left until the both of you become buried underneath the ashes of this entire building.

“Okay, whatever, we’ll talk about this later,” you grab ahold of his arm and somehow manage to aid him to his feet. “My father didn’t fucking pay you just for you to die.”

Yoongi snorts, his head bobbing onto your right shoulder, “when did you get so stingy?”

Half of the ceiling is burnt to crisp black, for crumbles of ash cascade from the air only to sting your bare back and shoulders; it really was only a matter of time until even the ends of your lengthy gown caught on fire.

Your conscious isn’t made aware of the growing disaster until you notice Yoongi pausing you midstair and crippling to the floor to grab ahold of your skirt above your knees. Fortunately, he manages to tear off the entire bottom of the skirt just as your legs begin to burn and your entire body radiates with heat, both flushed skin from your inner system and roasted skin from your external system causing you to nearly collapse in panic.

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles when his arm wrap over your shoulder for support once again, his low raspy voice sparking worries of dehydration within you; and yet, still, he manages to remark, “I’ll buy you a better dress next time.”

Crash—countless planks of wood launch at you from above and countless times you nearly succumb to death if it weren’t for Yoongi strictly guiding you through the labyrinth of trails he had somehow managed to decipher amidst the fire.

Light comes flooding into the inky smoked room where the other had evacuated through.

You two are going to make it alive, you two are going to make it alive.

The prayers chant in the back of your mind, and maybe it’s fate’s dislike of you or your dislike of fate, but nonetheless, fate never seems to hold to your favor.

Because just as you crawl through the crippling exit—despite incessantly begging Yoongi to crawl first due to his wounds only to be pushed by him with a frustrated grunt—the last hole of an escape crashes under the sway of the fire, capturing Yoongi within the building along with it.

“No, no, no, Yoongi, I’m not letting you go again,” you blurt, the words flowing without thought as you whirl around to plead the crowd of bystanders. “Someone help! Did you call the ambulance? The fire department? Anyone?!”

And for the first time, with ragged gowns, both dirt and blood stained, no one sees you as you but rather the girl brought up in destitute conditions.

In the eyes of the commoners, you embodied Yoongi.

And the murmurs of the crowd which pertain to the past leader of the city’s mafia finally succumbing to the fire of karma only confirms your loss of hope in humanity.

“You know what? Fuck you all,” you spit, storming your way up to a lanky man and grabbing his pocket knife from his shaky hands, “give me that.”

Holding the knife tightly in your grips, you march up to a window where you spot Yoongi jabbing his elbow at helplessly. “Stand back, Yoongi!” you yell out before striding forward and striking the windows with the knife aloft in one hand as the other guards your face from incoming glass.

Time, color, senses—they all become a blur to you shortly afterwards.

The only thing, only person which your scrambled mind could make sense of now is him.

And suddenly, the blinding car headlights and shrieking firetruck sirens fade into the back as the blur of your eyes finally manage to focus on the worried expression of your best friend, just a few inches from yours.

“Y/N, I have to go,” he repeats again and again, his brows furrowed and his eyes welling up for the first time in years; but you shake your head. He cups your cheeks even firmer, “I have to go. I have to catch the rest of them with my group. I’m just a few minutes away from finishing what your father asked of me. I have to go.”

“Stop leaving me, Yoongi,” you cry. “You promised me you would take care of yourself. You’re bleeding your life out, Yoongi, this isn’t what you promised me!”

“I’ll get it treated, alright? Your dad can’t know that I dragged you into this—”

“—you didn’t drag me—”

“—but he’ll blame me nonetheless.”

“I don’t know how I’ll go on without you after this, Yoongi,” you shake your head again, lips pressing into a thin line in a vain attempt to suppress your tears.

Yoongi’s frown deepens, seemingly stable, but you can feel his hands trembling on your cheeks. “Look, there was a time before this, before you met me and before you met me a second time, remember? You survived then, and you’ll survive again—

“—no,” you sniffle, eyes shifting to the ground, “not unless you get yourself treated—”

“—I will, Y/N. I will. Look at me, Y/N, and keep your eyes on me,” Yoongi gulps, swiping his thumb across your cheek until you returned his gaze. “I promise I’ll even return to you after this entire ordeal is sorted out, okay? I’ll get my entire life sorted out and find you again, once I’m at the top and your father has no choice but to accept me, alright?”

“Really?”

“Yes, but for now, I have to go,” Yoongi leans in to place his lips to your forehead, “remember, you’ll always be my best friend. I love you.”

As swiftly as he had waltzed into your life tonight, he waltzes out; and while the track of this torturous slow dance of yours is only on its prelude, at the very least, this time, you’re left with a glimpse of hope to smother this treacherous wrath of fate.

[perksofbeingawaifu]

the great cat caper

hey yall it’s been 50 million years. so i was looking through my old drafts (of which i have several) and found this nearly finished ficlet. it was based on this amazing and hilarious art by the very lovely and talented @magickitt . i can’t for the life of me remember why i quit writing it (maybe someone else wrote the same fic so i just dropped it?) but here it is very very late. enjoy!~

Eren didn’t know when it started. One day he went to grab a pair of undies from the crumpled clean laundry basket and pulled them on only to find them too small. He shrugged and assumed they’d shrunk in the laundry. Then it happened again a few days later. And again the day after that!

“Armin, do I look like I’m gaining weight?” he asked, checking his gut in front of a mirror.

“You? No,” Armin laughed, turning his eyes back to his term paper.

“No you’re perfect,” Mikasa said flipping through a magazine.

“What about you Titan?” he asked the cat making figure eights between his legs. “Does Daddy look different to you? Hm? I gotta start working out more.”

And he did. He got up to run every morning just as his cranky neighbor from 2B left for work (no but seriously who works that early?). And every morning just as he saw the perfectly shined shoes step outside his door, Eren darted down the stairwell, content on avoiding him. He’d never met his neighbor and had no desire to. The man was quiet except for the times when he wasn’t. He would burst into short, clipped, rage-filled sentences that ranged from threats to his roommate, “I swear to fucking god if you don’t flush the toilet I will personally grind you up and flush you down to float with my shit!” to, “SHIT ON A STICK!” to the worrisome phone conversation of, “I will fucking butcher you!”

He could also hear his neighbors discussing chemical “particles” and “reactions.” He had no doubt his neighbor was involved in pharmaceuticals of the “Breaking Bad” variety. Eren vowed to keep his head down and mind his own business.

