#i might ask my manager to make a schedule of when she wants things posted tho just to make sure i have my own versions ready by then

[starbuck]

lord give me the strength to not be a massive cunt at work today

[bookshelf-dust]

kiss it better

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3,176

warnings: swearing, sick fic (sorta), steve not taking care of himself, anxiety, stress, mental breakdown?, best friends to lovers deal (let me know if i missed something)

a/n: hi! it’s been awhile. i’m sorry about that. this has been a very slow process for me. my mental health is shit, and that’s probably obvious. i hope it hasn’t seeped into this too much, but it probably will with the next few things i write. i apologize for taking so long to post, for disappearing, for not really making this the blog it once was. but i’m not the same person i was then. so we’ll see where this goes. i hope you enjoy this one a little. i love you.

————

The shrill sound of a phone ringing scares you awake, eyes flying open, heart pounding so aggressively you fear for a split second that it might burst. 

You sit up quickly, enough so that you make yourself dizzy trying to get your bearings. You roll onto your side, and reach blindly across the edge of your nightstand, grabbing for the green plastic that’s shaking with the force of which it’s ringing. 

You almost fall out of bed, just managing to catch yourself as you bring the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?”

Your voice comes out weak, thick with sleep and the longing for more rest. It startles you and makes you clear your throat. 

“Hey, it’s me.”

The voice on the other line is even weaker than your own. It’s quiet.

“Steve?”

Your eyes find the alarm clock on your dresser, bright red letters telling you it’s just after one in the morning. You might be half-asleep, but you’re conscious enough that your heart rate picks up, registering that this isn’t when your best friend normally calls. 

You hear him breathe, along with some shuffling. He’s nodding his head, but realizes you can’t see. 

“Yeah. Listen,” he drags a shaking hand down his face. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

He goes quiet for a moment, but you wait patiently for him to continue. He must be trying to get something out, and you don’t want to pressure him, or cause him stress in any way. 

Steve huffs, frustrated with himself. 

“I-I’ve got an insane headache, and we’re out of goddamn medicine. My parents were here, and my mom was hungover and I guess she must’ve emptied us out, but it hurts too bad to drive, and…” He trails off, breathing heavily. 

His pause lends you a moment to process, and you decide to speak up. If his head is killing him, you know finding the energy to speak to you, let alone call, has to be draining. You wouldn’t want him to suffer anymore than he already is. 

“Stevie?” you start, happy to hear a small hum that encourages you to go on. He registers what you’ve called him, something you don’t call him often, and his chest aches. “I’ve got some I can bring you. I think all the drugstores nearby are closed.” 

You swing your legs out from under the covers, pushing yourself off the mattress. Pressing the phone between your cheek and shoulder, you pull on the pair of sweats slung over the end of your bed, trying not to bust your ass as you hop into them. 

“Is anything else hurting you?” you ask, gently as can be. 

“Honestly?” he responds. “I think I’m sick. I can’t be sick, can I?”

You stand upright once again, taking the phone firmly in your hand. 

“I think even King Steve can get sick from time to time. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

————

Steve’s not sure you understand him. He can’t be sick. He’s got shit to do. He has a shift tomorrow, and he’s pretty sure Dustin needs a ride one day this week because Claudia is on a “girls trip.” He has to keep working on his college essay, because he’d told you he was almost done, but really he isn’t. 

Steve doesn’t have the time to be sick. And he can’t have you ruining your own schedule to come and babysit him. He’s supposed to be the babysitter. Not the charge. 

He should be able to take care of himself, but of course, the one time his parents come home they clean out his mediocre supply of medicine. Something he’s always stocked up on, given his tendency to get the shit beat out of him, or the nasty string of tension headaches that just won’t quit. 

And his head is killing him. He has his palms pressed to his temples, trying (and failing) to dull the ache. There aren’t any lights on in the kitchen, where he’s sitting on the floor, back pressed to the cabinets. 

He’s trying not to move too much either, because he’s dizzy. This probably has to do with the fact that he skipped dinner, feeling too nauseous to eat. Now that Steve is hungry, he fears he won’t be able to get up and fix anything. 

Maybe you’ll be able to help, he thinks. But that voice is quick with a counter argument. No. I need to do it. 

He perks up at the sound of the front door opening. “Steve?” you call out, careful not to slam the door or yell too loud. It’s also why you hadn’t rung the doorbell. 

Steve raps his knuckles softly against the countertop, hoping it’ll be enough to clue you in. He can’t bring himself to shout right now. You follow the sound, taking the few steps toward the kitchen. 

When your eyes lock on his figure, see the way the heels of his hands press into his eyes, you realize how young he looks. He almost looks small, legs pulled up to his chest, big, lanky body compacted as much as possible. He looks vulnerable. You’re sure he hates that. 

“Hi, Steve,” you say, keeping your voice low. 

He looks up at you, and his face splits into a sweet grin. He’s happy that you’re here, even if that voice is screaming at him, wanting to punish him for asking for help. 

“Hey, honey.” You smile back at him, and his heart rate picks up. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful you are, and then you’re standing in front of him, snatching every last breath from his lungs. 

You set your bag down beside him and reach out, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He feels a little warm, but not feverishly so. 

You move away from him, grabbing a cup from the drying rack. You fill it up with water and crouch at his side. Steve takes the glass from you, head resting against the cabinet to watch as you grab him some medicine. You hand him a few pills, and he takes them quickly. If he doesn’t get this headache calmed down soon, he thinks he might just die. 

Steve keeps drinking the water you gave him, and you push his hair back again, watching the way it curls around his ears. 

He drinks about half of the water before he pauses, taking a deep breath. He looks at you then. It’s mostly dark in the kitchen, but the lamp on the table by the front door is on, so you’re a little backlit from it. Not to mention the moonlight seeping in from the window above the sink.

You look gorgeous. And you came over to take care of him. You got up, at one in the morning, and drove to his house, just because he asked you to. Hell, he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t gotten the words out. But you’d known. You’d known exactly what he was trying to ask, and you’d offered your help with no qualms. 

Steve’s nose starts to sting, and that pressure from behind his eyes—it starts to release. Before he knows it, his vision is getting cloudy, and he’s crying. He can’t be crying, can he? 

You carefully remove the glass from his hand and move in between his spread knees. 

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m gonna take top notch care of you.” 

“I know you are,” he says, voice breaking. “But I should be able to do it myself. I always do it myself.” He presses his hands against his face, but you catch his wrists and gently pull them away. 

You hold your arms out, and Steve practically falls into you. He buries his face in your neck. He can feel the warmth of your skin, the cotton of your sleep shirt. You smell like soap, that fancy conditioner you use. 

One of your hands finds the base of his neck, nails scratching gently over his scalp, thumb dragging over the top of his spine. Your other rubs soothingly up and down his back. 

“But the thing is, Stevie, you don’t have to.” 

He’s not a loud crier. But he is sort of panicky, breaths coming quick and short, chest heaving against your own. “I know you’ve always had to do a lot by yourself, but you can ask for help, and you don’t have to punish yourself for it, either.”

You feel him nod against your collarbone. His hands are fisting the back of your shirt. Eventually, he pulls away, but keeps his eyes closed. He tries to keep his head turned from your gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

He does, albeit reluctantly. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, lashes clumped together and lips parted where he tries to suck in a good deep breath. 

You reach up, fingers gently sweeping away the remainder of the tears on his face. He leans into your touch, and you let him. You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his forehead. You’ve never done that before.

Steve recognizes that you’ve never done it before, even if it’s sort of fuzzy. Sure, he’s kissed the back of your hand and you’ve reciprocated, but he’s usually the one to initiate physical affection. You’re too shy most often, even if you ache to do it. 

Fuck, he wishes he were a little more coherent right now. 

“Can you stand for me? It’s late, and I think you need to rest.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure.” Now that he’s thinking about it, getting in bed sounds so nice. 

You stand first, and watch as Steve pushes off the floor, gripping the countertop on the way up to steady himself. 

“Come on. The stairs are gonna be a pain.”

He reaches out for you, and you let him take your arm. He pads out to the staircase, and you watch each precarious step he takes, hoping he won’t get too woozy and trip. 

By the time he finally makes it up there, he’s wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his face between your shoulder blades. You soften beneath his hold. 

You walk slowly towards his bedroom, and he waddles behind you. You push the door open. “M’kay, Steve. Wanna change clothes and hop into bed?” 

He pulls off of you and grabs hold of his dresser. “I’m not givin’ you a free show.”

You snort. “I’ll go get some more water and be right back.”

His grin fades. “Please be fast.” He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to leave him. 

“Steve, I’m practically The Flash.”

He laughs, pulling a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out of the drawer. Usually he’d sleep in less, but with you here he feels he should keep his modesty.

When you return, he takes the water from you, drinking it faster than he probably should. Steve feels like he’s had the shit beat out of him, and for once—he hasn’t. 

You’d sat down on the edge of the bed, not noticing the way he’s staring at you. You look up when he sets the glass down. He drags both hands down his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He exhales. “I want you to stay here with me, but I don’t want you to get sick. The idea of you being on the couch, which is like, miles away, is driving me insane.”

“Steve?”

“Huh?”

“Can’t I just sleep on the futon?”

His eyes move towards the other side of his room where said piece of furniture is pressed against the wall. He’d bought it when group sleepovers became a thing after all they’d dealt with. Jesus, his brain really isn’t working. 

“Oh. Yeah, honey. Just don’t want you to go far.” 

You lean forward and push his hair back from his forehead. You’ll need to remember to take his temperature come morning.

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I promise. Not until you’re all better.”

————

When Steve wakes up, you’re not there. He starts to panic, thinking maybe he’d been too much, maybe he’d shown you a side of himself he shouldn’t have, that maybe you left. 

But you return to his room just as he’s about to start looking for you. There’s a thermometer in your hand. 

“Morning, sleepy boy. Are you coherent enough for me to check your temperature? Or no?”

He yanks the covers off of himself, and his shirt has ridden up. You catch a sliver of tummy before he sits up fully, and you miss it the second it’s gone. 

“Hit me, I can take it.”

You roll your eyes but stick the thermometer under his tongue when he opens his mouth. When you pull it away, you’re happy to see he hasn’t got a fever. He was warm last night when you kissed his forehead, but you’re thinking it was from stress or just overheating. 

“No fever. What’s buggin’ you today, Stevie?”

He flops onto his back, and his shirt rides up again. You mentally slap yourself for being so enamored by it. All your brain can compute is tummy. Steve’s tummy. “My head still, and my stomach. I feel like I haven’t slept in four years.”

His words snap you out of your reverie. “Four years? That’s incredible. When’s the last time you ate something?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, though it looks as if there isn’t a single thought behind his eyes. “Yesterday…morning. I think. Yeah, I had a banana.”

You stare back, rather appalled at his statement. “Steve.”

“Hm?”

“All you’ve had to eat in the past twenty four hours is a banana?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus christ. Get your ass up and come with me.”

Steve doesn’t move. Rather he watches you move, right out the door and towards the top of the stairs. You pause and turn around, crossing your arms. 

He huffs. And then he slides down the side of the bed like a child before crawling up and following you to the kitchen. 

Over the course of the next few hours, you manage to get Steve to eat, shower, and go for a short walk, weather permitting and all. He’s looking astronomically better than he did last night. 

Steve sits opposite you on the couch, his socked feet in your lap. “What do you think my deal is?”

You rub your hand over his calf. “I think you just had a little bug. Or maybe you let yourself get too stressed out and your body couldn’t take it.”

He blinks. “Is that…that's not a thing? Is it?”

“When’s the last time you gave yourself a fuckin’ break, Steve? When you just took a day for yourself rather than worrying about who needs to go where, or if you’ll have to cover a shift? You have to take care of yourself, or this is the kind of shit that happens.”

“Being overwhelmed about your parents, not eating, worrying about that application, all of that is fucking with you. That headache was probably a stress headache. They’re killer. I want you to be healthy and comfortable, Steve.”

You exhale, and close your eyes. When you open them, Steve has sat up, scooting towards you on your end of the couch. 

He might still be tired, but he can’t believe this. He can’t believe you. No one has ever worried for him in this way. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. 

He barely even registers your words, too busy memorizing every line on your face. You look so fucking beautiful. It almost makes him angry. 

“I’m thinkin’ about how bad I want to kiss you.”

Your face starts to burn. You shove his shoulder. He looks at the place where you’d pushed, quirking a brow, but grinning nonetheless.

“What?”

“Steve, you can’t say shit like that.”

“How come?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Best friends.”

“Well yeah, but best friends don’t say that to one another.”

His grin widens. He looks more awake than he has this entire time. 

“Oh, but you haven’t said it.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Steve gets his voice up that little bit higher, doing a cheap imitation of you. “‘Best friends don’t say that to one another.’ Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but that implies you want a kiss too, doesn’t it?”

You drag your hands down your face and flop back against the arm of the couch. 

“So you gonna say it, or what?” He’s shifted, and you can feel him hovering over you, but you refuse to move your hands. 

“Of course I’m thinking about kissing you, Steve.” You suck in a breath and open your eyes, locking with his own. “But you’ve got cooties.”

Steve rolls his eyes before he backs up and yanks on your ankle so that you’re flat against the couch. 

“You did not just lecture me about self-care just to tell me I have cooties. I didn’t even have a fever.” 

“I didn’t even have a fever,” you mock, lowering your voice in what is quite possibly the worst impression of him you could do.

He’s quick about it. Almost stealthy, not that you’d ever boost his ego by telling him so. But his fingers are reaching for your sides, the tips dancing over your shirt, that tiny sliver of hip showing where it’s ridden up. 

Steve is practically drunk off of your laugh. It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, and when he goes for your neck, when you tilt your head and trap his fingers between your cheek and shoulder, he thinks he could die. 

You and your laugh. The fact that you drove over at one in the fucking morning, without even thinking about it, just because you care. That you stayed the night, listened to his pitiful thoughts, took care of him…it’s too much. 

Never in his life did he think he’d find someone like you. Someone who makes him feel like he matters. You’d made him realize how smart he is, how capable. That he could do things for himself and not just to please his dickhead father. 

You have made him whole. 

He lets up when you start breathing extra heavily, only to tickle the underside of your foot before he quits, just to piss you off. You kick him in the side. 

“I think a kiss from my very favorite person might be the best form of self-care there is, honey.”

You sit up. “Wow. King Steve really never died.” He raises his hands like he might tickle you again, but you catch them before he can do any damage. “Okay, sorry!” 

Before he can register it, you’ve leaned in and pressed your lips to his. When he does realize, he lets out a surprised hum, and you can feel that smartass smirk forming on his face. 

When you pull away, he whines. 

“All better?”

Steve falls back against the couch, pulling you with him just to get that laugh out of you again. 

“I’m healed.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[wonwoonlight]

when he finds out you're sick through the internet

A/N: idol!au. OC is also a celebrity though I don't explicitly say what. tiny teensy angst bc cheol is a worried Boyfriend💔 1.5k words! another random word vomits bc that's the only way i know how to write now lol idk why but everytime i write this kinda fic it's always seungcheol looooooooooooooool. not proofread, but enjoy!

[part 2]

Seungcheol doesn't really get angry.

For the three years you've known him in which you've dated him for two, you've only seen him actually get angry a total number of three times. None of them was directed at you, and all of them are for reasons that you would've exploded upon way before he did.

Seungcheol is patient and rational.

Seungcheol is normally patient and rational.

But he's never normal when it comes to you. And even though the patient bit still stands, nothing about his feelings towards you is ever rational. He's a little too emotional, a little too rash, and a little too worrisome when it comes to your wellbeing.

So when he's relaxing in the practice room during a break with his members, for once not on his phone because he's charging it somewhere on one of the tables, and he hears Seungkwan gasps a little upon his phone, he thinks there's another scandal blowing up upon the industry. But when the younger guy's blown out eyes meet him, colors drained from his face, Seungcheol hates that he knew it could mean one thing: something happened to you.

He shoots up almost immediately, not registering any words that come out of Seungkwan's mouth. His hands shake a little when he unlocks his phone, and his heart drops when he reads the official post from your company's twitter account that states your current condition, that you might need to pause your activities for the time being due to health reasons, apologizes for the worries, and asks for the fans' understanding.

He wants to get angry.

At who, he’s not sure.

At your company, for pushing you even though they know your schedule is practically inhumane? At your manager, for not making sure that you have decent rest in between schedules? At you, because he’s been telling you to fucking stop running towards whatever goal you have in mind but you insist that you know your limit and you’ll know when to stop?

Apparently, no you fucking don’t because else this wouldn’t have happened.

The rest of the members look at him in worry, and Jeonghan silently walks to their manager and the other staff to let them know about the situation at hand, that Seungcheol would probably not be in his best state to continue practice at the moment. The leader would probably insist that they continue anyway, but they’ve practiced for almost five hours already anyway and they could spare an hour or two for the leader when it’s clear that he’s worried beyond measure.

Seungcheol bites his lip as he tries to call you, his concern skyrocketing by the seconds the longer the beeping sound goes, no sign of you picking it up. He tries one more time, but you still don’t answer and he’s about to hurl his phone at the wall when your manager calls him instead, tells him that he sees his name flashing on your phone, informs your whereabouts, and that he should just drop by your place in a few hours if he wants to see you because right now you’re still sleeping in the car and he’s taking you home.

He finds it hard to say anything, a lump growing in his throat until he manages to swallow it down and ask how you’re doing right now.

“She’s… exhausted.” Your manager says quietly. “I know it’s my job to take care of her but… you know her. She didn’t tell me that she’s been having a hard time sleeping at night the past few weeks and it finally took a toll on her.”

It’s hard to suppress his anger, his breath heavier than usual though it’s not too noticeable unless they know Seungcheol. He wants to scream at your manager, but he knows it won’t do anyone any good and it’s really not the time nor the place for that. So he mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ before he hangs up, his members looking at him with a mix of worry and understanding when he looks up at them.

“Go.” Soonyoung says. “We’ve practiced enough today. Take care of your girlfriend and tell us later.”

Seungcheol nods and sprints out of the room, beyond thankful that his members always have his back.

Seungcheol is glaring at you when you wake up, though the way his thumb is still softly caressing your head and the worry in his eyes clearly tell you that his anger is nowhere near his distress. 

You offer him a weak smile, unable to defend yourself because you know what his eyes are scolding you for.

“Sorry?” You whisper and immediately cringe at how dry your throat feels.

He doesn’t say anything as he helps you sit down and hands you your favorite mug. Taking in the moment, you frown at how weak you feel, though you really only have yourself to blame because you genuinely thought you’re okay and you can take it.

You know it’s on you for taking as many schedules as possible, practically everything that your company offers you even when your manager says he doesn’t think it’s physically possible for you to do all that in such a short span.

Thinking about it now, you realize that your manager and the rest of your team also gets the short end of the stick through your decision. Him, your make up team, and your stylists would all need to be with you and your ambition forgets to consider their wellbeing even when you wrongly claim you would be able to handle it.

Guilt starts to eat you inside out, and it grows even larger as you see Seungcheol in front of you–didn’t he say he had practice today?–his face screams distressed and his shoulders tense since God knows when.

“Hey, talk to me.” He says softly when he notices you’ve been spacing out and you’re nibbling on your lip like you would when you’re anxious, taking away your mug before enveloping your hands with his.

