#she manages to make a joke about pegging even though she does NOT know what that is

[heavencasteel420]

I like writing Carol because she's always saying some crude shit that doesn't totally hold up to examination.

[coffeedepressionsoup]

Somebody Does Love | MYG - He Thinks Nobody Knows

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where his friends rallied around him to own up to his feelings. Part 6 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 2.7k+

Warnings - mentions of drinking, swearing

Ratings - 13+

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity

A/N - Apologies yet again! This took forever to finish. Even on days that I thought I would finish it, either my body would betray me and doze off or my head refused to cooperate. Hope you have fun though. Idk what it is about flustered Yoongi that fills my heart up so much! Not proofed.

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“One more time guys! Come on,” Jungkook urged, half panting, hands on his hips. He looked at Taehyung who was beside him a second ago but now was sprawled on the floor of the dance studio. This new choreography was tiring. 

“Let’s break for 10,” Justin, the choreographer, said. The dancers agreed and dispersed to different sides and corners of the room. Namjoon, Jin and a couple of other dancers left to get some juice from the cafeteria vending machine.

Yoongi plopped down on the floor at one end of the room, dragged his bag towards him and fished out his phone. He smiled down at the message that he saw first and honestly, was anticipating all day long. He typed out a quick reply, with the same smile plastered on his face.

Jimin, standing in front of him, opening a bottle of water, asked, “Is Y/N coming along then?” Yoongi nodded his head, almost involuntarily and then stopped typing and snapped his head up with a frown replacing the smile, almost comically, making the younger one laugh.

“Stop peeping into my phone!” he said.

“Nobody is peeping shit.”

“How’d you know then?”

“You had that stupid Y/N smile on.”

“What Y/N smile?”

Hoseok groaned from a little further away and said, “You guys should really just fuck already,” earning an eye-roll from the older man. He shook his head at the hint of denial and added, “You have that stupid lovestruck little grin on your face whenever you’re around her or even at the mention of her!” 

Yoongi’s cheeks and ears turned bashful red as he went back to his phone and muttered, resting his back against the wall, “I am not lovestruck.”

Jimin let out a chuckle at that and looked towards Hoseok who rolled his eyes this time but with a knowing smile.

Yoongi still felt flustered, an unexplainable nervousness wracking his head. He brought the phone closer to his face as he saw the animated typing bubble pop up on the chat. At Aera’s party, he had gathered enough courage to ask for her number, directly. It was not smooth. Or very subtle. But it did the job. That is enough for now.

“I just realised that we don’t have each other’s contacts yet,” Yoongi muttered, feeling his cheeks and ears heat up.

“You’re right,” Y/N nodded, leaning against the chair he was sitting on. She pulled her phone out, “Tell me your number, and I’ll leave a text.”

They were about 7 or 8 pegs in, each. Yoongi managed to start and sustain a few short conversations with Y/N so far when she was not engaged with her other friends.

Even when she was not talking with him, Yoongi’s attention was stuck on her. Watching her laugh, frown, dance with the others. He tried to not stare but he was not sure he succeeded much. He also learnt of how Aera first met Y/N on a holiday in Brussels. He tried and absorb as much information as he could. Audio. Visual. Anecdotal. 

Ever so often he realised that there is so much about Y/N that he does not know yet. A part of him was resolute to know more. At par with the others, whom she has had core memories and inside jokes with. Another part was hesitant. What if his interest is unwelcome? What if he is being selfish and inconsiderate?

Soon after, Dojoon and Jaehyeong proposed that the group (present at the "party") take a weekend trip to Sokcho. There were also a couple of days of public holidays, and Hajoon owned a beach house to comfortably house them all.

From the surprised look on the drummer’s face, it was clear that his bandmates did not consult him on the matter. But Hajoon enthusiastically agreed. He offered to drive up a day ahead and make all arrangements.

Sammy and a few others had preplanned personal or professional engagements in those days. But most people around the room agreed.

Yoongi had not said anything yet. As people around him started murmuring plans, his eyes went to Y/N. She glanced at Sammy and shook her head.

He felt his heart skip a beat.

Soon Jaehyeong pulled Y/N up from the armrest of the sofa that she was resting against, coaxing her to dance and spoke louder over the music and the chatter. “No excuses, you are coming.”

“Yeah I will take care of Ash, don’t worry,” Sammy offered.

“Stop behaving like you don’t know any of us,” Eunjae, another of their friends, chimed in.

Of course, she now knew so many of them. Some of them, she had also vacationed with before. But never without Sammy. But she had to deal with those nerves. A) She has to step a little out of her comfort zone. B) She wanted to go to the beach, especially if a certain acquaintance was also going. She had not heard him disagreeing, so she hoped that he was coming.

Slowly her attempts to disagree were shut down by her friends screaming louder than the last person. The ruckus carried on for a few seconds till she sighed out loud and said, “Fine, I will come.”

A few minutes later, Y/N came back and sat beside Yoongi, “Are you coming to Sokcho?” she held his gaze, unfaltering. She thanked the liquor in her system for calming her relatively jumpy nerves. He smiled and nodded. She nodded back. “Okay, good.”

Now, in the practice room, a message showed up on Yoongi's phone, “Is it going to be a shirt over a t-shirt kinda cold, or sweater and hoodies kinda cold?”

Yoongi did not notice his smile coming back, as usual, the others did. Before he could reply another message popped up, “I don’t want to overpack and tug along an unnecessarily large bag.”

Sokcho in April is pleasant. Yoongi has been there around this time before. “Shirts over t-shirts should be fine,” he replied. Instantly, an image of Y/N in one of his light blue shirts flashed across his mind. He could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Perfect! See you tomorrow then :)” 

“See you :)” [Can’t wait!]

______________________________________

The aforementioned tomorrow arrived agonisingly slowly. Yoongi had spent the evening with a couple of his friends. The alcohol did nothing to calm him. His friends persistently teasing him did not help. He thought he was private enough with his feelings for you. But with some of his dumbest friends catching up to it, he began to fear if you had an inkling. Surely, you must have known. Did you think he was odd? Creepy even? But why would you still be friends with him then? Surely, if you knew how much he liked you, and it did not make you uncomfortable, maybe you liked him too?

“You know, Sammy has probably told Y/N by now,” Yijeong said, smacking his lips as he put down the shot glass. He reached out for a chicken wing, but Yoongi slapped his hand away, picked up one of the biggest pieces and tore into it.

Hoseok laughed, his drunk-flushed face getting redder. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel? What’s the worst that could happen?” he said, folding his arms over his chest, spreading his legs out and up on the chair next to Yoongi.

Yoongi frowned back at his friend and almost dared him to answer his own question with his stare. Has Hobi actually forgotten the whining, pining piece of battered butter he had become when he was crushing on Hyeri (Hobi’s now girlfriend), not even an entire year back?

Breaking eye contact, Hobi shrugged a little before pouring himself another drink.

“Yeah just tell her man,” Yijeong urged, stopping to suck on the chicken bone and adding, “The more you wait, the worse the what ifs get.”

Yoongi gave his friend a side-eye but internally applauded this rare bit of wisdom.

“I want to,” he said in a quiet tone, alerting the other boys to the gravity of his words, a more understanding demeanour dawning over them, replacing their shit-eating grins.

“I mean, I have tried to— rather planned to tell her for a while,” Yoongi continued. “Every time I think of her, I am more convinced than ever that I should ask her out,” gesturing lively with his hands to signify something.

“You know like.. for a good old date, becau- because.. she has such a warm, comforting presence that I can be completely myself with her, no judgements, and I.. keep imagining all these scenarios where she can be as comfortable with me and share her likes and dislikes.” He stopped for a breath.

“I want to give her that space as well. But every time I am with her I am so soaked up in the conversation that there is no beat to bring this up, and when there is a pause, I see her interacting with Sammy or Dojoon, people who she has known for years I mean, and I feel like I will never know her as they know her and maybe I am intruding. Fucking hell, I can’t stop feeling like I am not worth her time - me, my life, all of this,” he gestured around at his very posh and minimalistic living room.

“Yeah, all of that sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” Hobi groaned once he was certain Yoongi’s self-pitying soliloquy was over.

At a questioning look from the older guy, he shrugged and said, “See I know how difficult it is to open up to someone, especially for you. While you have every right to feel anxious and giddy, you cannot make decisions in your head on behalf of the person you like.” 

Yoongi was about to say something, probably along the lines of ‘I am not doing anything on behalf of her,’ but sensing a rebuttal, Hobi leaned forward, held a finger up and looked directly into Yoongi’s eyes.

Yoongi could not remember the last time he felt like he was getting a scolding from the dance leader but he was almost certain it never happened in a personal space. He gulped down the last bit of chicken he was chewing and held Hobi’s gaze, as if to say, “Okay, I am listening. Carry on.”

Hobi started, “Y/N has never said that you are not worth her time. In fact if I remember correctly, she has made time for you, to spend with you, every time you have met, even unannounced.” he paused and sniggered alongside Yijeong as they saw Yoongi wince slightly at his own antics. 

When Sammy told the others, Yoongi wanted to argue that he exaggerated his fluster but then the bastard pulled out receipts. When he returned from walking Woolfie on the first day Yoongi dropped in, he had clicked a picture of the dinner spread. But most importantly, in the background, there was Yoongi looking-no, scratch that- beaming, at Y/N. That single picture had Yoongi’s horde of generally chill friends invested in his crush situation.

[Fond smile]

“I understand your hesitancies but you need to stop kicking your own butt. You like her, hyung. Ask her out. Whatever she responds with, you’ll have a definite answer. No more mental gymnastics,” Hobi finished.

Straightforward. Logical. 

Not that these didn’t strike Yoongi before. But hearing it from a friend, head-on made him want to buckle up more. He nodded slightly.

“Hey and you have a three-day opportunity window coming up. I will even be your wingman if you need,” Yijeong offered in earnest.

A resounding “No” greeted his enthusiasm, to which he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Just wanted to help!” and carried on with his chicken wings foraging.

Three days is not a long time. But three days is longer than the few hours he had with her each time so far. As he saw his friends out and started putting together a bag for the trip, he tried to plan how to take things forward.

Surely all he had to do was talk. Tell you what was on his mind, about how much he likes you, how he intends to date you if you will have him. It should not be a life-threatening level anxiety-ridden matter.

And yet he felt those mammoth fluttering in his stomach. Unpleasant to the point of becoming nauseating. Deep down he knew he was scared of an outright rejection and he could not will himself together to face it.

Just then his phone dinged with a notification. It was placed on top of the dresser at the other end of the room. Shoving the last shirt in the bag and zipping it shut, he let out a sigh as he dragged his feet across the floor. 

Before he could reach out to grab the handset, Scar jumped up on the dresser.

“Are you not sleepy yet?” Yoongi asked softly and scratched the top of the cat’s head just like he knew the feline preferred. As the cat started purring, pleased with the petting and attention, Yoongi’s phone dinged a couple more times.

With his other hand, he reached around Scar and pulled his phone up near his face.

The latest couple of messages were from Namjoon.

“Hyung, think I left my AirPods at yours”

“Please get them tomorrow”

Yoongi tsk-ed internally. Of course.

As he dragged down the notification bar further to reveal more messages, his heart skipped a bit.

Y/N’s name shone out brighter to him than all else. The lockscreen showed that she had shared an image with him.

He could feel his heartbeat, loud and clear. As he clicked on the chat, his mind raced faster.

The Y/N smile came back. Only Scar saw it now. A little annoyed at the absence of scratches, he mewled lowly. 

Yoongi looked up and still smiling, turned his phone towards the cat.

“Think you will be friends with her?”

It was a picture of Ash sitting inside Y/N’s bag, with the caption, “Someone wants to come along.”

[Photo Y/N sent]

She would not text him if she was not thinking about him, right? That has to be a good thing, right? Before he could overthink too much, Yoongi wrote back, “I understand the appeal <3”

What the fuck does that mean? It means if I were Ash I would also want to go with you. Anywhere. Everywhere.

“I wish she could come too,” he added, thinking that would be more appropriate.

Quick dings again. Heart reacts to both messages.

His heart was now beating in his throat.

“Maybe next time I can look for a pet-proofed place and bring her along,” her reply read.

Heart react. Next time, “we” can book a pet-proofed place and go just by ourselves.

“I am sure she will love it,” he typed in.

“I will miss her,” Y/N replied, adding in another message, “Haven’t spent nights away from her yet.”

“Three days will pass before you know it”

It seemed like he was also telling this to himself. But as a warning.

“She will be too busy stealing Woolfie’s treats anyways,” he added.

He had grown very fond of that kitten. Mischievous, but adorable. Maybe the fondness stems from being involved in her rescue endeavour. 

Y/N does not know it was him yet. That is a rabbit hole he refuses to go down now.

A laugh react to the second message.

“That is true. And I think she is more fond of Sammy than me, anyways. So she should be fine.”

“I am sure that is not true. But yes, she will be alright!” he added an arm emoji and replied.

Two more dings.

“Hopefully”

“See you tomorrow. Goodnight! :)”

“See you! Goodnight :)”

Ding. Heart react.

Yoongi let out an audible breath.

Yeah. He has to grow a spine and speak. Tomorrow. At the earliest chance he can get.

[yandere-fics]

Miriel's NSFW Alphabet

♡ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) ♡

It does depend on what you did but since she's a bottom you'll likely be caring for her. She's not as hard of a masochist as some of the others though so she doesn't need as much as some of the others do but she will expect you to lay in bed with her while she starts planning out what you're going to do together on your date tomorrow or just talking about a pretty dress she wants to see you in that matches with one of hers.

♡ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) ♡

She likes being a tall elf, it really pisses some of the other supernaturals who consider themselves stronger(Kassien, Nikki, etc.) off that she towers over them even if it's only by an inch plus she wear heels which only makes this worse and it's just really funny to her, it's basically the only part of her job that makes her feel better about having to leave her mate and go into the office.

She'd have to pick your hair, it doesn't matter how much or how little of it you have, though she'd be happy if you would grow it out, she likes brushing it, braiding it, running her fingers through the tangles as she watches you sleep just enjoying this calm moment. Feet are a close second, she can't explain the fascination with feet, she just finds them so interesting for some odd reason.(it's called a fetish honey.)

♡ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) ♡

Being an elf I imagine hers tastes like it's very healthy for you but not exactly a bad taste, just completely unexpected, sort of like the best vegetable you've ever eaten in your life or like grass but like really really tasty grass that you didn't expect to taste this good. She doesn't really care where she cums or where you cum since she's going to want to clean up afterwards unless you insist she keep it on her.

♡ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) ♡

Has probably gotten morning wood once or twice and felt kind of bad waking you up so she just jerked off while watching you sleep then she feels even worse because she realizes what she just did might be considered creepy by you and while she's sure you love her, would you still love her if you knew she was a nasty nasty pervert(honey the others have done much worse, it's okay.)

♡ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) ♡

She's got no experience, she hasn't even thought about it before, she knew it was a thing but it just never crossed her mind it would be something she would be doing with her mate and she won't even start to have sexual thoughts until you put sexual thoughts in her head, your relationship could remain purely unsexual forever until you awaken her.

♡ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) ♡

She likes to be pegged so she likes you on top of her the most and with her elf gracefulness and flexibility she can pull her legs back all the way for you if you would like. She also likes to be ridden and she can really put herself in any position you want her to be in, she has no favorites other than what makes you happy cause all of it is very nice in her opinion. Her least favorite is her being on top but that's only because it makes her feel embarrassed she can't manage to stay on top for very long.

♡ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) ♡

She's not very goofy in day to day life anyways, she's more upbeat and cheery but her idea of a joke is pranking mortals by lying about something and giggling internally when they believe her just because she's an elf, she would never dare do something like that to you though which means you never really get to hear her be goofy or joke. That doesn't mean she's super serious either though, more like very sincere and just happy to be participating in this with you.

♡ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) ♡

Elven mystique and all that nonsense, anyways bitch is hairless. She's actually very cold sometimes because there isn't a inch of hair anywhere but her head to keep her warm and she'll be really sad if you tell her you prefer girls with hair because she literally can not grow hair even though now that you've said that she really really wants to.

♡ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) ♡

It's very intimate, she loves making eye contact even though her eyes want to squeeze shut because of how good it feels but still she forces herself to keep them open. She also loves holding your hand during it though not always possible with how she grips the sheets. Kissing during it however is far too much for her, sure a couple of pecks maybe kissing away the tears in her eyes but kissing on the lips is just too much and god forbid you kiss her with tongue, she's fucking dead.