Or rather he tried, he really did try.

“Oh no,” he said holding up a pair of skivvies that were most certainly not his.

“Hanji I swear to fucking shit, where the fuck are they?” his neighbor echoed on the other side of the thin wall. “I’m down to my last pair, I’m washing it every single day, where are you hiding them?”

“Bad Titan!” Eren hissed at his cat.

Sure, he’d noticed Titan playing with something last night. And sure, yes, he’d noticed socks and undies stuffed into his slippers or in his backpack. And the nest under the bed. But today he found a pair placed lovingly on his bath mat. Once again they didn’t fit, despite all of his recent activity. He flipped the band to see a Men’s small on the waistband. He wore a medium. At first he thought maybe Mikasa had bought him another package of briefs and simply grabbed the wrong size. But now given the ruckus on the other end of the wall, a horrible chill raced its way down his spine.

“Please, please,” he begged as he rummaged through his drawer grabbing every pair he could find. He dug into his dirty laundry, then his clean laundry, the place between his bed and the wall, under the couch and between the cushions and even behind his television.

Finally he set lay them all out in his living room, like they were all artifacts from some archeology dig.

“Oh Titan, why do you hate me? Is it the discount catfood?” Eren asked as Titan waltzed through the display purring.

As Eren dragged his hands down his face, Titan flopped over and began rolling around on his stolen goods.

What to do? What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? Give them back, right? He didn’t know which ones belonged to the man next door. Who knew who else Titan stole from? Eren didn’t know if he could be held legally responsible for something his cat did. He knew what he had to do. He was just too terrified to do it.

Summoning all of his courage, he stepped over to 2B and rapped on the door.

“You’re not the pizza guy,” his neighbor guessed astutely, pulling his gaming headphones down from his neck.

“Hah, no I’m—“

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped into the mic.

“Uh,” Eren froze.

“Sorry, them, not you,” he indicated his headphones. Then there was a warble of noise on the other end and his face twitched. “No Oluo is not fucking tanking. Erwin is our main Tank and Mike is—no you don’t get to heal either not if you’re gonna piss and moan like you did last time when you didn’t get the roll. Now shut up I’m afk.”

He hit the mute button on the side and shook his head in annoyance.

“Sorry, my guild is a bunch of chodenuggets, what’s up? You locked out?”

“No I—you see—“

“Man our pizza is really late, Hanji, you called them right?” he called back to the other gamer hunched over their desk. “We’re kindof in the middle of something, so what do you need?”

Hi, I’m Eren and I live next door. You wouldn’t happen to be missing a pair of boxers or briefs would you? Because I think my cat may have stolen them.

At least that’s what he had planned on saying, but he was so frazzled that all he managed to get out was, “Boxers or briefs?”

The man finally gave Eren his full attention, snapping his neck to assess him with those cool grey eyes of his.

“What did you say to me?”

“I—I—“ Eren stammered.

“You some kind of pervert?” he asked, taking a step out of the hallway.

“No?” Eren winced putting his hands up in surrender.

“Levi hurry up! Erwin says if you’re not back, we’re going without you.”

“Look, I don’t know what frathouse bullshit this is but—“ Levi said taking another step forward.

“Cat!” Eren blurted out, crossing his hands over his face. “M-my cat!”

“What?”

“Okay, Oluo rushed in and we wiped, so that’s done for now, what’s going on?” Hanji came over.

“This little punk is harassing me,” Levi said, rolling his very thick shoulders.

“I think my cat has been stealing your underwear!” Eren shouted.

“…What?” Levi stopped short, confusion spreading over his face.

“I mean, you’re missing underwear right? I think my cat has been stealing them. Just…come see?”

A minute later Levi and Hanji examined the carnage that was Eren’s living room.

“Oh my god,” Levi said surveying the scene.

“Sorry I don’t know which ones are yours,” Eren said stepping over Titan and picking a few up off the floor. “I also have no idea who these lacey panties belong—”

“I—here, give me those,” Levi said, snatching the lacey boyshorts out of his hands. “They’re uh, probably my cousin Isabel’s from when she visited.”

Hanji snorted and Levi stilled them with a look.

“So yeah, I’m guessing yours are just the Men’s small and Boy’s XL here,” Eren pointed.

“Okay, well,” Levi said, flushing up to his roots, panties sticking out of his jean pockets. “Just the small are mine.”

“Oh, so not these dinosaur ones because—“

“Pfft no.”

“Because you wrote Levi on the waistband in sharpie.”

Levi winced and also took the Batman Y-fronts.

“Yeah sorry it took me so long to notice he was taking them,” Eren said stepping over the mess. “I kept pulling on pairs I found around the apartment and when they didn’t fit—“

“You wore them?” Levi cried, his lip curled in disgust.

“Y-yes, but I washed them!”

“Oh!” Levi groaned and spun on the spot. “That’s great, that’s fucking great! You wore them getting your skidmarks all over them!”

“Excuse me? I didn’t get any skidmarks on them! Any streaks you see are yours and yours alone!”

Levi gasped, offended. “You know what you are?” he said dangerously. “You’re a dirty pervert panty sniffer. I don’t think your cat stole these, I think you stole these!”

“You think—“ Eren sputtered in protest.

“Yeah, I think you’re the kind of guy who gets off to stolen underwear from the laundry room—“ Levi jabbed his finger into Eren’s chest.

“At least I don’t have three different pairs of Strawberry Shortcake panties!” Eren shot back.

“Boys—boys—“ Hanji said stepping between them. “I know how we can settle this.”

“Yeah me too,” Levi flexed his biceps. “Oh wait—no not that again, Hanji!”

Hanji’s idea proved to be a GoPro that they fitted to Titan’s collar. Levi agreed to hold off on pummeling Eren’s face until they had heard his case and verified his claims.

“Now…we wait,” Hanji said, scratching behind Titan’s ears.

A full 48 hours later they sat in front of Hanji’s computer, Eren a little nervous and Titan rolling about in Levi’s lap no many how many times he shoved him off.

They watched the video in tense silence. There was Hanji putting on the GoPro…there was Eren escorting a naughty Titan back to his apartment…then…nothing. Titan did nothing but sleep all night.

“I thought cats were nocturnal?” Levi asked, as Titan attempted to scale his shoulder.

“Oh no, Titan sleeps like the dead until…yup, there.”