You tear up almost immediately, and he moves to sit on the edge of your bed to usher you into his chest, patiently listens to your nonsense as you try to talk through your tears. He gets the gist of it: sorry–manager–company–wellbeing–my team–didn’t think it through–made you worry–overestimated myself–sorry–and the list goes on. He exhales as he hugs you tighter, both understanding and upset at the turns of events.

Being in the same industry, he gets what you’re trying to do, understands that you feel the need to keep on running while you’re able to, relates that you’re doing everything for yourself and your fans. But still, it’s hard not to be upset to know you’re pushing yourself too hard when he’s been telling you there’s no need to run as fast as you are without resting; that you’ll only hurt yourself one way or another and he hates that the one time he needs to be right, it’s this.

You end up laying down against his chest on your bed, hiccups and sniffles filling your bedroom along with a random song he’s humming against your head. You pull away to properly look at him, the first time you’re doing it since you woke up earlier, and his hum stops in question.

“Thank you.” You manage to whisper, your fingers grasping the front of his shirt without even realizing. “For being here when I woke up.”

He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why you’re thanking him, simply leans down to plant a long, chaste kiss against your forehead before he pulls up your blanket so it’ll cover you properly.

“Just… don’t surprise me like that again, okay?” His breath is warm against your face, pleasantly so, and you nod as you promise him that you’ll take better care of yourself moving forward. 

“Are you staying the night?”

“Yes, I’ll return to the dorm the day after tomorrow. They’ve given me a day off.” You cringe at his words, though thankful that he’s been in the industry long enough to attain that kind of privilege. But still, you feel bad that you’re obstructing his practice and his members just because you’re foolish enough to– “Hey. Stop. I know what you’re thinking. No need to feel bad. I’m actually glad I get to rest with you.”

“But–”

“No buts. The kids can do without me for a day.” He playfully bumps his forehead against yours, his lips hover above yours merely centimeters apart.  He doesn’t meet your lips, though he kisses their corner sweetly and wraps you back into his embrace to the point where there’s no space between you two. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Good night, Cheol.”

“Night, baby.”

“See you in my dream?”

“I’ll see you anywhere you want me to be.”

He hugs you tighter, and you try your best to return the gesture despite the awkward position of your arms. It’s uncomfortable and you’re sure your arms will be sore the next morning.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when you succumb to sleep and find Seungcheol smiling at you on the other side of your dream, as real as he can be.

cont.

[letruyuread]

Little thoughts about about Twisted Wonderland characters and you (yuu)

Riddle loves having the first slice of tarts, strawberry ones especially. So I think that, for holidays or even if you're just feeling down, he gives you the first slice of his strawberry tart. No explanation, please don't mention it- you'll fluster the poor boy. But it means a lot to him, and he secretly hopes you understand that.

Yes, Ace is a teasing prick, most of the time, anyways. But the second anyone brings up how he might possibly feel for you? Absolute tsundere. Denying it to the high heavens. Insults you a lot, too. "How could I ever like the perfect?! They're so- so-" Yeah, no one's falling for it. Give him time. He'll get comfortable with the idea soon enough, and then you have a whole other problem.

Deuce loves to talk to his mom about you. Rants about you- the incredible magic-less human that stole his heart (No, get out of here Ace-). You don't even care that he used to be a delinquent! How amazing is that? His mom is overjoyed that her son met someone who sounds so nice and keeps trying to give him advice to ask you out. She also tries to convince him to bring you home during break- you're not even dating yet.

Cater, of course, posts about you on his Magicam. It's the usual- oh, they're so pretty today, look my partner gave me food 😍. But there are also things he doesn't post, surprisingly. He doesn't post the picture he took of you, laughing against the sunset. That one's private. Too perfectly you to be seen by everyone. No, that's just a moment for the two of you, he thinks.

Trey loves baking you things, baking with you, but he always finds himself flustered when you bake something for him. He taught you the recipe, he remembers, a few weeks ago, and here you are standing with a small platter of cookies. Some are burnt, some taste a bit salty (you didn't add the oyster sauce... right?) and yet he eats them all and loves them because you made them. For him.

Leona, I think, takes very good care of his hair. It was worse before he came to Night Raven, his attendants tried to take care of it, but he always managed to hide away (he was taking a nap). On the first day, though, Vil couldn't stand such a pretty face with such horrid care and taught Leona a routine. Leona now follows that routine strictly. He takes pride in it, as much as his smarts and strength. You know he's having a bad day when it's unkempt and tangled. You also know how much he trusts you when he teaches you the routine, when he lets you help him with it on those bad days or weeks or maybe months.

Ruggie gives you things. It's always random- a bit of his food, a dandelion in the field, a ribbon floating in the wind. He grew up with little- so naturally, he hoards everything he can get his hands on and keeps it for himself. One day he might need it, or his grandma, or the kids in his neighborhood. He's very protective of his growing stash. So when he gives you these things, it's him telling you that you're part of his family now. Ask for anything, he'll find it. Just like he would for the people back home.

Jack adopts a lot of cacti (I nearly spelled cactuses) with you- very silly, right? A lot of cacti. He waters them appropriately, a strict schedule for each, and keeps them at Ramshackle dorm. You have a whole room for them, very bright from large windows and only tables for the plants to be placed on. It's common in his family that you only have one person, your whole life, to stick by. He's hoping it's you- he's hoping you'll fall for him if he keeps coming around, day by day, taking care of your plant children (plant army).

(oh God there's so many but Im on a roll)

Azul, Azul... Oh boy. He really wants you to make a contact with him. Doesn't matter what kind- you want it, you'll get it (even if you don't agree to his offer, honestly). He always seems to want the same thing, though: (no it's not marriage) a friend. That's what he says, that's not really what's in the contract, though. The exact wording is 'companion.' Someone to talk to, someone to trust. Someone who calls his merform pretty and him intelligent. Someone who doesn't make him feel insecure.

Floyd. What do to with you? He's very touchy. Very touchy. Once, he skipped all his classes and just grabbed onto you, having you carry him around on your back and not letting you go. Yes, he put a spell on himself to make him light as a feather, no one could carry that tall of an eel. He's very clingy and doesn't understand how he feels about you. It confuses him, he has no clue what this is, he just knows he wants to be around you and why shouldn't he be?

Jade knows. You have weekly tea parties. Don't worry, everything's free of charge... Except that, you have to pay for that. Oh, you didn't bring any money? Well, a kiss would do, but... Oh, no, that was a joke. Please don't look so worried. Jade may know what he feels for you, but he's still working out how to deal with it. The twins kind of never thought this would happen.

Kalim is such a sweetheart! Give him all the love in the world, he'll reciprocate tenfold! Whatever you want. He can buy it, if not, his family has the connections to get it, surely. But don't be mistaken- he'll adore you if you make something for him. If he can, he'll always have it on him. Plus, he tries to make stuff for you too! It might look bad, or taste weird, but he's beaming at you and the thought is there!

Please give Jamil a day off. No, really- drag him as far away from Kalim and any responsibility as possible. Do everything. Cook for him, cuddle him, tell him he's amazing and smart and very very cool and it is HIS DAY OFF. Take care of him, please? He needs this. He needs you. He'll do the same for you, if you ever overwork yourself or have a bad day. Trust him, and ask him to trust you.

(I haven't gotten beyond book 4, so I don't know enough about the other characters to feel confident writing them. Maybe Idia, Malleus or Lilia, as I really like them and have done some research on them, but for now this is what I got. Enjoy?)

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

NO WAY IN HELL ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing and i think thats just about it!

a/n: i return from the actual dead guys. live has been hectic as hell recently so im staying up late so i can get the part out to you!! its like 12am when im posting this so delusion is feeding me here

lia and riley crowd around you as you recount for the millionth time what happened at the rooftop party.

they've been at you all week asking what happened - it definitely didn't help when that stupid gossip account posted about it. so now you face the downfall of trying to be a decent human being.

clearly it worked out oh so well and everything is perfectly fine.

you've been drained all week working out a few details for your upcoming shows, going to the gym every day to stay in shape for said shows, dealing with lia and riley, the pile of emails and work related things you should probably answer but haven't gotten around to yet.

honestly all you want to do is curl up into bed and sleep.

a nap would be really good right now.

instead you're stuck here with lia pestering you about the whole rooftop ordeal.

"oh my gosh, we've been over this, as i said the last time you asked - which by the way was," you check your watch. "thirty minutes ago. i said hello, we stood there awkwardly for about six minutes i asked how his day was he said decent, he asked me how my day was, i said decent, i randomly blurted out that the stars were pretty and then proceeded to complain about the party, then said i was going home. end of goddamn fucking story."

riley just laughs at your frustration and lia grins sheepishly at you.

"im sorry, please let me stay here tonight."

shaking your head you get up off the couch to start making dinner. your phone starts blaring as you do and lia picks it up and launches it across the room. "its stacey." she says as you catch it.

"hey, stacey what's up?" you ask your assistant/ agent. she does a lot of shit for you honestly, its hard to keep up with what she does.

"i just got a call from someone on percy jackson's marketing team-" you drop the onion you were holding. "and they want to schedule a meeting with you sometime this week." the silence is loud.

"why?" you croak out

"they want to discuss the rumours going around." fucking finally you hiss internally.

"okay...."

"okay you'll do it? or okay you want to tell them where to shove their discussions?" stacey asks skeptically, having worked with you long enough to know your tones.

sighing you answer her, "okay i'll do it, but i want riley and lia there with me."

"of course," stacey replies likely jotting this down.

"and for the love of god not in a public space."

you hash out some more details and hang up turning to face to very eager eavesdroppers, "what do you want us for?" lia asks.

letting out another sigh, "guess who's meeting us this week?"

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, chris.rodriguez, lukecastellan, the.annabethchase, lia.mandel, rileywest and 923, 872 others

percyjackson i won both games btw

view all comments

underovergrover only cause you cheated!

percyjackson don't be bitter because i won

underovergrover fucker

user1 these little bits of his life only make him more hot oml

user2 i so wanna know if y/n was there

user3 no cause real??? i wanna know if us percy/n shippers have a chance

user4 im in love with him holy

user5 Y/N'S FRIENDS LIKED THE POST AGAIN AHHHHHH

user6 oml i ship them so hard i need to know if they're dating

☾. ⋅

percy was pissed.

ok that's an understatement. he was- is livid.

he had only agreed to this stupid meeting because he managers had suggested to him it might be good to clear the air. what he wasn't expecting was y/n to agree, let alone agree with a list of fucking demands.

and not only did she come with demands she shows up thirty minutes late with her friends in tow.

what. the. fuck?

once she settles in her agent leans froward and addresses percy's team as if y/n is incapable to do so.

"hello there everyone, how are you all doing today?"

percy's manager reply's out of curtesy before getting right down to business. "ok, i'd like to start by introducing myself, y/n i'm lauren i'm percy's manager and i organised this meeting because of the rumours i'm sure you've heard all about."

y/n nods. "yes i've heard of them."

"good because my team and yours have come up with a few ways to deal with the rumours." she place's a her hands on the table and leans forward when she talks. "the first and most obvious is for both of you to post an announcement that you aren't dating, but are simply friends and or acquaintances." you both nod at that. "the second option is to address the rumours via getting into another relationship - but obviously since you're both single right now its a poor decision." she takes a deep breath and flicks her eyes over to y/n's managers. "and the third and mine and stacey's most favoured one is that you.... fake date."

the silence the follows is deafening.

percy practically leaps out of his chair. "what the hell?"

"no fucking way-" y/n says at the same time.

"you've got to be kidding me," you both say at he same time you eyes shooting up to meet, stacey's and lauren's hidden smiles don't help the situation either.

"obviously if you don't feel comfortable doing that we understand," stacey says calmly.

"but if you are okay with that we can move forward with that plan... if that's what you wish for."

percy glares at y/n as she gathers her stuff and mutters "no way in hell am i doing that," before storming off.

her friends... lia? and... riley? stand up after her hastily making apologies, "we'll go.. get her, i'm so sorry about that."

stacey obviously knowing that y/n isn't coming back starts to gather all her stuff. "so sorry about all that," she looks at me and then lauren. "we'll have an answer by the end of the week."

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by underovergrover, lia.mandel, rileywest, lukecastellan, maisiehpeters, gracieabrams and 1, 489, 326 others

yn.official life's been good 😊

view all comments

lia.mandel im so excited to for our dinner tmr night!!

user1 mother posted!!!

user2 percy's friends liking this is my roman empire

user3 ikr i need to know if they're dating

user4 ugh seeing y/n happy make me smile

rileywest coffee with you was fun!!

underovergrover new album maybe??

yn.official maybe 🤭

user5 GROVER COMMENTED??? AND Y/N RESPONDED???? THIS IS NOT A DRILL GUYS.

user6 HOLY FUCK!!!!

☾. ⋅

you pace the room, stacey watches you with lia and riley on the couch as the phone dials.

lauren picks up on the third ring. "hello this is lauren smyth speaking."

"hi lauren, its stacey here. i was just ringing about our answer to your offer," she makes one more glance at you before focusing back on the call. "our answer is...."

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it mean i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee [if you want to be added just let me know!]

[neoarchipelago]

And they were Roommates (part 7)

A/N; Alright, fristly, thank you all so much for the love you're giving this fic. Seriously it warms my heart. This tag list is huge and it makes me want to cry. Also, i couldn't tag on the post cuz i had reached the word limit TT0TT I hope it works anyway

I'm getting more and more anxious to fail you guys, i just hope i'm not gonna fuck this up...

Again thank you for all your ideas and headcanons you guys are amazing!

Warnings: cursing?

The first month. You were in denial. You spent it overworking yourself, avoiding anything that could remind you of him. You had even put his stupid plush in his room, closing the door and keeping it closed. Laswell kept a close eye on you, you knew that. 

You'd spend most of your time on base, only going home to sleep. And then. You were put on time off. Forcefully. 

Laswell asked you to take a week off and to stay home. You had strongly fought over it but to no avail. So around the first week to the second month, your time off began. You thought you might go insane. But you received visits from your new neighbor who you learnt was named Peter. Peter was a nice guy, a bit shy. He'd pass by sometimes to drop one of your packages. You'd have small talk or conversations. 

It made you feel less alone. Because not only did you miss… Simon. You also missed the rest of the squad. The house felt dead..during that week, your mind had started going downhill. By Thursday you had gone back to his room to fetch the little reaper. Now you'd spend your days on your couch, cuddling the damn thing. 

Laswell had ordered you to work from home for the rest of the month. She passed by often. To check on you. She'd get in, not bothering to knock because you couldn't care anymore. 

Once she walked in on you, sitting on the bathroom floor in front of the washing machine, eating chips, watching the plush inside spin around. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Reaper is taking a bath." You had answered with very little emotion. 

During that month, Peter had spent a bit more time with you. He'd pass by to share some food, or to watch a movie. He seemed to have taken pity on you. Even though he picked up Reaper once and you had thrown him a murderous glare. 

And then Laswell had passed by. A serious look on her face. 

"The mission isn't going as planned. They're not coming home yet." 

You had felt yourself break a bit more. 

"Are they ok?" 

"From our intel, they're ok." 

You had sighed with relief. This was the third month they'd been gone. You didn't think you'd ever feel this type of sadness in your life. There was no point denying it. In such little time, Simon had managed to get his way through your heart and nest there. 

Your recent coping mechanism was putting on his hoodie, and sleeping in his bed with Reaper. He'd be so pissed if he knew. You were hoping he'd come back so he could be pissed with you. At least he'd be here. 

You'd spend your days at the base, this time your schedule was closely being watched by Laswell, and then you'd go home, absolutely hating it, trying not to cry. 

A heart wrenching thought kept stammering your brain. What if he never came back… the last things you would have said to each other would have been said in anger. You didn't think you could live through that. 

When the 4th month started, you had become unbearable for Laswell. You wanted to know everything about the mission. She kept refusing, reminding you it was a highly classified mission, as you replied you couldn't give a shit about classified or not. 

You wanted squad 141 back. Or as you had almost screamed once 'your team'. You had seen Laswell wanting to correct you that it wasn't your team but she refrained, understanding how you were feeling. 

She couldn't tell you about the mission but she made sure to keep you updated. They're fine. They've managed to get to the location. They've been ambushed but made it out. 

You were torn in between hating her updates and feeling relieved. To keep you busy and from having a nervous breakdown she put you up on a mission. Some drug lord that used the dark web to sell and buy his merchandise. You were definitely not into it. But if you could pass your anger on that asshole you would. 

You had easily infiltrated his little circle, managed to dismantle various locations, though he kept slipping through your fingers. 

You had gone back home that night, around the middle of the fourth month, absolutely frustrated from everything. 

"It's so fucking frustrating you know? It's like he's always a tiny step away." 

You explained as you were unpacking your food order. 

"He seems to know there's someone after his ass and I can't fucking get to him." You continued. "And Laswell is not letting me get onto the file for the mission the boys are on. GOD I could just … throw something on fire!" 

You groaned looking straight in the eyes of your friend. The plush looked at you without moving. 

You sighed. "I've been talking to an inanimate object." You said, putting your face in your hands. You dropped them on the table again.

"No offense Reaper." You apologized, turning your attention back to the food, the TV in the background filling up the silence a bit. 

You kept munching on your food. 

After you were done, you grabbed Reaper and sat on the couch, a blanket over you. You squished the fluffy death spawn in your hands. You missed him. You FUCKING missed him. 

You didn't even know how you'd react when he'd be back. You were still furious at him. Deeply hurt. But you were also so worried, and so sad. 

You groaned. You wanted him to be back. Even if it was to yell at him that he was an asshole.

A knock at the door was heard. You rolled your eyes. You got up, Reaper still in your arms as you went to open the door. 

"Hey!" 

You stared at Peter. 

"Hi Peter." You replied without a single emotion on your face. 

"Ah… bad day?" 

"Bad existence." 

He laughed. You walked inside, knowing he'd follow you. 

"I came to check to see if you wanted to watch a movie." 

You let yourself fall back down on the couch. 

"Not really into it tonight. Sorry." 

"Nah no problem I get it." He said sitting at the other end of the couch. "Is there something I can do to cheer you up?" . 

You looked at him for a little minute. You shook your head. "Alright. Want a beer?" 

"I hate beer." 

"Fine. A shot of vodka?" He proposed. 

You nodded. 

That guy was a lightweight. 5 shots of vodka and he couldn't properly form a sentence. You had walked him back to his apartment, making sure he was in bed and locking his door. You were a bit drunk too but not enough to erase your thoughts. 

You sighed. Walking into the hallway you stopped, looking right and left. You wanted to sleep in his bed again… you shouldn't. But you wanted to. You walked into the room looking at the bed. You remembered waking up in it, his body warm against yours. His morning voice was deeper. You liked it. You closed your eyes for a second before turning around and walking into your room. 

The alcohol helped as you closed your eyes, you fell fast asleep.

 

The day after had been the same. And the day after as well. But the next was a bit different. You were concerned by something during your work. It seemed that the drug lord had also a hacker in his ranks. And not a bad one. You could probably outsmart him or her but you had been neglectful. Your mind had been more worried about another mission that wasn't yours. 