♡ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) ♡

It depends on how often you regularly do it, lets say you do it three times a day but today you don't do it, so she will feel the need to jack off three times that day just because it's now part of her daily routine and now she feels the need to do so, similarly if you don't have sex at all then it's not even going to be something she's thinking about.

♡ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) ♡

Pegging and praise kink are the biggest ones for her. She also has an interest in feet but that one she doesn't even realize is a sexual thing so I doubt she's going to ask you to do anything with that. She also has just a minor kissing kink even though it's clear she cannot actually really handle the kissing.

♡ L = Location (favorite places to do the do) ♡

At home is really the only place you can do it because she's a weak baby and needs the bed beneath her and she's also in general loud as fuck, plus since she's not the most responsible employee she does not get her own office so you couldn't do it in her workplace unless you're going to do it at her desk in front of everyone which she would not allow but more than that, the security guard would not allow that.

♡ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) ♡

You asking is the only thing that really really motivates her, if you're not asking then she doesn't care and while she does find seeing you naked hot, she sees that more as a casual intimacy, you're very comfortable around her thing, she's not going to instantly turn it sexual.

♡ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) ♡

Share you or do it in public. She's also not heavy into pain and if you degrade her too much that's also a turn off there is a fine line with the amount of degradation that turns her on and turns her off. She doesn't want to be punished sexually either, she is a masochist but she just doesn't like the punishment because she's a good mate and you love her, why are you doing this?

♡ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) ♡

She prefers to give and she's relatively good at it, her intense connection to nature as the future queen of her village makes her instincts heightened which in turn makes it very easy for her to just know exactly which way off using her tongue in the best way.

♡ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) ♡

It all depends on your pace because she's a weak baby who can't handle very much at all. If you do have her get on top she's going to be slow and gentle until her legs finally give out on her and then you have to take control. She prefers slow and gentle so she can just enjoy being in this moment but she'll take whatever you give her.

♡ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) ♡

She does not cum the easiest so quickies are hard to do with her, she's more than willing to eat you out very quickly and let you ride herr very quickly though, don't feel bad that she didn't get off during the quickie she was just happy to be there and she can just take a cold shower or jack off afterwards if need be.

♡ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) ♡

She can't handle a whole lot of experimentation, she already gets overwhelmed easily so you might not want to risk short circuiting her poor cute brain by experimenting with her too much. She's also the shyest when it comes to experimenting and it might take a bit of coaxing to get her to do it, don't worry she will tell you if she really doesn't like something and similarly you'll know if she really does like something.

♡ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) ♡

She can't go very long but of course that doesn't mean you can't keep going with her, it just means she's completely dead weight because her legs gave out while she was trying her hardest to thrust into you, it just felt too good that her whole body gave up on her, it was just too much. She does last a long time though and it might take 20 minutes to a full half an hour to get her to cum once so enjoy that. Unless you peg her, then it's 5-10 minutes.

♡ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) ♡

She doesn't own toys but she doesn't care if her partner owns them, while it would be nice to be asked she understands that since she's kind of a hardcore bottom it's difficult for her to please her darling in certain ways so it doesn't bother her. If you use a toy on her she's going to get super shy about it but she will enjoy it, just be gentle there's only so much experimenting she can take at once.

♡ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) ♡

She seems like a tease mostly because you keep trying to seduce her and she keeps taking your very obvious signs and just assuming you strip teasing her is just you wanting to show off the very pretty clothing you got and you just feel extremely comfortable with her.

♡ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) ♡

She has a very stereotypical elvish voice though hers is on the higher side so even when she squeaks it sounds very melodic and almost like she's singing, it's hard to take it seriously sometimes when her panting and moaning sounds like you're pounding an actual fairy.

♡ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) ♡

She likes degradation just the smallest bit so long as you reassure her afterwards, you wouldn't expect someone so sensitive with such a heavy praise kink to also enjoy being degraded but she does, it's only in really small doses she can take it and I would suggest only using it when she's already close just to finish her off and then soother her afterwards.

♡ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) ♡

She's got about a small B cup, which is good anyways because with how delicate her frame is her back might hurt if she had any more than that. She also does not wear a bra and you would expect them to droop a little because of that but they don't at all. Her dick is a bit long but not overwhelmingly so, about 6 inches and on the slimmer side. Her ass is very very nice but leans towards the flatter side, even so it's still very nice to look at and fits her very well.

♡ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) ♡

She has basically no yearning, if you don't want to do it then she's not even thinking about it, you could be having sex daily and then stop one day and while she might yearn for it at first once that becomes her daily routine again then she's going to not even think about sex again so like basically her sex drive is solely based on you and what her daily routine looks like.

♡ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) ♡

She sleeps a lot more in the city then she would if she were back in the forest, it just takes a lot more effort to refill her energy than it would if she were still fully connected to nature. She's still not a heavy sleeper though and she will stay awake depending on if you're staying awake, if you do fall asleep afterwards then she'll fall asleep with you too though.

[lemony-snickers]

from @imamonster456:

Kisame loves the rain. Of course he does; he's basically a sea creature. As he and Itachi wander a small forgotten village in search of a meal, Kisame removes his hat, tilts his head back, and lets the rain fall against his blue skin, mouth spread wide in a delighted grin.

Itachi, though? Every time he gets stuck in the rain, it feels like it's trying to smother what little fire remains with him. The faint spark that is still an Uchiha, still burns with pride and purpose.

The part of himself he misses most, the one he must be the most cautious about nurturing.

The place they find to eat is covered, at least, even if it's open air, and Itachi gratefully shucks his cloak and hat so he can hang them on a peg to dry what little they can manage. The restaurant is small, unassuming, the sort of place they always end up. If it has an inn attached, they might even spend the night, which he would appreciate as it would negate the necessity to camp in the sloppy forests surrounding the nameless village in which they find themselves.

Kisame spreads out on his side of the table, relishing the humidity with a deep sigh. The gill-like things on his face flutter a little, which fascinates Itachi almost as much as it sort of grosses him out.

"You're being morose," Kisame complains, glaring across the table, "knock it off."

Itachi just huffs, knowing anything he says to defend himself against the weather or his mood is just going to fall on deaf ears anyway.

Once they've ordered their food, the two men sit in silence. They talk so much all the time--too much, Itachi usually thinks--there is little to say, especially when in range of any potentially prying ears. Villages like this are good for them because no one asks questions of anybody else. But that means the other patrons are just as likely to be criminals as they themselves.

Just as Itachi's curry makes it to the table, a blur of color whizzes by him, splashing his pants with muck. He growls, low in his throat, and turns to give a tongue lashing to the person responsible.

But all the vitriol in his mouth snuffs out when he realizes who is.

The boy has dark hair and eyes, skin that looks like it's only ever existed beneath this same cloud-ridden sky, too pale to have ever seen the sun. He's maybe six or seven, the same age as Sasuke the last time Itachi saw him smile like this boy does now.

He's frolicking in the mud outside the restaurant, spindly legs splattered with it as he spins and jumps, leaping directly into a puddle until his shoes are soaked and he's laughing like he's just heard the greatest joke ever told.

It's sort of magical, Itachi thinks, and the sight nearly rips his heart straight out of his chest. He tries so hard all the time to forget what Sasuke was once like--what Itachi himself was once like--seeing such a stark reminder of what might have been feels like being cleaved in half by Kisame's chakra-hungry sword.

"Oneechan! Oneechan! Come on, it's fun!"

Itachi only turns away from the sight of the young boy playing when he hears the soft voice of oneechan when she tells him, "Fine, fine, I'm coming."

She's pretty, close to Itachi's age and clearly related to the muck-slick kid in the rain, the slope of their noses and the points of their chin all but identitcal. Her eyes are softer, though, even as they're fixed so pointedly at her younger brother.

Itachi watches as she joins the boy in the rain, squealing when he jumps full force into a puddle, splashing her simple dress with muddy water.

"Your'e a menace, otouto," she says, but there's no malice in the words. Only love. So much of it.

Itachi stares for longer than he ought to, but he can't tear his eyes away from the scene. Watching them play together diminishes the effect of the rain on his mood, surreptitiously lifting the corners of his mouth before he even realizes.

The boy grasps his sister's hands and starts twirling the two of them in circles, skipping and jumping while his older sibling maintains her footing, makes sure to steady him when he slips so he doesn't fall.

Their laughter drifts between the sparsely populated tables of the restaurant, and Itachi is suddenly glad they found an open air place to sit because otherwise he might have missed the sound.

"Just go already." Itachi turns back to find Kisame's food gone, though he hasn't touched a bite of his curry. "If it'll help your mood or whatever," he adds, pouting slightly as if disappointed his company isn't enough to lift Itachi's spirits.

In that way, Itachi sometimes thinks Kisame is like a big brother; wonders if he had any siblings of his own before he left his home village. They never talk about their pasts; once you're part of the Akatsuki, that's all you are.

"Don't be stupid," Itachi says, bending over his curry to take his first bite. It's still warm, thankfully, but no longer hot, which only proves how long he's been staring.

He sensitive shinobi ears perk up the moment the young woman's shoe catches on a stone, the small yelp she makes when her feet slip out from under her.

Itachi doesn't really know why he uses his finely-honed skills to catch her; only registers the movement when he feels her solid weight in his arms, looks into her wide, half-startled eyes, his long hair a curtain around both their faces, shutting out the rain and the rest of the world.

Any drying off he's done is worthless, now, the water soaks into his back and his shoes mercilessly as he asks, "Are you all right?"

"F-fine," she says, shaking her head as she steadies herself on her own two feet again.

Her brother pokes her in the hip and mutters, "You're clumsy, oneechan."

She smiles down at him. "That's true, but this nice man helped me. What do we say?"

The boy ducks behind that same hip, staring cautiously at Itachi with one eye. His mumbled, "thank you," is so quiet Itachi can't actually hear it over the patter of rain on the dirt road. He only knows the kid says it because his mouth moves.

Itachi should go back to his seat. Finish his curry and see if there's a dingy inn where he and Kisame can take refuge for the night. Instead, though, he crouches down so he's eye level with the boy and says, "You know, I have a younger brother who's a lot like you. You're lucky to have such a good big sister to play with."

In truth, Itachi has no idea whether Sasuke is anything like this boy anymore. And he certainly hasn't been a very good brother for him. But he stuffs down that grief, buries it deep.

"Do you think we should invite him to play with us, outoto?"

Itachi glances up to find the young woman smiling down at him, which catches him off guard. He's even more surprised when the young boy nods his head and jumps out from behind his sister, all vestiges of his shyness suddenly forgotten in favor of recruiting a new puddle jumper.

"Yeah, yeah! We can splash even bigger with another person! And he's strong, right, because he caught you oneechan, I bet he could make a huge splash even by himself!" The whole sentence comes out in a rush, the way excited kids always seem to string all their words together into one.

Itachi blinks when the woman's hand appears in front of his face. "Would you like to join us?" He flicks his eyes over to Kisame, who shakes his head, drags Itachi's curry across the table, and begins to eat.

Itachi smirks as he slides his palm against the one he's been offered and stands. That's fine. Itachi can always place another order for curry to go. For now, he wants to enjoy this feeling for just a little longer.

And as he skips in a circle with the little boy that reminds him so much of Sasuke and his big sister, Itachi feels his mouth pull into that same unexpected smile. He forgets about the dampness, forgets about his grief and all the weight of the expectations he still bears.

For a few brief moments, Itachi is no longer a rogue nin, a criminal. He's just a teenager having fun, letting his slacks get dirty and his hair get wet, and when he and the woman beside him laugh loud and long as the kid stomps into another mud puddle, he realizes he hasn't made that sound in a long, long time.

Maybe this weather isn't so bad, after all.

[rockheadcd]

Although not nearly as experienced as other defenders, Stonedge is selected for an operation under Rhodes' contingency contract plans. The operation doesn't entirely go as smoothly as the team liked it to. Takes place before he discovers a certain runaway feline. cw for crush injuries. Just a lil supercut for worldbuilding. :)

"Operator Stonedge?"

"Hey, hey, we're on base, you can call me Roark. No need for formalities here."

The archosaurian looks up from his work, perhaps some of the most agonizing for those unable to sit still, handheld drill with the most precise of bits painstakingly stripping away raw stone from fossilized bones. For someone so loud with his laughter, his cleanroom was eerily quiet when he was working on something in there. The Rhodes associate squints at him through the clear panel—she's not here for casual conversation.

"The Doctor has selected you for a mission. I'm here to brief you."

Ah, that makes a little more sense. Roark switches off the drill and carefully sets aside his tools, peeling off of a rolling stool and eventually coming around to exit his little office, carefully removing and hanging up a mask and gloves in a peg right near the frame. "Sorry, what's up?"

"You'll be assigned under our contingency contract with Leithanien."

Oh. That wasn't expected to hear on this fine, bright midday morning that didn't penetrate this lab. Not even a year in, and he's being picked up for this.. he'd heard from more seasoned operators the kinds of difficulties these operations incurred. They paid well, unsurprisingly, but they had a tendency to push people to their breaking point. Roark vaguely remembered some sage advice from a fellow defender hired on as a merc.

'Don't get yourself killed out there.'

( yeah, no kidding, huh )

"Not a training ground?"

"Nope. We've evaluated overall risk to be nine," she explains, remaining calm in her briefing, but even her thrill of the upcoming operation leaves much to be desired. Her eyes are distracted by the resigned flop in the archosaurian's tail. At least she understood, he figured, continuing on, "Although, it should be fine. You've been recommended for this phase of the contract—fourteen days total. They're mines."

A crack at a joke gets him to scoff. "Ha, ha." Alright, he does appreciate the sentiment here. "I thought that area was cleared, though?"

"It's never empty for long, it's too lucrative of a waypoint for those who don't follow any sole monarch." Alright, that makes sense. She finally waves towards Roark to follow her—better, more precise information was available elsewhere, clearly. Perhaps it did make plenty of sense that it was a caprinae that could provide intel and round up the people about ready to be shipped off to god knows where. "The subcontracts are in other areas of Terra, but this one is the most desirable," she explains, "Unfortunately our reconnaissance has verified there are some very strong creatures patrolling the depths of the mines. They're reminiscent of Sarkaz minions."

Roark gives a hum of thought, following his escort to one of war rooms across the landship. "I thought we hired Mudrock...?"

"You'll see."

"Those constructs have no life to them. They are.. reanimated, on a technical level, but rest assured they do not behave like my friends."

Mudrock's presence is demanding in the war room despite her soft voice, muffled behind mask and voluminous suit. Roark has long gotten used to her manner of reference, having understood with the way he handles bones found with dirt caked between worn joints. Hell, she's probably more attuned to the earth far more than anyone else due to her peculiar methods of witchcraft—but it's fascinating nonetheless. No wonder she managed to attract so many lost souls here. Still, she manages to tower over most of the operators in the room with presence and seniority alone, Roark included, as they sit around a flat table, purely neutral, it's only burden the sprawl of reports that all have to do with this new operation. Roark pouts a little. "So, there have been knock-off constructs around and these ones are also held together by arts, but not necessarily in the same way you were able to imbue them."

"Mm."

"And then, the actual caster has been identified, but doesn't seem to be related to Reunion, but as a local Leithanien?"

"Mm."

Another voice speaks up—a Rhodes Island special op. "With this level of arts, we can narrow down our suspect belonging to the Witch King's Remnants," he adds, and the rest of the team doesn’t seem particularly thrilled. Those of Leithanien roots are especially perturbed. It makes sense why this particular contract was prioritized, and more importantly, why Rhodes was contacted to carry out the operation.

"—So, that leaves us with a unique strategy to handle these constructs, between heavy defenders, and our ranged operators, doesn't it?" Another operator takes the moment to muse aloud, and eventually the entire room begins to chime in on options of how to tackle this interesting repeat that had brought Mudrock and her squad here. In the end, she was a dissenter and wanted the best for the people who found hope in her presence, but in this case, the motives of the new threat in question could easily be presumed as nefarious at best, and downright cataclysmic at worst. Regardless, a unanimous observation noted was the certainty of broken bones, and if someone were to break some bones, it damn well better not be the ranged operators.