5:35AM, a good twenty-five minutes before Eren’s alarm was due to go off, Titan woke up and began pawing at his face.

Eren watched as he tossed and turned in the bed, Titan smacking him repetitively until Eren stumbled to his feet, scratching at his ass, Titan weaving in between his legs. The camera shook suddenly as a sleepy Eren tripped over the cat and fell hard.

“Okay we can fast forward through this, please?” Eren asked, putting a hand over his eyes.

Levi snorted at Eren’s expense.

Then Titan ate his food happily for a good ten minutes. He spent another twenty minutes licking his ass. Hanji tapped the fast forward button again to zip through.

“Wait what was that?” Levi pointed.

“NO!” Eren said, diving for the controls but Hanji held their keyboard above both of them, slowing it down.

Titan always sat on Eren’s bathmat and waited for him to finish with his shower. Eren stepped out of the shower and then realized that GoPro was aimed right between his legs and collapsed again, grabbing a towel and lunging at Titan.

Both Hanji and Levi tilted their heads to watch the Eren on-screen struggle to cover himself.

“Get out of here!” past-Eren hissed at the cat as present-Eren put both hands over his eyes. “You’re peeping on me you pervert cat! Aw, I’m sorry. No, don’t lick me. Stop it that tickles. Look how fierce you are. I didn’t mean to scare you. Okay now no more spying on me while I’m naked. We don’t want Mr. Grumpy Pants with the Cute Ass next door to see me naked, do we? No we don’t. No we don’t!”

Levi turned and looked at Eren.

“I did not realize it had sound,” Eren choked out in a pained voice.

“Clearly,” Levi said, now looking amused at the situation.

They watched Titan run around the apartment, playing with his toys, grooming, napping. Hanji yawned, tapping on the fast forward button as Titan slept most of the afternoon. Levi shifted in boredom, Eren opened his water bottle and took several long sips. He looked around the room and realized that all the times he had thought his neighbors were drug dealers, they were instead grad students with piles and piles of Hanji’s notes on biochem scattered throughout their desk and Levi’s neatly shelved text books.

Then…

“He’s up, he’s moving! Take it back!” Eren said, slapping Hanji’s chair.

He couldn’t help but be a little excited, here it was, proof that Titan was stealing the undergarments and not Eren!

Hanji took it back right before Titan moved. He suddenly perked up his head as if he heard something. Then ran to the bathroom, stood on his hind legs and managed to flip the switch to the bathroom window.

“…HOW?” Eren asked in awe.

“You are such a little pest,” Levi said, scruffing Titan who only purred in his lap.

Then he carefully padded around the corner, dropped down into the courtyard, hot on Levi’s heels as he parked his motorcycle.

“No…” Levi said as he watched Titan stalked behind him. “I don’t believe this.”

Titan followed Levi up the stairs, ducking behind the staircase as he watched Levi open the door to his apartment.

“There he’s gonna—oh…” Eren said in disappointment. “I thought he’d get in your apartment just then.”

Titan waited and then a few short minutes later, Levi stepped out with his laundry basket in hand.

“Watch watch watch,” Hanji said, smacking them both with their arms.

“Okay! Knock it off!” Levi said, warding off their flailing limbs.

Titan snuck downstairs and watched Levi as he put quarters in the machine.

“Man, he knows your routine,” Hanji said, spewing popcorn all over their desk.

“This is like a scene from one of those serial killer movies,” Levi said.

And yet, Titan waited as Levi washed his laundry, then dried it, then folded it. And never made a move. Instead he left through the open basement window and went over to see the fancy Persian nextdoor. They purred and groomed each other. No undie stealing. No nothing.

“You tried to pin it on your cat!” Levi said, turning on Eren. “Look, he had every chance there and he didn’t!”

“I didn’t do it! Just wait! We’re still on the first day, right Hanji?”

“Yeah but I didn’t do my laundry yesterday,” Levi said, standing up and despite his size towered over Eren.

“Ooh there he goes again,” Hanji said pointing.

Titan left his Persian friend, hopping up onto the brick ledge before leaping up to the second floor windows. He lurked, watching Levi dusting his action figures. He took special care to polish the backside of his Kaworu figure.

“Perfect,” Levi said on camera, giving his own backside a smack.

“Oh god,” Levi in his chair said, putting his fingers to his pinched brow as Eren turned to look around at his shelf of figurines.

“You have a lot of anime characters,” Eren pointed out.

And he dutifully dusted every single one daily as Titan’s sneaky camera documented.

“How…how much more is there?” Eren asked. “I’m wondering when you’re going to start singing to your broom here.”

“Oh he always busts out Nicki Minaj for that,” Hanji informed him. “There it is!”

Now that it was Levi’s turn to be humiliated, he slunk down in his chair. Hanji’s laughter was infectious and Eren laughed along with them—that was until Titan’s hidden camera caught Hanji eating popcorn that had been in the trash.

“…Is that the same bag?” Levi asked, looking from the screen to the bag in Hanji’s hands.

When Hanji took a little long to answer, they both groaned.

“It’s still good!”

“Why are you two even roommates?” Eren asked, a grin still on his face.

“Not for long, I’m moving in with Moblit who isn’t such a clean freak,” Hanji huffed.

“Or he’s just another slob who doesn’t mind you leaving unopened yogurt on your desk for two weeks.”

“Ah yeah, my best friend is moving in with his boyfriend so I’m out a roommate soon as well,” Eren sighed.

Levi’s eyes swept over Eren appraisingly. “When is your lease up?”

“Two months but—“

Levi on screen placed his clothes neatly in their drawers and then left for his computer. Titan ducked in Hanji’s open bedroom window and then raced around the corner into Levi’s room, leaping onto his dresser, wedging a paw in the draw and pulling it open.

“HOW? This cat is better than the entire cast of Ocean’s 11!” Levi said, mouth open.

Grabbing several pairs in his mouth, he raced back to Eren’s room, dumped his loot under the bed and then crawled on top of it purring madly.

“WHY?” Eren asked. “I adopted him from a shelter when he was a kitten, where did he learn this?”

“Maybe he likes the detergent?” Hanji asked.

“Tide with Febreeze?” Levi wrinkled his nose.

“Ooh Mr. Fancy with his fancy laundry detergent,” Hanji grumbled. “We’ve been over this by the way. You can just make your own soap! It’s just Borax and baking soda.”