You headed home after the day. You were exhausted. The fourth month was coming to an end. You didn't feel like eating. You didn't feel like anything. As you got home, you showered, drying your hair afterwards, slipping into one of Simon's black hoodies. You took Reaper with you, slipping under the covers of your bed. This time, you couldn't stop the tears from falling. You hugged the round fluffy thing against you, wishing he was there instead. 

And it was with the tears that the Sandman took you away. 

Around 6 am, your phone rang. You blinked your eyes open. Without checking, which had become a habit, you answered. 

"Hello..?" You answered. 

"Y/N."

"Laswell ? Kate… it's 6 am." 

"We have news from squad 141." 

You sat up in your bed. 

"What is it…" 

"They've completed their mission. The extraction was successful."

You closed your eyes, a shaky breath leaving your lips. 

"They'll be back in a little over 24h." 

"Thank you… really." 

"No problem. Go back to sleep." 

You chuckled. She hung up. You let yourself fall back into bed. They were ok. He was ok… you looked up at the ceiling. Now that you knew he was coming back, that he was safe. The worry, the anxiety had vanished. Pain and anger taking their place. How was he going to react? Will you be strangers? How will you react? One thing was for sure. You wouldn't be the one to give in. You wanted to… god you wanted to. You wanted to feel him near you. To hug him. But the way he left was printed in your memory. The way you felt when you got home, in an empty house. With not a single word from him. 

Pushed by a rise of determination, you got out of bed, grabbing each hoodie you could find that was his. You took off the one you were wearing, and walked to the bathroom, throwing them all in the washing machine. You put it to wash. He wants his hoodies back? Fine. He'll have them. Brand New. Without any trace that you wore them. 

And with that thought in mind you climbed back into bed. 

You had flung yourself back into work the next day, trying to suppress the new anxiety that grew in you. You were still trying to figure out who the hacker working for the drug lord was. He seemed to be good at cleaning any trace of himself. You didn't want to go home. You glanced at your phone. 2 am. You were still at the base. You were surprised Laswell hadn't come to drag you home herself as she sat not too far from you.

You had been sitting here for the entire day, trying to figure out your little con's next move. It was infuriating. Driving you insane. You blinked. 

Hi birdie. 

You froze. What? No. It was a coincidence. You checked that your location or anything that could be used to track you down was locked away and secure. 

You kept browsing the website deep in the dark web, shaking the odd feeling away. But this time, it was a whole sentence that made you frown. 

On a little branch was a little bird. The little sparrow, unaware of the cat lurking by, sang its heart away. 

You were sure. It was meant for you. That Goddamn hacker was taunting you. 

"Laswell." You called. 

"Yes?" She answered, stepping towards you. 

You pointed at the screen, highlighting the little text with your mouse. 

"Shit." She cursed. "what does it mean?" 

You shrugged. 

"It can mean various things. Obviously they know it's the Sparrow they are facing. But I've made sure my real identity was safe so I don't think they have that. My location is safe too, there was no hack attempt. These are just little messages scattered around the websites we're checking for their little trades." You explained. 

"So what? They're threatening you?" 

"I don't think so. It seems like they're trying to get on my nerves. Probably to distract me from something. Just got to find out what." You said with a sigh. 

"Alright. If you have anything new, call me. Now go home." She said a little tap on your back. 

You eyed the screen in front of you. This was interesting. If they truly were trying to distract you, it was a bit silly. You took a mental note to be more careful from now on. 

You had scanned all the little messages around the web sites, trying to find something that would link them. Clearly, they were all aimed at you. Whoever it was kept calling you birdie. And it was highly annoying. You were growing tired yet you felt so giddy. You felt nervous. You closed your eyes, sighing. It was time to head home.

 

The night had been short. You were exhausted. You rolled around in bed. You closed your eyes. Silence. 

Silence… and a laugh? You frowned. 

You got up, taking Reaper in your arms. You slowly opened the door, peeking out. There were definitely voices whispering. You opened the door wider, stepping out and tip-toeing your way to the end of the hallway. 

You looked around the corner and froze. 

"God fucking damn it!" You cursed out loud. 

You fully came into view now taking in the sight before you. 

"Sparrow!!" 

The man jumped, running to you and swaying you in his arms. 

"God soap! You're squishing me and Reaper!" You complained. 

"Who?" Gaz asked. 

After putting you down you looked at soap, extending your arms to his face so he could be eye to eye with the plush. 

"Oh. Alright. Sorry Reaper." He said with a wide smile. 

You smiled jumping on him this time. They were back. They were safe!

"Hahaha!" He laughed. 

He put you down again. Stepping aside to let you greet the rest of the team.

You hugged gaz. Then Price took you in his arms, staying like that for a little moment. 

"Missed you dad" you whispered jokingly. 

"Missed you sweety." He whispered in the same tone. 

And then came his turn. Standing in front of each other, eye to eye. You wanted to run and hug him. Fuck you wanted to touch him to make sure this was real. Unfortunately for the both of you, the pain was deeper than anything else. He didn't move, no expression. Did he regret? Did he care? Had he already put aside anything feeling or affection you had towards each other? With a lump in your throat you spoke first. 

"Lieutenant." You greeted. 

He frowned. 

"Sparrow." He answered. 

Nothing else was said. It broke your heart. You could feel it. You turned around looking at the guys again, clearly sensing their discomfort.

"You were supposed to arrive a bit later, what happened?" You asked sitting down on the couch, the boys mimicking you. Ghost remained up, glancing at you from afar. 

"We managed to wrap it up and we jumped on the plane back. We've been told someone has been worried about us." Gaz answered, sending you a knowing look. 

"Really? Wonder who could it be…" you feigned innocence.

"Yes, it's odd, Laswell said she was pestered for weeks. " Price added. 

"Truly curious." You added an innocent look and batted your lashes, making the men laugh. 

"What about you? How's it going?" Soap asked. 

"I'm fine." You lied. 

"You look tired." Price noted. 

Suddenly you felt watched.. Everyone was staring at you. Ghost looked more tense than the others. 

"I've been working on a mission and it's been a bit complicated. I stayed at the base until pretty late- with Laswell." You looked at Price.

He smirked. 

"What's complicated about it?" Gaz asked. 

"It's… it was easy at first. But it seems that I'm facing someone like me…" you tried to explain without giving any details as the mission was confidential. "And he, or she, seems to always be a step ahead. And… mostly. It's been acting weird." 

You frowned, losing yourself a bit in your own mind.

"Hey, Sparrow" soap called. 

You looked at him. 

"You got this." 

You smiled at him. Nodding off. 

"We brought breakfast. Ghost said you like muffins!" Price chimed.

You glanced at the man again, still glancing at you. If he thought it'd be that easy he was wrong. 

You ate breakfast with the team, so thrilled to have them back. You felt as if life had been brought back into the apartment. The only thing that took away some of that happiness was the tension between you and Ghost. 

After helping you clean out they offered to take you to base, and you accepted. You excused yourself to go get dressed quickly. Once you were ready, you opened your door falling face to face with a skull mask. 

You stared at each other. You did your best to show an emotionless facade. 

"You washed the hoodies." 

"Yes." 

"And you put them in my room." 

"Correct."  

Silence. 

"Are you giving them back?"

"Affirmative." 

"Fuck…" he cursed frowning. "Y/N-"

"Sparrow." You corrected. 

He looked hurt for a second. 

"Why?" He asked. 

"A beg your pardon?" You asked frowning too. 

"Why are you doing this?" He questioned. You could feel the frustration. 

"Doing what? Isn't this what you wanted, Lieutenant? You wanted to erase everything and you wanted your hoodies back." 

"Stop…" 

"Stop what?" 

He didn't answer. Your heart was beating so fast. It was torture not giving in. But this time you wouldn't let him get away with it. He couldn't just play with your feelings like this. He sighed, straightening up. He looked… embarrassed? For a second. 

"Did… did you have to wash them?" He asked. 

First you were confused. And then you remembered what he had said once. 

"Everytime I take back one of my hoodies there's your scent on it…" 

"What? I smell bad?" You laughed. 

"Quite the opposite…" 

You smirked.  Walking out of your room slowly and closing your door behind you. You looked up at him. 

"I wouldn't give you the pleasure of leaving my scent on it. You've lost that privilege." You finished with an innocent smile before turning away and walking away from him. 

You very distinctly heard him curse. You smirked. If he wanted you back, he'd have to fight for it. And if he didn't… then you'd be settled on his feelings. 

You had driven to the base with the squad. After getting out of the cars, you had all gathered. 

"It feels good to be back! See Sparrow? We're all good! We can come back to annoy you in your apartment!" Soap joked. 

"Don't you dare." Ghost had growled. 

"It will be my pleasure." You countered, sending a side glance to Ghost as he frowned again. Soap was thrilled. 

It was on a light note that you separated, the boys going their way to meet and start on the mission report, as you went back to your drug dealer. 

Walking in the big room, you sat down at one of the tables facing an enormous screen. Various setups with their own screens were scattered around the room, where people worked. You greeted everyone. You received smiles and little good mornings. 

You opened your laptop freezing on the spot. You blinked and gasped at the black screen. 'encrypted'. 

"No..nonononoo…" 

Laswell had immediately come to you. 

"What's wrong?" 

"My laptop is encrypted. Fuck!" You checked your phone. Also encrypted. 

"What does it mean?" 

"It means. Someone tried to get in. As a defense mechanism it encrypts itself, and the rest of the devices linked to it. It blocks anything or anyone from touching the data." 

You tried to explain, already trying to decrypt your device. 

"When did it happen?" 

"I don't know, recently. My phone was fine 20 mins ago." You explained. 

"Guys!" You called, gaining everyone's attention. "Any attack? Anything?" 

"No ma'am. We did find three other sentences on websites that were not on our radar. We managed to find 3 domains where the trades were active." The boy explained. 

"What…?" You were confused now. 

"He flagged these websites? He literally showed them to us?" Laswell interrogated.

You looked at your screen as it slowly booted back into your home screen. 

"Sparrow. What's going on." 

You were still in shock. The words written in a small window opened on the home's screen seemed to laugh at you. 

"Sparrow?" Laswell called again. 

You turned the screen to her. She frowned. 

"He served us these tips on a silver platter. And it wasn't to make a diversion on something big.  Because he's not working with the drug lord. Not anymore." 

You couldn't believe you were once again in this situation. Laswell sighed. 

"It's official. You're his target." 

You turned back to the screen, taking a deep breath rereading the words one last time. 

You're mine birdie.

Laswell had driven you home that evening. She had walked you to your door and walked you inside. There she was again. The mama bear. 

You sighed, dropping your bag on the floor, not even shocked to see the whole squad in the living room. You glared at soap. 

"Put down Reaper." You ordered. 

He immediately put it back on the couch, noticing your awful mood. Price had noted too, and had mostly noticed how Laswell was tense. 

"What's going on?" He asked, turning to Laswell. 

Before she could answer you chimed in, as you walked to grab a glass of water. 

"A mission going south. Nothing unusual in our field." You said, throwing a knowing look at Laswell.  

She looked pissed for a moment but brushed it off. 

"Y/N." She said seriously. You choked on the water. She had just spoken your real name in front of everyone. Everyone went silent looking at you and Kate. 

"You are not allowed to leave the base." She started. 

"I'm already not allowed to leave the base." You protested. 

"You are to be accompanied by someone each time you leave your apartment." 

You opened your mouth in shock, wait. This was going too far. The boys had turned serious. 

"You'll be closely watched by squad 141." 

"Oh come on! They've just come back from a mission!" You debated again. 

"No arguing." She ordered. 

"You are overreacting Kate." You answered in the same tone. 

"Hey hey. Intel." Price interupted, standing up. 

"No! No. Absolutely not." You snapped. "You are overreacting Kate. It wasn't even a threat. I'll get to him before he can even guess the continent I'm in." You started. 

"This isn't the first time Y/N! I'm not taking any chances." She tried to explain. 

"There's no need to take a chance. I'm literally at the base. I go nowhere else. I haven't gone into a civilian zone since… I don't even remember!" You debated. 

She crossed her arms. 

"Kate. Do you think I'm unsafe here, at the base?" You asked. 

"No." She was forced to admit. 

"Then no problem. No close security, no babysitters." You asked. 

She seemed to ponder. Then she sighed, relaxing a bit. 

"I still want to know." Price asked again. 

You rolled your eyes. You felt like you were being scolded by your parents. And God knows it hadn't happened in a very very long while. 

"I'm working on a mission. I had a target and it was being helped by a skillful fucker. Turns out, that fucker betrayed the target and seems a lot more interested in me." 

"Did he threaten you?" Soap asked. You had never seen him this serious. 

"No-"

"Yes." Laswell interrupted. You rolled your eyes. 

"Not. Really." You added. Glancing at Laswell. "It was some cryptic message. But he did try to hack me personally." You finally said sitting down at the counter. You sighed. You had to make sure to find him before Laswell and now, by the looks of it, Price, had a nervous breakdown. 

"No need for the squad." 

A shiver ran down your spine. You slowly turned to look at Simon. 

"I'm not going anywhere."

You wanted to throw something at his face.  

This bitch. You had looked at him in utter shock and disapproval. You were pacing around in your room. This was all too much. Your mind was a mix of so many things, emotions, thoughts. A soup. Your mind was soup. Wait. What?

You closed your eyes. You were going to go insane. 

A knock on the door was heard. You rolled your eyes for what seemed to be the hundredth time today. 

"Yes?" 

You had that funny feeling again as you saw him walk into your room, closing the door behind him. 

Does he have any idea the hold he had on you? You glanced at his hand. You wanted to smile but bit your lip to avoid it. He had one of his hoodies in his hand. 

"Do you want it?" 

"You want me to wear it now? " You ask. 

"Never said you couldn't. Just want them back." 

"No thank you." You answered with a fake forced smile because clearly he was so cute. 

He looked away with what seemed to be a smirk under his mask. 

"Are you going to be mad forever?" 

He asked. 

The question made your blood boil, turning your mood back to something very sour.  

"Why? This what you wanted no? Didn't think about the consequences when you'd be back?" You asked, stepping closer to him. "You put a single thought into what would happen if you'd be back? Or maybe you just thought I'd jump into your arms as if you hadn't broke me and stepped all over my FUCKING heart?" You finished, a few inches from him. 

You blushed slightly. Your lips had moved faster than your brain. But you had been honest with him. He looked hurt for a second. Like he had the right to. 

"Y/N. I'm sorry…" he said. 

You bit your lip. No. Not so easily. 

"Simon. Sorry isn't going to fix this…" you answered. 

"What is then? Tell me." His voice lowered. 

"You're going to have to make up your mind Simon. Do you want me in your life or not? I can't keep being hurt each time you feel like pushing me away." You said honestly. 

He frowned. His fingers lifting up to your waist. The touch gave you goosebumps. You hadn't felt his touch since he arrived. And you craved it. For some reason, while looking into his eyes, you knew he did too. He just seemed afraid to scare you away. He leant down letting his forehead touch yours. The mask felt cold against your skin. His other hand joined your waist this time, more confidently. He wrapped his arms more tightly around you pulling you flushed against him. Your breath had quickened. 

"Simon…" you whispered. 

"I've been wanting to hold you since I arrived…" he growled. 

"S-simon…" you tried, softly pushing on his chest with your hands. 

"To touch you … fuck… you smell so good…"

"Is this what you really wanted… to hold me so your shirt smells like me…" you smirked. 

He chuckled. 

"Are you going to wear my hoodies…?" 

"No…" you whispered. 

He held you tighter. 

You felt so warm, god you had missed him. There was still something in the back of your mind just repeating to you that he hurt you. 

"You're not going to make it that easily Simon… you need to make up your mind.." you broke. 

He stared into your eyes, so God damn close to you. 

Knock knock knock. 

"Hey guys! We're leaving, come say bye bye!" 

You laughed at Soap's voice. 

You separated with a curse. 

"God damn it johnny…" Ghost said. 

You cleared your throat. 

"Seems like we have places to be." You said.

He grabbed your wrist, marking you look into his eyes.

"I'll apologize properly. I promise."

"Try to figure out what you want first..." you said, a heavy weight on your heart.

Once in the living room you hugged everyone goodbye. Laswell and Price were the first to leave. A bit later you and Ghost walked gaz and soap to the door. 

"See you tomorrow then!" Soap cheered. 

"Absolutely not." Ghost answered. 

"It'll be lovely Soap." You countered. "Get home safely." 

"Lose yourself on the way." Ghost added. 

You smiled and rolled your eyes. 

Behind Soap, a silhouette appeared. 

"Hey Sparrow! Got you some-" 

The squad turned to stare at the new arrival. You smirked, feeling Ghost lean closer to you. 

"Hey Peter." You greeted. 

"Hum…hi… so… you want the muffins?"

"We have muffins." You heard Ghost next to you. 

"It will be lovely Peter, thank you." You smiled as you walked to him, grabbing the bag. He smiled at you sheepishly. 

"Let me present to you the squad" you said, turning back to them. 

"Ah… i-its not necessary… squad 141 is famous… especially… Humm.." 

"Me." Ghost said. His voice had gotten darker.

You noticed how Peter seemed to be scared of Ghost.  

"So… hum, which one is your roommate?" He asked, turning to you with a smile. 

You smiled apologetically to him. 

"Me." Ghost said again, this time grabbing the back of your pants and pulling you back closer to him. You gasped. What the…? (t

Soap and Gaz were trying not to laugh and Peter… had changed expression. 

"Oh, Nice. Hum, I'm gonna go guys. Nice seeing you, Sparrow." He smiled at you. 

Then he glanced up. If it wasn't for a tiny second you would have missed it. The cold and dark gaze Ghost and Peter sent each other. 

[lightlycareless]

Don't mind me, I'm just posting a little something that I had in mind, a continuation of Naoya's and Y/N's many HS adventures :) in other words, their first official Valentine's Day.

warnings: fluff. a tiny small hint of smut, implied by someone else. please read this part first followed by this other one to get the full picture!! and I guess this too.

Happy reading :)

Your first valentine’s day with Naoya—like, the actual one and not the fiasco that transpired last year—is one that has you very excited. And how couldn’t you?! Naoya had been very… enigmatic when preparing you for today.

“Clear out your schedule after school, princess. All the way down to the weekend.”

“Huh? Why?” you ask, feigning ignorance—as if you weren’t waiting for this exact moment since you started dating him. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

But you couldn’t wait! Not at all! In fact, such was your excitement that you could barely get any sleep— it was a miracle that you managed to get a few hours of rest before eagerly jumping out of bed, getting ready, and subsequently making your way to class while fervently imagining all the surprises Naoya had in store for you.

Well, whatever it was, there was no doubt in your mind that it would be much better than whatever your classmates discussed—glad that you no longer felt out of the conversation, not entirely that is, for you still had to figure out what your boyfriend was planning…

Thankfully, it wouldn’t take long for you to see the first details of his extensive itinerary, much to your eventual embarrassment.

It would begin with the so-called cupid’s mail service, a way for the student council to take advantage of help couples who wished to send gifts to their significant other’s while raising funds for whatever expenses they might have—such as graduation costs, school trips, so on and so forth.

Last year you were undoubtedly upset for not being sent anything throughout the day, so this time around, Naoya made it his personal mission to not let that happen again, under any circumstance!

And what extravagant way to assure so.

“Senseeeeei, can you give us a moment to deliver the mail?”