Roark finds a little excitement as much as he finds significantly more concern about the very real dangers that exist. The mines themselves offer very little by way of space, limiting the squad to only seven operators, among other variables. This isn't an operation in which they can retreat and try again—it's all or nothing. No leaks, more danger, less space, and a lot of sheer will. Something like this was bound to happen, right? Roark's history in Columbia made this his home turf, abandoned or not. He knew he'd be one of the first choices like the other operators here.

When discussion eventually finalizes, the objective is clear: find and eliminate the caster. Secondary objective? Don't bring the house down with the squad in it, if it comes down to it.

"We depart at oh-seven hundred. Any questions?" The caprinae looks up from her papers and looks around at the assignees. Not a single question remains. "If nothing, then you're all dismissed."

In unison, "Yessir."

The deployment of juggernauts is intentional in this situation, with the limited resources at hand. The sole arts healer that was dispatched with three other ranged operators would prioritize them over both Mudrock and Roark. The latter two's responsibility was to prevent their fellow vanguard from getting squashed from the far more dangerous constructs. The vanguard needed to flush out the spellcaster if they couldn't finish the job alone. With these kinds of limitations, it would have been a much higher risk having a sole executor specialist among the ranks. If something happened, there would be a slim chance anyone could go retrieve them. It just wasn't in the books to lose another head.

Even so, Roark still feels like he's pressed in a sardine can with how close the jagged tunnels come close to his shoulders. It's dark and cold save for the originium lanterns hanging off their belts, but if nothing has collapsed since the recon mission, the layout of the mines should be consistent—there should be some natural clearing ahead of them, where much of the mining had occurred prior to the operation being shut down. It also meant the general surroundings would be large enough for the constructs to patrol about—a caster following the Witch King would never let their guard down ( a smart one, anyway ). A hand signal from Mudrock ushers the team to extinguish the lights, and they soon find themselves in dim surroundings once more, save for some natural lighting ahead.

"The constructs are awake," she says softly, barely heard past her mask. The caster must have been aware. The team presses on.

Most of the team has seen this battlefield, but Roark is not one of them. The earth overhead shows signs of erosion, stalagmites and stalactites share the ground they stood upon, shaken loose over time. The night sky peers through scattered holes along the ceiling, fragile enough to crumble under the weight of a heavy animal, if any remained after wayward catastrophes. Their only light is the moon, but at least their blood gives them a slight advantage, the ranged operators especially. So far, the haphazard masses of stone and debris work as excellent cover and platforms to perch upon.

Roark has been asking himself when shit will hit the fan for the last half an hour.

The constructs are not silent in their footfalls, but they feel so much closer than they really are without line of sight. "When one finds a target, the rest will follow. Stay alert," the Sarkaz advises quietly, and the squadron begins to disperse, the four ranged operators moving to scale the rock face for a vantage point, and the vanguard staying with the other defenders to a pre-negotiated escort point—the intent is to draw the constructs into the same lane of traffic, giving their much faster cohort a clear route to flush out their target, receiving easy aerial cover from one of the rangers. It was a simple plan on paper, aside from the fact it relied on both defenders to survive against the brunt of as many constructs as could fit, and be intuitive enough to know when their landscape will crumble around them.

( phew, you can do this. everyone can do this. quiet breaths. be aware of your surroundings. don't get killed )

"We're in position," comes communication from above, out of sight from the ground floor of this cave. Thankfully, they can hear one another nicely with feeble landmass blocking signal—with how quiet the old mining quarry is, such low volume still sounds as if they never detached at all.

"Roger," the archosaurian replies as quietly as he can. He and Mudrock follow suit, each lane of jagged rock formations and rubble within their sights. It's time to make some noise. "—Begin Operation: Lead Seal."

Overhead, the ranged operators open fire, arts manifesting and flinging through the air inaudibly until they pierce into the constructs, some igniting against the living rubble, others diving into the faux ligaments of dirt and dust that give shape. Out of his peripheral, Roark sees Mudrock's enchanting finish as a shield manifested by her arts bubbles around her. Roark braces himself, hammerpick between his hands and arts conduit activating under his will, encased in the steel and iron of his weapon. The constructs bring their attention to the defenders nearest them, just as planned, and now it's up to them to ward off these giants to exhaust the caster behind them ( and that, he knew, would take much longer than he wanted ).

The construct lunges, three-fingered fist colliding into the flat edge of Roark's hammer with a force that pushes the breath out of him. His arts is rigid, much like Mudrock, but it stays on his person. He pushes his swing forward, parrying stone as it crashes awkwardly into the ground, tremors causing loose gravel to shift and tumble in the neighboring tunnels. ( ah, this will be tougher than anticipated... ) Roark twists his weapon to the spike on the other side, taking the moment to wail on the joints of the construct in the small window of time he has as it recoups itself, signaling the ranged operators to focus on toppling the constructs' balance. The strategy seems to work each time the construct gets up and attempts to reach towards the defenders as they dance out of the way and focus on dismantling as much of the rock armor as possible.

"—I see a core between all of the rocks!" Roark hears one of the operators above from the earpiece clinging to him. Mudrock observes in kind.

"I see.. that must be how the constructs are controlled—it seems my hypothesis was correct. We must break the core to break the enchantment."

"—Seems easy enough, right?" Roark responds, gaze searching for said core and eventually spotting a glint between the plates of stone. "That looks like originium—it's a conduit?"

"This must be how our target can use arts from a distance. We do not know how many they can control at once."

Thundering steps clamor down the aisles of stone, loose dirt dropping to the ground from overhead. Roark finds another colossus racing towards him like a bat out of hell. "—I, uh, at least four of these, apparently." Ah, he's going to be tired after this one, huh. The juggernaut braces himself once more, cracking into the chest cavity of stone for his comrades to remove one of his problems, turning his attention to the other one. He's worried, all things considered—there should have been more, right? If this caster was a follower of the Witch King... there possessed some kind of freakish use of arts, right? If these weren't behaving like Mudrock's own as she so claimed, then where else was all of that concentration going?

Ah.

These colossus were a distraction.

The explosions that occur sound muted to the archosaurian, even as he sees the surrounding rock and dirt crumble, crack, and disperse around him and the team, thud after thud causing tremors in every direction, chunks falling with no resistance from overhead. "A cave-in! MOVE—! Prioritize our vanguard!" Roark shifts his hammerpick's brute force to the shrapnel in a meager attempt to pierce larger obstacles, but other, smaller, faster pieces scrape against his skin and tear at his utility uniform. Others do their best to shield from the blasts around them, faring better than the defenders on the ground.

( ugh... hurts... )

There's always risk in manifesting arts like this, especially as an infected with this level of assimilation. There's a vague thought about the beating he'll get from the medical staff by the time they get out of this—he feels the familiar stiffness, a fist balled around his joints, squeezing. It's the warning sign of over-exertion, but what the hell was he supposed to do? The only way to handle the brunt forces is to hunker down and use his arts on himself! Still, it's only a matter of time before the disarray settles and their target can identify where everyone is. He doesn't need their assassination foiled in the commotion, and when he feels the relief from somewhere behind him, he remembers his objectives. They could make use of all of this, too, couldn't they? "Thanks for the back-up," he huffs out over communications, happy that the medics were okay so far. Nearby, Mudrock is faring better than him, her arts' shield a bubble strong enough to negate much of the projectiles from all around when it shatters. Man, he is so jealous.

"—I'm going in," he hears another voice in his ear, and his head snaps towards the general direction of the planned route that was in no doubt unstable. Shit, that's their vanguard. Really?!

"Texas, you sure? This cave wants to come down!"

"Don't worry. It's only a slight deviation from the route." Calm and collected as always, isn't she?

He's going to worry. Even though she is fully capable, he's going to worry.

Roark holds in a stress sigh.

Alright, well then. With the knowledge of her approximate location, they can make this easier for her in the little time they have to work with in this new labyrinth of theirs. Offshoots inevitably interconnect in this area, there's a good chance this particular room was going to be a proper quarry, but perhaps such a project didn't get that far before major incidents took place. It's not all that different from abandoning the mines back home in Columbia before a catastrophe hit, really.

"—Okay. Diverting attention away from vanguard route. Let that caster know where we are!" Roark hefts himself in the opposite direction of Texas, towards Mudrock's position—a feint to believe they've been cornered ( which, isn't far from the truth, really, he has no idea what exits they have that aren't too high above them ) as the colossi tremble in the wake of resurging arts.

Mudrock seems as if she's squinting behind her mask, looking at the remaining colossi that seemed to have regain vigor despite being simply animated, her posture leaning towards it just a little as if scrutinizing. Roark missed the core on this one after the commotion of all the explosions. "This doll contains a stronger connection to it's host... he was diverting his Arts between all of the explosives, after all."

"He's gonna hit like a whole landship, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"—We found stable ground, we've got you covered, defenders!" comes assurance over the radio, and Roark heaves a breath. This is the most both of them could do—stall.

( don't get yourself killed out there. )

"Alright—we'll take it, then!" Roark finds his vigor, knowing the worst that could happen is if he doesn't give his all and lets this whole cavern swallow the team under all of this rubble. He exhales, mustering up his arts between the conduit and himself—such things accelerated the disease, but he sees it as a necessary risk in order to help his comrades. All they need to do is survive until Texas takes out her target. It'll be fine. The grip on his weapon tightens as the colossi approach, any spare jutting rocks crumbling against the sheer weight as they move closer. The resilience from the arts... it's still intimidating.

"Here they come, Stonedge," Mudrock alerts him, and Roark takes that as he cue to take a stand next to her. "Whatever they do, we must not relent."

"We won't!"

The colossi bring their stone masses together, large, dense boulders as fists, and Roark can only assume the arts is being channeled right into the impending slam—they feel so small under the shadows of this, and even the ranged arts doesn't seem to be affecting the colossi at all.

"Nothing's working! Just get out of there!"

Roark grits his teeth. He's not moving, and neither is his fellow juggernaut.

The colossi throw their entire weight onto them, and the archosaurian's voice strains under the exertion—clipped to his ankle, his oripathy monitor beeps. Joints and muscle strain under the weight as the spikes on his hammerpick lodge themselves into the rock. Mudrock fares no differently, straining under the weight. Roark feels it in his knees the most, and he desperately tries to reinforce his own body, drawing on his own infection to get there. Drawing thoughts is impossible, as it all just sounds like white noise, and anything vocalized is involuntary.

The colossi bear down and he feels no give even as he pushes against it with everything he's got. The fear that his body will give out before it's over is the only thing that he can begin to feel ( of course it's fear, that's the only other real thing isn't it! ), coupled with the adrenaline and refusal to fathom what awaits him if he eases up even for a moment.

"No..!" The half-whine comes out in a struggle, for the caster's arts isn't simply bound by his own body's limits like Roark's is. Such a keen difference is exactly why the oripathy has grown so wildly along his tail, for he has to use more than what he has available. It's another step in an irreversible direction. He strains, pushing and pushing and pushing, arts feeling like joints have grown over, cemented into place. The blood that runs through him ignites, and the burn is inescapable—his monitor whines at the sudden delta in biometric data, and Roark can't bring himself to care—he just knows his arts are working overtime.

God, it feels like wildfire.

The oripathy manifests, he realizes, the burn peeling into splitting pain enough to throw his body into a dissociation—it was instant, the dizzying sensation of being forced out of his body and yet still being just aware of enough of the sensations in his joints, this piercing, splitting, nails puncturing a stream of lava—Roark is barely aware that there's something coming out of his mouth, some kind of noise.

Shit.

This is it. He's overdone it this time. This peeling, burning sensation is at the surface of his skin and he's glad he can't even so much as look. His limbs feel frozen in place and yet they physically ache to move, unresponsive despite the efforts.

( i can't take this anymore i can't— )

The colossus shifts suddenly, as if the tether to it's host is yanked in some direction, disturbing the equal force placed upon the defenders. It shudders, and the distribution is uneven, heavy and biased.

Stonedge screams, knees finally buckling from under him.

What little he acknowledges thereafter is lost for days. Mudrock uses her might and arts to force the colossi back, veering it away from Roark as the core loses the brilliance it once had as a focus. Such dead weight was far too dangerous, but in the wane of impenetrable defenses, the ranged operators' arts pick away at crumbling the heaving masses of stones into smaller pieces, before it eventually crumbles into the heap it once was.

The force upon the archosaurian disappears in seconds, but his body still feels as if the shadow of weight is there, fighting it off despite collapsing against his hammerpick, arms failing and letting the heavy end crush into the ground first. He doesn't even acknowledge the busy communication in his ear, unresponsive aside from the inability to catch his breath and difficulties standing. He remains unaware of the blood that stains around his knees in slowly growing dots that speckle upon his uniform's pants, the medics immediately aware something has gone horribly wrong.

Texas gives the all clear of the objective. Mudrock, even in her exhaustion, scoops Roark over her shoulder while another operator takes his weapon. Mission complete, casualties observed.

"Whatever you do, Stonedge, don't pass out on us, okay?"

"The readings on his tracker aren't going to be good, we need to get out of here, now!"

"Stonedge, say something!"

Roark struggles to find where his body is, and the sensation—rather, lack thereof—feels vaguely familiar. This is not that far from the beginning of his oripathy, when the pain of originium manifesting was new. He fights to curl his fingers, and finds relief when they finally obey, sore, burning. One foot can limply jostle, and the other doesn't feel like it responds. That's... not good. Although his breaths are labored and deep, his chest feels like it's pounding, still.

"I'm here... I'm here," he finally breathes out, "I just... I'm in a bad... bad way."

Mudrock settles her shoulders as they make their way out from the abandoned mines, operators ahead scouting for cave ins and obstacles from the minor quakes brought on by the colossus' attempts. For as long as this cave system has been utilized and constructed, there was much less to worry about. One of the medics examining Roark finally comments on the blood. "Your joints collapsed under the weight when that caster was taken out—if we get out of here in time, we can save your legs. One is worse than the other, but we've tightened up the safety straps to limit the backwash of minerals entering your bloodstream."

Oh.. oh, that would make sense, huh. Roark grimaces, aware of said tightness, even in his daze. The medic speaks up again.

"There's crystals on your elbows... your arts exceeded your body's natural limitations."

"No wonder I'm out of it.."

"Just keep talking to us, our route's clear. And don't look down, either."

"Roger..."

Roark has never been a fan of being incapable of standing on his own two feet, be it figuratively or literally. Yet, what he relies on the most isn't something he was born with, anyway. He didn't ask for it, either, and for a little while, saw it as a mark certain for death—a punishment for caring about others in an uncaring world inside of the borders of an exponentially uncaring nation. When he realized it allowed him to handle the more dangerous work, it became a boon. Understanding the complicated relationship between his own biology and oripathy turned it into a weapon he relied on. Adding layers upon layers of usefulness, in the end, didn't change that it never belonged to him. He was just another patient, another Infected. He could believe he was something more than that if such exposure to these abilities of his made others happy.

Being faced with the damage done now left him a little lost in that regard. There was no way he'd be back in operations anytime soon. He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to get around at all for the time being, which, is restricting for an active guy like him.

In the end, all he's been trying to do is distract his thoughts from the IV plugged into his forearm and the mess that was the discolored swelling that bellowed at his knees. The bruises that appeared over the few hours of transport evolved into deep purples and more gruesome yellow, saturated enough to display on his darker complexion. To his dismay, much of the blood that had taken the liberty of oozing between ruptured skin was, in fact, the sprouting of oripathy crystals, the same as the tough, obsidian-like crystals that remained along his tail. Sure, he was numbed to the pain as one could reasonably be allowed, but the exhaustion was something else—stressing out the medical staff wasn't his intention, but everything directed at him just felt so delayed. It didn't help that the initial observation was that the muscles around his joints ruptured, painting a very unappetizing visualization while he was stuck in the gurney like a ragdoll.

"You really screwed yourself this time, Roark," quips a fellow archosaurian—Gavial, with clipboard in hand, likely documenting this whole mess and looking mightily unenthusiastic about his most recent decisions. She had been the one to give him his screening when he first boarded Rhodes, one of the few operators with excellent knowledge of archosauria as there weren't many at all. She had also been the primary surgeon for the arduous process of giving him the mobility back in his tail back then as well. He just likes to keep her busy, it seemed. She goes as far as knocking him on the head to get him to react sooner, and he blinks slowly.

"Little bit, eh? How's it look?"

"Like shit."

"...Fair point. I also feel like shit."