“Except you never actually make your own soap—“

“Did he tell you he weighs the soap every day—“

“Because you use mine and pour water back in and think I won’t notice!”

Eren coughed into his hand politely. “This still isn’t helping me with my cat.”

“Maybe you just smell good to the cat,” Hanji suggested, leaning over and sniffing Levi.

Titan who had fallen asleep in Levi’s lap clearly liked being there.

Eren leaned over to do the same and inhaled deeply. “Yeah but how different can you smell compared to—“

He stopped and sat up, flushing a little. “Okay well sorry to bother you. And sorry for this little turd nugget. I will keep an eye out and do more to secure the apartment so he doesn’t get out again.”

Eren held out his hands to accept Titan from Levi. Levi looked reluctantly at the sleeping cat in his lap before carefully scooping him into Eren’s arms.

“Bye you little shit,” Levi said, rubbing Titan’s temples. Then in a whisper, “And quit being an asshole to your owner.”

Titan only purred in response.

“And, uh,” Levi cleared his throat. “Let me know how the roommate search goes. I’m just trying to find someone who isn’t a complete slob.”

“I mean…I’m like a normal level of slob,” Eren said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Nah, I saw your apartment on the—video thing. It looks like you actually know that food belongs in the fridge and not in your bed.” Levi leaned on the doorway in his sleeveless muscle tank and Eren felt his heart flutter.

“You looked at my bed,” Eren repeated.

“What?”

“BYE!” Eren said, realizing what he’d said and running down the hallway with a startled Titan. He slammed the door behind him and slapped his forehead. “Stupid!”

“Fucking weirdo,” Levi said, shutting the door behind him.

<*>

“Hanji, I love you, I do,” Moblit said on the phone, “but I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Moblit, first of all, do you want Levi to move in with us?”

“God no.”

“Secondly, it is nearly Valentine’s Day. I am merely playing Cupid,” Hanji said, crowing to themself as they tossed all of Levi’s underwear drawer into the garbage.

“Hanji—it’s not going to work like you think it will. Don’t meddle okay? Please?”

“I would never meddle. Ever. I am simply performing an experiment,” Hanji reassured him in a voice that was anything but reassuring, sliding the drawer back into place on Levi’s dresser.

Levi stepped out of the shower just as Hanji finished.

“What the…goddamnit! Eren!” Levi pounded on the thing wall. “Your stupid cat stole all my underwear again!”

Levi walked all the way down the hallway in a towel and banged on Eren’s door, except he forgot what he was going to say when Eren opened it.

“I’m naked,” Levi told him stupidly.

“I can see that,” Eren said.

“It’s your fault,” Levi said, finding it hard to get the words out now that he was looking up at Eren’s green eyes.

“We should do something about that,” Eren said, just as idiotically back.

“Yes,” Levi agreed, allowing himself to be led into Eren’s apartment.

When he came back it was a full three hours later and wearing a pair of Eren’s sweats and shirt.

“It totally worked,” Hanji said into their mic as Levi wandered over to his desk.

“What? Really? Did you remember to take the garbage out?” Moblit asked.

“Pfft no, why would I? Levi always does it.”

“Hanji…” Moblit sighed.

“WHY IS ALL OF MY UNDERWEAR IN THE GARBAGE? HANJI!!”

[praximeter]

Any stucky classics I can read. I am new to the fandom n all.

Hi nonnie! Welcome to the greatest fandom on earth. 😉 And thanks for writing in!

I sure do have some fic recs for you. Not sure what your jam is, so I’m gonna list out a couple of my favorites and you can go to town. Also, check out my fic recs tag! 

Classic Stucky Fic Recs under the cut! And also, you should definitely check out the Influential Fics for New Readers post over at @thestuckylibrary​.

to memory now I can’t recall by Etharei

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Additional Tags: Time Travel, World War II, Memory Loss, Time Loop, Alien Technology, Identity Porn

Summary: While on a mission storming a HYDRA facility, James Buchanan Barnes touches one of the many strange alien devices collected by the Red Skull. He does this, in fact, twice— in the past, and in the future.

Next thing he knows, Bucky Barnes is opening his eyes in the 21st century, which is full of great gadgets and coffee, and at least includes his old pal Steve. (And, inexplicably, a different Stark.) Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier finds himself in the middle of World War Two, helping Captain America hunt down HYDRA (which is at least familiar), pretending to be Bucky Barnes (which is not), and figuring out the very noisy group of soldiers who call themselves the Howling Commandos.

Comments: This is my one of my absolute favorite longfics in this fandom. It has everything: recovering!Bucky, time travel, tragic comparisons of Bucky’s past and current self, somewhat of a twist on outsider POV (in a weird way), and it is beautifully written and plotted.

This, You Protect by owlet

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Humor, I hope humor anyway, cursing, Protection, Strong feelings about coffee, slightly off-canon, Steve is sassy, sam is sassy, Bucky is sassy, Everyone has their sassy pants on, just accept that grilled cheese is the perfect food, old people are Team Bucky

Summary: The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

Comments: This is typically most people’s entry for the “if you read one fic from this fandom” contest. Funny, clever, sweet, and a totally unique take on Bucky’s post-TWS mindset. Great fun and great sequels.

Ain’t No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) by spitandvinegar 

Rating: Mature | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Drug Abuse, Homelessness, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Catholic Steve Rogers, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Artist Steve Rogers, Identity Issues, POV Alternating, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, because I am a desert pony that runs as wild and free as the wind, Period Typical Attitudes, Masturbation, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, original kid characters, a coupla goddamn kids, Pinkberry, Past Rape/Non-con

Summary: It’s six in the morning, and Steve is heading out on a run when he nearly trips over a bouquet of sunflowers on the front steps of his brownstone.

For a second paranoia takes over, and he kicks the flowers a little, waiting for them to explode. They don’t. They also came with a card, which he picks up. The front of the card has a tasteful picture of the Brooklyn bridge at sunset. It’s very nice and sedate, like the kind of card you would buy to give to your boss. On the inside someone has written a short message in big, shaky block letters.

I AM SORRY FOR SHOOTING YOU.

Steve sits down hard on the steps.

Comments: A really inventive take on Recovering!Bucky, with a super rich backstory and a daring characterization. 

4 Minute Window by Speranza (@cesperanza​)

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Surveillance, It’s Like Grand Central Station In Here, Brooklyn Boys, Power Couple, People Are Sick of Conceptual Art

Summary: “Look, if they catch me,” Bucky muttered, “they’re either going to kill me or they’re going to put me in a box with a little window and—Steve, I can’t.”