Teachers were no strangers to the excessive ways enamored students got to be when prompted—however, none of them had experienced a besotted Naoya, an heir with all possibilities within his grasp motivated to impress his beloved.

“Sure, go ahead.” The sensei responded, barely glancing at the mountain of gifts that made him assume they’d be here for a long time and returning to the blackboard; readying whatever subject followed to retake class once they were gone.

However, as soon as he began his attention would be forced back onto the students the moment they collectively gasped, realizing that the gifts didn’t pertain to various senders, no. Only one—and with a sole receiver too: you.

“All this for you, Y/N, how lucky!” Mei Mei says while placing down a large bouquet of red roses on your desk. “To think that last year you didn’t get a single thing until the very end… you truly are one fortunate girl.”

“Is this—is this really all for me?” You murmur, still in disbelief that Naoya had gone above and beyond with his gifts—but isn’t he always like this, though?

“Oh, this is just for the first class, your beloved boyfriend scheduled more for later.”

“Wh—what?” you breathe, turning even redder, comparable to the roses in front of you. Mei Mei chuckles at the curious sight. “M—more?”

“Don’t forget the note.” she says, plucking an envelope from the bouquet and handing it over to you. “Now, say cheese~”

“Huh, what now?” You stammer, then startled by the bright flash of her cellphone, recollecting the so-called proof Naoya demanded of the goods being delivered—he didn’t want to risk being played the same card he applied last year, this was only a necessary request.

“Well, my job here is done. Have a nice Valentine’s Day, Y/N; Naoya sure is expecting you to have one.”

…

…

…

“Need another desk?” The teacher would suggest after seeing you awkwardly trying to continue with your work through all the items cluttering your counter.

“…yes, please.”

And as Mei Mei promised, more gifts came soon after—from expensive boxes of chocolate from brands you’ve never even heard of in your life, to jewelry and other things you once mentioned wanting before: like a new case for your phone, a cute shirt you saw at the mall (with an additional gift card of a exuberant amount in it if you wished more) and of course, all the mochi you could eat.

Everyone around you wouldn’t take long to begin murmuring about your situation, commenting on how they never expected Naoya to be so passionate about his girlfriend—or anything that wasn’t berating others!

Yet, here he was, spoiling you with all things unimaginable, and that was barely to be the tip of the iceberg.

“Well, at least Naoya had the decency to help you move all these things to your dorm” Shoko commented as she watched the group of students Mei Mei ordered to relocate all of your gifts, work. “Don’t think you would’ve been able to do all that by yourself.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” you breathe, still embarrassed by all that transpired. Being the center of attention is something you never handled well, and more often than not, you tried to pass under the radar.

And yet, as much as you disliked it, it was impossible for you to not enjoy it this time around, for it came from something so sweet as your boyfriend wanting to show his ever-growing adoration for you.

“All this is so excessive, Y/N. I can’t help but wonder what you gave him to evoke all this?”

“I don’t recall anything in particular… I just gave him some chocolates I made.” You murmur, Shoko chuckles. “What?”

“It’s ok, no need to act coy with me. I just know you must’ve given it to him real good.”

“Oh. My. God. Shoko!” you gasp, eyes wide as your friend added onto your embarrassment. Just what you needed!

“Ugh, that is so gross.” Satoru would scowl; the only reason why he was around was to check if the rumors were true, see if Naoya had truly become even more unhinged in the name of love. “I would never do anything like that for a woman.”

“Mmm… maybe not for a woman; but what about a man?” Shoko teases, Gojo quickly becomes flustered, doing what many couldn’t: silence him. “That’s what I thought.”

“Whatever… at least I’m not the one being humiliated—look.” Satoru would then nudge to the person standing by the end of the hallway—a nervous Naoya waiting for you while holding another bouquet of flowers, this time purple roses accompanied by a small Gengar plush in the middle; a sight that has you freezing on the spot, overwhelmed by his seemingly endless gestures of appreciation and all those that were to come.

“We’ll leave you two alone.” Shoko says, grabbing Satoru by the arm and pulling him away. “Have fun!”

“Thanks, Shoko.” You murmur before shyly making your way towards your boyfriend, staring at him for a few seconds, finding the right words to say before settling for a simple greeting. “He—Hey, Naoya…”

“Hello, princess.” Naoya manages to say through the tightness of his throat, excited to see you after a long day of schoolwork, and worried that you might’ve not liked his gifts.

That, of course, is something that wouldn’t perturb him much longer after seeing the way you happily received the flowers from his grasp, a wider smile on your lips as you relished their smell and decoration.

“Did you like your gifts?” He asks, placing his arm around your waist and pulling you closer; your heart skips a beat as you lean into him.

“Ye—yeah… I liked all of them.” You admit with a nod. “They were… really nice. Thank you.”

“I wanted to make it up to you, for the shame I put you through last year.”

“Oh, Naoya—don’t say that.” You fret, wanting to leave that in the past. “It was nothing but a misunderstanding…”

“I still made you feel bad, and that is something I will never forgive myself for.”

“Well, if you must know… today succeed all Valentine’s days I’ve ever had.” You happily declare, much to Naoya’s unexpected concern.

“I fear I might’ve shoot myself on the foot, then.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve set the bar too high, I’m not sure if I’ll be capable of surprising you next year.”

“Just spending the day with you is enough for me.” You gently reassure, making Naoya’s heart melt.

“Then I think what I have planned next might be of your liking.”

“Wait, you have more?”

“I did ask you to clear out your schedule for the rest of the week, didn’t I?” Naoya teases,

“Yes…”

He then reaches for his pocket to take out a set of two tickets—the biggest surprise yet.

“I got us a reservation to visit that park you wanted to go to—Disneyland, I believe? From the accommodations to the transportation, I’ve taken care of everything, all my pretty princess needs to do is be ready by—wait, Y/N? Y/N!”

You don’t remember much after that, outside of an overwhelming shock and happiness that deafened and blinded your senses, leading you to assume that you simply… passed out.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Media/The Paris Date

Part 5, basically, if we're going in order. Find the rest on this masterpost.

AU Summary: Paris 2024 Olympics. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, they meet on the plane to Paris, and a love story ensues.

Author's Note: I am altering the official Olympic events schedule slightly to accommodate my needs here, mainly so Bucky can watch Gale compete. This installment mentions the stadium jumping round of eventing, which I will likely go back and actually write later. For now, enjoy whatever this is!

---

Bucky will never understand the public fascination with “famous” people’s personal lives. Everyone is always so concerned about all the wrong things. Who was seen with who and are they dating? What does this or that social media post mean? Why does so and so suddenly have a new hair style? 

He also doesn’t quite understand why or how or when he became “famous.” All he ever wanted to be was a gymnast, so he did that. He worked hard, did some flips, won some medals. Then suddenly, one day, there were reporters reaching out to him and photographers taking his picture and morning shows having him on TV and everyone cared far too much about his physical well being all the damn time. He became the USA gymnastics poster boy and he doesn’t recall anyone ever even asking him if that’s what he wanted to be. He won't complain, but he doesn't get it, either. All of a sudden, the girls wanted to date him and the guys wanted to look like him and everyone wanted to know if he was single.

And then, one day, he woke up to a media storm that compounded an already tumultuous time of his life. His coach and teammates were blowing up his phone. Reporters were emailing him and asking ‘for a comment.’ A jilted lover was knocking on his door and demanding he fix this.

It was 7:00 in the morning on some should’ve-been-normal weekday just a few months after the Tokyo Olympics, and suddenly the whole country knew that John Egan, U.S. gymnastics darling, was gay. 

Bucky isn’t exactly proud of the little phase he went through after the Tokyo Olympics. He can admit that now. His older sister, his rock and his best friend, died in a car crash just weeks before he left for Tokyo. She never got to see him accomplish everything she’d ever wished for him. The night that she died, she asked him if he could drive her to the airport. He doesn’t even remember where she was heading - such a small detail in the grand scheme of it all, but one he wishes hadn’t slipped away. He told her he couldn’t, because he had to be at the gym. He had to train for the Olympics, the team to which he’d only just been selected for the first time. So she drove herself. 

She never made it to the airport.

Bucky’s last text to her – “make it alright?” – remains to this day unanswered in his phone. He’ll never even know that she hadn’t been mad at him in the slightest for denying her a ride. That she was just too proud of him. He’ll never know that she’d never blame him, not even for a second. 

At the Games, Bucky managed to concentrate all of his anger, all of his grief, into his sport. He did what they call “angry gymnastics,” and it served him well for those few days. He threw every fucked up thing he felt onto the floor, the bar, the rings, like if he could somehow just win a medal there, do what his sister always believed he could, then it might make something okay again. 

Spoiler alert: It didn’t. 

He did win a medal, a silver on rings. Sure, he was proud of himself. Sure, he knew his sister would be, too. Sure, it felt good. But really, he couldn’t feel a damn thing. He went home. Back to his life. Back to his grief and anger and hate for this unfair world. Hate for himself. 

It’s not like he fell off the deep end or anything, but he was lost for a while. He stopped caring about the world around him. Stopped caring about his own well being. Caring only ever lead to pain. He drank too much. Smoked a joint here and there. Barely slept. Ghosted his friends when he wasn’t in the gym pouring his heart and soul into gymnastics. He went to bars and hooked up with a few too many men. 

And then he met a guy who he legitimately liked at first. They went on a few dates, Bucky always trying too hard to avoid the media. The problem was, the guy didn’t like that Bucky wasn’t out. He wanted to go out together, do things in public together, be together. But Bucky refused. Not only did he have an image to think about, a very public career that he desperately needed to keep intact. He was also terrified of commitment. Or rather, he was terrified of being hurt by someone he was committed to. He couldn’t stand another chip being broken off of his already shattered heart. 

So he dumped the guy. Plain and simple.

But not before some reporter leaked pictures of them together to the media. How they got those photos, Bucky still doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. All he knows is they showed up one day: photos of John Egan holding hands across a table with this guy. Kissing him against a wall. Laughing over drinks. They showed up one day, and they spun his life into something he couldn’t control on his own anymore. Suddenly everyone knew this secret he’d been holding onto, and no one knew how to feel about it. 

That was three years ago. He’s in a good place now, despite the shit show of his leg replacing one John Egan gossip story with another. So yeah, he is, perhaps, a little tired of the media, between all of the ‘John Egan opens up about his sexuality’ stories and the ‘John Egan’s shocking comeback’ stories. It’s exhausting. 

He has to admit, though, the stories going around about him and Gale Cleven are a nice change. 

–

The cameras don’t miss a thing. You learn that early on as a public figure.

The cameras are there when the U.S eventing team wins Olympic bronze, their first Olympic medal since 2004. They track each horse and rider through their stadium jumping round, honing in on every knocked rail and every bad line and every perfect takeoff and landing. 

When Gale Cleven has a solid round, they zoom in on the entire U.S. men’s gymnastics team in the stands, on their feet and clapping like they have a clue what’s going on in that arena. John Egan is at the center, pumping a fist in the air. And Gale, cantering Whiskey out of the ring, looks up into the stands with a smile and a wave, directed right at John. The camera sees it, and the world sees it, too. 

The cameras are there when the U.S. men’s gymnastics team wins silver, their first Olympic medal since 2008. They give viewers an up-close view of every single apparatus. Every impeccable event, every fall, every hand out of place and every step back on a landing. They show Curt’s jaw-dropping vault and Croz’s sheer determination to get it done on pommel horse despite a near slip at the start. The cameras see every facial expression, every celebration and every self-admonition.

The cameras zoom in on the stands, and the commentators take note when Gale sits down with Marge and Benny, just in time for the fifth rotation. Gale and Benny are both still wearing their team USA riding clothes, leaving no doubt who they are or where they came from. They’d made a mad dash straight here after winning team bronze, and there is only one explanation for why the youngest members of the equestrian team care to rush over to the team gymnastics final. When John Egan puts up a phenomenal floor routine that night, the cameras hone in on Gale, usually so calm and stoic, cheering louder than anyone in the stadium.

When Gale and Whiskey, against all odds, win silver in individual eventing, the cameras capture his touching reaction. The way he looks shocked and thrilled at the same time. The way he throws his arms around Whiskey’s neck and buries his face in her mane. They record every movement as a medal is placed around his neck, a ribbon on the side of Whiskey’s bridle. They're recording as he and the other medalists take a victory lap around the ring. And they record Bucky’s reaction in the stands, pressed to the rail with unquestionable love all over his face.

There was simply never any point in Bucky and Gale acting like they weren’t a thing. Even if they’re not quite sure what they are anyways. They just are. Bucky thinks there must be too many news outlets if so many of them are this concerned about his relationship status, but he gets a good laugh from the headlines.

‘Fly High and Stick the Landing: big wins for an unlikely Olympic couple’

‘Is John Egan dating Gale Cleven?’

‘Summer Lovin’ at the Paris Olympics’

‘Olympic Love in the City of Love’

‘An Olympic Love Story. What Gymnastics and Equestrian Have In Common’

Interest in the equestrian team shoots up practically overnight. If Gale wasn’t in the public eye before, he sure as shit is now.

Pictures circulate of John and Gale together. John’s arm around Gale’s shoulder during the Opening Ceremonies boat parade. John pointing at Gale in the stands after landing an impeccable vault. Gale messing up John’s hair as they walk outside the Olympic Village dining hall, both of them laughing at God knows what. Holding hands at a café. Walking shoulder to shoulder along the Seine. 

And, of course, that picture-perfect moment after cross country. Gale sitting atop Whiskey at the end of the course, right by the fence with John on the other side. Gale reaching his hand down, John holding it in his own. John staring up at Gale like he hung the moon – no, like he designed the universe itself. Gale looking at him the exact same way. 

That’s the picture that has everyone talking. 

‘Everything We Know About John Egan’s New Beau’

“Buck.” Bucky leans into Gale’s side and shows him the article pulled up on his phone screen. “You’re my beau,” he teases. 

Gale squints at the headline and zooms in on the photo. He makes a note to find it again and save it later. “Am I?” He asks. He tries to sound like he’s joking more than he actually is, but he wonders if John can hear the slight pitch in his voice, if he knows that Gale wants him to say yes. 

Bucky turns his head to look at him. “Certainly seems that way doesn’t it?” He presses his lips gently to Gale’s, using his free hand to delicately cup his cheek. 

“You two are fuckin’ insufferable.” 

They pull apart, Gale chewing his lower lip bashfully and Bucky flipping the bird at Curt as he and Croz approach them. “Fuck off,” Bucky tells him, and he hates the way Gale stiffens and shifts away just the littlest bit, the warmth at Bucky’s side disappearing. 

Croz flicks Curt on the arm. “Leave ‘em alone. Gale is the most emotionally healthy guy Bucky’s ever brought home to us.”

“Hey!” Bucky protests. Gale raises an eyebrow at him, amused. A silent is that true? Bucky groans. 

“What?” Croz asks innocently. “We all know it’s true.”

“I don’t,” Gale points out. 

Curt looks at him. Looks at Bucky. Back at Gale. “Trust us. It’s true.”

Gale awaits confirmation from Bucky, who just shrugs and reaches for his hand, thankful when Gale doesn’t pull away or press the subject further. When Marge and Benny arrive, the group of them set off to take on Paris. They’re celebrating their victories: a bronze medal for the US eventing team, a silver for USA gymnastics, and a silver for Gale. They’re far from done. Marge has stadium jumping coming up in a couple of days. Bucky and Curt qualified for individual all around. Plus Bucky qualified for floor exercise and still rings, Curt for vault, and Croz for parallel bars. 

But for now, they’re going to go be silly American tourists and toast the road so far. 

–

Six friends, some old and some new, meander along the Champs-Elysées. They don’t bother blending in, half of them wearing Team USA regalia and the others talking loudly in their obviously American accents. They stop at a café, where Marge and Gale, as the only French speakers, have to order for everyone. Curt, Bucky, and Benny all insist on trying to pronounce menu items in French – a language none of them know the first thing about other than “oui” and “baguette.” When they butcher the words terribly and somehow manage to offend everyone within a half mile radius, Marge has to apologize profusely to the waiter while Gale pinches the bridge of his nose and begs the others to shut the fuck up. 

This leads to an exchange where the waiter refuses to speak French with the stupid Americans, even the ones who speak French rather well. Marge, meanwhile, refuses to revert to English, leading to an increasingly tense conversation where the Frenchman is speaking English and the American woman is speaking French until finally Gale just pulls them all out of there because they’re causing a scene and people are taking pictures.

They choose a different café, where Gale instructs everyone to stand outside and not do anything stupid while he goes in and orders everyone’s coffee. When he returns, he finds Croz delicately holding the side of his face, Marge stifling a laugh beside him. “What happened?” Gale asks in exasperation, box of to-go coffee cups in hand. 

“He accidentally offended a French girl and she slapped him,” Marge explains. 

“How?” 

Marge shakes her head. “You don’t wanna know.”

“And you didn’t stop him?” Gale pleads. 

Marge shrugs, motioning to the hopeless group of young men in front of her. “They have to learn somehow.”

Gale has no words. Bucky kisses him on the cheek, takes the coffees from him, and starts passing them out. “It’s fine, Buck. Croz deserved it.”

“Buck?” Benny looks between the two of them, his brow furrowed. Gale knows he’ll hear about that when he gets back to their room tonight – “He gave you his name!”

Gale shrugs. “Long story.”

“Buck and Bucky.” Curt nods, like it makes all the sense in the world. “Yeah, I can get behind that.” And no one else says a thing about it.

At the top of the Arc de Triomphe, they can see much of the city spread out like a map around them. Roads extend outwards in all directions from this central point at the Place de l’Étoile, like rays emanating from a star. 

They convince someone to take a picture of all of them together with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Their unwitting photographer takes multiple, capturing a slow, stop-motion procession into chaos as Curt’s empty coffee cup blows away in the wind, he tries to catch it, nearly knocks Croz over in the process, Benny starts laughing his ass off, Marge abandons them in exasperation, and Bucky and Gale hardly even notice as they find themselves the only two left, lost in each others’ eyes. 

Bucky posts the entire sequence on Instagram with a caption that says nothing but “Look out, Paris!”

At Marge’s request, they take the Paris métro through the city to Notre Dame. They nearly board the wrong train, and then proceed to miss their stop completely, but they make it, only to find that it’s still not open to the public. Marge claims she knew this and wanted to see it anyway, and Benny complains about having to traverse the whole city just to stand in front of an old building. 

“It wasn’t nearly the whole city you idiot,” Marge protests. “And it’s not just an old building. It’s over 800 years old. And it’s beautiful!”

They stand in a line of six, staring up at the grand architecture, the arches and spires and ornate detailing that on one hand is exquisite, and on the other seems over the top. “It’s like, some kinda church?” Curt asks. 

“Yes,” Gale confirms. 

“Am I supposed to pray or some shit?”

Bucky snorts. “You could start by not sayin’ shit.”

“That ain’t fuckin’ happenin’,” Curt says. But they wander around outside of the building for a while, until the massive crowd becomes not worth it anymore and all the boys start complaining that they’re hungry. So they meander back the way they came, walking along the Seine in the early evening sun. 

They all get a little wine drunk in some restaurant along the riverfront, raising their glass in a toast to team USA. “To Buck and Bucky for bringing this unlikely group together,” Croz proclaims. “And to our victories so far. May our good fortune continue.” Their glasses clink together across the table, and everyone drinks to that. 