"We don't have a lot of time to do this right, but lucky for you, the oripathy's the only reason you're not in anaphylactic shock. Blood's seeping out enough to not poison your body as fast as these injuries normally would. Unfortunately, you still need a blood transfusion."

"But, I'm tired, Gav."

"If you do so much as close your eyes I'll beat a headache into that thick skull of yours so hard that it hurts too much to sleep. Wait 'til it's done, and tell me if you feel something different." Her recording is finished, and she's already fishing up the right tools for the job—whatever that job may be. Roark knows better to protest, even as one of the few operators that aren't terrified of her and her practice. Her efficiency in emergency care is unparalleled, and given they can hold a conversation, perhaps Roark ended up blacking out the worst of the stabilization.

"Maaan—alright, alright. Walk me through this, I'll try to follow."

"First thing's first, our resident vampire's gonna work on all the blood loss you've had on the way back, and cycle out the damage from your crush injury. As for us," Gavial vaguely gestures towards the small team that Roark was unaware even existed, scrubs and all, "We have to extract all of the originium out of your joints, or you're not gonna like it."

And he's gotta stay awake for this? Maybe being unable to feel his limbs makes the anxiety flop in his stomach worse.

"And, you better tell me if you feel anything painful. I mean it."

Considering his knees are the description of what it means to be blown, Roark nods in full compliance.

He tries not to focus too much on the instruments that far too quickly turn a fresh crimson as the team preps according to Gavial's instructions. The main objective here was to extract the new growths, remove any tissue that showed signs of necrosis, examine his joints at the source, suture up his legs back into shape, repeat the process for his elbows, check the rest of his body for signs of crush damage, and all the while, pump and cycle him full of fluids to keep his body from going any further than shock.

Oh, shock. That's probably why he wasn't panicking over the potential chances of losing his limbs, huh. There's the trust in the medical staff at Rhodes, too, of course.. and, maybe the acceptance of the risk. He's not particularly upset at being the only one to sustain any major injuries in such a high risk operation. He was asked to perform, and perform he did.

Roark appears as zoned out as he feels, vaguely aware of Warfarin's presence, hooking a blood bag to the wheeled rod that was carrying a plethora of fluids, labeled with words Roark couldn't even begin to understand the purpose for, much less read at all. Maybe his condition was more serious than he was told, or, maybe he was told and had already forgotten. Ah, well.

He not aware of the time, either, but seeing Gavial take a moment to crack her back and shoulders gives him a vague indication it's probably been a few hours. And then there's the travel time back from the mines. It's been awhile.

"Good news is that he's stabilizing. We might be able to begin surgery after he receives two units," he hears Warfarin report as Gavial and now familiar assistants drop shards of obsidian crystals into a metal bowl, each plink a different signature than the one that came before. Roark lolls his head to one side, trying to keep his arms from moving too much. He's tired.

"Works for me. He looks like he's about to take a nap, anyway. We'll likely need to borrow some donor skin for his joints, but soft tissue loss has been minimized due to the crystallization taking place. The worst of the muscle trauma is partially from being stabbed by his own oripathy." Gavial is the only doctor capable of being surprisingly easy to understand, although he wonders if it's for his benefit. "Skin from the thigh should suffice. His recovery won't be as bad as the initial report, but he's going to need several weeks of PT and making sure he doesn't volunteer himself for anything stupid." She clicks her tongue, another thought coming to mind. "Examine his tail afterwards, his charts need to be updated for an unexpected increase in his originium-cell assimilation. A scan for his spine as well. That's his problem area. Let's prepare for reconstruction surgery. Knock his ass out."

Roark, naturally, doesn't remember anything else after that.

When he comes to, he's no longer in the operating room surrounded by other operators and medical personnel alike—he's alone, bandaged up and stiff and surprisingly relaxed. Well, that simply had to be the intravenous pain medication in his system, considering his joints don't want to cooperate, held back by stitches. After a sigh, Roark settles back, resolved to be stuck only moving his arms by shoulders alone. Lifting his legs is even less practical, and all the interesting things to look at ( that is, all of the wounds ) are dressed in gauze. Damnit.

This is going to be a long recovery, isn't it?

"Ah, Stonedge, you're awake, perfect."

When he looks up, Gavial is there, arms crossed with clipboard in a hand, dangling. "You've been out for a whole day so far, I almost thought we lost you after all."

"Nah, I wouldn't go down that easy," Roark laughs tiredly, "Although I can't really go up at the moment, either."

She nods, a smirk playing on her lips, "Guess you figured that one out by yourself, huh? I need to change your bandages and check those stitches, anyway. We'll give them a bend before wrapping them up again. Otherwise, surgery went smoothly, aside from all those crystals we had to extract. Don't do crazy shit like that again, alright?"

Ah, well... "I didn't really have a choice, but—I'll try! I'll try! Don't hit me with that!"

Gavial just laughs before she grabs a fresh roll of gauze out of the medicine cabinet standard to these rooms. "Your arts do better when you're about to get the crap beaten out of you, anyway. Here, how's your arm when I bend it...?"

Changing bandages allows Roark to finally see just how much damage his oripathy required without completely ruining his mobility—the bruises are the worst he's ever seen, especially on himself. Between the stitches and the muscles crushing under the pressure, he much preferred them to be wrapped up. Thankfully, the worst he feels is soreness, and the stitches don't tug dangerously taut. Still, he can't be throwing himself around until the skin adheres to itself. Being bedridden sounds more boring than anything, and he asks Gavial if she can bring a few books from his labspace, to which she eventually obliges. It's really all he can do between these check-ups, trying to eat small meals, and otherwise being unable to stand for the next couple of weeks while his muscles heal. The process required more mental sanity than Roark had after the operation, and Gavial surprises him with another notice.

"By the way, you're also getting mandatory psych evaluations for the trauma."

"Huh—"

"To prevent phantom pains, or at least to learn to identify them from reality. It's common after experiencing severe pain, and with your track record—" Roark looks a little sheepish, "—you've got a tendency to compartmentalize trauma. We have to make it easier before you're cleared for operations again."

"Oh. Right. That would make sense, wouldn't it."

Gavial sighs and shakes her head. "You defenders are the worst, I swear. Anyway, I'll handle your PT when you have enough strength to stand, but it'll depend on how easily your joints recover from all the extractions. Two meals a day, hydration intravenous. Vitals every two hours. Bandage changes every morning or as needed if sooner. Counseling program will be two weeks, ten sessions. And you will tell us if you need more, understand?"

Roark scratches at his head, trying to keep track of everything, but for the most part, he'll be subjected to whatever the medic on duty will give him. At least he's not completely abandoned. "Yeah, just make sure I can see it somewhere since I can't write it down myself."

"No problem. If something feels off, give us a holler."

"Ah, hold on.. how is my back?"

Gavial's expression flattens some, much to his worry. "The amount of activity required of the originium in your body went beyond what your current suppression was capable of, so the crystals had a spur in your problem areas. That's the other reason why you'll be on mandatory bedrest for a while. Some crystals expressed on your spine, again, and a CT showed growths spawning in your tail, but we were able to do some preventative extractions while you were under. Those will heal sooner than everything else, but your assimilation rate has gone up by three percent. Still moderate, though, since you're not exposed to dust all day."

"Ah, Dad wouldn't be happy to hear that, but, oh well. I guess I gotta take it easy."

"Were you planning to get knocked out?"

"No—!"

"Then you better take it easy."

"I will, I will—"

"Good! That's what I like to hear. I'll see you in a few so I can get you some books." With that, Gavial is already on her way out. Roark can only look at his fresh bandages and sigh.

There's the psych evaluation to consider, he eventually comes to remember—not that he's ever lied through them or anything, it's just... difficult to word things when he's never had a reason to find words for some of the shit he's experienced. But, while he's not allowed in combat, he'll be allowed off the landship eventually as part of his enrichment. Mandatory excavation time... yeah, maybe that sounds nice to do. He'll have to bring it up with Gavial when she comes back then. This was going to be a long few weeks, wasn't it?

The flex in his joints feels more smooth, less taxing and fearful. Where stitches joined his skin together was now several crescent scars, raised and pale against tanned skin. His degree of strength in them still had some months to go, especially now that it was safer to do lighter reps in the training room, but Gavial had ensured he was not going to be completely feeble and unable to hold up his own weight in the meantime. Well, really, she beat his ass in physical therapy, and certainly made sure he hadn't lost an ounce of flexibility required of him against his will.

He could still feel his hamstrings stretched in ways he would remember in nightmares.

But.. all things considered, his body hadn't faltered as much as he had feared, granted, having a fellow archosaurian had helped immensely with the knowledge about their race and what sorts of training responded best. Even the shortcomings were addressed, even if Roark felt like he was about to snap his joints in half at times. The weeks felt like years, but he couldn't deny that Gavial's regimen prevented the muscles around his healing joints from total atrophy. The rest he could maintain on his own, and he was able to walk freely with weight.

"Lucky for you, Roark," Gavial overlooks her notes, incredibly long and detailed, but she skims as if there's no more than a paragraph, "Looks like you're finally cleared to take excursions off the landship. Good timing, too, we'll be in Higashi for about a couple of weeks for onboarding and supplies. You've shown good progress picking up that hammer of yours, and you'll need to work those muscles back for... two months, based on your weekly trend."

Roark looks hopeful, hilarious on a rugged looking alligator like him. "Can I go fossil hunting then?"

Gavial rolls her eyes. "Yes, as long as you don't overdo it. Snap your joints and I'm letting you rot with 'em."

Now, he's beaming. "Hell yeah—! Thanks, Gav!"

"That's Doctor to you." She gets a chuckle in return. "Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind. I'm signing off on approval for recreational activities, so you can request whenever you want. You're still not cleared for operations, though."

"I'll take it for now, I'm gonna go digging—" and Roark is taking her words seriously, bounding up and out of her office to go find the nearest administrator to give him his leave notice for the day.

Gavial adds another note to her report.

Patient's mental stability relies heavily on access to hobbies and manual labor. Continue to monitor damaged areas and evaluate oripathy response. Advise as necessary. Patient excels in outdoor activities. Update physical therapy location to the landing strip.

Roark is aware of the way he feels different in carrying himself—emotionally, he recovered far faster with the acceptance of his role, and those in the operation had checked in on him sporadically to ensure he was doing well. Of course, that was consciously. Physically, he wasn't near where he was at prior to the contract, with his endurance temporarily squandered and slow to rebuild. He was getting impatient, and being able to excavate in a completely new territory was too much of an exciting opportunity to give up.

What history did Higashi's lands hold? Was it anything like Columbia? Sargon? The possibilities excite him and it's near agony that he can't carry himself across the landship faster. Ugh, right, he needs to check in with the administrative office to get his leave. Fine, fine. Any faster and his legs will end up too sore from the exertion. Everything is so behind.

( you have time, you have time... ) The reminder drilled into him during his wellness visits repeats over and over, and Roark tries to slow himself down. He can't help it, he argues with himself, all the way down the hallways, through the conversation with a Rhodes Island receptionist, all the way back to his lab, while gathering his equipment, and it finally ceases when he retrieves his weapon from his room. It's heavier than it used to be.

( that's why we're going on an excursion, 'cause this is also part of the tools. this pick has been with him for almost a decade now.. )

He settles the heavy end against his shoulder, easing the strain on his arms. That feels better. Alright. Time to go hunting, then.

[salorem]

soldiers of rasiak & their opinions on each other

A - she/her

E - she/her

R - he/him

H - he/him

Q - she/he

A > E God, she's SO annoying. Like, come on. there was no reason for you to do that. Stop being extra. Your quips aren't that funny, either. … okay, maybe that one was funny.

A > H Originally she didn't think much of H due to how similar he was to the others she trained with (especially with the allegiance to his honor code), but after H got kicked out from disobeying orders, A respects him a lot more now

A > R Actually, she likes R. she's seen him improve over time, plus it's just nice to have someone fighting right alongside you instead of being left in the dust.

A > Q she's so curious about her. There's a rumor started by a few of her peers that Q is a robot, but honestly, A doesn't care enough to inquire more. A likes having deep conversations with Q, especially since Q is pretty knowledgable in a lot of areas.

===

E > A Honestly, she kind of wants to knock A down a peg. she has nothing against her, it's just the fact that A is so uptight and her know-it-all attitude is kinda annoying. E feels really accomplished when she does manage to make A crack a smile, though.

E > R E thinks it's fun to mess with R, but it's not done out of malice. In fact, a lot of the time, R performs way better because of how often he wants to prove E wrong. Then it's a slap on the back for him and a congratulations! Deep down, E hopes R doesn't think she's being cruel.

E > H They don't really get along. H has a similar issue to A where he's also kind of stuck up at times, but unlike A, E doesn't get the pleasure of getting yelled at or fought. H's just too much of a goody twoshoes, man. Also, on the topic of being a goody-goody, it's hard for E to ever believe that Mr. Saint over here has EVER betrayed an order

E > Q E's actually kind of scared of Q— everyone else acts like he's a normal member of the team, but something about Q just… rubs E the wrong way. she can't put her finger on it. Also, making Q react to anything? Not a chance. she's not even sure if Q's human at this rate

===

R > A he likes A. Even though she can be a snob at times, she's really nice once you get past that cold exterior. Feels kinda bad when he gets lectured to for the thousandth time, though.

R > E he doesn't really get along with E. Even though he knows E's quips are always jokes, they've always felt a bit targeted. Like, come on, low hanging fruit. Still, R knows a good fighter when he sees one, and E definitely is someone he's glad to have as an ally.

R > H R feels the most comfortable with H, but that's not really saying much if H is the one EVERYONE feels most comfortable talking to. But R appreciates H having his back whenever R finds himself in trouble, which is… more often than he'd like. Oops.

R > Q Like E, he's a bit wary of Q. Q really just seems to be off in her own world, not talking much until commands are given, and that's when R is REALLY scared of her-- have you seen how precise Q is with her blades?

===

H > A he respects A, but her personality is somewhat to be desired. Don't get him wrong, H thinks that A's a great ally with a ton of knowledge under her belt-- but sometimes she needs to lay off the bitterness and just learn to handle the others without a truckload of sodium.

H > E Geez. This person's a mess. H clearly knows that E finds teasing and messing with people fun, but H just wishes for some peace and quiet sometimes where E just does what she's expected, no hitches, instead of arguing with R or A for the nth time this week.

H > R Look, H likes R. But really? Still missing shots this frequently? H tries not to make it too big of a deal because it's clearly bothered R before, but sometimes H can't help but bag on R a little too. Even so, H makes sure that R knows it's no hard feelings, and he's always the one to step in whenever R's getting hassled again by E.

H > Q H isn't really sure how to feel about Q. he's a good enough teammate, sure, though his communication skills are to be desired… but he always seem so distant. H wonders if he's just not doing enough to involve Q?

===

Q > A Intriguing. she's heard about A's performance in the academy, which comes as a surprise to see A amongst all the others. her skill isn't to be doubted, though. Q thinks of her as a good ally and interesting partner to talk to.

Q > E Actually pretty entertaining. he doesn't really egg E on, but Q admits that sometimes what E has to say is a bit funny. In combat, E is a reliable partner to tagteam with, so that's a plus.

Q > R he should've stayed in the academy. While R missing targets doesn't bother Q much, it bothers Q far more that R is easily startled/intimidated. There's nothing wrong with being afraid, but the inability to keep it in check is a problem

Q > H she doesn't really understand him. It's unfathomable to Q to disobey orders, and H did it before. It's especially surprising since H seems to be the one who'd do it last— he's always the one who rattles on about honor. Just goes to show.

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin Assists the Jedi Council While On Medical Leave

AU brainstormed primarily by @atagotiak, @gelpenss, and myself.

Basically, a fix-it based in Anakin getting a peek into the daily life on the Council early, and accidentally Figuring Some Shit Out along the way, mostly because Palps Fucks Up.

So, Anakin gets injured in a way that limits him to Coruscant for a few weeks. He can still walk and talk, but he can't fight. The specific injury doesn't matter, just this:

Anakin runs errands on behalf of the council and sits in on meetings to take minutes as a "you're on medical leave but we need all hands on deck, congrats you get to be the secretary until we can send you on stabbing missions again" thing.

Also, there just aren't a whole lot of people with Anakin's clearance level. They had to send out Stass Allie to handle the mission that was originally next on Anakin's roster, and Anakin's the most convenient person to substitute into her position.