Comments: Okay, so if you don’t know @cesperanza​, you are in for a treat. Her characterization of Bucky is one of my absolute favorites - he is competent and cool, and she writes him and everything he does so convincingly. That’s the hallmark of a speranza fic: you believe every word of it, and it always feels real. It’s a totally immersive story that continues out into a delightful series. Honestly, you should read everything that speranza has written for this fandom - especially 20th Century Limited. 

Silent thunder, as of a thousand wings by kaasknot (@kaasknot)

Rating: Mature | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Angels, angel!bucky, Religious Imagery, (Now with bonus sacrilege), Angst, Pining, Consent Issues, Agency issues, Gore typical of wartime, Period-Typical Ableism, Racism and racial slurs, PTSD, Flashbacks, Period-typical ignorance of PTSD, attempted suicide, Here there be Google translations, Bucky Barnes is a dirty liar, Steve is a chihuahua with aggression issues, thor is not an idiot, Everyone’s a grade-A potty mouth, Torture

Summary: A theologian once said that angels are constructs of love and holy rage, and chained to obedience through both. Or maybe a theologian hadn’t said that. Maybe it was the Bright One himself, or just Uriel being grumpy.

But Bucky knows that he loves Steve, and he loves his taskmaster of a boss even as he gripes about him over beers after work, and he loves the dames with their red, red lips and smooth, soft curves (and he loves the guys, loves their strength and the tall, proud lines of them), and he loves old Mrs. Greene even when her rheumatism acts up and she turns mean as a wet cat. But he loves Steve most of all, and if Bucky is shackled to mindless obedience because of it, he calls it a good trade, because Steven Grant Rogers is the best person he knows. When it comes down to it, he figures his desire only adds a new dimension to a love that was already there, glowing hot enough to burn.

He was sent to Earth in a cage of mortal flesh to watch over Steve, and Bucky can do no less than love him with all his heart.

Comments: A great, creative alternative universe story that that takes a difficult premise and executed it perfectly. The changes made to canon are so smart and it maintains the urgency and emotion and tragedy of canon while transforming it completely. And the OCs are amazing.

i need a forest fire by tomorrowsrain

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Road Trip, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Reconciliation, Recovery, Past Torture, Fugitives, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Deaf Clint Barton, Fix-It, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, On the Run, Developing Friendship, Healing, Past Brainwashing, Talking, some humor hopefully, Character Study

Summary: "The past beats inside me like a second heart. These fragments I have shored against my ruins."

In which Tony Stark makes a reckless decision, becomes a wanted fugitive, goes on the run with the former Winter Soldier, and learns how to forgive. For his part, Bucky Barnes is just trying to hold himself together. AU, post-Civil War.

(sequel of sorts to après nous le déluge, but can be read alone)

Comments: Love, love, love this story because it’s got Stucky AND Tony & Bucky friendship as well as a really smart characterization of Steve and Bucky.

The Crucible by Dreadnought (@dreadnought-dear-captain)

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Psychological Trauma, Brainwashing, Teamwork, Science, Bucky Barnes-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, Internalized Homophobia, Bad Parenting, Intergenerational Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Past Bucky Barnes/Various Female Characters, Sexual Content, Medical Torture, Psychology, POV Bucky Barnes, Hydra (Marvel), Emotional Roller Coaster, Stockholm Syndrome, Introspection, Unreliable Narrator, Trust Issues, Lots and lots of psychotherapy, Homophobic Language, Period-Typical Homophobia, Heavy Angst, Vomiting, Gaslighting, Anxiety, Depression, Recovery, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, parasuicidal behavior, Therapy, therapy fic

Summary: Therapy's a bitch, but PTSD is worse. An in-depth character study of Bucky Barnes as he reconciles his years with Hydra in the wake of Civil War.

------

I don’t really know who I am. I do know that James Buchanan Barnes is dead. He’s a pile of bones at the bottom of a ravine. He’s a side bar in some other guy’s museum exhibit that might not even exist anymore. James Barnes would puke if he could see what he became. His parents and sister and friends would cry.

I don’t know what’s left over now, but I know it’s not good. And I don’t think it can ever be good.

Comments: This is the therapy fic. Dreadnought knows his stuff like nobody else and it hurts and it’s so good. You should definitely read this and then jump into his other fic, a WIP called Baghdad Waltz which will tear your heart out like nobody’s business. It’s a modern military AU, and 100% the best one ever written for this fandom.

[pkmntrainergreyze]

The Emo School (Chapter 1)

Previous Next

Chapter 1: An Emo Box of Misery with Pastel Pink Ecstasy

I used to think anyone doing anything weird was weird. Now I know that it is the people that call others weird that are weird.

-Paul McCartney

09/12/01

Finishing up my plate, well, I couldn’t lie about a few scraps of mixed vegetables on it, the boys decided it’ll be fun to move out of the uncomfortable chairs. I couldn’t escape or not recoil from Ryan’s glares. I know what’s up with him, and the dirty look he’s giving is giving me the creeps. He makes me shiver down my spine and I swear one glare from this long legged man makes me want to stop everything I do- heck, if he was some soldier I’d be doing push-ups right now. (oh hallelujah he isn’t)

“Geez, I just couldn’t finish eating carrots right now Ryro. Is that so big of a problem?” He scoffed before lending me his hoodie. As weird as it sounds I need his dang cologne, it smells pretty darn good, but as much as possible I wouldn’t smell the hoodie in front of him and would rather wear it since it’s d*mn cold for me recently. He seemed to crunch the paper bag once he stared at the floor, as if some cockroach crawled nearby under the shade of the table.

Wait, is there?

“…Ryan, is there-”

“Yes, you spilt my milk in my f*cking man purse B-den”

Oh crap

“Congratulations”

He gave me the Tyrone tone of voice. The same blank yet forcefully enthusiastic voice you hear from the man that often wears a business outfit and a tie.

Where’s the escape Trainer button when you need it?

His face… I couldn’t see it under his brushed locks of hair. I’m not sure whether to look or not to look, either way it’ll probably just result to a really bad, salty ending. Sounds like something you see on Walmart eh? Bittersweet I guess? I am not so sure.

Oh F- the bell rang. It’s really torturous to hear it every single day of the week, especially the inescapable Mondays we have here at school, technically, everybody’s school.