Thankfully, after the café fiasco, the non-French speaking boys in the group conceded all food ordering needs to Gale and Marge. Curt manages not to even say anything offensive about the wine or how obnoxious the French can be about it. Benny, however, mutters something snarky as he takes a sip, and Curt nearly spits Merlot all over the table, coughing and gasping for breath after he accidentally inhales the alcohol. Their whole table gets some annoyed looks as they try, and fail, to keep themselves from laughing, and Gale finds that he likes how these two friend groups mesh together. Even if he, feeling buzzed himself and knowing the others are probably worse off, eventually decides to usher them out before they can do any real damage to the American athlete reputation. 

He fears he may be too late, but he can try. 

That’s when they split up, wandering off in separate directions. Marge and Benny one way, Curt and Croz in another. And that leaves Gale and Bucky, alone and tipsy in the middle of Paris. Again. “Not sure it’s a good idea to turn Curt and Croz loose in this city,” Gale says, watching the pair of them literally skip off down the street. 

Bucky grabs both of his hands, pulling his attention back to him. “Don’t worry about them,” he insists. Then he kisses Gale right there on the sidewalk, as if he’s been waiting to do that all day. “City of Love. Where are we going next?”

Bucky doesn’t know what he expects, but it’s not for Gale to take him for ice cream, that’s for sure. Bucky doesn’t think anyone other than his parents has ever taken him out for ice cream, and he has to admit that this feels an awful lot like an actual date. Bucky hasn’t been on an actual date since his forced coming-out media extravaganza.

But they sit at a cute little table outside of a cute little ice cream shop and Bucky eats the cute little strawberry ice cream cone that Gale just ordered for him. Gale ordered it for him, like they’re on a date. Bucky is mid-competition here; he probably should not be eating ice cream. But he decides he doesn’t give a damn because this is the happiest he’s felt in months, and he’d be a fool to say no when a gorgeous, amazing guy orders him ice cream in the middle of Paris. Gale is leaning his elbows on the table across from him, licking the drips of melted chocolate ice cream that are falling over the sides of his cone. Bucky’s eyes are drawn to that motion, locked onto Gale’s mouth as he thinks about what else it can do. 

“Could you be any more subtle?” Gale asks. 

Bucky holds his ice cream out to the side and leans across the table, tilting Gale’s chin up with gentle fingers and pressing their lips together. “Is that better?” he whispers. 

“You taste like strawberry,” Gale murmurs. Then he kisses John again. 

A camera shutter clicks, and Bucky whips his head around, all too used to that sound. He hopes it’s just a stranger, taking pictures of their own Paris vacation, but sure enough there’s a photographer for some magazine or another with a camera pointed straight at them. Bucky rolls his eyes and groans. He tries to scoot his chair around the table so he’s between Gale and the photographer who has decided their personal lives are the world’s business. He glances behind him and sees that a second one has joined him. 

Gale glances over at them and raises an eyebrow, then gives Bucky the same look. 

“Sorry,” Bucky says. “We can leave? If you want.”

“It’s fine,” Gale says. 

“I’m tired of the media thinking they deserve a front row seat to my life. I don’t want them to get to you, too.”

“It’s fine, Bucky,” Gale repeats. “Don’t let them ruin this, okay?”

Bucky nods, but he sticks up his middle finger over his shoulder, making Gale choke on a mouthful of ice cream as he laughs. 

“You know if they keep this up, the cameras are gonna be all on you every single time I’m up tomorrow,” Bucky points out. “Wait, you’re coming tomorrow right?”

Tomorrow is individual All Around. Gale looks at him, amused. Just about nothing can keep him away. “Yes, I’m coming.”

Bucky nods, relieved. “They always show the reactions of people the gymnast cares about. So. That’s you, now.”

Gale doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he extends his free hand across the table, inviting Bucky to meet him halfway. Bucky does, their fingers twining together without a second thought.

Several pictures of John Egan and Gale Cleven will surface from today. Kissing against a wall outside of a restaurant or across a table at an ice cream shop. Holding hands outside of Notre Dame. Walking down the Seine with their friends, John’s hand on Gale’s waist. Headlines will read ‘Clegan takes on Paris’ and ‘John Egan’s Parisian Date,’ titles which they both think are highly lacking in creativity.

For now, though, they eat their ice cream and try their best to ignore everything else. Bucky knocks his knee against Gale’s under the table. Gale reaches across and uses his thumb to wipe pink strawberry ice cream off the side of Bucky’s mouth. They laugh about silly things and tell each other random facts about themselves. Their favorite colors and favorite foods, music tastes and movie must-sees, their greatest accomplishments and most embarrassing competition moments. 

“How do you say ice cream in French?” Bucky asks as he reaches the end of his cone. 

“La glace,” Gale responds easily. 

“Strawberry ice cream?”

“La glace aux fraises.”

“Chocolate?”

“La glace au chocolat.” Gale shakes his head with a fond smile, popping the last of his cone into his mouth. “You heard me order in there. You just want me to speak French again.”

“So what if I do?” Bucky nonchalantly reaches across the table to take Gale’s hand in his. He rubs his thumb over the smooth skin before pressing a careful kiss to the back of Gale’s knuckles. 

He’s considered making a game of seeing how many times he can make Gale blush, but he’s forgotten to keep track. The flush that rises to his cheeks now is still a victory. Gale looks him dead in the eye, though, with such indisputable lust, and Bucky feels this magnetic pull, a warmth deep in his chest and an unquenchable want, knowing he has Gale’s full attention. 

“Maybe you should learn the language if that’s how you’re gonna be,” Gale suggests. 

Bucky shrugs, leaning further over the table again. “Why? I don’t care what you’re saying. Just that you’re saying it.”

Gale mimics him, leaning across the table until they’re just about nose to nose. His lips are parted, and Bucky flicks his eyes down to them. Gale smirks. “What if I’m saying something rude?”

“I don’t care,” Bucky insists. “I’d still wanna do dirty things to you on top of this table.”

“Mon dieu,” Gale mutters, his eyes fluttering closed as he wills his heart to slow down. Then he laughs softly and shakes his head. “Come on.” He gets to his feet and tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand, pulling him up out of his chair. “I wanna show you something.”

--

Something turns out to be the fucking Eiffel Tower. Which they are currently standing on top of. “Whoa,” Bucky breathes out. He can't even be disappointed that something wasn't, in fact, a bedroom where they could carry on with their shameless flirting. They’re standing at the railing, looking out over the city as the sun disappears behind the horizon. The sky is painted in watercolor shades of pink and purple, streaked with clouds reflecting what little is left of the daylight. They watch as bright white and yellow lights flicker on in the growing darkness, the city lighting up little by little far below them, like a constellation growing into a galaxy.

“You’ve been to Paris before, right?” Bucky asks. He grabs Gale gently by the waist, pulling him in close, and then wraps his arms around him from behind. He rests his chin on Gale’s shoulder, and Gale rests his hands over top of Bucky’s.

“A few times,” Gale says. “France is big on equestrian competition. Home of FEI.”

“FEI?”

“Fédération Équestre Internationale.” Bucky grins as the words roll off Gale’s tongue, the French accent shining through. Even though he can't see it, Gale knows, and he rolls his eyes.

Bucky glances at all of the other couples around them who are taking in this beautiful city with thoughts of romance and grandeur. “You bring all your dates up here?” 

“You’re the only one I’ve ever brought up here,” Gale says smoothly, like it’s not a big deal. But the hint of a smile, that miniscule uptick at the corner of his mouth, gives him away. Bucky’s satisfied with that.

“You know how to make a guy feel special.”

Gale hums quietly. They stand there in silence, broken by nothing but the sounds of life continuing down below and the murmuring of other visitors milling about around them. Reminders that the Earth still turns even as they find themselves stuck in this perfect moment, feeling like the world was built solely for them to exist in each other's presence.

Then Gale tilts his head thoughtfully, biting at his lower lip. His words come out careful, deliberate, like they’ve been roaming around in his head for a while now. “What are we doing here, John?” 

“We’re at the top of the tour eiffel,” Bucky says matter of factly, punctuated by a kiss below Gale’s ear. He even nearly gets the pronunciation correct.

But Gale shakes his head, letting his hands fall away from Bucky’s where they remain clasped across his middle. “I mean, what are we doing?” He doesn’t know how else to ask without risking driving this conversation down a dangerous road. He’s worried he doesn’t even want to ask. He’s worried everything could fall apart right here and now, a moment of infatuation turning to one of disappointment. But he has to know.

He’s never been one for casual, and he knows that Bucky has never been one for anything but casual. He doesn’t think Bucky knows he knows that. Gale desperately doesn’t want this to be some no-strings summer fling, but he also doesn’t want it to end yet. He hasn’t decided if a couple weeks with John Egan is better than nothing at all.

Bucky is quiet for a long time – too long – and Gale, frowning, starts to squirm out of his hold. Bucky’s heart is hammering in his chest, his brain unable to form a coherent response that conveys what he needs to convey. But when Gale tries to pull away, he feels panic well up like a bubble about to pop, and he knows that whatever happens, he doesn’t want to miss out on possibly the best thing to ever happen to him just because he’s a little scared.

He can’t even pause to realize how much personal growth that thought process represents. 

“Wait,” he sputters out, his hands holding fast to Gale’s hips before he can pull away. “Just hold on okay?”

Gale manages to turn around to look him in the eye, breaking Bucky’s grip. He sighs. “I’m not a one night stand kinda guy,” he confesses. Because he isn’t, even if he wants to be. “I’m not a one week stand kinda guy.”

Bucky nods hurriedly. “I know. I just… I’ve never done anything like this before.” Gale opens his mouth to answer, but Bucky puts a hand on his cheek and shakes his head. “Please.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t really know how it works. I don’t know where we go from here. But I know I really like you. I know I don’t want this to stop.”

God, he feels like an awkward teenager in a high school romance. The words sound so trivial, so ingenuine, but he can’t for the life of him find the right ones. He closes his eyes, letting his hand drop back down, before he looks at Gale again. “I am terrified of losing people, Buck,” he breathes out, all in a rush. And Gale looks surprised for a moment, both at the honesty and also at the reminder that Bucky quite literally gave him his name, linking them together with some invisible thread that, slowly, is becoming visible to the people around them. That has to mean something, right?

Bucky pushes on before either of them can think too much about it. “But I have been happier here with you than I have been in years. So I don’t really know what that means, I’ve never felt that way before, and I don’t know what to do with it. But I don’t want it to go away. So just, please. Don’t leave.”

Bucky half expects Gale to push away from him, to leave him standing here on the top of the Eiffel Tower, unable or unwilling to deal with the chaos of John Egan’s mixed up brain. He can’t think of another time he begged someone for anything, not in any serious way. But Gale smiles softly at him, and he puts his hands on Bucky’s sides, pulling him in close. Bucky wraps his arms around Gale’s back, and Gale tucks his face into the curve of Bucky’s neck, like it belongs there. “It’s okay,” he whispers, because he feels the same. So lost and yet so sure at the same time. “I won’t go anywhere if you won’t.” 

Neither of them fully knows where that leaves them, or what exactly that means for when their time in Paris comes to an end. But standing there, high above the shimmering, bustling city, they hold on tight to each other as they watch the world pass by below. Tomorrow it’ll be back to the Games. Back to the real reason they’re here. For now, though, they’re just two people falling in love like sparks turning to flame, slowly at first, and then all at once. Nothing about it feels like a summer fling, because that’s never what it was meant to be.

…

…

Next part

[copper-16]

For those lovely people who read Do You See Something I Can’t?…Chapter 8 will be posted tomorrow (June 2nd), at 1pm EST!

We’ve got 5 chapters, 57k words in total, and a schedule (because I am nothing without my schedule!) Since the chapters are a little on the longer side, I want to give everyone ample time to fully read. So, the plan is that there will be a new chapter every 3 days, so the whole thing will be posted over the span of a little over 2 weeks. 

I totally understand how it can be hard to follow a story when there are long gaps in between chapter being posted, so I hope this is easier to follow along and engage with, by writing everything ahead and posting in a streamline manner. We shall see if this makes it better for you guys as readers, I’m curious as to your feedback! Regardless I want people to enjoy reading it, and if that happens then I am a happy camper, above all else. 

Spotify Playlist for the second half can be found here!

For everyone who is still reading this long ass announcement and have gotten themselves all caught up if they wish, here is the first part of Chapter 8 before it is posted tomorrow 🩵

Ingrid stared down at her phone, shifting nervously in her seat. Mapi sat across from her, the Spaniard’s hands folded on the table in front of her, as she watched the Norwegian closely. 

The dark haired woman sat up more, swallowing roughly. There were a million thoughts going through her head, and she looked up at the brunette with a slightly panicked expression. 

“What if I just went back?” Ingrid asked in a panic, and Mapi tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing. 

“Do you actually want to? Or are you simply scared to make this call?” She asked gently, and the full back allowed herself to slouch slightly under the intensity of her—girlfriend? Friend? Person who professed their love to her less than 12 hours ago, and hasn’t had time to put a label on it yet? 

She allows herself to slouch slightly under the intensity of her…of her…of Mapi’s gaze, feeling a bubble of shame rise up in her. The Spaniard is quick to stand, walking around the table to take a seat next to Ingrid as opposed to across from her. 

“I am not asking to make you feel bad,” Mapi reminds gently, gesturing to the phone. “But I know you do not want to go back there, and that you are scared to put your foot down. You need to though, and I promise you will get through it. I will be right here,” she continued, and Ingrid looked over at her skeptically. 

It was such a strange jump, the last twelve hours. Ingrid had returned to Barcelona to pack up her apartment to move, and had almost finished doing just that. There were boxes littered everywhere in her apartment, a fact that Mapi had yet to comment on. 

Instead, they remained where they were at the table as the sun rose in the sky, and Ingrid worked up the courage to call her manager back and explain that she was not going back to Wolfsburg. 

The Norwegian picked her phone up finally, pressing the contact for her manager before she held it up to her ear. Her foot tapped anxiously below her, a reminder of the anxiety coursing through her body even as Mapi sat beside her, looking at her with encouragement. 

“Hello Ingrid!” Thomas said cheerfully into the phone, and Ingrid opened her mouth to speak before she coughed abruptly, which kick started her into speaking.

“H-hi Thomas!” She replied, her voice thready and nervous, an octave too high. If her plan had been to play it cool, she would have been failing miserably. Luckily, her only goal was to get through the phone call in one piece. 

“Is everything alright?” Thomas asked quickly, concern laced into her tone. 

“Yes, yes, everything is okay. I just need to talk to you about something,” Ingrid choked out, even as she felt like her throat might close up. Her free hand lashed out, clamping down on the center back’s thigh with a forcefield of anxiety. 

The brunette, however, didn’t miss a beat, simply peeling the Norwegian’s hand away from her thigh and lacing their fingers together, squeezing softly. Ingrid gripped her hand tightly, and the Spaniard could feel the shake of the full back’s hand in hers. 

“Okay, what did you need to discuss?” Thomas asked, sounding diplomatic. Ingrid took a large breath in, slowly letting it out before responding. 

“I am going to stay at Barcelona. I will not be accepting Wolfsburg’s offer,” The dark haired woman managed to get out, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt. Mapi’s thumb was very lightly trailing back and forth over the back of her palm, and she reminded herself very gently to relax her shoulders. 

“You—what?” Her agent spluttered out, clearly caught off guard. 

“I want to stay here, in Barcelona. Tell Wolfsburg I reject,” Ingrid repeated, her voice more secure this time. 

“Ingrid, you would be insane to reject their offer! It is one of the most lucrative deals I’ve had come across my desk for a female footballer, you’d be in the top 5% of paid female footballers. Hell, you’ve already told them you’d accept!” Thomas implored, his voice edging on panic. 

He had promised Wolfsburg that this deal would go through, that Ingrid would accept. She had always listened to him, she had always been easily manipulated when necessary. 

“I gave them a verbal agreement, but no contract was signed. I don’t…I don’t care about the money. Get me more brand deals or something, I want to stay in Barcelona,” Ingrid repeated, standing up for herself as Mapi watched on, growing more nervous as the conversation continued. She couldn’t hear what Ingrid’s manager was saying, but she could tell that he wasn’t responding with a super positive tone. 

“Ingrid, as your manager, I cannot let you do this. You need to get your head on straight,” Thomas replied harshly, and the full back straightened, her nerves washed away and replaced with something akin to anger. 

“My head is perfectly straight,” if it were not for the seriousness of the situation, both women might have laughed at the falseness of this statement, considering the Norwegian’s sexuality. “I am staying in Barcelona.” 

“You’ve told Wolfsburg you’d be there!” Thomas cried, though it wasn’t really true. She had agreed to the deal, sure, but she had never signed anything. She wasn’t obligated to them, she only was because Thomas had tried to make her obligated to them because he knew it would earn himself more money.

“No, you told Wolfsburg I would be there. And why the hell are you pressuring me so heavily? You are supposed to be on my side, not theirs!” Ingrid accused, and Mapi resisted the urge to flinch at the return of the woman she had become acutely used to in the last six months. 

“I am on your side, it’s just that—” Thomas tried, but the dark haired woman was quick to cut him off before he could really even begin. 

“No, you’re not, if you’re trying this hard to push me into something I clearly do not want. I’m staying, that is the end of the discussion!” Ingrid cried, removing the phone from her ear and slamming her finger down onto the ‘end call’ button. 

The Norwegian’s phone clattered onto the table as she breathed heavily, a fraught silence descending between them. 

The brunette was holding her breath, unsure of what was going to happen. Ingrid had been upset on the phone, she had been angry. 

Would it translate into anger toward Mapi? That is how it had always been, but the Spaniard wasn’t sure if that would persist or not. She knew Ingrid was capable of change, but she was unsure if something as triggering as this could lead to anything resembling softness. 

What’s going to happen? Well…you’ll have to tune in to find out! 

[woozisguitar]

GLITCH - a good plan

prev | 3.0 | next

masterlist

Recommended Song: Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift

Warnings: some hate tweets, mentions of anxiety, overthinking and panic attacks.

A/N: this part has both smau + written (2.6k words, no beta)

Your flight landed 20 minutes before schedule. After a few long hours of constant turbulence and the crying of babies, you were more than happy to disembark. But a sudden realisation of where you were and wanted was going to happen once you got off this flight made your anxiety rise again. Since the article about the dating rumor came out, it was almost like your usual anxiety had increased tenfold, making you want to run back and hide every time you left your house. Ella tapped you on the shoulder to signal that the gates were opening. You decided to swallow your nerves for the sake of the group. 

“Let’s go before it starts to rush,"  Iseul called out from her seat in the next row with Ash, who was packing her things. 

The security checks and baggage claim took ages, but finally, you were able to leave the airport and take in a much-needed breath of fresh air. There, at Arrivals, you saw a man who looked like he would be in his late 30s, holding a placard with your name on it. You nudged Iseul and nodded towards the man to signal that he might be the guide? SEVENTEEN’s management mentioned. 

“Hi, I’m y/n,"  you said, bowing slightly. “Oh hello! Nice to meet you. I am Ahn Ha-Joon, but feel free to call me Mr.  Ahn," he said with a kind smile. “I hope you all had a great flight. I have a car waiting for us right outside. Please follow me.”