He's not super happy about this but he can more or less understand the point of it. Given that he gets antsy about needing to fight almost immediately, he can acknowledge the worth of having something useful to do, if only as the person who's writing down who says what and making sure everyone has the right file on hand.

(Besides, Obi-Wan jokes in a way that Anakin thinks might be encouraging, this is good practice if Anakin ever wants to be on the High Council himself!)

(This is a very helpful conversation.)

BASICALLY, Anakin is resigned to this but agrees because "Usually we have Master Allie handle this but we need her running that mission that was originally set for the 501st, so you get to fill in for her until you can switch back. Think of it as training for eventual mastery or admin or--listen, we're just really stretched thin."

Here's the key thing, though: Anakin isn't supposed to leave the Temple, for medical reasons, so Palpatine doesn't know Anakin is sitting in on Council meetings. They haven't met up since Anakin's last surgery, and because [muffled hand-wave reason] he didn't find out another way, like Anakin comming him or the Council giving him the heads-up about the change in attendance.

It's fine. He's just taking notes and doing preparatory research, he has the clearance, the Chancellor likes him anyway. Hell, they'd have had someone's Padawan doing this, before the war increased the necessary clearance levels. They'll toss in a quick message in the brief they send to Palps that he never reads anyway, and that's really all they need to do. Skywalker's getting some rounded experience and this way the medics won't be freaking out about him stressing his heart after getting electrocuted by trying to spar too early.

Palpatine doesn't talk directly to the Council, he just sends a recording the first time Anakin is there. It's a bit weird, but nothing goes wrong. Anakin's off-screen from whatever device they use to send a response, since he's not technically a member, just assisting for a bit on the part of Master Allie's duties that he's actually allowed to touch (and not the bits that are getting added to Mace, Plo, and Shaak's stuff).

The first four or so meetings are like that. Anakin starts having a bit of sympathy for the Council as he sees how many things they want to do that are hampered by the need for Senatorial approval, things that he would also want to do and didn't think required this much red tape.

About a week in, still mostly recordings with Anakin just sitting on the side playing paralegal, the wheel of fortune turns a few pegs.

Palpatine hands over a an order on the range of injury that a soldier should be treated for, "to ensure that republic resources aren't being wasted on clones that, while expensive, would actually be cheaper to replace than repair."

Oh, he dresses it up in prettier language than that. Anakin doesn't process it as such first.

The Chancellor manages to couch his phrasing in "prioritizing resources for taxpaying republic citizens and employees of the GAR," which... well.

The natborn commissioned officers pay taxes. The Jedi are employees. The clones are neither, because they're slaves.

Probably he frames it as the employees thing, very much the kinda language that sounds halfway ok unless you’re fluent in political bullshit.

And Anakin is really confused at first about why the council is upset by the order because, okay, he would PREFER to be able to use medical supplies on refugees when possible, but he understands prioritizing the soldiers?

He just looks up, totally lost, when someone groans and goes, "That's the third time this year, is he trying to get us all killed?"

And it vibes as such a genuine, aggrieved, sad reaction that Anakin is completely blindsided because it's not the sarcastic, petty resentment he kind of expected? It's just... desperate depression.

And someone gently has to explain that this is the third time they've had resources restricted to only GAR employees and that it's a polite way of saying "prioritize natborn officers, stop wasting resources on clones, we can replace them easier."

Or maybe he doesn't ask, because he's just there to take notes, not argue, and he can see the masters drawing up a response that amounts to "We would like to remind you that our soldiers do not fall into that classification, and to limit their access to our medical supplies is liable to cause a loss of life that we find unreasonably high. Please see the annotations attached to adjust wording so that the clones may receive the same level of care."

Anakin's internally just like "Yeah, that's phrased nice and addresses the main problem, Palpatine will obviously agree and change it!"

And then he comes in the next day and the response comes in and it's just dripping condescension about considering the clones actual people.

"This is why we can't use the bacta tanks on clones anymore, just the patches. We could use them at first, we had a few of the CCs get through fatal injuries with them, but they cut that off and said we could only use the tanks on Jedi and non-clone officers a few months ago. The Banking Clans keep tightening their belts on the army, and the Chancellor insists we put citizens first, and the clones aren't citizens. We've been arguing back as much as we can, but he keeps going on about the economy and we can't... we just can't, Skywalker. We're trying to save as many of our men as we can, but..."

Something like "Allocation of resources reiterated, the Kaminoans have assured the senate that the Jedi are far from exhausting the resources ordered."

And Anakin's like. He can't blame the council for lying about Palpatine's past or future actions. He just saw Palpatine's actions. Those actions were to order people under his control to throw away lives he saw as replaceable commodities.

These are his friends' lives.

His soldiers are being thrown away by a man in a tower that he trusted.

And then that man has the gall to suggest it's the council's fault.

Palpatine is good at what he does, especially in public, he dresses it up in flowery language and everything, but Anakin's just like "Those are my FRIENDS and also this is??? How slavers talked about their property on Tatooine???? FRIENDPATINE, WHAT THE FUCK."

Anakin can be passive aggressive sometimes as well as outright aggressive. So if he brings up the guidelines and why they make him upset in general terms, and Palpatine says something about how he’s sad the council doesn’t care about the clones...

Anakin, internally, having just watched the council scramble to save as many clones as possible within the guidelines that Palps handed down: Uh-huh.

(Anakin is just the gay horror teeth gif from queer eye.)

Just. “Yeah, funny you say that, Palpatine! Because as I remember, you told the council not to waste more resources than necessary while Mace Windu was arguing to expand the treatment range!”

Palps doesn't even have time to salvage the situation or attack Anakin because Anakin just bulldoze rants for fifteen minutes and then storms out.

Anakin... maybe does a little treason and gets a copy of the orders so he can ask Padme "Hey, can you explain the politics of this?" and doesn't tell her who wrote it so she isn't biased (he tells her that this is why he's not sharing the author's/speaker's name), and just lets Padme pick apart all the 'this is a nice way of saying they don't view the clones as people' details.

Alternately, someone on the Council sees Anakin dithering and manages to get him to admit that he's not great at political language and wants to ask someone to help him understand the full implications. The person--Mace? let's go with Mace--is aware that Anakin is on good terms with Senator Amidala, if not necessarily aware of the depth of said relationship. Mace points out that he's probably going to be seeing her soon just because he usually does and, as a Senator, she can get easy access to these sessions since they're not about specific missions, just allocation of resources, etc. It's not an optimal solution, but she's got a bit more free time than anyone else Anakin knows with the clearance levels, like Order members that are actively involved in the war effort.

Anakin dithers and panics and Mace, trying to be helpful, tells him that plenty of Jedi have made friends among the Senate over the years, didn't you know Qui-Gon Jinn was a personal friend of Former Chancellor Valorum?

At any rate, Anakin goes to Padme and asks her to explain it to him, because she knows how to phrase things so he gets it.

Anakin has to have her pause and he goes outside and destroys some things halfway through.

(Anakin maybe thinks back to the times Padmé or Obi-Wan were really obviously frustrated and when he asked, they said stuff like “I can’t stand Palpatine rn, sorry Anakin I know he’s important to you and you don’t want to talk about politics, let’s just talk about something else.”)

(Obi-Wan: I don’t trust Palpatine Anakin: you just don’t like politicians in general Obi-Wan: yes that is also true)

(Obi-Wan does like Bail and Padme but he does also talk a bit about how politicians generally aren’t to be trusted.)

[sagendipity]

the law of attraction: de minimis

a quackity x reader law school au

part one, chapter one

[PREV] | [NEXT]

.

The first myth about law school is that everyone is the same.

In movies, in TV shows, in books- everyone in law school is a certain type of person. Dangerously smart, hardworking to a fault, and absolutely cutthroat.

Now, that is true. To get this far, to get into a competitive law school and make it to your final year, you have to be all of the above. Smart, hardworking, and just a little cunning. It’s impossible to get a leg up unless you’re standing on someone else’s knee.

Or neck.

However, the fact that everyone here has to have a certain few traits in order to survive does not mean that they cannot have other traits.

Some are louder, exuberant, and competitive- the type to yell out the answer to a question before raising their hand, the type to go back and forth with the professor when they’re sure they’re right (and they’re not). There’s the introverts, the sly ones you never see coming, who you barely notice next to you all year until you glance over at the grade on their final and it’s a 110%, somehow.

Of course, there’s also the in-between. The respectable ones, the students that are just there to get through the classes they need and get a respectable job at a respectable law firm and make something nice out of their lives.

Or the hero type, the ones that are convinced they can fix any injustice they perceive in the world- the environmental lawyers, the criminal defense lawyers, the civil rights lawyers. They might be right, too, which is why it seems like a never-ending flow of them are pouring into the school at each orientation.

It’s not always as simple as that, of course. You, like many students, are a mix of a few types. You lie somewhere between the exuberant and introverted sides, not shy about answering questions in lectures, but not jumping the gun to cause discourse, either. A bit of a hero type, you must admit, but you do pride yourself on being reasonable when it comes to your life’s expectations. You don’t expect to become some William Kunstler. You work hard, you get shit done, and like law school has a tendency to do, it seems to become your whole entire life.

The type of person you never quite got a read on is Alex.

He’s been sitting next to you in your upper level criminal procedure class for the entire semester. A whole semester’s worth of lectures means you have plenty of time to observe and analyze the people in your classes- its not like there’s anything else to do when the professor is going over voir dire for the third hour that week.

You pegged the kid in the third row as a die-hard businessman. He’s not going into law to help people, he’s going into law to make the most profit off of the most vulnerable clients he can find. The girl in row six, however, is definitely the hero type, judging by her “save the oceans” stickers on her giant re-usable coffee cups.

Alex, though, you can’t read. He dresses down compared to the other students. They dress up to hide their shortcomings, like their fancy coats can stop them from feeling bad about their less-than-adequate qualifications for the internship they just applied for. Others just like to lean into the New York City aesthetic and dress like they’re already lawyers, even despite failing their last midterm. You fall into that category- you can’t help it, it’s a fun look- but hey, you definitely didn’t fail your midterm, and you’ve lived in New York your whole life, so you think you have the right to dress like that.

Alex dresses like he has nothing to hide. He dresses like the young, high-level professor who is always cracked out on Redbull and hasn’t graded a paper in his life; like the cute, fascinating barista at the local hipster coffee shop you can barely afford. He dresses like that one guy you’d see on the subway one day and never manage to forget because of how his eyes met yours for a split second.

To be fair, that is kind of how it’s gone. It’s not exactly like the two of you met on the subway, and you’ve definitely interacted more than just a passing glance, but goddammit is Alex stuck in your head.

You convince yourself it’s just because he’s such a mystery. It’s not because he has really sweet brown eyes, or the most charming, unruly hair you’ve seen this side of the Midwest. It’s not because he whispers a joke under his breath whenever your professor says something stupid, or because he bumps your ankles together and shares an amused glance with you when that one really annoying kid pipes up with an opinion no one wanted.

It’s just because you don’t know why he’s here, and you don’t know what he wants, and you don’t know how to read him.

It bugs you. It gets under your skin- not like an itch, more like a hum. He’s on the back of your mind constantly, like you’re trying to subconsciously figure out what’s up with him, but to this day you’ve had no success.

It’s not like you think about anything substantial in regards to him- every time your traitorous brain brings him up, you put it down quicker than it came up. Getting attached to people is dangerous in the best of circumstances, but getting attached to the absolute enigma of a guy in your criminal procedure class who you can’t even confidently say is named Alex would be equivalent to signing up for heartbreak.

“Don’t date law boys,” your roommate had lamented after she had done just that, laid across her rose-pink bedspread with a sleeve of crackers clutched in one hand and a tissue in the other. She had then blown her nose unattractively. “Lawyers have a reputation for being soulless for a reason. They’re only here for themselves. Fuck them.”

Despite that, you find yourself friends with Alex. As if you’d be able to resist the self-satisfied grins he flashes at you when the professor praises him for a particularly poignant answer, or the way he holds his hand out under the table for a high-five after you nail the answer to a cold call. You barely know anything about him, and yet, you know enough to decide he’s a good person.

“Alex”, whose name you’re only about 80% sure of- maybe it’s short for Alexander, but you thought you’d heard someone he was on the phone with call him Q, so maybe he’s a Quinn or a Quentin?

“Alex”, who shows up looking more comfortable than you’ve been in your entire life, and still manages to hold an air of confidence around him that you’d not be able to master even in your finest long coat and shirt.

“Alex”, who seems determined to wiggle his way into your heart in any way he can.

“Alex”, who you seem to be powerless to resist.

.

This growing attachment to Alex of yours is only strengthened with each lecture. You share this class three times a week, two hours each on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It’s a focus class, meaning that anyone who wants to go into criminal work should take this course. It’s challenging, it’s competitive, and it’s cutthroat.

And it’s only February.

A cold Monday morning in February, in fact, with the clock above your professor’s desk ticking obnoxiously as the big hand nears the 8. Outside, it’s downright miserable: windy and foggy. The outside of the paneled windows of the classroom are glazed in a sticky frost, reducing the figures of passing students to dull blobs as they hurry through the whipping wind to get to their classes.

The big doors at the back of the classroom close with a bang that reverberates throughout the lecture hall, cutting through the murmuring chatter of the students who are already here. Out of the corner of your eye you catch a flash of green- as you suspect, it’s Alex. He always takes the seat on the very end of the row, and you the one immediately to his right. You look up at him with what you hope is a casual smile, but the one he returns is so bright it could probably melt the frost off of the windows.

“Hey!” he says, too awake for 8 in the morning, and sets his binder down on the desk with a clatter. The whoosh of air rustles the paper of your notebook, which you smooth back down habitually. You watch Alex longer than you should, only tearing your gaze away after you notice the smattering of tiny snowflakes that have gathered atop the beanie he’s wearing.

You stifle a little laugh. This guy wears a beanie to law school.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he settles into his seat. He shrugs off his hunter green jacket, leaving him in just a gray hoodie, dotted with darker spots from melting snowflakes that’d been blown into him. He drops his outer jacket across his lap just as the room goes silent, your professor walking up to his desk.

As the last tails of conversations die off, you turn to Alex, unable to help yourself, “You have… snowflakes, on your head.”

He glances at you, a little huff of laughter escaping him as he brings up a hand to smooth over the beanie. The snowflakes are swiped off, melting on the heat of his hand- you wonder how it would feel held in yours, probably warm, he looks like he runs hot- and you pry your eyes away as he straightens out his beanie and tucks his hair up into the brim of it. He misses a strand, and the black swoop stands out sharply against the frost-paled skin of his face.

“Happy February,” your professor begins, his microphone crackling to life. “The month of love, is it not? Just two weeks until Valentines day.”

He swings his bag up onto the stool next to him, the sound echoing through the microphone. He turns to face the lecture hall, arms spread as if welcoming you all to a talk show.

“I’m about to ruin all of your Valentines Day plans. Welcome to the start of your final project: the mock trial.”

.

[aminiatureworld]

Needled Words

Characters: Childe, fm!reader

Word Count: 1,691

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: When does a joke go too far, when is a jab more than just friendly? Where does the line blur and where does it stop?

In which Childe’s teasing becomes too much for the reader

Author’s Note: For some reason this prompt made me think of Nancy Mitford, mostly because she was known also for being a slightly mean-spirited teaser. Ah Childe, my beloved. Communication in a relationship is key y’all.

Childe

You knew that Childe was only joking. After all, didn’t he read his letters to you? Brimming with little asides and jokes.

“Dear Tonia, I would say I was happy to get your letter, if only it was sopping wet. Did you leave it out in the snow again? I swear, if you were in the illustrious Tsaritsa’s army, you’d probably end up attacking your own regiment, and then I’d be forced to execute you for treason!” No one could mistake such an opening for anything except a slightly barbed bit of teasing.

Nor were the younger one’s exempt. Teucer’s antics had resulted in quite a bit of teasing. “Teucer, I think the Mr. Cyclopses have better survival instincts” and “I didn’t take you for someone who spent other people’s money!” This latter statement was made after Teucer spied the hand-crafted, very expensive, fireworks that were sold in Liyue. Of course, Childe had bought him the fireworks, and of course he never begrudged doing things for you when he teased you either. Still, you somehow felt as if things were different when directed at you.