Dallon grabbed his bag and left quickly, even faster than Spencer was when he ran over a advert pole drunk, remind to tell you that story sometime, just not today. Dallon’s a pretty straight guy, he’s like this dad who would be so overprotective of his children- or his students in the real world perspective, but when you think of the other side of that trait, he’s making fucking Dad jokes that my own Dad wouldn’t say. My Dad probably has a better sense of humor than Dallon- Dadlon, whatever.

And honestly speaking, he’s probably trying to avoid making any conversation with us, since we’re kind of talking sweet sweet cocaine.

Ahh yes, I’m about to walk back to the same tracks juniors walk to. I’ll probably receive about ten hearty smiles on my way there. Bet you ten bucks.

Alright, I finally forced my feet to walk and leave the table. Reaching for the end of the cafeteria…

Mrs Jackson smiled. One- wait, that doesn’t count as a junior? She looks nasty tho? Fine, stop judging my poor taste alright?

Passing by Ms Fletcher- okay, one. Her small smile is cleary not that visible. She’s the same child writing poems and speech-y crap for the principal to get quote on quote “extra credit” when in reality she’s serving weeks of detention, constant, but hey, she plays the best d*mn pranks in this school, okay, maybe third bestest.

I still played the “Place-posters-with-Pete’s-phone-number-with-the-tag-’call single males now!’” Prank

Walking around Spencer… Taking a glanc- two.

Oh, I forgot…. Whatever, Spencer looks like a kindergarten anyways so either way no points for me.

Spencer waltzed back to 9AM1 aww.

With how much students doesn’t rush to class after the bell rings, it wouldn’t let me reach that sweet sweet bar of full-on-smiles. Fine, future students, I owe you all ten bucks… only if you’re admit to our holy sacred school though.

Ha! I sound like Principal Wentz.

Profit-oriented mindset over one hundred babe.

I just entered the horrifying classroom of 8AM3. Welcome back to the real world my friends. As soon as I pretty much had my presence in the room students came to class. I heard a lot of talk ‘bout me being the coolest, chillest, most laid-back teacher here in the Junior buildings so I guess I have no competition or complaints.

I can already see the small group of students which I have known to be quite shy. They have my music class after Patrick’s theory crap that I don’t really pay that much attention to.

Mr Flowers just nodded along the conversation he’s having while Mr Bowie kept talking about this junior that idolizes him despite walking down outside the halls of my class. They sure have forgotten that I’m not closing the Godd*mn door before the class have their attendance.

My habitual scoff just came by so casually that students think of it as some form of comic relief. I don’t really know how to explain to these lil demons that it’s an attitude problem.

To think that Patrick’s just on my class, 8AM3, right now, teaching them how Do and Re sounds good together makes me feel better on how I’m actually giving the world- 9AM1 rather, a favor for consuming their time studying with my existence. That’s a joke, Patrick’s probably having fun right now.

Well, it looks like it’s about time.

I looked out the window in the similar fashion the students did as well.

Tick tock tick tock.

“What time is it?” Oh god, that voice crack though. I can hear the punks in this class snickering at it.

“Just struck nine” There goes my sunshine haired buddy cham pal.

“Is the cat at home?”

“He’s about to dine”

It’s Josh, this happened yesterday as well, and the day before. He’s teaching that “cat and mouse” game with the students; this time it’s 8AM2, not 8AM1.

Did I already explained to you why I call classes by numbers?

Well, because the real names sucks. No kidding, it’s so overused.

Who would name their classroom “Grade Eight Morning Glory?”, seriously? I want my class to be “Grade Eight Mary Jane”

Has that kind of ring to it, amiright?

Up until now I wonder why on earth Patrick and Frank likes their class names. I mean- those names are decades old. “Grade Ten Patience” seems plain, don’t tell Frank that.

“Sir do we have an assessment today?” Molly asked from the back with her hand stretched higher than Tyler’s current mood. I nodded as they all groaned. Laughing out of- well, sadism I guess? I had the projector connected to the PC and had it on freeze.

There the students saw my desktop wallpaper of a class picture me and the 8AM3 informally had, plus Patrick, Dallon and Spencer. Spencer truthfully looked out of place in this picture, it looks like he had a date with Aubrey Hepburn. Meanwhile Dallon stood there like he’s telling everyone his birthday is today- but he doesn’t have to lie that it’s on May 4th and that he just turned seven. Patrick’s just there, signature fedora on and a small peace sign.

Let’s not forget my entire class though. We have Frank Gioia and Eva in the front with Frank’s hands on her waist as her eyeliner-ed eyes shone against the color black. The Fro power and his friend glasses just stood there with awkward check poses that seems to go back somewhere deep and hidden in the past. Melanie and Ashley just stood there with no expression, except for the other student beside them, which is Jon, who’s doing the same peace sign Patrick’s been keeping up. The rest is can be explained stereotypical-ly; the emo, the shy artist, the jock, it’s just a fun variety to look at.

“Is that cous’?” I saw him pointing at the one with a black hoodie from the corner of my eye.

“Yep, that’s definitely your cousin Adam”

“They all look happy as heck”

“Sir can we take this sort of picture later?”

Another batch of noise.

Anyways, before my brain shuts down to “teaching mode” looks like I have to get back to this thinking normally crap later. Honestly the author just got no idea how American schools work so let her skip this part dotdootdoot. (let’s just say rep-emo isn’t an American Author (badum tsk))

●———————–●

Finally; the end of the day. Organizing my stuff after drinking my cold caffeine that was left in the canteen at break, I finally had my temporary freedom I shall redeem before my world domination.

Speaking about possible world domination if either me or Patrick does it we’ll both have things planned out but procrastinate later on.

Blowing my students a playful kiss when the bell rang I waltz to the exit first, even so I can still hear their laughs and joyful cheers.

Then I saw something- rather, someone I wish I could just avoid for the week.

Christian Tyler Joseph

My feet practically swooshed and I’m pretty sure my sole—and also my soul—said “nope, not today”. I swear, I’m an atheist but I prayed at that very moment. You know that tense feeling those cliché video game main character does when he or she feels the villain’s presence or just something freaky in the ceiling happens? If you’re thinking you are imaging those overused gulp noises that’s actually real, very real.

Yeah, feeling it.

“Oy! Brendo-”

“I’ll pay my debt later Troye!” Thank God I cut him off before he diss me in front of the students.