You all followed Mr. Ahn out of the airport, where the cool evening air greeted us. Ash and Ella looked around in excitement, but Iseul had a mix of nostalgia and fear on her face. Knowing her past, you gave her a small squeeze on the shoulder, and she glanced over in appreciation. 

“Mr. Ahn, can we stop somewhere to eat?” Ella asked once we were all seated in the car. 

“Well, it's pretty late right now, so most restaurants would be closed, but we can stop at a 24-hour convenience store. My apologies, but there isn't any food at your accommodations right now.” 

You heard Ash whisper-yell a small yay under her breath before she decided to go back to watching videos on her phone. After that, you decided to zone out on your drive there, imagining and overthinking every possible scenario. 

Sleep didn't come easily to you the whole night, while others slept soundly after the long flight. Ever since you became a fan, Woozi has held a special place in your heart. Be it through his words, his songs, or his smile. You would wait days, often checking your phone like a depraved girlfriend and scrambling to open every notification in case Woozi posted something new. As sad and pathetic as it sounds, this is your normal. You worked on codes, you spent time with your friends, and you fangirled. Everyone knew this. And frankly, your life felt full to some extent. You never had time for anything or anyone else. Every single person you met was compared to Woozi in every aspect, and you knew how fucked up it was. He is an idol, for heaven's sake! No normal person would be this obsessed with someone they don't even know in person, but this was you. You've always found it easy to love from a distance, never knowing that love can be so self-consuming and overwhelming that you might lose a part of yourself in the process. But it was almost like you were addicted. You cried when they cried, and you laughed when they laughed. You felt proud when they achieved something and disappointed when they lost. Iseul once mentioned how this feels like a curse. To love someone so ardently and vehemently even after knowing that you never ever, not even in a million lifetimes, had a chance with this person. And perhaps she was right, because look at the mess you are in right now. You never wanted this. For you, Jihoon was a silly fantasy. Like a prince who would come sweep you off your feet, riding a white horse into the sunset. But this, this was real life. There are no princes and princesses, and there are no white horses. Just the same old you, who is a student, and your idol, Woozi. These agonizing thoughts consumed your mind until you somehow drifted off to sleep. 

The next day, you woke up to Iseul and Mr. Ahn talking by the door. She nodded in agreement at something he said. 

“Get up, girls; we leave in an hour.”

“TIME TO MEET JUNNIE LET’S GO!!!!,” Ash yelled and leaped from her bed to go take a shower. 

“Well, at least someone’s happy about this,"  Ella chuckled slightly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

Well, I guess here goes nothing…

The ride to the headquarters was silent. Everyone knew that this could potentially end badly. While the management assured me that they wouldn’t, they were still very powerful and strong and could change their minds in an instant. You could be sued and blacklisted, and honestly, none of you had that kind of money. 

“We’re here. We will be taking the backdoor because it's safer than the general entrance.”

The elevator ride to SEVENTEEN’s headquarters took forever. If this were under any other conditions, you would probably be elated to meet the people you have looked up to for so long. But right now, all you could do was try and calm your nerves so that you wouldn't go into a panic attack in front of your idols. Well, at least Ella and Ash seemed excited as they were talking in hushed whispers, whereas Iseul seemed deep in thought. The elevator dinged, signaling that we had reached it, and Mr. Ahn led us through the various doors till we reached the one beyond which stood our fate, waiting to meet us. 

The first thing you noticed was how familiar this room felt. Having seen various videos of the group doing challenges in this same space, it felt surreal to stand in the same space. 

Then you heard Ash quietly squeal and cover it up with a cough, and Iseul took charge and introduced herself. 

Last, you saw him. 

Standing here casually as ever, with his black hair slightly longer than before, was Jihoon. He was wearing an all-black outfit, but it seemed like he made an effort to clean up a bit, as you noticed a slight contrast from his usual behind-the-scenes outfit. He had a bored expression on his face, but his eyes had a glint of curiosity as he kept scanning the group till they landed on you. And you, flustered as ever, averted your gaze and slightly bowed your head in greeting. 

“It's very lovely to meet you. Thank you all for all the support you have given us.” You heard a deep voice on your side to see Scoups greet your group. 

“Well, we'll get to introductions later! Ms. Lee is waiting for us in the meeting room.” Mr. Ahn interrupted and led us all towards another door at the back of the room. 

You tried to keep a low profile, almost shrinking into yourself. A very small, tiny part of you was excited to finally meet them, but a huge part was scared as to what would happen next. 

As you all settled in the meeting room, a lady in her late 20s entered and introduced herself as Ms. Lee. She claimed to be their publicist, handling all major events for all members, from scandals to photoshoots to everything. 

“I know this isn't the most ideal situation for either party, and frankly, none of us thought it would blow so out of proportion. I mean, almost every other fan pretends to date their idol. It's one of the foundation concepts in this industry, as much as we hate to accept that.”

The members nodded in agreement and understanding and wanted the ground to swallow you whole. All those stupif things you said on Twitter at 4 a.m. when you were overworked and tired are being referenced, and oh my god, I think I'm going to die. 

“Anyways, the main reason we called you here today, Ms. Y/N, was to discuss how we should handle this. As this ‘plan’ could possibly affect the whole group as well as your friends, it makes it more feasible to discuss it with all of you. So, my team has been working out numbers, and a rumor tweet hasn't generated this much interaction for SEVENTEEN in a while. And we think it might be a good idea to play into it.” 

Everyone around us leaned forward in curiosity as to how we would ‘play into it.’

“Ms. Y/N, we want you to date Mr. Woozi.”

Pin-fucking-drop silence. You were pretty sure everyone even stopped breathing for a second. 

“Umm, and how exactly was this a good idea?” asked Mingyu from his end, the first one among us to react in any way. 

“Well, they don't have to actually date but rather fake date. We spin a story about how they met and fell in love. And while we don't confirm or deny anything officially, we can hint at certain things. And for the next comeback, Mr. Woozi can write a love song as the title track, referring to Ms. Y/N. They keep up this ruse for a few days, and then they'll ‘break up’. And the only way to confirm this? The theme of the comeback after that would be heartbreak. That or Mr. Woozi can drop a solo whatever he wants. With this, everyone would be immersed in this love story between a fan and an idol, especially those who belong in an industry where parasocial relationships are one of the main pillars. Given the rise in Mr. Woozi's popularity lately, it makes more sense to fabricate a scandal involving him. Plus, it's human nature to want something you can't have.”

“And what does Y/N get out of this? I’m pretty sure you’ve seen all the hate comments and speculations on Y/N life treding all over Twitter. And if she agrees to this, she will be thrown deeper into this hate circle, so she should at least get something in return. The group gets their comeback theme, Woozi gets the popularity, and so what will Y/N get? And I hope you know that Woozi would get just as much hate as Y/N, so what are your plans on handling that?” Iseul spoke up from beside you with the same fire in her eyes she had when she knew she had finally cornered her opposition in the courtroom. 

The table fell into a murmured discussion, contemplating the pros and cons of this. Ms. Lee looked as if she had expected this. “Well, we plan on signing a six-month contract with Ms. Y/N at first, after which, depending on the reaction to the initial part of the plan, we might add another six months. And as for what Y/N gets? We compensate her for all the defamation, libel, and slander she faces. The amount can be discussed when we finalize the contract and get a lawyer for Ms. Y/N. As for the hate Mr. Woozi might receive, well, there's not much we can do unless we know what kind of hate we will receive.”

“I am Y/N’s lawyer; you can tell me the specifics.” Iseul spoke up again, surprising a few in the room. 

“And I’m sorry to interrupt, but you should really work on protecting your artists more. That being said, you also need to protect Y/N. By all means. Get her security, a car, and everything,” Ash spoke up, surprising you, as this was the most serious she had ever been since we commenced this trip. 

“Fine, fine, we will provide Ms. Y/N with all the security she needs. Any other questions?” Ms. Lee said, exasperated.

You saw Hoshi giving Ash a small thumbs up, and she nodded in return. 

"Yes, actually,” you said for the first time ever since this proportion was revealed, “I’m guessing I would have to move here temporarily in case I was to agree.” You continued as Ms. Lee nodded, “Well, that could be an issue because I can’t leave lab work or my graduation will be delayed. And all my equipment, my supervisor, and everything else are back home. Moving midway is a very bad idea.”

Ms. Lee seemed to think over this for a moment. “Well, that does sound like a problem. We can set up a lab for you to work in here at one of the universities we have good relations with and get you a local supervisor. We can also talk to your supervisor back home and get them on board with the idea. We will have to work out the specifics of this. Anything else? I am assuming your friends will stay with you, so we can work out something for their jobs as well.”

“I can tell my firm to put all cases on hold and make Y/N my primary client.”

“Well, I’m part of a dance crew, but it’s about time I took a break. And I suppose you can hook me up with some groups around here as well.”

The three of you looked at Ms. Lee expectantly. She sighed and nodded. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. And you, Ms. Ash?”

“Hmm, I don't know if I can take a break for that long from the clinic. I guess I could say I’m taking a sabbatical or something. But you are going to refer me if anyone asks for a vet,” Ash said, crossing her fingers and placing her chin on it, looking innocently at Ms. Lee. She groaned and said, “Fine, fine, fine. Are Ms. Y/N you in or not?”

You looked over at Woozi, who was quiet this whole time. He seemed to be contemplating what he wanted, and you had an epiphany that Ms. Lee never once asked him if he agreed to this. He simply had to do whatever the company asked him to do. Your choice would affect not just you but him as well. And when your eyes met his, you saw doubt and fear swirling in them, similar to yours this morning. You decided you had to talk to him about this first before you made any choice. “Can I get some time to think about this? Maybe a day,” you said, slightly nodding at Woozi, hoping he’d understand what you meant. 

“Very well then,” Ms. Lee clapped. “You can let Mr. Ahn know whatever your decision is, and we can get started on the paperwork right away. Thank you all for today.” 

“Not going to lie, but that was the most frustrated we have ever seen Ms. Lee,” Vernon said once she left the room. 

“And compromising. She doesn't even listen or negotiate with me,” Jeonghan pointed out, surprised. 

The members and your friends decided it was best to spend some time together before they had to go for their practice. Amidst the chaos of introductions and questions, you decided it was the best time to corner Woozi and ask him if he was okay with this. You saw him standing at the back of the room, texting someone, as you approached him. 

“We need to talk.”

taglist: @toplinehyunjin @neo-moa @khhminimalist @theidontknowmehn @moose-1555 @kittyhui @ra1n7b33 @hamji-hae @miriamxsworld @khaos-sodivine @intoanothermind @ins4nebish

A/N: hope y'all liked this! this one took forever to finish and tbh I never planned on writing almost 2k words but oh well 😭 excited to hear your thoughts on this and reblogs are always appreciated! oh also! during y/n's inner monologue she keeps going back on forth between woozi and jihoon. that is so symbolise how she sometimes sees him as an idol and other times as this guy she likes. its super conflicting for her.

[chapel-of-rizztual]

I was wondering if you would possibly do a regressed ghoul with mama Aurora, please? Maybe some reassuring snuggles after a difficult ritual?

❤️

The show was cut short. It was no one’s fault, the storm had just gotten too dangerous for them to carry on. They were all devastated, obviously, but it was the best decision to keep everyone safe. 

They all kind of awkwardly stood backstage, not fully knowing what to do. The usual post show adrenaline wasn’t there, with them not being on stage for long enough. 

Aurora watched as Mountain stormed off the stage, the scowl on his face was evident even Through the mask. He didn’t say a word to anyone, just grabbed Swiss by the hand and dragged him into his dressing room, slamming the door behind him. 

Dew had laughed at him, saying something about ‘it should have been me’ and ‘pray for Swiss’ ass because he’s gunna need it.’ Rain had slapped his hand over Dew’s mouth before he could say anything else. 

Aurora wasn’t really paying attention, she was too busy looking for the one ghoul missing. Phantom. He was her summoning brother, her twin flame, she felt the connection of his presence more then the others. Which meant she felt his absence more. 

“Hey, has anyone seen Phantom? She asked, looking nervously around the ghouls. 

They all shook their heads at her, looking around between them like they’d only just realised he wasn’t there. 

“I haven’t seen him since he scampered off stage.” Rain replied to her, his hand still covering Dew’s mouth. “He ran off so fast.” 

“Check in my dressing room for him.” Cumulus smiles sweetly at her as she speaks. “He likes to hide in there sometimes.” 

Aurora takes off in the direction of Cumulus’ dressing room before anyone can say anything else.

Just like Cumulus had said, Phantom was on her dressing room, sat cross legged on the floor, picking fluff off the carpet. His helmet was still on but he’s pulled his balaclava down to his chin. He looked up hearing the door open. 

“Mama.” 

Aurora looked behind her to make sure Cumulus hadn’t followed her. 

“Mama? You want Cumulus? I can go get her she’s just down the hall.” 

Phantom pouts at her, shaking his head, making grabby hands towards her.  “Mama.” 

Aurora shuts the door carefully behind her.  “Me? I’m mama today?” 

Phantom nods, still making grabby hands towards her. She picks him up off the floor easily, she might be small but she’s strong. He wraps his legs around her hips, trying to bury his face into her neck but is stopped by his mask. He lets out a whine, pulling away from her neck with a sad pout on his face. 

Aurora laughs lightly at him, swaying them slightly where she stands.  “Why didn’t you take your mask off when you got off stage, bug?” 

Phantom points to the buckle under his chin.  “Tricky.” 

“Ah, I see. Couldn’t manage it on your own?” She undoes the buckle easily with one hand, pulling his helmet off, throwing it onto the sofa that’s pushed to the side of the room. 

Phantom shakes his head, fluffing his hair up and unglamouring his horns. He buries his head into her neck with a small sigh. 

Aurora sits down on the small sofa, moving Phantom so he’s sat more on her lap, keeping his head buried in her neck. He lets out a contented sigh, nuzzling deeper into her, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder. 

“What’s made you go so little, bug?” She runs her fingers through his hair, rubbing at his horns. “You don’t normally drop this fast.”  Phantom whimpers into her neck, fidgeting a little.  “Changed.” 

Aurora hums in realisation. “Ah, the schedule changed.” 

Phantom nods, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder harder. “I know, it’s hard when things change, huh?” 

Phantom wiggles down a little so his head is resting on her chest. “Don’t like it, mama.”  “Oh I know.” Aurora coos at him. “But you’re being so brave, are you? You didn’t even cry about it.” 

Phantom gives a little chuff. “Wanted to be brave for you, mama.” 

Aurora feels her heart melting out of her chest. “My brave boy, aren’t you?” She presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Hey, there’s one good thing about the show being over early.”

Phantom looks up at her with wide eyes, his pupils blown.“What?”  Aurora squeezes him close to her, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “It means we can cuddle more.” 

Phantom let’s put a chuff that turns into a purr, snuggling deeper into Aurora's chest, rubbing his cheek against her. 

“Oh, I knew you’d like that.”  Phantom thrills, his ears flicking. “Want all the cuddles please, mama.” 

Aurora rubs a hand down his back, rubbing small circles at the bottom of his back. “You can have all the cuddles you want, baby.”  The two stay cuddled up on the sofa for a long time. So long that they both end up falling asleep, tangled up together on the lumpy backstage sofa. That’s how Cumulus finds them later and she can’t help pulling her phone out to take a picture of the cute sight. 

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

[agirlunderarock]

Consequences

Summary: Obi-Wan gets protective of Ahsoka after finding out Anakin plans to use her to get into the Zygerrian slave camp. Some people are more willing to roll with the changes Obi-Wan wants to make to the plans than others.

Pairings: Obi-WanXSas (original female character)

Warnings: None- written for general audiences

A/N: This fic was inspired by artwork by @agingerpanda so please go show the post some love her artwork is wonderful!

Read on Ao3

“Alright, that should be everything,” Sas said to herself as she inspected the neat stacks of disguises she had put together for Anakin’s most recent “just crazy enough to work” idea for the mission to Kadavo. She placed her hands on her hips, whether with satisfaction with her handiwork, or an attempt to keep from fussing with her back brace, she wouldn’t admit to either. She would however admit that she was proud of the effort she put into putting the disguises together. Scrounging around for oddly specific helmets on the black market, or going through the trouble of buying a dress, taking it apart and making something completely new, weren’t exactly the skills she was pulled into the Grand Army of the Republic for, but she found she did enjoy the change. At least it was better than sitting around the Jedi Temple training halls or the clone barracks and running through her monotonous physical therapy routine.

“As our resident shapeshifter, recon consultant, and biggest critic of armor functionality I’m putting you in charge of our disguises,” Anakin had said. Sas had rolled her eyes at the time, but now as she rubbed the soft but stretchy teal fabric of the captive disguise, she felt really pleased with herself. She really did try to keep it simple, almost all functional, the dress being the exception. Well, Sas made it as functional as she could, with as little fabric as she had.

Anakin, Obi-Wan and Rex would be getting to her ship soon to try on their Zygerrian slaver disguises. Heat creeped its way up the back of her neck at the thought. She didn’t want to dwell much on why.  These were just mission things that had to be taken care of, and this time the mission included her shifting into a Togruta woman and being barely dressed. No big deal.

Sas took one quick breath to shake off the pre-mission jitters, and went to change. 

Okay so Sas actually did like the way the disguise fit her. She turned in the mirror, grinning as teal color complimented her green skin and dark hair. The fabric had some give at the top, so it was form fitting, though not tight. She had even managed to leave enough space that she could wear her back brace under it. With the gold necklace and the belt, all she would need to do is ask Anakin or maybe Boil if they could paint her brace the same gold color. She could make it look like the necklace, and the long spinal support was connected to the belt at her waist. She might need a second opinion on it, but truthfully the thought of heading back into the field after being out so long filled her with a nervous excitement.

At least that was what she told herself when she heard the ramp to her ship lower itself. It really shouldn’t have surprised Sas that Obi-Wan and Anakin were early, or that they came onto her ship without knocking, and yet she felt warmth inch its way up her neck again.

“You seem to know your way around here,” Anakin’s voice echoed down the metal halls.

“Only about as well as you know Senator Amidala’s apartment,” Obi-Wan replied. Sas could practically hear the smile in his voice. 

“You two are early,” she called down the small corridor as she walked to the ramp, “For once.”

“If we were going to be late, it would have been Anakin’s fault,” Obi-Wan called back, punching in the code to close up the ramp again. “Lucky for us I know how to keep to a schedule.”

“How would it be my fault? We came from the same place.”

Obi-Wan just ignored the question, “Rex will be here soon. I believe he was having lunch with Pyrrha-” He stopped for a moment as Sas met them in the main storage hold.

Sas watched the two jedi for a moment, Anakin averting his eyes to Obi-Wan, and the latter taking a moment to fuss with his beard under his chin. She wasn’t a jedi; she couldn’t read their emotions, but she could tell Obi-Wan was trying to figure out something to say.  “That's fine,” she started, “Pyrrha knows the code, they can just drop in when they’re ready to. I’ve got your gear sets on the table. Let me just walk you  both through everything. It’s not going to be nearly as comfortable as the duraplast you wear with your robes, but it gives more coverage so that should be good.” Sas was acutely aware of how cold her legs felt as the teal fabric swished with each step. Neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin were the kind to keep their judgements to themselves, so their silence felt heavier and awkward as she continued to ramble on. “So I also needed your opinion on this,” Sas continued, as she gestured to her back brace. “It fits well enough under it, but I thought if we spray painted it gold or something it might look like part of the costume or something-”

“Sas, what are you talking about?” Obi-Wan said at last.