Not that they really were. It wasn’t so much that you were picking up a different tone, it was more that, unlike Childe’s siblings and other friends, such as Zhongli, who was subjected to endless old man jokes, you couldn’t seem to take them well. When he joked about how many times you ran into the countertop you began to wonder if you truly had something wrong with your hand-eye coordination; when he said you were the laziest person, he’d ever met you wondered if you weren’t sleeping in too late; when he teased that he had to be your personal babysitter you wondered if you were truly good enough to be an adventurer. It wasn’t Childe’s fault, it really wasn’t, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Of course, you could tell him, could finally let it all out and stop pretending that it wasn’t painful to try and keep all your emotion sunder wraps. But you couldn’t help but feel as if that would in some ways disappoint him. He was a Harbinger, tough, aloof. No words could ever hurt Childe, of that, you were sure. So how would he take it, the knowledge that his part was all too liable to shatter at every poke and prod? You couldn’t blame him if he turned out to be ashamed.

So, you kept it to yourself, smiled through all the jabs and teases. It didn’t matter, it really didn’t. You were fine! Or if you, weren’t it wasn’t worth it trying to change anything. You didn’t want to lose Childe, didn’t want to see the change when he went to say something before stopping, looking at you’re with barely concealed disappointment. Childe lived with his emotions to the forefront after all. And you wouldn’t ask him to change something you ultimately loved about him.

Thus, the days continued on, as did the teasing and the feigned smiles. Some days it was worth it, some days you were left with nothing but happiness bubbling up inside, the love that humans reserved for a very few number of friends and lovers. Yet those days were often days with minimal teasing, and you couldn’t help but notice the layer of anxiety that pressed on your love the days that were filled with Childe’s jabs. Lying in bed, limbs tangled with his, you stared up at the ceiling, wondering what you should do. You felt trapped, by your emotions, by your pride, by Childe’s words. They were all encircling you, and you could do nothing to defend yourself. You tried to keep the tears to a minimum; after all your partner slept so little already.

You didn’t know when the subtle shift happened, when it all became too much to handle. Maybe it was after Childe’s recent trip to Snezhnaya, where, surrounded by Harbingers who saw their coworkers as enemies rather than allies, he had sharpened his wit even more so than before. If his earlier teasing was unfocused, general quips, then his current ones struck quite closer to home.

“Wow my dear I didn’t peg you for a Treasure Hoarder, I don’t think that arrow could hit anyone if it tried!”

“I think you truly have the makings of someone who gets scammed by a Mondstadtian duke, or perhaps a Fontaine prince who has lost all his mora in a flood. Remind me to never go shopping with you.”

“Honestly, I think if you ran into the Electro Archon, she’d think your vision was fake. It’d be an easy way out.”

The whiplash of Childe’s proclamations of “princess” mingled with sentences that, had they been geared at anyone else, would surely be insults was shocking, and you found yourself less and less able to keep these two aspects of your partner compatible in your mind. Even less did you find the ability to simply brush it off.

You didn’t know why it was a comment about your socks that finally caused you to break. Really, it was too juvenile.

Laundry in your shared apartment was often seen as a punishment, the chore that each of you pushed onto the other. As such there was often a pile of laundry in the laundry basket, and incredibly slim pickings in your drawers. That being the case you often found yourself wearing mismatched socks. Perhaps it was a little odd, or a little childish, but it was certainly preferrable to spending all day at the river scrubbing your hands red. Who cared anyways? No one would notice such a small thing, especially once you had put your boots on.

However, nothing could get past Childe’s wicked sense of humor, and apparently your clothing choices were prime fodder for him.

“Nice socks.”

“Oh, thanks,” you replied, already having a sense of where it was going. The smirk that played across your partner’s face was full of mischief, and usually that only led to one place.

“I think that you’ll be quite the icon among toddlers all throughout Liyue. People will be asking you if you’re lost all day, or maybe they’ll ask you how it feels like to be nine.”

It was really a silly comment to get so upset over, such a small, insignificant thing to cry over. Yet there you were, standing in the kitchen, frozen in horror as your vision became fuzzy with tears. Unsure about any other course of action you buried your face in your hands and prayed Childe wouldn’t think about what you were doing.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

You could hear the panic and concern mingling in Childe’s voice. Almost immediately a warm hand was on your shoulder, and you were suddenly flooded with the presence of the person you loved so much, the person you were now crying about. You could tell Childe was saying something, was whispering soft words of comfort, but in the moment your thoughts felt all too loud. Overwhelmed by the situation you turned into your partner’s shoulder and let yourself cry.

Eventually sensing you had lost all your tears Childe drew back slightly.

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“Yes please,” you replied, voice still small. Nodding Childe moved towards the kitchen. Within a few moments he was back, glass in hand.

“Was it the teasing?” He asked as you drank. Whatever you had to say about your partner, he certainly wasn’t stupid.

“Yes,” you mumbled, nodding for affect.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had gone too far. I promise I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“But Childe, it, it’s not just this time.”

“What do you mean?” Childe asked, voice flooding through with concern once more.

“It’s, I’m sorry, it’s just that, it’s all the time. Not all the time, every time you tease me. It’s not your fault! Of course, it’s not, it’s my fault. I don’t know, I just, it really hurts sometimes, all the time? I don’t know. I just, I’m sorry.”

Childe’s expression was one of abject horror. Taking your hand, he rubbed small circles on the top with his thumb. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how much it was affecting you. I should have been more careful.”

“But I don’t want you to feel like you have to, I don’t know, I know you tease everyone, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You aren’t making me uncomfortable.” Childe’s voice seemed just as hurried as yours. “It makes me more uncomfortable to think that you’ve been burying this the whole time. You’re damn good at hiding things you know. But this isn’t a war or something, you don’t have to hide what you’re feeling, for whatever reason. Better if you tell me, y’know?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Doesn’t look good on you, or sound good. I’d rather hear you happy.” Childe leaned in to press a soft kiss against your forehead. “I love you, okay? You mean more to me than a little bit of teasing.”

“You don’t think I’m being weak?” You managed to make out as your anxiety lessened its grip on you.

“Weak? Girlie you’re one of the strongest people I know! Weak my ass. If you wanted to rule the world you could give me a run for my money. Of course, I’d win though. I mean, I would be there right with you.”

“I know you would,” you smiled, despite yourself.

You knew that Childe probably would still retain the odd sense of humor and levity he already had. Old habits die hard and all that. Still, you had managed to say what had been haunting you all this time and, more than that, you had been assured that you were good enough, strong enough. Those few words, no matter how short, meant the world to you.

[pippytmi]

Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.”

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).

[lesbianjackies]

Alone

George Weasley x Reader

Request: Hi! I LOVE your writing a lot, and I was wondering if you could write some George angst. Maybe the reader (she/her) tries to bottle up her feelings because she feels neglected until he leaves Hogwarts with Fred without a warning and opens the shop. She’s fed up and cries all the time and Ginny is pissed off at George for how he treated her!

Gender: female

House: not specified

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, love!

You’ve been friends with the Weasley twins since your first year at Hogwarts. You would spend every single day with them; roaming the halls of Hogwarts, playing pranks on everyone, even spending most of your time at the Burrow when you weren’t at school. You and the twins - particularly George - were practically inseparable. Until this year, that is. The twins have been obsessed with starting a joke shop lately, so obsessed they haven’t seemed to want to spend any time with you.

“So!” Professor Umbridge cries in triumph. She’s cornered the twins with the Inquisitorial Squad.

You don’t know what the twins are up to, just that they were trying to cause a diversion to help Harry talk to Sirius. You didn’t hear that from them, though. You heard it from Ginny Weasley, the twins’ fourth year sister, who you’ve been spending most of your time with lately. Ginny’s like a little sister to you, and she’s been a big help in the absence of your best friends.

“So...” Umbridge continues, “you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?”

Fred looks back at her with a slight smirk on his face. “Pretty amusing, yeah.”

Filch elbows you on his way over to Umbridge, carrying a piece of parchment. “I’ve got the form, Headmistress,” he cries, voice hoarse. “I’ve got the form and I’ve got the whips waiting... Oh, let me do it now...”

You stifle a gasp. Sure, you were upset with the twins, but whips? No one deserves that kind of punishment.

“Very good, Argus,” Umbridge replies. “You two,” she adds, turning to the twins with a look of revolting pleasure on her face, “are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school.”

“You know what? I don’t think we are.” Fred turns to George. “George, I think we’ve outgrown full-time education.”

“Yeah,” George replies, voice light, and for a split second you think his eyes meet yours, a look of sadness gracing them, “I’ve been feeling that way myself.”

“Time to test our talents in the real world, d’you reckon?”

“Definitely.”

The twins raise their wands and called, “Accio brooms!”

Fred and George’s broomsticks flew over your head, you ducking just soon enough to narrowly miss the iron peg still chained to George’s.

Your mouth became dry. No - they wouldn’t. But they would. And they are. Fred and George Weasley, your best friends, one of whom you’ve been in love with for years, are leaving Hogwarts.

Fred swings a leg over his broomstick. “We won’t be seeing you,” he says to Umbridge.

“Yeah, don’t bother to keep in touch,” George adds as he mounts his.

Fred looks at the students gathered around him and George. “If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number 93, Diagon Alley - Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Our new premises!

“Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they’re going to use our products to get rid of this old bat.” George points to Umbridge.

“STOP THEM!” Umbridge screams, and for once, you agree with the awful woman.

The Inquisitorial Squad close in on Fred and George, but they kick off their brooms right before they can get to them.

Fred looks down at the crowd gathered below him and his twin, making eye contact with Peeves the Poltergeist. “Give her hell from us, Peeves.”

Peeves gives the twins a salute as they fly off into the sunset, the students around you cheering. The tears blurring in your eyes add to the chaos as you run off.

“(Y/N)!”

You swivel around to see Ginny standing behind you, looking concerned.

She rushes toward you. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

You try to respond, but only a sob comes out. You shake your head as Ginny wraps her arms around you.

“They-they didn’t even tell me,” you manage to say. “I’m their best friend, and they couldn’t even bother to tell me they were leaving. George couldn’t bother to tell me he was leaving.”

Ginny hugs you tightly. “You love him, don’t you,” she says quietly.

You nod, burying your head in her shoulder.

“They’re both right foul gits, you know that,” she says, “and I am going to hex them into oblivion once school lets out.”

You let out a small laugh. “Please do.” ________________________________________________________________

She sure did. And when I say this girl does a killer bat-bogey hex, I mean she does a killer bat-bogey hex.

Once George finally gets rid of the bats, he pulls you into a place where you can talk in private.

“Look, (Y/N), I am so, incredibly sorry,” he says quietly, chocolate brown eyes gazing in to yours. “For everything. Fred and I were real gits, and we should’ve spent more time with you during school. We should’ve told you were leaving, too, that was a horrible thing to do without telling you. I don’t really have an excuse, I care about you so much and I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.”

You bite your lip. “I accept your apology, George. And I-I have something to tell you.” A blush spreads across your features as the words leave your mouth.

George raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Is that so?”

You nod. “I-I fancy you, George. I have for a while, actually.”

A grin spreads across George’s face, and he scoops you into an unexpected but extremely pleasant hug. “I fancy you, too, (Y/N). Probably for even longer than you’ve fancied me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bet.”

“First year,” George says, very seriously.

“I - okay, you got me beat,” you admit with a laugh. “It was third year for me.”

George smiles, and you notice his eyes meet your own before trailing down to your lips. “I really wanna kiss you right now,” he says, blushing furiously.

You let out a laugh and wrap your arms around neck. “Then kiss me, Weasley.”

And he does, your lips touching and tongues pressing in a moment of absolute bliss.

“Oi!”

You break apart suddenly at the sound of a voice behind you. It’s Fred.

“Get a room, you two!” he says.

“We did, actually, you’re just too much of a nosy little git to respect it,” George snaps back, obviously annoyed at being interrupted.

You raise an eyebrow at Fred. “I believe I still deserve an apology from you, actually.”

Fred bows deeply. “I sincerely apologize, my dear (Y/N).”

You roll your eyes, but know this is the best you’re gonna get out of him. “I forgive you Weasley. Now, go away before we make out again.”

Fred huffs in annoyance, but leaves George and you alone.

“Now, where were we?” you murmur to the redhead standing before you.

“I believe we were here.” And he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him for another kiss.

“Ah, right,” you say against his lips before kissing him back.

[atlas-of-the-universe]

Home (Sequel to Vision’s Powers)

Estimated Reading Time: 18 minutes

Word Count: 4,912

---

There was actually a lot that could have gone better in the situation you were in. You could have moved your feet a little quicker or maybe steadied your breathing so help your balance; but to your dismay, it proved useless. While Bucky swung unimaginably hard fists at the punching bag a few feet away from you, Natasha took you by surprise once again, knocking you off of your feet and onto the mat with a hardy slap. Your back hit the floor and sent a wave of discomfort through you. You were sweaty, thirsty, and worst of all, you were getting frustrated with the work that you were doing. Once again, you and Natasha had decided to stay late to practice your training. The consistent thwacks to the poor punching bad to the left of you echoed in the room. Bucky was barely breaking a sweat.

When your head hit the mat again, you let out a hardy groan and turned your head upwards to face Natasha. She had a light gleam of sweat around her face, but she still looked stunning. The black t-shirt she was wearing clung to her skin and her grey shorts dangled from her hips. Had it been any other situation, you may have been able to admire how she looked and how effortlessly she landed her punches and attacks. Alas, your line of sight was blurred from your eyelashes catching your sweat. It may have been a signal to stop, but your determination was a force to be reckoned with. You knew that Nat was able to see that, so you also knew she was just pushing as hard as you were willing to go. Even so, a break wouldn’t have killed you.

“Always keep your eyes on your opponent,” Nat stated. “Never look away.” Nat offered you her hand to get up and you took it. As she pulled you off the ground, you grimaced at a new pain in your lower back and groaned standing up. She dusted you off and gave you a once over before nodding. “You okay?”

You nodded and reached around to hold the lower portion of your back. “Yeah, I think I probably pulled something. I’ll be fine, but do you think we can take a but of a break for now? I should probably put some ice on this so I can be better by tomorrow.”

Natasha’s eyes furrowed and she gestured to your back. “Do you want me to take a look?” She asked. She looked concerned.

“If you could, I’d appreciate it,” You said and turned your back to her.

Nat gingerly took ahold of the back of your shirt and lifted it up. It was a little nerve-wracking, feeling her small movements, especially facing away from her. Even so, you had been through the same situation a week prior to this with Vision. Perhaps you were getting more comfortable being the newest Avenger, and the team was finally beginning to see you as an equal. With that thought in mind, you made a note of the fact that Natasha had offered to do this herself; you didn’t even really have to ask. That must show some amount of trust if she’s checking you for injuries. She placed a palm on the small of your back and pushed lightly. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel comfortable. Your breathing hitched and you controlled a sigh.

“Does that hurt?” She asked.

You shook your head and chuckled. “It doesn’t feel great.”

She hummed a bit and placed her hand on your side. It was a shocking feeling at first, and if you were honest, reminded you a little too much of the Vision situation that unfolded last week. She pushed her hand into your side and her fingers curled a bit. Of course you didn’t mean to, but you jumped and let out a surprised noise.

“Sorry,” Natasha said. “Just had to see for myself.”

She must have been talking about your pain, right? You smiled and pulled down your shirt, turning to face her. She had a small smirk on her lips, but she looked more curious than devious. “See my pain?” You joked, trying to feign some sort of innocence in hope that she hadn’t figured out your little weakness. “That’s a bit sadistic of you, Nat.”

You heard Bucky chuckle to the left of you. He never missed a beat with his punches, so you decided to stay about fifteen feet out of range of the wildly swinging punching bag. Nat glanced over at him but redirected her attention to you. “Tony mentioned yesterday at the monthly debrief that you and Vision had worked on an experiment together,” She said. “Remind me to tell Tony that it’s time to include you in those meetings. It’s only fair.”

Your heart dropped. You had known that of anyone, Tony would have been the one to tell. He was just that petty. To be honest, the fear of them finding out had slipped your mind until now. You knew that Vision knew (obviously) and so did Tony, but when you asked Tony not to tell, it would have been hard enough to keep that a secret for him. Tony loved to have his fun at the tower, especially if there wasn’t some world-wide-threatening catastrophe in place. However, with a “weakness” of the sort, you felt as though you couldn’t afford to have the rest of the Avengers know about something as childish as that. Even so, you noticed that Natasha didn’t say anything. There was still a chance that, maybe, by the grace of the Gods, just maybe he hadn’t told them. You made sure not to keep that hope to close to you. It was unlikely.