“For the last time Fivehead it’s Tyler!”

I know. Dude, we’ve been working together for years now and yet you seem dense about it, maybe that’s just because I always act stupid, don’t let that fool you, I am stupid.

Honestly, that poor guy is so easy to tease. If it wasn’t for my distracting use of ’T’-names I would have had a small—small as Tyler could get—fight. I heard a huff from behind my back that obviously came from Tyler himself, yes, I’m stubborn.

●———————–●

A sigh sadly escaped my lips as I flipped to peak into my students’ Assessment grades.

From Ashbridge to Zoroa; all were sorts of disappointment. Even those who got perfect seems fake to me. If Ryan didn’t left me to go somewhere with Spencer he would have said the grades are as fake as diamonds that looks like broken glass.

I’m so unhappy right now. Never thought I’d use that word.

That all changed when I heard the door slid and also a student did the same but in a more humane manner.

          Enter Ashley the student.

She’s that special student who’s quite popular, inside and outside school grounds. She’s literally a celebrity. She seems to get away each time she dyes her hair unlike another student of mine that goes by the name “crybaby”.

Guess who’s her advisor?

Yeah, that’s obviously me, anyone who said “Dallon” deserves a spank… or a slap, that’s just kinky.

“Hey there Mister Urie”

“Hello to you too Ashley, what’s up?”

Unlike other schools, we’re all practically informal here; teachers and students are pretty much close buds that we don’t even have some guidance counselor, I don’t know if that is a flaw or not… I guess Meagan is a counselor, but that’s just Pete’s wife. Going back to Ashley she’s the only girl in my class—well aside from Melanie—that calls me Mister Urie all the time, but that’s probably due to respect, which is quite neat unlike some students.

“I have milk and cookies here, Melanie wanted to give this out and um… She also asked me to give you this note…”

Yeah, that’s Melanie, no one exactly trusts her, except for Tyler and Hal- I mean Ashley I guess.

“Cool, just place it one of the chairs thanks”

She nodded- before I rudely interrupted when the thought rushed back deep inside my skull.

“Wait, what’s written?”

“Umm… It says; Do you like my cookies? They’re made just for you, a little bit of sugar and… lots of poison too” She seems to hesitate on reading it and I have no doubts on why she is.

Honestly, this is one of those times I wish I could pacify her.

I couldn’t blame her actions, she’s been through a lot- like, a whole looot, as edgy as the book written by Pete when he was young (we fortunately got to read it in his office, don’t tell anyone) she has been kidnapped, rough family, drugged and other things I wouldn’t go deeper.

She’s pretty odd, but really a pretty nice person at the same time. It’s like the half dyes of her hair. She, Frank, Eva, Jon, Mikey, Ray and Richie would talk to me all day and I feel comfortable with them.

I honestly like crazy people like her. She doesn’t mind me doing crappy things and she empathize with me, it’s nice to have someone like that ya know?

Hallelujah, I have such great students and yet I’m a sh*tty teacher. I wonder what type of cookies are in there-

F*ck, that pink pastel box looks creepy as Teletub-

I need some breather.

“Hey Ashley can you pass me the coc-”

Oh wait f*ck

She doesn’t know that yet

Oh god that sounds wrong. No I’m not gay shut up… What are you talking about me and Ryan are just friends. No, not even Dallon, shut up. Denial what the- okay I’m done talking to y'all, I’ll tell you about my past with Ryan later, m'kay? Yes I’ll talk about Dallon later too but now you f*cks are just distracting me.

Anyways, she doesn’t know I do cocaine.

“Uhh… what?”

Sh*t, you guys make me sound so bad. Thinking about it, I am the only one to blame if she did knew.

Think Brendon! Think!

WHY AM I IMAGINING SCENES FROM HANGOVER RIGHT NOW?! IT’S STILL 2001.

“Pass me the…. baby powder from the back of the second row shelf thanks”

“Okay… what does it look like there’s a bunch of jars here Mister Urie!” Yelling a bit for me to hear, I felt a drop of sweat coming from my distracting forehead.

“Uhh…. It’s in one of those straight shoote- I mean flower designs in it”

She raised a small glass tube with some flower designs in it. She raised her eyebrow a bit like it’s already questioning me.

I mean, why would someone smoldering with appeal like me would buy flowers? I had enough with people questioning my sexuality so I’m not having that again.

“This one?” She held the love roses tube and shook it. I hope she didn’t suspect me for anything if so then I hope that I ain’t kissing Pete’s *ss for this. Thank past me for buying filtered one and not the transparent, but that’s too early for me to say so.

“Yeah, bring it here. Thanks” She threw it to me and I caught it, fortunately.

“Why would you have it in a flower case?”

Haha…

“I have no containers left, is all”

She nodded once more “I’m pretty sure Principal Wentz would allow ya to use one of the containers in the science room, I mean you’re close to Mister Iero as well right?”

Haha… riiight. I’m pretty sure Mister Wentz or Iero wouldn’t

“Yeah, thanks for the idea and the cookies, tell Melanie the same”

“Yeah, you’re welcome Mister Urie”

●———————–●

“BRENDON!”

That’s Dallon, once more in all his glory. He never seems to stay calm after his week of teaching in this school. His hair looks like his wife quiffed it- whatever people call that hairstyle, maybe I should say hair mess.

“What?” As you can tell, I’m tired as well so long and goodnight Dal, I need some shut eye. This is the same man who almost fell asleep while teaching the opium war, quite surprising that he can be this tense.

“YOU CAN’T DO DRUGS IF THEY CAUGHT YOU YOU’RE IN BIG TROUBLE-”

“SHH!”

Yeah! I would be if you continued yelling.

“Shut up Dallon” I closed the door behind me only to here Dallon handling the doorknob back open.

“Brendon, it’s not healthy”

What is he gonna say? Cardiac arrest? Lung problems? Yeah, I know the side effect don’t worry about it, stimulation has always been a part of me even though I try so hard to deny it. I try to stop each time though so I don’t have to hear this right now.

(Author just searched the side effects of cocaine so this may not be exact, author is not a doctor, author’s life sucks)

“Uhuh”

“No I’m serious! My friend used to do drugs as well and he-”

Oh no. I’m having this talk again am I?

Rolling my eyes back to a distant land called “Nopeland”. I could only hear incoherent sounds of a failed attempt to get me to change my decisions in life. I only found the polychromatic color that matches the walls once more when my eyes landed back to my table.