By now the trio was standing in her small mess chamber, Sas leaned against the table as she turned to Obi-Wan, his brows furrowed low over his blue eyes. To anyone else, he might have looked frustrated, but Sas had found over the years it was a face he really made when he was more concerned.

“I just thought it would be better to work my brace into the costume, Anakin or maybe Boil could help me paint it. It wouldn’t take long,” she said. “Figured that would be better than me going without it. I’d be fine to go without it-”

“Sas, you’re not going on this mission,” Obi-Wan interrupted again. 

“What are you talking about Kenobi?” She challenged. “If I’m not going, what was the point of having me put all of this together? Having me put together the disguises?” She looked between the two jedi in confusion.

“So you could feel involved again-” Anakin quickly answered. “You have the best eye for things like this. I didn’t think you would take it to mean you were coming with us.”

“Regardless, Anakin, you could have done her the courtesy of telling her,” Obi-Wan said.

“Honestly, Sas, you’re still my first pick for this mission.”

“Anakin-”

“What? Sas has done plenty of undercover missions for us before. She’s perfect for this!”

“She was undercover as Padme, not being sent to a prison camp. What makes you think those two missions are comparable?”

Sas just crossed her arms and let them bicker back and forth. That was how these sort of things usually went. Truthfully, Sas thought she would have been medically cleared to return to the field by now. She wasn’t surprised though that Anakin hadn’t bothered to check or clear any of it with anyone. While she could say that her physical therapy had been going well, and she was infinitely stronger than she had been a few weeks ago, the implications of getting wounded or looking weak at prison camp, in the event she was rejected as a “gift,” didn’t give her much confidence in making it through the mission in one piece.

“Do I get a say in any of this?” She sighed. Both jedi stopped and looked at her. “Its fine, alright. I misunderstood. It’s fine. I don’t know who you got to fill in, I can see if I can make adjustments for Shaak Ti, I’m assuming you asked her-”

“Eh, Ahsoka is only a little shorter than you, she can make it work,” Anakin said with a shrug. “These my things?” he added as he picked up a stack of gear.

Sas blinked, once, then twice, then looked to Obi-Wan who seemingly turned to stone as he stared at Anakin before speaking again. “Anakin, am I to understand that in your eyes, the next best person to pretend to sell into slavery is Ahsoka, not just your padawan, but a child?”

“She’s a tough kid, and we’ll be there to keep an eye on her. She’ll pick up on the plan quickly. Ahsoka is used to our improvised plans. At least more than Shaak Ti or anyone else would be.”

Sas pressed her palms together, took a deep breath as she brought her hands up to her face before slowly letting out the breath and dropping them. She opened her mouth to call Anakin a few choice words, but stopped abruptly as Obi-Wan reached for his pile of gear with one arm, and with the other guided Sas away from the table by her waist. 

Sas told herself her stuttering was because she was abruptly cut off as Obi-Wan led her away. It definitely was not a reaction to the way his war worn hand sent a shiver of warmth through her when his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin of her exposed waist. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched her before, and yet she felt her heart fluttering with each step she took as he led her back to her cabin. There was no reason for her to feel so worked up. There was absolutely no reason for her heart to race as he adjusted his hand to the small of her back, just where her brace ended.

“My dear, I should apologize for the confusion,” Obi-Wan said as they stopped outside her door.

Sas furrowed her brows. Her mind was still ringing with him calling her ‘my dear’. She felt more warmth creep into her face, He had done it plenty of times before, but something about the way he said it coupled with his hand once again adjusting its position on her waist, left her brain buzzing.

His own blue eyes widened for a moment as he realized what he had done and abruptly pulled his hand away. “For the miscommunication,” he clarified as if he didn’t know he set every nerve ending across her skin ablaze.

“Oh that,” She said, giving a tired roll of her eyes. “It's just Anakin being stubborn. I should have known better than to try to squeeze my way onto the mission so soon.” Outwardly she gave a small teasing smile, “You know its probably for the best I sit this one out. You seemed so distracted when you walked in. I’d hate to mess up the mission because you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

To her surprise she heard Obi-Wan chuckle to himself  as she walked into her room. She looked back at him only to see a small smile of his own tugging at his lips from under his beard. “Yes, well fortunately for me, if you were going you would have shifted into someone else. Someone not nearly as distracting as you claim to be now.”

“I’m not claiming anything. Your silence spoke volumes Pretty Boy,” Sas teased. “It's fine, I understand. I’m just too hot for this mission. I get it.”

Obi-Wan just shook his head, but she could still see the small curve to his lips. He looked down the corridor for a moment before letting her door close behind him as he stepped further into her room. “Sas, it's alright if you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

He raised a brow in answer.

“Using the force to read my emotions is cheating,” Sas countered sitting on the edge of her bed. “I know I’m just too gorgeous for you to handle right now, but you could pretend to misread my body language like anyone else would.”

Obi-Wan let out a breath as he moved to sit next to her. “I know you’re deflecting by making jokes about how hot you are-.” “Its not a joke, I’m a legit snack.”

Sas hadn’t even realized she moved, until she felt Obi-Wan shift next to her and wrap his arm around her shoulders. Her throat closed up around half formed words as she tried to protest that she wasn’t upset. That she wasn’t disappointed, that she wasn’t worried about him.

“Sas, its okay. You don’t have anything to prove by going, or trying to hide that you’re upset.” She felt his chin rest on top of her head. “While I agree, you made a disguise that accentuates your beauty, I would prefer to have you well rested and in one piece. There will always be another mission-”

Closing her eyes and leaning into his hold, Sas let his words sink in for a moment. Of course she knew there would always be a next time. Even if she wasn’t serving on republic funded missions, there were always supply runs  that needed to be made for her home planet. Part of the problem was that there was always another mission and it had taken more than a few tolls on Obi-Wan and Sas. Physically and mentally they were drained, even if they tried not to show it.

“Maybe the next mission will be for us to take a vacation,” she whispered.

“That would be nice,” he hummed. 

They sat in silence for a while, neither in much of a hurry to change their clothes. It was comfortable and Sas was in no rush to disrupt the small moment of peace.

Anakin however, was eager. “Rex and Pyrrha are picking up Ahsoka, they’ll be here soon,” he called from down the corridor again.

Obi-Wan stiffened next to her. “He just doesn’t want to ask anyone else.” With his free hand, Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay but how many Jedi do you both actually know that would put themselves in that situation with you guys?” Sas asked as she slowly sat up.

“You’re not seriously defending him?”

“No, no I’m not.” Sas said quickly. “I just…understand only wanting to work with people who get your- uh preparation methods. That's why I was contracted through you and really only your unit for the GAR.”

Obi-Wan turned to her fully then. His blue eyes scanned her face, for what though Sas couldn’t say. She always understood those little extra moments of staring as Jedi things, that Obi-Wan just sometimes did. “Darling, you’ve just given me an idea. Take off the dress-”

“Excuse me there should be a please sprinkled in either before or after ‘take off the dress.’” Sas said.

Obi-Wan just blinked at her.

“I just mean, I’m not sure now is a good time for that- We can do that but i don’t think right this second is a good time-”

“Sas-”

“I get it, I look good in this disguise,” Sas was grinning at this point, as she thought she saw some red creeping around the edges of his ears.

“Sas, you know that's not what I meant.”

“No, I know, but it did get you to laugh.”

***

“How do I look?” Obi-Wan said at last. He held out his arms as Sas circled and inspected him in his new disguise.

“Honestly you look better than I did-” Sas said quickly as she adjusted the teal material stretched over his shoulder. She had added some fabric to the metal belt and necklace so that it would fit him. She hadn’t anticipated just exactly how the disguise would fit him. Truthfully she didn’t think the teal disguise would fit him at all. “There's a part of me that says I should be offended but,” she stood in front of him and reached out to adjust the top over his shoulder, “it makes your tits look better than mine.”

“Sas-”

“Fine, your pectorals, is that better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“This is barely going to cover your nipple-” Sas thought out loud as she reached to adjust the fabric but then quickly pulled her hands away. Fixing it over his shoulder was one thing, something about this felt different. This wasn't a necessity like when they trained together, or occasionally had to put and check each other's bacta pads. She took a step back studying the way the fabric clung to him, accentuating his muscle definition that usually hid under his robes.

“So we’re leaving it out? I suppose that would add to the appeal,” Obi-Wan said looking down at himself and then to Sas with a small grin. “But you would be the best person to speak on that, right Darling?”

Sas had to look away for a moment. She needed air. She felt warmth flood her face as she tried to look back to him to attempt to counter his teasing. All it took was a glimpse of his little teasing grin and the mischievous glint in those pretty blue eyes to make her heart flutter wildly in her chest. She had to look away again. He was only saying that because she was in charge of the disguises. That was all. Any flirting or comments before, even now, were just both of them being silly. That was all. Her ears burned. She spotted the last of the matching jewelry on her dresser, and took her chance to escape.

“I would be, if I was the one you were supposed to be charming and distracting,” She said once she could clear her head of his grin. She gathered up the head piece and the few rings she had found to match the belt.

“I suppose this would be good practice for me then?”

“The day you need to practice being charming, is the day Tatooine floods.” Sas held up the jewelry. “Besides, you need the finishing touches.”

 She offered him the rings and waited for him to slide them onto his fingers before holding up the head piece. She had expected him to just take it from her hands but instead he tilted his head down and leaned in toward her. Sas stopped breathing.

“Would you do the honors?”

Sas blinked. For half a second she thought he was going to kiss her cheek. He was close enough. She let out a breath and gave him a grin. He was just messing with her that was all. It wasn’t often that she got flustered and he was just taking advantage of that. Maybe even trying to get her mind off the disappointment of not going with them.

“Of course, Love,” she finally answered as she set the crown on his head. She did her best to set the small combs on the edge in his hair without making it look silly. Once it was securely in place she dropped her hands to her sides and looked up at him. “All done. Are you sure you want to do this? Rex, Pyrrha and Ahsoka could show up at any second.”

“Anakin only wanted people he knew well on this mission. Who better to take this role, but me?”

Sas just laughed. “Well if you change your mind, at least we know your other disguise fits too.”

“You did a wonderful job with both Sas,” Obi-Wan assured her as he clasped her shoulder.

“You want me to go ahead of you, make it more dramatic?” “If you would be so kind.”

“He’s going to be so mad.”

“Maybe he should have done what we agreed on then.”

Sas let out another laugh before composing herself and stepping back to the mess table. Anakin had apparently just decided to try to fit the armor over his robes, which worked, but anyone who knew Jedi robes would be able to see through the disguise. Sas felt less bad for him as she watched him slide the helmet over his head.

“What was the point in having me put together actual disguises if you were just going to put the armor on over your robes?” Sas asked as she plopped down on the bench and propped her head on her arms on the table. “It would have saved me a lot of time, you know.”

“Well its about time you’re back. What happened, the old man couldn’t dress himself?” Anakin said, turning to look down the hall waiting for his former master still.

“Well…something like that- You laced up the shoulder piece wrong by the way.”

“Can you fix it for me then?” Anakin asked, turning his back to the hallway again.

“I don’t know, last I heard only old men couldn’t dress themselves.”

“Sas, come on-”

“Fine, stop your fussing. Come here.” Sas shifted so she was kneeling on the couch and motioned for Anakin to stand in front of her facing the hallway again. “Just sit still, this will only take a second.”

“Then what’s taking Obi-Wan so long?”

“Well he’s wearing everything exactly the way I said to so-”

“Obi-Wan, what are you wearing?” Anakin exclaimed.

Obi-Wan stood at the edge of the room,standing a little taller and straighter, really attempting to test how well the fabric of the disguise would hold together. Now that Sas had a moment to catch her breath and clear her head, she took a moment to fully appreciate the lengths Obi-Wan went through to get back at Anakin. Revenge may not be the Jedi way, but Sas thought she was starting to understand why.

“Anakin stop moving-” Sas tried not to laugh as she yanked on the armor making him face Obi-Wan as he tried to look away from the Jedi Master.

“My disguise Anakin, I thought it was obvious,” Obi-Wan answered.

“Why are you wearing Ahsoka’s-”

“Oh no, Sas and I agreed this disguise was much too big for Ahsoka. We’ll just let her know she won’t be accompanying us on this mission.” 

Anakin tried to lift one of his arms to shield his eyes, but Sas just pulled on another one of the ties in the shoulder armor to get him to lower his hand. “Fine I’ll send holo to Shaak Ti, I’m sure-”

“Are you kidding?” Sas started, “You think she has time to make it all the way from Kamino? You leave tomorrow and you can’t pick her up on the way.”

“After all Anakin,” Obi-Wan cut in, “You did say you would prefer to work with someone who was familiar with- how did you describe it- your preparation style?”

“Fine, I’ll find someone else!”

“Frankly Anakin there's no one in the Order who knows you better than I do. It only makes sense that I should take this role.”

“I think it's a bit late for that, Ani-'' Sas said, finally letting go of the armor straps and letting him step away.

“Come on, Obi-Wan take it off. You’re not posing as the slave,” Anakin said, though he still wouldn’t look directly at Obi-Wan.

“Oh no, I believe I fit your requirements better than Ahsoka could.”

“I’ll find someone else, it won’t take me long.”

“No, you said you wanted someone with more experience following your plans, and these are the consequences for not making a proper plan.”

Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose. “There's gotta be someone else-”

“Someone else for what-” Ahsoka’s voice trailed off as she stopped in the opposite entrance.

Sas kept her grin contained as Rex, Ahsoka, and Pyrrha stood in the main hall staring in shock at Obi-Wan. Even though they were all struck differently, it was nice to know she wasn’t the one. Rex and Ahsoka shared similar wide eyed expressions of complete shock, Anakin still wouldn’t look directly at his former Master, and Pyrrha, clutching her helmet, was trembling as she tried to contain her laughter.

“Oh nothing,” Obi-Wan answered the padawan as he crossed over to lean against the couch next to Sas. “Anakin was just thinking I should be replaced. He should know better than that though.”

“Besides, General Kenobi here would get a much better deal than anyone else  we would pretend to sell,” Sas chimed in, as she shifted to give him a high five, only to have him clasp her hand in his. Her heart stopped for just a second, but she kept her hand in his.

“It’s not going to make any sense- we need a Togruta to get into the camp,” Anakin complained.

“Well, you do like to improvise, so we’ll improvise,” Obi-Wan answered calmly.

Ahsoka’s brows knitted together as if she were finally starting to make the connection. “I’m definitely not going to wear that,” she muttered, eyeing Obi-Wan skeptically.

“No, you’re not,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “It was already settled. I will be sold off, Anakin and Rex will be the ones to do that. Pyrrha, you may need to take Sas’ place as the third guard since she’s not medically cleared for the mission.”

Pyrrha finally wheezed out the giggles she had been trying to contain. “Wait, I thought the plan was to have four keepers.”

“I mean I have extra gear but that's going to be up to Anakin and if he can stick to the plan this time,” Sas teased.

Anakin sighed, “Yeah sure let's have four, Pyrrha you can switch with Obi-Wan, or maybe Jankari will do it-”

Before Pyrrha could answer, Obi-Wan spoke up again, “No, you just said he had to have a Togruta to get in the prison camps. A human woman isn’t going to get us any closer. I’m your best chance.”

“Master Jedi, Republic High General, makes him a valuable catch, on top of you know the look he has going for him,” Sas added, earning an eye roll from her friend across the room.

“Unless of course you’d like to volunteer to be the captive,” Obi-Wan continued looking pointedly at Anakin. “I’m sure Sas could make some last minute modifications-”

Anakin threw his hands up, “NO.”

“Then it’s settled,” Obi-Wan said, his grin growing wide under his beard.

“Wait one more thing,” Pyrrha started. Rex just tensed up next to her. Clearly the captain just wanted to grab his gear and go. “We gotta get a receipt for Kenobi when we sell him. They might try to get a refund for him after having him around for a while.”

“Oh no, there's no exchanges or returns for this sale,” Obi-Wan said with a small head shake.

“ Is that why Sas hasn’t been able to get rid of you yet?” Pyrrha added with a snicker.

Sas looked up at Obi-Wan, who was looking back down at her, and their hands still clasped together. She couldn’t get rid of him even if she wanted to, is what she wanted to say and she even offered him a small smile. He could probably tell what she was thinking anyway, nothing she said out loud would really matter. So instead she turned back to the group, Anakin had already disappeared down another hall to remove his armor, and said, “Hey Ahsoka, you wanna take Pyrrha’s place as a guard?”

“Does it mean I have to deal with more of,” Ahsoka gestured to the general area between where Anakin walked off and where Obi-Wan was still standing, “this?”

“Probably.”

“I think I’d rather deal with the younglings all week.”

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

Thank you as always for reading, commenting and sharing. I hope you enjoyed :3

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[blossomwritesthings]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭

part two of do you feel my hand? it is there. | part one | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader's childhood cat suddenly gets diagnosed with cancer, and she has to make a big decision about what to do. this fanfic includes heavy topics like: pet euthanasia, extreme loss/grief, depression, the problems with pet healthcare, and more. there will be some humor/fluff placed throughout, and also smut somewhere along the way. :))

18+ warnings: masterbation. sexual fantasies. kinda perv behavior but not really??

word count: 3.0k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

a/n: i seriously contemplated on whether or not I should post this chapter, after all of the events of this week. I want to make sure that I am cautious and sensitive to everyone during such a painful time. but in the end, I decided to post this since perhaps, it might help a few of you out there who are dealing with so many emotions right now. I cried while I was writing this last week because it brought up so many feelings that I felt when I had to put down my dog almost 2 years ago. so if this chapter make you sad, please don't feel bad about that or think that you're alone, because I swear that you're not. next week's chapter will be a little bit on the lighter side of things (but just barely). take care of yourselves, okay?? take everything one day at a time. allow yourself to feel a plethora of things, or nothing at all. everyone is different and processes things at a variety of paces. this isn't a race, this is life. and as always, my asks/dms are always open if you just need to vent to a listening ear. I love you guys, and... stay strong, yeah?? ❤️

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

You decided to schedule the appointment on a Sunday afternoon, that way you’d be off of work. Since the night you had spent with Dr. Lee in the waiting room after hours three weeks before, he had continually checked up on you throughout the weeks by way of numerous phone calls. And it felt like, with each one that passed, they seemed to grow longer, as the two of you talked about everything and nothing - all in hopes of trying to get your mind off of the imminent date. 

 From your daily phone calls, you had gleaned some valuable information from Dr. Lee - like the fact that he had been single since he opened up the clinic three years prior since it was pretty hard to keep up a long-term relationship when he was so busy with clients and managing a successful business. 

 You didn’t even know how the topic of romantic adventures came up in your daily wellness calls, but all at once, you were confiding in Dr. Lee about your most recent boyfriend which had broken up with back in university. But you didn’t go into too much detail about the relationship, and you skimmed over the… bad parts of it all. 