You chuckled nervously. “Yeah, they needed help,” You said. It was inconspicuous enough.

Nat chuckled and wiped off dust from the sides of your arms before giving you a look-over. Besides your hunched stance because of the discomfort in your back, you looked fine. Sweaty, but fine. “Don’t worry about it too much. Everyone has something that can knock them back a few pegs,” Natasha teased. She winked at you and folded her arms. You felt your heart sink once again. Guess Tony told them after all. “Besides, it’s cute. Actually, if we wanted to use it during your training to help you build up a tolerance to it, we could.”

Of course, Nat was all business and little play. Her and you had a very close bond and you knew that she wasn’t someone to push past a friend’s comfort-zone. You appreciated it but chuckled nonetheless and shook your head. “So, I guess everyone knows at this point?” You asked.

“Yeah,” She said chuckling. “Pretty much.”

Shit.

---

           After your training with Natasha, you decided to go back to your room to hopefully shower and relax. Your arms and legs were sticky with dried sweat, and you felt completely exhausted. As much as you loved working with Nat, you knew that she tended to push you to your limit. It was necessary, but it still left you feeling drained.

You threw your bag of equipment to the side of your bed and collapsed into your sheets. You planned to stay there for a few minutes before going to shower; if you spent any more time on your feet, you were sure that you’d probably end up falling in the shower. That is certainly the last thing you needed now that your secret was out to the rest of the team. Fucking Tony. You groaned at the thought and rolled over to face the ceiling of your room with your arm draped over your eyes. Okay, so they know your secret. Now what? You stumbled through possible reactions and encounters that could take place because of it. You didn’t think they’d kick you off the team because of it, but it was still embarrassing and, to you, felt a little unbecoming of a superhero. Were you considered a super-hero at this point? Were superheroes ticklish? You chuckled at the thought and tried to imagine the big and mighty Thor rolling on the floor laughing with glee. It was a little ridiculous, but it made you giggle.

About an hour had passed since you had gotten to your room. You finally managed to get up and take a shower and resumed your original position of lying on your bed with your phone in your hand. To be honest, you had started to get hungry and remembered that you hadn’t eaten since lunch. Probably not the best course of action. You glanced at the time and grimaced: 8:27. It wouldn’t be too late to have dinner, but Natasha always advised you against eating after 8. It always made training less bearable. However, since your blood sugar was getting low, you stood up from your bed, your muscles still exhausted. It took just about everything in you to open your door and walk to the kitchen.

The last thing you had expected was to see Vision and Wanda in the kitchen together, Wanda cooking in a large saucepan. From where you stood, it looked like she was making some sort of fried rice, and a ton of it too. You took a step into the room and smiled at Wanda, who in turned smiled at you. The kitchen was brimming with the smell of fresh cooked onions and garlic and plumes of pillowy steam wafted up from the food. “Hey, (Y/N),” Wanda spoke. “Can you do me a quick favor and hand me that bowl of peppers?” You nodded, but before you were able to take it, she made a small noise which sounded surprised. “Actually, never mind,” She said. She had a smile on her face and with her powers, the small bowl of chopped green peppers floated towards her and finally spilled over into the sauce pan. “I forget I can do that sometimes.”

You chuckled. “Anything that I can help with?”

Vision at the opposite end of the island in the middle of the kitchen smiled and waved at you, “Hello (Y/N).”

“Hey, Vis,” You responded and waved.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Mr. Stark. I did my best to dissuade him from telling anyone. I didn’t expect him to say anything at our conference. I hope you can forgive me.”

You appreciated Vision’s apology. To be fair, it wasn’t even Vision’s fault, it was Tony’s. That being said, you weren’t mad at Tony either, nor were you at Vision. “Don’t worry about it,” You said, waving off his apology. “What are you guys doing in here? It’s a bit late to be making dinner.”

“We can ask you the same question!” A voice that you immediately recognized as Steve said from the couches in the corner of the room. You glanced over to see Steve, Natasha, Tony, Sam, Peter, and Thor pressed up against the couches, the light of the television screen lighting up all of their faces with a dim blue light that was ever shifting. “We were waiting on you,” Steve said, resting his arm on the back of the couch.

You smiled but became suddenly aware of your presence in the room compared to all of them. You felt meek and a bit shy suddenly. You opted to take a stool at the kitchen island rather than try to find a seat for yourself in the middle of everyone. “I’m surprised that Bucky isn’t here. Is he okay?” You asked, looking to Natasha for an answer. Just an hour ago or so, he had been with you both in the training room, knocking the hell out of those poor punching bags. “Should I go try to find him?”

“Don’t worry about it,” A voice said from behind you while a hand placed itself on your head, messing your hair around. You spun on the stool to see Bucky’s smiling face. “Glad to know that someone missed me,” He said. You felt good for a bit, knowing that you made him feel good. His black leather jacket stretched around his body and creaked with all of his movements. Maybe he had gone out for a drive or to go to the bar; it had become his main place to be since finding his own apartment. He put his hand down and looked at the rest of the group.

You turned away from Bucky to get a look at everyone else. They were all in casual clothing, a sight you normally would not have ever gotten to see. Under usual circumstances, everyone would be dressed in their “super-hero” attire, consisting of flashy colors, hard metal shields and weapons, and especially form fitted so everything went where it needed to and they wouldn’t have to worry about anything but the fighting. Seeing everyone in pajamas, sweats, and t-shirts certainly was not the first thing you expected to see. Even so, it felt homely and welcoming to see everyone relaxed. There were several bright red (courtesy of Tony, of course) leather couches and a dark wood table set in front of the three seater, and a few recliners in the same color sat in a large “U” shape around the flat screen television. You recalled the first day you arrived at the facility:

           You had arrived hand in hand with Natasha who had been giving you a guide around the tower. Your past was not something that you were ready to discuss with anyone, all they had known is that you were found during a series of raids in Russia. Natasha had been assigned to work undercover for a terrorist organization. You were grateful, but to be honest, you weren’t necessarily ready to deal with your past either. Your raggedy clothes had been stripped away and replaced with a clean and ironed out t-shirt that Steve had offered you. You were in no position to say no, especially considering that your clothes were just about ready to fall off. After the tour and getting your first shower in weeks, Natasha had lead you to the room you were in now: the living room. You both sat there for hours, watching Disney movies and bad rom-coms while eating take-out. Natasha had been the first one there for you, and even helped you begin your training. She was the person you trusted the most, and every ounce of you was grateful.

           Currently, Natasha was sat on the left side of the couch furthest from the television, Steve on the right side. On the other couch furthest to the back wall, Peter sat on the ottoman in front of Tony and Sam, while Thor sat comfortable in his own recliner. There were also three more recliners available, but you made a point in your head to save those for Bucky, Vision, and Wanda. But…where would you sit? I mean, you thought, I don’t mind sitting on the floor. The floor was completely clean, of course. It wouldn’t make for that much of an issue. However, scanning over the room again, you noticed a wide gap between Steve and Natasha. Natasha glanced at you and smiled, patting the open space with her hand. She gestured to come over to her with her head, and you gladly did so, making sure to be quiet and polite about sitting down. Honestly, it didn’t seem like anyone was paying much attention to the movie, whatever it was. Everyone was either chatting or on their phone. Maybe they had done this…for you? You had never seen them gather like this, and Steve did mention that they had been waiting on you. Even with that thought in mind, you pushed it off and stared straight at the television. There was a subtle fear in you over making eye contact with the others, so you kept your gaze away from the others faces.

           Peter was too lost in a one-sided conversation with Thor to notice your presence in the room. You watched how his hands flailed when he was excitedly speaking and how he barely ever broke eye contact except to think. It was admirable, especially for someone his age in comparison to everyone around you. He seemed to be speaking about this new experiment that Vision, Tony and him had been working on, but something about it seemed a little too familiar. Something about his words made your ears perk up, until…

           “Yeah!” Peter exclaimed, nodding eagerly. “I thought it would have been painful, it just tickled.”

           You froze and looked at Tony, who was smirking. He shifted his gaze to you and bumped his eyebrows. In reaction, you immediately cast your gaze down to your knees and felt your face heat. You guessed that it had been possible that Tony did need more “test-subjects” rather than just yourself…but did he need to be so obvious about it?

           “Oh, uh, that reminds me,” Tony said. Peter instantly hushed. “(Y/N), you worked on the experiment with us. Did you enjoy it?”

           The fact that no one paid any attention to Peter’s indirect admission into being ticklish made you a little bit more comfortable, but it was still embarrassing. Your eyes darted to everyone in the room as they looked at you with soft smiles. You nodded and let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah,” you said. “It really wasn’t painful. Ah, pretty much just what Peter said.”

           “Oh?” Tony said, jerking his head up. “Did it feel weird or anything?” Tony shook his head with each word he spoke with pursed lips.

           You knew exactly what he was trying to do. You went through the list of scenarios that were in your head, mostly possible outcomes of different responses, but some were images of you being scorned, excluded, or mocked because of this little weakness of yours. You cleared your throat and nodded with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, same as Peter, really,” you said. Tony looked at your to further elaborate on your answer. “Just tickled.”

           Next to Tony, Sam let out a rather loud groan and threw his head back onto the back of the couch. A pit immediately grew in your stomach; these were the kinds of reactions that you had been hoping to avoid. “Tony, leave the kid alone. She doesn’t need you being a creep on top of everything else.”

           Tony put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Me?” He asked overzealously. “Come on, this place could use a little excitement.”

           “She’s had enough excitement to last her a lifetime,” Natasha chimed in from next to you. You smiled at her, but she stared directly at Tony. “Plus, her skills in combat are getting impressive. I imagine she’d be able to take you on.”

           Once again, the pit in your stomach grew and your heart rate spiked. There was no rhyme or reason why you would want to take on any one of these people in a fight. Natasha was the only person you had sparred with in the past few days, and thus, the only person you felt comfortable even beating in a fight. Your mouth spoke before your head was able to catch up, simply because of the panic. “No, no,” You said, your hands up in defense. “I don’t think I-”

           “Sure you can!” Thor chimed in with a grin from his recliner (that he looked way too large for). “We’ve trained and battled warriors even smaller than you across the nine realms. Some of them put up a very good fight.” It was supposed to be a compliment, so you smiled at him in thanks.

           “What do you think, (Y/N)?” Steve asked. You looked over to Bucky and watched his eyes dart between you, Steve, and Natasha. It was normal for Bucky, Steve, Nat and you to have lengthy conversations in the training room but truth be told, you had never participated in a larger group discussion with them. The feeling in the room felt devious, but you kept your cool and did you best to steel your face the way that Natasha had taught you. “Think you’d be able to take us in a fight?”

           You smiled and gathered up the courage to be apart of the conversation, rather than the shy feelings that you displayed. “I think I’d rather fight next to you guys than against you.”

           “Good answer,” Bucky said with a smile and patted your shoulder.

           “Kiss ass,” Tony remarked. You chuckled but decided to ultimately ignore it.

           Once the energy of the room had died down, you returned your gaze to see exactly what movie had been put on for you. Maybe if you had had time in the last few years to sit down and watch television, even just the commercials, you would have had an idea of what it could be. A large gymnasium filled to the brim with teenage girls was on screen, the camera focusing on a particular one who seemed nervous to be there. There wasn’t much point in asking what you were watching; no one was really paying much attention anyways. Peter went back to excitedly explaining his latest science project and how a test that he had coupling the project was coming up in a few days. He was confident, but a little on edge. He mentioned how studying would probably help him---

           Your thoughts were cut off by a quick jab to both of your ribs, and your body flung backwards into the couch to guard yourself. A little giggle escaped your lips and your elbows flew to your sides. You looked behind you to see Bucky with a rather devious smirk as he leaned onto the headrest of the couch. You didn’t even notice him stand up, let alone get behind you.

           “Had to test the waters,” he said, his smile not leaving his face. “Oops.”

           “Lot worse than we thought, huh?” Steve said and smiled at you. You looked up at Bucky who was hovering directly over your face, barely even a foot away. Your stomach fluttered with nerves and you turned away to make sure he wouldn’t be able to see the blush on your cheeks. Before you could utter out a response to this not-so-sudden attack, you felt fingers on your side give a light squeeze. You squeaked, pushed further into the couch, and fell into a short burst of giggling before opening your eyes to see Steve’s hand inches from your torso. “Guess so!” He exclaimed, laughing.

           There wasn’t really much time to be able to compose yourself between Bucky’s little attach and Steve’s. Soft giggles already flowed from your lips and your eyebrows furrowed up into a worried look. Your body smushed itself into the couch as far as you could possibly go and pinned your arms to your sides to prevent anymore attacks. With your hands in front of you, you attempted to steady your giggles, however, your words were interlaced with the subtle shake of mirth. “Wait, wait, wait, this isn’t a great idea—”

           Peter turned to face you from his ottoman and laughed, giving your knee a squeeze which didn’t do anything to help your cause. If anything, it just made you jolt and your giggles get louder. He smiled at you with raised eyebrows. “I’m just glad I’m not on the receiving end of this,” He stated.

           “Don’t get your hopes up, boy genius,” Tony said, standing up from his seat. “Just because we have a new victim doesn’t mean you don’t exist anymore.”

           Peters face flushed but he chuckled. “Trust me,” he said. “I’m grateful.”

           Between your nerves from having three people tickle you, it took you a second to register what Peter had just conversed about. Had something like this happened before? To be fair, it was easier to imagine Peter getting tickle-attacked here than anyone else. After all, he was still a bit childish. Granted, so were you so… that didn’t necessarily leave you in a good spot.

It was interesting though; when you had first heard of the Avengers, you saw them on television when you were younger. Watching them fight side by side against the Chitauri was inspiring, but this was years later. Of course, you never would have guessed that you would have been part of the team yourself. Let alone, you never would have guessed that the Avengers were actually quite playful.

The confusion slipped your mind as Bucky fluttered his fingers on the side of your neck, which automatically renewed your giggles. You scrunched up your shoulders and grabbed at his wrists, which ultimately did nothing. It was also a very strange sort of tickle, considering that one hand, or arm rather, was completely made of metal. He had cold (literally) and calculated movements, and his fingers fluttered up to the back of your ears. You squealed and held your hands up to your ears in a less than desperate attempt to stop the attack. Had it been another situation, a noise coming like that from an Avenger would have been embarrassing, but your mind was too busy focusing on the feeling.

“Bucky!” You shouted, dissolving further into your laughter, and sinking further in the couch.

Not slow enough for your mind to register what was happening, a new squeezing tickle sparked to life on your left side and you hunched over. You let out a small involuntary scream and hunched your body towards the left. You realized that Steve had taken it upon himself to help Bucky out, and really, you shouldn’t be surprised. The zapping sort of feeling in your sides and the light fluttering on your neck were almost too much to bear, and your laughter hitched. You debated on taking your hands away from your ears and neck, but that would only help Bucky. However, if you didn’t, then that would just give Steve more of an opening. Instead, your body took control, and slid down even further until your head was placed a few inches on Steve’s lap. You curled in on yourself as Steve moved his hand to your right side, which was now exposed. Bucky’s fingers switched to what he could get at in your position, which happened to be your ribs. You rolled onto your back in a feeble attempt to stop their fingers, but it only made them switch to your stomach. Once again, your laughter hitched. Deep belly laughs mixed with squeals echoed over the sound of the television. There were few thoughts bouncing around your head as you were tickled to pieces. Don’t kick Nat. Can everyone hear the movie over me? PLEASE don’t kick Nat. How long have they been going? How long are they planning this? Was anyone paying attention anymore? Guard yourself. If this was an enemy, you’d be screwed. Oh god, please don’t let Natasha use this in training. This is embarrassing. Who’s that laughing? Why is this…kind of fun?

“Guys, PLEHEHEASE!” You begged. You could hear a few scattered chuckles over your own laughter, but it was hard to focus on who they were coming from.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, stopping his movements and resting his palm on your forehead. Bucky stopped as well. “I think she’s had enough for one day.”