Smirk.

Grab.

Flick.

“W-cou-hat the h-heck Brendon that’s childish eew is that baby powder or powdered milk? Disgusting”

Nah, that’s coke, have fun cleaning your uniform for tomorrow morning kiddo.

And then- with just one swish and flick- I magically landed back to happy land. Maybe it’s the side effect of cocaine, may or may not be but whatever, I’d like to think that it is for the moment. It’s nice to see someone’s first encounter with coke, if I were to be Van Gogh I’d be painting this view of Dadlon trying to remove the white stains from his crotch right now.

Looks like I have something to write on my Journal huh?

Let’s be real though dear hopefully-future-students; my dairy is a lot more cooler than the Diary Of A Wimpy kid? No? Yeah you’re right, my life sucks. If this were a subject you all would have had all my assessments perfect even on your first day.

I don’t know whether you should take that as a compliment or that states you’re slowly becoming trash- well no, technically all you little eyes are my treasure so don’t go living in the dumps.

“Brendon please help me remove this stuff”

“No thanks”

“Beeeebooo”

“Not this again Dallon”

This is some sick technique in which Dallon uses the nickname “Beebo” to get me to do something. No, I’m not telling you “why Beebo?”.

Fine.

It all started when me and Patrick were teaching the seniors for a bit since Andy couldn’t come due to a winter storm at his place. We were at Patrick’s small enthusiastic explanation about a simple concept when someone boldly called me “Beebo” and it just stucked.

Groaning in the same manner the students of 9AM1 from earlier, I grabbed my handerchief and started rubbing the surface of his sweater that he probably bought last week.

“I hate you”

“Love you too Beebs, now continue helping me will you?”

Geez, I do have a lot to write down today.

Oh crap, he didn’t bought this last week; it says “Grade 10 Hibiscus” so it’s most probably hand made for him from his last advisory class. He got this last Christmas. Crap, I ruined his greatest gift. I am so sorry Dallon. Best not to tell this and the Ashley incident to anyone.

●———————–●

My eyes wondered about when I saw the box Ashley left in the corner.

That pink box…

I swear, I don’t have any idea on what to do with these cookies, they actually smell and look delicious. I guess I’ll never know huh?

“Hey Mister Urie is Richie’s detention over? He asked me to go shopping in Hot Topic today that’s why I’m asking” The next person to ever slide in after class today is Frank Gioia. The emotional kid who doesn’t seem to mind what everyone thinks, he’s a cool dude I swear.

“Oh, he’d be up by no-”

About the box….

As bright as the ideas Gerard drew in his sketchpad (which is full of strange looking people by the way, especially that all white violin girl), my eyes fluttered at the sudden thought that occured.

“Hey Frank?”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head to peak in a bit more. He doesn’t seem to be fazed at the fact I avoided answering his question.

“Want some cookies?”

Silence.

He stared at me for a bit, then back to the box I was supposedly reaching out for him to taste. His eyebrow raised at the sight of it.

“Isn’t that Melanie’s?”

Oh, he knew, that was some fail.

Lie or not to lie?

Nah, lying is pretty much fun if you’re a girl.

“Yeah, Melanie gave it to me earlier”

“Yeah saw it too”

Then another batch of awkward silence followed as we stared at each other, eyes locked with such confusion present on both sides.

“Sure… I’ll take one”

He came closer and took a bite of the chocolate chipped cookies from the forsaken box. He seems delighted somehow.

Well.

Looks like I have a new box to place my ecstasy.

●———————–●

I bumped into Ryan earlier.

He gave me this blank look before leaving me in the halls. He seemed to be carrying another paper bag; two packs of cheese whiz I presume. He didn’t seem to mind me whenever I snoop into his bags, although this time was an exception.

       ⏭️The theater in Brendon’s mind⏮️

Ryan: *looking at his paper bag*

Fab Brendon: What’s that *about to reach into the bag*

Ryan: *Slaps hand*

Ryan: Y o u  a r e  n o t  m y  f r i e n d

Exit Ryan.

⏯️

Trust me, give him a few more days and the two of us we’ll be okay, he wouldn’t exchange our friendship over cheese whiz….

I wonder if he thinks the same about me and Frank Sinatra, if so tell him I’d choose the latter.

●———————–●

On my way home I saw Ray and Mikey talking about Gerard and his small sketchpad they saw behind the bush in which he probably left it.

“How did it end up there in the first place?” They looked as confused as I am, Ray just raised his lips a bit higher to look like he’s pensive for an answer.

“He’s Mister Way after all, he can get like this, right Moikey?”

“Mikey Ray, It’s Mikey. Yes, he does act as irresponsible at times”

Sometimes I wonder if that face shows sadness, disappointment, anger or just plain nothing. It’s a pokerface no one could ever break, not even that time Joe played around with Frank’s chemistry set, I mean, mixing Mountain Dew and chunks of Doritos was funny and all, and Gerard’s reporting skills on that scene made the class laugh even more.

I sure do love this school’s innocent scenes.

Wait I’m going too far, back to Mikey.

“Anyways, do you know where your brother is at the moment?”

He shook his head in reply but Ray nodded it with excitement.

“Yeah he said he’s going to binge watch Star Wars in the cinema”

Mikey’s face dropped a bit before going back to normal. That action probably meant sadness… right?

“He forgot to drive me back home, whatever I’ll just walk”

“I’ll come with you don’t worry, we’re practically neighbors”

“no we’re not”

“shush”

I know that I laughed at that small conversation but I still feel the small strange vibe Mikey’s been radiating, unlike Gerard he would have punched me in the face if he was at the scene and tell me to “stay the *beep* away from my sketchpad!”

Was that beep necessary?

“Do you want me to call Gerard?”

“No, it’s okay Mister Urie”

I shrugged as he denied my random act of kindness, ouch.

“Whatever kiddos, get home safely okay?” “Yes Mister Urie” “Oh, and bring your brother’s sketchpad, he doesn’t want it in my hands”

Mikey raised an eyebrow “Don’t you wanna see what’s inside?”

I mean, it could be anything edge-shock-y so I wouldn’t dare open it.

“N-nah, rather not”

Mikey just nodded and fetched for the sketchpad in my hands.

Then I walked back home, just like they did.

God, I’m stopping drugs. Things like this are more stimulating…. and stressful