  You alluded to your horrible breakup with your ex during the conversation, and you briefly mentioned your ex’s awful treatment of you at the very end of the relationship - but you never crossed the line of professionalism and confessed to all the bitterness you still held for your ex. No, you didn’t think Dr. Lee needed to know such intimate details about your life. But also, he probably wouldn’t care. After all, the phone calls were only a means to an end… 

 And besides, no one else in the entire world knew the extent of your old relationship, so you didn’t see any point in telling a random veterinarian about such a dark part of your past.

 The calls seemed to help somewhat - if only to take your mind off of the looming date. But then, as soon as Dr. Lee hung up, your thoughts were clouded with the pain of losing Nyx all over again. 

 Slowly, you were watching her deteriorate. Dr. Lee warned you that things would go downhill quite fast, and fast they did - since Nyx hardly wanted to eat her meals anymore, even when you’d try to coax her with her favorite treat of a fresh sardine. She was incredibly lethargic and because of the weight loss that she experienced from the lack of an appetite, her thinness only caused more pressure to be put on her legs, which was where the cancer was located. 

 Throughout it all, Dr. Lee did a tremendous job of preparing you for the day - the day that you were expecting to take the place in your mind as the worst moment in your entire life. The two of you planned it so that his schedule was completely free for the procedure. Originally, he told you that he usually doesn't accompany his clients into the euthanization room, and instead leaves it up to the vet techs to take care of the protocol. But without you even having to ask him, he assured you that he’d be with you the entire time - that he’d be the administer of the drug. Because he already knew, that having anyone else there with you wouldn’t help, not in the least bit. Sure, Yongbok and Hyunjin and Seungmin were good techs, but nothing could compare to the utterly calming presence that Dr. Lee alluded… with his soft, brown eyes and his slight smile and- 

 You were thinking about him again- damn it. 

 Because besides being cluttered with the pain of losing Nyx, your mind was also full of so many thoughts about… him. 

 And how, ever since that night in the clinic, he had continued to call you by your first name. No honorifics, no pretense. And even though he felt familiar and warm to you, you still felt somewhat uncomfortable to drop the doctor title. You wondered if he thought it was odd, how he was addressing you informally, and yet you were still doing the ‘keep it professional’ bit.

 When you were busy working at your desk throughout the day, you found your eyes constantly moving over to the side to check your phone. To see if he had called you.

 While you were eating your packed lunch by yourself in your office’s break room, your mind kept replaying the way that it had felt, when he had touched you that night - with those slender fingers and warm palms of his. 

 When you were lounging on your apartment’s small sofa, watching tv before you went to bed, your thoughts drifted off to the sound of his voice, and the way that he always said your name so delicately. 

 But perhaps worse of them all, is what you would do late at night, when you lay wide awake wrapped up in your duvet covers in bed. Because instead of thinking about Nyx, your musings drifted off to him, yet again.

 And perhaps it had something to do with your exhaustion from the end of the day, 

 Or the fact that it was so very dark in your bedroom, 

 But more often than not, your imagination would get the best of you, and all at once, things were turning deeper, dimmer…

 Flashes of him, and that smile that he always gave you when he first saw you during a visit, danced across your vision, 

 As you imagined what he’d look like, staring you down, bright eyes glued to your exposed self. 

 You dreamed about that pretty, red mouth of his, lips turning kiss-swollen and sticky from your very essence. 

 You wondered how it’d feel, to have him towering over you, whispering sinful words into your ear with that sly tongue of his, as he pressed you further down into the bedsheets. 

 And when those thoughts came upon you, you just… couldn’t help yourself. 

 Hand playing with yourself- 

 Grazing over pert buds, 

 Tickling a sensitive waist, 

 Spreading swollen lips, 

 Brushing against a throbbing knot, 

 Pushing past folds and curving inward. 

 And every time, the only thing that crossed your mind, was him. 

 Him - and his smell and his voice and his built frame. 

 In those heated moments of twilight, you only ever made one single sound as you thrashed about between your thick duvet covers…

 “Minho.” 

 The name fell from your bitten-raw lips in whispers, cries, and pleas. 

 Maybe it was because you hadn’t been with a man in so long, 

 Or maybe it was because you were a grown woman and so naturally, you were extremely horny most of the time. 

 But all at once, as you delved into such fantasies late at night, you realized that the attraction to him had always been there. 

 You had just tried to mask it with honorifics and professionalism since you didn’t want to cross any lines. Since you figured that a man of his stature - of wealth and success - would never stoop so low to date a woman like yourself. 

 Even still, none of that stopped you. 

 Stopped your midnight explorations or the way that he seemed to inherently infect your very being with every breath that you took throughout the day. 

 But eventually, the crest of sadness took over everything again, as the day finally came to a head. To your relief, the weather outside on that Sunday afternoon was bright and sunny. You didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if it had been grey and drizzling. 

 You stopped just outside of the clinic’s doors, forcing yourself to take a good look at it all, as you held Nyx in her carrier at your side. It’d be the last time that you stepped through these doors with her in hand. 

 And that’s when the tears started. They silently traced down your cheeks, even as you shuffled through the clinic’s front doors slowly. The bell above your head signaled your arrival, and as if on cue, Jisung and Chan’s heads turned in unison from their computers at the front desk to where you stood at the entrance of the clinic. 

 In an instant, Jisung was getting out of his chair and flitting over to you. “Hi, Y/N,” he said in a soft voice, offering you a gentle smile. “Hi, Nyx.” He bent down in front of you, peering into the black carrier and cooing at your cat. 

 “How long is the wait time?” You asked, voice shaky as you clutched a little harder on the handle of the carrier. 

 Jisung peered up at you then, his big, doe-like brown eyes shining with compassion. “About ten minutes.” 

 You nodded without saying another word, as you began to make your way over to the front desk to check in for your appointment. The entire time you spoke with Jisung, Chan had been watching the two of you in silence, assessing the atmosphere and displaying a compassionate face.

 “Ji said it’s gonna be ten minutes.” Is all you said, as you stood in front of the wooden front desk. You couldn’t meet their eyes anymore, your vision too blurry with tears. And frankly, their pity just made you feel even worse just then.  

 “Yeah, that’s about right,” Chan began, typing away at his computer. Then he slid over a clipboard and had you sign your name at the end of the document. Signing away on the procedure. Signing away on Nyx’s life. “And… I’m so sorry, Y/N.” 

 “Me too.” You whispered before you were pulling away from them and taking a seat near the doors to the back of the clinic. Usually, while you waited for your appointment, you’d scroll through social media on your phone or pick up a nearby magazine and peruse the articles. 

 This time, you just sat there. You sat there in utter despair and silence, before deciding to pull out Nyx from her carrier. She was a little less warm than she had always been, and the thinnest you had ever seen her. Even still, she looked beautiful to you. You pressed your face into her midnight-black fur, taking in the sweet smell of her and nuzzling into her pliable skin. 

 “I love you so much, girl,” you muttered into her coat, before giving her a few kisses. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you…” 

 The minutes ticked by slowly after that, as you clutched on protectively to Nyx. As you kissed your childhood best friend. As you fought for the last seconds spent with the single most stable thing in your entire life. 

 And then, you heard the fateful call of your name ring out across the waiting room. You stood from your chair, muscles moving like they were trapped in a vat of sticky molasses. Your gaze was fixated on the ground at your feet, so you didn’t see who had called your name. 

 “Right this way,” it was Hyunjin’s angelic-like voice that graced your ears, as you walked through the threshold and into the back hallway of the clinic. You felt his hand land atop your shoulder, his slender fingers gently squeezing there in a soothing gesture. 

 Then he was leading you through the back hallways, past the examination rooms that you had sat in with Nyx countless times. Finally, he stopped just in front of a door that was painted in a baby-blue color. 

 “The doctor will be right with you,” Hyunjin began, his tone ghostly-faint and fading away behind you as your eyes locked with the room you were about to be left alone in. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.” 

 You didn’t even register the door being shut closed behind you, too focused on the decorations that were placed throughout the room. The walls were painted a sky-blue, with a beautiful stain-glass window in the center of the room. The scene depicted a magnificent sunset, bursting with colors that were burnt cayennes and violets. The room was quite small, but the bright, real flowers placed throughout the area helped to add life to the otherwise depressing atmosphere - with their brilliant yellows and reds. Just underneath the stained glass window was a small pedestal that was covered in a thick duvet and plastic rap, and off in the corner of the room was a sliding glass window with a curtain shielding the other side of the glass. 

 You sat down on the nearby bench, looking at everything around you. Looking at the pedestal that was before you - where Nyx would be laid to rest. And it felt like your heart was bleeding irrevocably inside of your chest, straining and pumping at the same time as you tried to come to terms with the situation at hand. 

 At least she was going to join the afterlife in a safe space - at least it was beautiful looking and- 

 Your thoughts were interrupted by the shutting of the door that you had originally walked through. Lifting your head from Nyx who was peacefully dozing in your arms, you came face-to-face with Dr. Lee. He was dressed in his usual garb of black slacks and a white doctor's coat. 

 “How are you doing, Y/N?” Was the first thing he asked, as he shut the door behind him and neared you. He knelt in front of your knees, taking both of your hands in his and giving them a gentle squeeze. 

 That’s when you managed to find the courage to look up into his eyes finally, and the heartache and pain that you found there just made it hurt a little bit more. You felt your bottom lip quake, as the sobs freely flowed from you. You didn’t even have to reply since he already knew how difficult this was for you. So he kept quiet, not moving from his position in front of you and holding onto you as you cried yourself to exhaustion. 

 “I-I’m ready,” you finally said, roughly scrubbing at your eyes with the palm of one of your hands to try and knock some sense into yourself. 

 “Are you sure?” He questioned, the concern dripping in his voice from the way that it deepened somewhat. 

 You nodded furiously, heart hurting so much that it felt like you were going to drop dead from a heart attack any minute. “Y-Yeah.” 

 Then his hands were slipping away from yours, leaving a fierce shiver to course down the length of your spine at the absence of his touch. He stood close to the curtained window and tapped on the glass once, and you turned your head to the side just in time to glimpse Yongbok pushing the glass aside before he handed over a metal dish that had a small syringe placed in it. 

 You swallowed around the huge lump that was forming in your dry throat. And when Yongbok offered you a sincere, comforting smile, all you could do was nod once before he was shutting the glass door again, pulling the curtain closed to give you and Dr. Lee some privacy. 

 Then it was all happening at once - too quickly for you to even grasp - as Dr. Lee was gently taking Nyx from your grasp and laying her down on the cushioned pedestal. She put up no resistance and nudged her little black nose into the palm of his hands, purring in satisfaction. She had always had a soft spot for the doctor. 

 You stumbled over to her, grabbing hold of one of her paws and squeezing it delicately. You peered up at Dr. Lee through hazy eyes, his face a blotch of color shining through your tear-stained vision. “P-Promise me it’ll be painless, doctor. You- you have to promise me…” Your voice broke off at the end of your words, as you leaned down into Nyx and pressed kiss after kiss into her silky fur. 

 “She won’t feel a thing, Y/N. I promise.” You heard Dr. Lee say before he was moving again, picking up one of her paws in bated silence. You felt his eyes on you, as you cried into Nyx’s warm skin for the last time. 

 “I love you so much, girl…” You whispered, voice barely audible to your ears. Cracking irrevocably. “I’ll see you again someday- so... just wait for me there, yeah?” 

 Then, almost like she could understand your words, Nyx moved her head over to your neck and nuzzled into you, purring lowly. The sobs wracked through your body, as you felt Dr. Lee leaning into her at the same time as you held her close. 

 You squeezed your eyes shut, like if you closed them long enough, everything would disappear. 

 The pain, 

 The loss, 

 The fear. 

And then just like that, Dr. Lee was sighing heavily, a metric ton of agonizing weight in just his breathing alone. “It’s done.” 

 In the blink of an eye, it was all over. 

 You clutched onto Nyx’s languid body, holding onto her for dear life. Perhaps, if you held her long enough, she’d come back. 

 But nothing happened. 

 There was no more purring, 

 Or meowing, 

 Or scratching. 

 Just… 

 Utterly nothing. 

 Silence. 

 And that was the worst part about it all. 

“It hurts,” you began, voice not even sounding like your own from all of the dryness and the crying, “it hurts so fucking much.” 

 You were shaking your head then, still clutching at one of Nyx’s little pink paws. Then you felt arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against a firm chest. Hands clutched at your sides, and you all but turned around to bury your face into the warmth of Dr. Lee. 

 “I know,” he said in a hushed tone, his deep, melodic voice so close to your ear that it sent a ripple of shivers across your skin. “I know it hurts, Y/N, but I’m here…” 

 And then you could do nothing more, 

 As a new wave of grief washed over you, 

 Suffocating the very air right out of your lungs, 

 Drying out your entire being, 

 Causing the dull pain of a bad headache to bloom across either of your temples. 

 All you could do at that point was cry and cry and cry, your entire body violently shaking as you held onto Dr. Lee for dear life. And he made no point of pulling away from you. Almost like, he had planned to be there all along. 

To be continued...

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©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

[mylifeforchloe]

This a little abnormal for my blog as far as the kinds of posts I make, but I feel like this kind of a Public Service Announcement (PSA) is necessary for the fandom. Things like this make me really concerned-- not only for the LIS3:DE (new Max story) story that is going to be told, but also for the quality of working environment for those who work at Deck Nine.

Quotes from the linked article that bothered me...

[Edit: Original post was a link post with text after. I saw the link in the edit screen and scheduled the post. For some reason this caused the link to get removed when the article was actually posted. Editing to put the link in the original article. I also posted a follow up (before editing the original) to include the same info. Editing original for completeness only.]

Nazi imagery would be inappropriate in most games, but in a Life Is Strange title the dissonance was especially frightening.

...

According to over a dozen current and former employees across several departments, most of whom spoke to me on condition of anonymity for fear of reprisal, Deck Nine’s management has long let a toxic work culture fester at the studio. They claim the C-suite has protected multiple abusive leaders, encouraged crunch, and allowed bullying of individuals advocating internally for more authentic representation in Life Is Strange.

...

When they saw this version of the [True Colors] scene, a number of people pushed back, arguing that the scene would unintentionally trigger associations with date rape.

...

“It took a three hour meeting in the writers room and one of the writers sharing an extremely personal story to get Zak to agree to get the content out,” said Littleton. “It wasn’t about us not wanting to have difficult topics in there, but Life Is Strange shines because that type of content is chosen extremely deliberately and it’s given runway, it’s given space to breathe. This detail is irrelevant to the plot, it would have been traumatic for players, and there was no space to unpack it. We don’t have time to talk about what it means for Alex to be roofied by a man she trusted.”

fuuu...

Another anonymous source recalled Garriss suggesting that this pushback was only occurring because he was making a game about a woman, and that he wouldn’t have to deal with this if he was making a game about Nathan Drake.

fuuuuu...

[After Garriss' quit voluntarily] Once news got out [that Deck Nine mamagement wanted to re-hire Garriss], the narrative team erupted. Multiple people begged management not to bring back Garriss in a series of meetings, messages, and emails. One person familiar with leadership at the company recalls HR stepping in, noting that management was actively underpaying a number of workers, especially women, while considering a massive salary for Garriss. HR allegedly suggested that Deck Nine could be legally liable for Garriss’ behavior if they invited him back after the bevy of reports. When the company CEO and CFO persisted in arguing that they needed Garriss, multiple writers handed in resignations.

fuuuuuuuuu...

And given that what we've seen in the teaser videos are either

Missing any reference to Chloe

Including a minimalist reference (like a photo on the wall)

Including an awkward reference (Safi? asking Max about the blue haired girl in the picture Max keeps.)

And given that

3a - Either Bay ending, Max keeps a photo of Chloe from before the storm, or

3b - Max keeps a photo of Chloe, but Chloe isn't in her life (possibly not in her life any longer.)

And given that

Costs of developing a story where Chloe is present in only half of the story (the Bae ending version) and the ripple effect that might have on the plot...

I simply do not believe that Chloe will be a meaningful component. And the choices Max is making across dimensions, and the risk of not getting back to Chloe if she were still alive and still part of Max's life... the plot shown doesn't make any sense to me.

So I wasn't going to buy LIS3 to begin with, not without a proper story that included Chloe's presence in Max's present life. And now, after this article, I'm even less likely to buy [anything from D9, ever again,] knowing the cultural depravity of the development studio.

I would, of course, love to be wrong on all counts.

[restlesschilled]

TMagP 013

Note: As Always, I am a backer so this was written 23 April, 2024 and scheduled to be posted on 25 April, 2024

oh god its another episodes written by Alex

awww thanks odin <3

Im dreading this

PRE STATEMENT/ CASE

OHHH DATE TIME

THE FLIRTING

This is so cute but i cant trust it because alex wrote it

"that you dont know how cute you are" adshfjagdhflakshdf

WERE STARTING WITH THE BIG STUFF

"hi im from an alternate universe"

CELIA IS A MOM

JACK IS HER BABY

"i had a while few years when I first moved here"

IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO CELIA OR JACK I WILL RIOT

HOW DARE

SHES A SINGLE MOM

"that depends on your baggage. DISH"

"they were the first ones that didnt want me" oooooooo\

Alice's Parents are dead good to know

"most pathetic vague post shes ever scene"

"more wine" "please"

LENA OFFICE

GWEN MY POOR BABY

"is it my fault?"

MY POOR PRECIOUS GIRL

"were managing the bad guys" FUCK

CASE

this hold music is a BOP

i had to stop and have my friend explain public school in England to me because that is not the same thing as American public schools

oh lovely a "fiance guy"

a hedge fund guy what i mean is a hedge fund guy

Why in gods name, would you use experimental setting on a hedge fund/ investing app… when you have no idea what it does and it has a shit tone of disclaimers??? i get being desperate but that's just stupid

also the irony of this guy saying hes a good person when hes betting on people failing with hedge funds

do people even steal phones anymore?

i feel like they are not worth all that much and just have to many ways to tack them for it to be worth anything unless you are targeting someone specifically

yeah i figured they might have targeted him

im pretty sure this would qualify as inside trading somehow

betting against your own company and than tanking the company is very illegal

pretty sure betting you'll have a shit time and then making sure you have a shit time would be the same thing

basically this man is committing insurance fraud... but through a hedge fund

it just occurred to me hes calling from the hospital that's what the beeping is

also vertigo mentioned

he was attack by computer bugs lol

shitty "finance guy" gets whats coming to him asmr

post statement

okay i know sam probably mean "be professional" like stop with the flirting

BUT WHEN YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT I SOUND LIKE YALL HAVE BEEN HOOKING UP AFTER WORK SOMETIMES.

HAVE YALL BEEN HOOKING UP?

this is how i choose to interpret this this is my new head canon( it was already kinda my head canon)

But if you ever ask me to be professional again, I'm going to have to take a shit on your desk." ALICE

"you signed the official secrets act in your onboarding. And I know all your school friends say treason's 'bussin'' and 'fire', but it won't look good on your CV." i love her so much

"its fine when I say it"

this episode really said fuck capitalism didn't it

also do week need to talk about the fact that celia's son is named Jack Ripley like jack the ripper

WAIT A SECOND JACK IS A NICKNAME FOR JOHN/JON

DID SHE NAME HER SON AFTER JON?