You were grateful for the air that flooded its way into your lungs. You were panting, but scattered giggles escaped from your lips. To be honest, you didn’t care much about the fact that your head was resting on one of the founding members of the Avengers. If anything, he was the one who decided to tickle you, so he had to deal with the consequences that came with it. When you opened your eyes, the team around you were in giggle fits themselves. Bucky was still peering over at you from behind the couch, his arms hoisting him up on the back rest. He had a wide smile on his face. Scattered conversations here and there let you know that most of the attention was off of you at this point, which you were kind of grateful for. You pushed yourself off of Steve’s lap and playfully pushed Bucky’s head out of the way so you could sit up. He laughed and ruffled your hair, before finding his own recliner and sitting down. Steve let out a laugh and looked you up and down.

“You look like you just got out of training,” he said.

Grateful for the playfulness of his tone, you laughed at what he said. “I feel like it too.”

Next to you, Natasha poked you in the ribs. Your defenses automatically went up again before she placed her hand on your shoulder. It was her way of telling you that you could relax now. At least, that’s what she did during training. “Welcome to the real Avengers.”

“Real?” Sam said from his seat. “If I remember correctly, we’ve saved the world too many times to count. That’s real.”

“Lighten up, hotshot,” Tony spoke. “We can still be the Avengers without having a stick in our ass. Maybe you need the America dream team over there to teach you how to do that too.”

“You touch me and I’ll kill you,” Sam said with a smile on his face.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this place was a lot more familial than you thought. And maybe, just maybe, you could find this place becoming a permanent home for you.

[knivesareout]

take on the world - chapter one

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, bad jokes, flirting idiots and Tom doesn’t exist.

Summary: A whirlwind romance takes you by surprise when Frankie rescues you.

A/N: Well, here is the beginning of what is going to be a BEAST of a fic. There will probably be around 8-10 chapters in total and I’m already working on the next one (aka where the smut is). I will warn you all that this is going to deal with some heavy subject matter as we go along but I’ll put up proper warnings when they come. I hope you all enjoy and you can read it on AO3 here.

INSPO TAG | CHAPTER TWO

___________

There was a special place in hell for people who set their friends up on blind dates.

This wasn’t your first, or even your fifth, blind date in the last year that you’d agreed to go on to appease a happily married friend. This time it was Jessica’s husband’s co-worker who she’d shown you a picture of and you had wearily agreed, nodding as she told you how great he was.

He was in fact, not great, as he was now 30 minutes late and counting despite the numerous texts you’d sent him.

Thankfully the bar you were currently at was only a quick 10 minute walk from your apartment, a small miracle you were glad for. Surely you could stumble back the couple of blocks to your place if you decided to drown your sorrows in shots of tequila, a couple beers, and maybe a fruity drink or two if you were feeling spendy or particularly sad.

The bar was loud and, of course, overly crowded. It was a Saturday night after all.

Most tvs around the room were playing various baseball games at top volume with the season having only started a couple weeks prior. It wasn’t your favorite sport but you knew enough to keep up, eyes fixated on the Red Sox game just to the left of you.

“Need a refill?”

A cough sounds in your ear and you turn, realizing the question was meant for you. The man who’s taken up residence on the bar stool next to you is waiting for an answer, a distressed ball cap tugged low over his face and you wish you could see him better.

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, glancing down at the empty pint glass and back up again. When did you finish that? “Yeah, I mean. I need one.”

The man just nods, motioning the bartender over and he wordlessly clears your glass and sets a new one in front of you as well as one in front of the man next to you.

Muttering a quiet thanks to the bartender, you turn to the man in the cap and smile. “Thanks. Didn’t even realize I’d gone through it so fast.”

The man nods with a shrug of his shoulders, a slight smile on his face. “No worries. You looked like you were sucked into the game and figured I could help. I’m Frankie, by the way.”

Giving him your name, you reach a hand for him to shake- which he does. Rough, calloused hands envelope yours in a tight squeeze before he drops them with a cough.

You realize he must’ve been watching you before, if he knew you were with an empty cup.

Normally that was something you would find creepy because you were clearly alone, or at the very least weird but for some reason it’s endearing on this guy. Frankie. Out of the corner of your eye, you try to take in his features without being obvious, his attention now turned to the same game you’d been watching only moments before.

Dark hair curls outside of his baseball cap, a dimple embedded into his cheek on the right as he smiles. Patchy facial hair covers his jawline, bits of grey catching the light as he tilts his head back to take a swig of his beer and you wonder how old he is. At first you would’ve pegged him around your age, but now getting a somewhat better look he might have several years on you.

“Were you waiting on someone?” He asks, turning to you with his voice raised. A group of men are shouting in the back of the bar near the pool table and you wince.

You nod, downing half of your beer and swiping at your mouth. “Yeah. Blind date. I should know better but I can’t tell people no and he was cute.”

Frankie just laughs at your honesty, “So he just didn’t show?”

“Yep. Never had one that just didn’t show up. Figured I might as well get drunk to commemorate the occasion. Or commiserate. Either one.” You bring your glass up to his and cheers, shaking your head incredulously.

“His loss.”

You turn to Frankie with a raised brow, lowering your glass to watch him slowly check you out. You feel hot all over and clear your throat, teeth tugging on your bottom lip.

“What about you then? Here alone or did you ditch someone?”

Frankie presses a hand to his heart, fake wounded at your jab. “You already think so little of me? I was here with friends but they bailed on me,” he explains. “Saw you by yourself and thought we could both use the company.”

His answer puts you more at ease and you finish off your second beer of the night.

“So, figure I gotta ask. How old are you?” It really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things but if things are heading in the direction you hope they are, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable if you’re too young.

He seems startled by your question, like it’d never occurred to him to ask and he falters before answering. Did it make him uncomfortable?

“You know,” Frankie starts with a chuckle. “Normally, I’d be offended but I’m not. ‘M 42.”

Nodding, you blow out a breath that you didn’t realize you’d be holding. “Newly 30,” you tell him, bringing your refilled drink up to click against his own.

The age reveal doesn’t seem to bother him, at least from what you can tell. You’d never cursed your age before until now, hoping it hadn’t put him off.

You turn on the barstool to face Frankie, hoping to break the tension.

“So I have just one question for you, Frankie.”

He nods, turning to face you and waiting for you to continue.

You hold up a finger and place it on his jaw near his mouth, the one spot not filled up by wiry grey and black hair. His eyes are wide at your touch and he’s tense.

It was something you’d noticed right away when he sat next to you, your attention drawn to it for whatever reason. His terribly patchy facial hair was endearing.

“Why is this the perfect place for a kiss?”

The way Frankie looks when he laughs makes your heart ache in the best way. He tosses his head back, mouth wide as he tries to contain his laughter. His dark eyes crinkle, nose scrunched up at your blunt question and you retract your hand, satisfied with his response.

“How much have you had to drink?” He manages to get out between wheezing while he catches his breath.

“Couple shots of tequila while I stupidly waited. Two beers now, thanks to you,” you nod at the empty glass. “I might be drunk? It’s hard to tell, honestly. I think I’m fine.”

“So you’re just normally like this?” Frankie laughs, tilting his head. His fingers drum on the side of his almost empty pint glass, something you wonder is a nervous tick.

You push your empty glass away, hoping it’ll get the bartender’s attention and it does. Ordering Frankie another beer and a vodka cranberry for you, you turn back to him. “Guess so. If it’s too much though, I can pretend you never came over here and finish the game by myself.”

“Not what I meant,” he’s quick to tell you. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting myself into is all.”

Silently your lips tick up in a smirk and you start on your drink, turning your attention back to the game.

Over the next hour, you get to know Frankie and vice versa. He’s ex-Army; out for the last couple of years and he’s slowly getting back into the real world. Explains how he doesn’t have any family in North Carolina but all of his buddies live here, so he moved.

Frankie’s a helicopter pilot, giving city flyover tours to people coming in from out of town. He doesn’t love it but he loves flying so it’s enough for him, he tells you. You can see it in his eyes how passionate he is about flying and it makes you grin.

In turn, he asks about you. Normally you wouldn’t give up so much information about yourself to someone you don’t know all that well but Frankie has slowly started to feel like anything but and you feel guilty letting him give you so much only to get nothing in return- so you tell him. Maybe too much. About how your job working at a law firm is the most boring thing, especially when you had no interest in law. Which in turn sparks up his question- what do you want to do? That ends up setting you off on a tangent about your love of photography but how hard the industry is to break into to do it professionally or at the least get paid for it.

“Here, hang on.” You tell him, sliding your phone out of your back pocket and pulling up your Instagram. Social media was, normally, the bane of your existence but you used the app for your photos and nothing else, you tell him. He nods like he understands, telling you he isn’t much better technology wise.

Frankie’s quiet as he scrolls through your feed. He’s slow about it too, clicking on a few to see them bigger, and you bite your lip in anticipation at what he might be thinking. It’s nerve wracking to show anyone your passion and you manage to finish off your drink while he’s still scrolling, waving off the bartender as he asks if you want another.

“You’re fucking talented as shit, you know that?”

His response catches you off guard and you can instantly feel yourself getting warm at his compliment. It feels different, coming from him. A stranger who’s slowly becoming something more.

“You’ll have to let me take your picture some day,” you shoot back, kicking your dangling foot against his.

“You don’t have pictures of people on there though,” he’s quick to point out, handing you back your phone.

“Well no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t. It’s hard convincing people to hike with me is all.” Nature photography was your niche but you could already envision photographing a portrait of Frankie on a mountain with the sun illuminated behind him.

Frankie finishes off his beer and sighs loudly, turning to you with his brows raised. “Well, we’ll have to plan something then won’t we?”

You’d known that was coming and still, your stomach fills with butterflies as he all but asks you out. To see you again beyond this dark, crowded bar that smells like smoke and sweat.

“Definitely.”

Frankie asks if he can walk you home once the bar tab has been paid an hour later- he’s even covered yours too, in apology of your ruined date and unintentionally crashing your plan to wallow in self-pity afterwards.

“I’m just a couple blocks down,” you tell him, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders to combat the cool, spring breeze.

“No worries. Can’t complain about getting to spend a little more time with you,” he says cooly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

The line is smooth and cheesy but it still puts a smile on your face, which you’re sure was its intended effect.

You chuckle, turning to him so he can see the roll of your eyes. “Smooth, Casanova.”

Frankie puts his hands out in front of him in defense, scoffing at your jab.

“Cut me some slack, alright. Haven’t even dated a woman in years, let alone spent hours interrupted and talking with one,” he explains, knocking his shoulder with yours.

The little touch is something weirdly intimate and you cough, looking at him with a skeptical eye.

“I find that hard to believe, Frankie,” you chuckle, “You’re a good looking guy. Can even hold a decent conversation. No dates? Really?”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “Wasn’t in the right headspace for it. And now that I am, I just so happen to meet you and who knows. Was it fate?”

You spot the teasing tone of his voice immediately and you shove him lightly as you start to approach your apartment building. “You’re an ass,” you tell him, giggling as you try and pull your keys from your pocket, fingers fumbling and they drop to the ground with a clang.

You both reach down at the same time, heads knocking together and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. Laughing so much your chest aches with it and you can’t breathe, tears pricking the corner of your eyes and you glance over and Frankie’s no better, clutching his stomach as you both sit on the ground around your fallen keys.

“We’re a fucking mess,” you manage to get out between left over laughter and catching your breath.

Frankie lets out a loud breath, trying to calm himself and he nods in agreement. Picking up the keys, he hands them to you and stands, offering you a hand that you gladly take and try to steady yourself once you’re safely back on your feet.

“You alright?” He asks, running his hands over your hair and brushing at the crown of your head. As if he’s inspecting you for any injuries and you hold your breath.

The best you can manage is a nod, eyes flicking to meet his and you search them for any sign that he’s feeling exactly what you are.

He is. Expressive brown eyes that tell you everything you need to know.

Frankie sighs, pulling his hands back from your face and groans. Kicking at the pavement and mumbling quietly to himself.

Has the moment passed? Did you not react how he was expecting?

Turning back to you, he gives you a self-deprecating smile. “We’re drunk,” he explains. His tone is apologetic and you wonder why he’s saying the words if he feels bad about them in the first place.

“Maybe a little,” you agree. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t had, what I’m sure is, a much better date than I would’ve if that guy had shown up.”

You can tell your words mean something to him. It’s like he’s got this loose energy that he doesn’t know what to do with. Like he wants to shout and scream and run down the street. It makes you want to know more about him- what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Bouncing on his toes, Frankie hurriedly pulls out his phone from his front pocket and hands it to you. “I wanna see you again. Put your number in there?”

The phone is old. Flip-phone old and you laugh as you figure out how to program your number in there, adding your name along with a smiley face at the end before handing it back over to him.

“I had a really great time tonight, Frankie,” you promise him, fiddling with your keys. “Thank you for saving me from what was probably going to be a terrible night.”

“Me too,” he agrees, pursing his lips.

It’s like he’s deciding his next move and it catches you off guard when he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek.

Once there’s a fair amount of distance between you, Frankie heads down the sidewalk and waves. “I’ll call you,” he tells you, calling over his shoulder.

“You better,” you yell back.

Your grin is huge and you’re sure he can see it, even as he continues to walk backwards, watching you, and he disappears into the night.

---

Frankie calls the next day.

Phone numbers that weren’t saved in your address book were usually sent straight to voicemail but there was a nagging feeling deep in your gut to just answer it so you move to the edge of the sidewalk and out of the crowd and pick up.

“Hello?”

You catch a sigh and Frankie’s voice sounds over the speaker, bringing a smile to your face instantly. “Hey, it’s uh. Frankie. From the bar last night?”

Laughing a little, you nod to yourself. “Yeah. I remember you. Almost knocked me out when we bumped heads trying to pick up my keys.”

“Oh good,” he sounds relieved and you glance around as you wait for him to speak again, hoping the conversation was more than just chit-chat. “I know we just saw each other yesterday but I was wondering if I could see you again. Tonight maybe? If you don’t have plans. It’s fine if you do, I just thought I’d ask.”

He’s rushing through his words and you can tell instantly that he’s had to psych himself up to call you from his nervous tone through the receiver.

You don’t have plans and you’re more than eager to see Frankie again. Wondering if last night was a fluke and hoping that it wasn’t. Relationships weren’t your forte but maybe this was the exceptiontion. He was the exception.

“Yeah, I’d really like that Frankie. Just wanna meet me outside of my building around 7?” You chew on your lip nervously.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “That- that would be great. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you chuckle. “Bye Frankie.”

“Bye.”

Suddenly thankful that you were done running your errands for the day, you headed back home with a grin on your face that didn’t seem like it wanted to leave. Cheeks aching, you wondered what and if he had anything planned.

It had been too long since you’d gone on any sort of date. A real date; something planned and thought out unlike the blind dates you were used to. Frankie didn’t seem the type for a typical dinner and a movie, and something about that idea had you even more excited to see him. Everything about the situation with him was unpredictable: the chance meeting at the bar, to the walk home where you laughed harder than you could remember. There was clearly something there between the two of you and it was exhilarating.

The rest of your day was spent cleaning and daydreaming about the night you might have with Frankie. You wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel when you liked someone. The concept was foreign to you, your relationship history basically nonexistent. Was it possible that he was just as nervous as you were?

As 7pm rolled around, a text sounded over your phone and you leaned over on the counter to see Frankie telling you he was outside. Grabbing a light coat on your way out, you took a deep breath and locked the door behind you. No turning back now.

Frankie was dressed similarly to last night. Jeans, a t-shirt and a tan jacket that looked like it’d seen better days. His hat was missing and his hair looked soft, the ends curling around his ears. You greeted him with a smile as you walked out of your building and he nodded, rocking back on his feet.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” He asks, nodding his head as you both started to walk left down the sidewalk. “The fact that we met last night and we’re seeing each other again?”

You chuckled, “It’s weird in the sense that I’ve never done this before. Any of it. But no, to answer your question. I wanted to see you again and I am, so.” Shrugging, you turn to listen to him as you both continue to walk, keeping to the side.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I’ve met people in bars. Women. But it’s usually a one night kind of thing-,” Frankie stops himself and groans, running a hand down his face in embarrassment. “That sounds bad. Fuck.”

“Ain’t no shame in the game, Frankie. I’m not here to judge you,” you promise, pausing as you wait for the crosswalk sign to turn white so you can cross the street. “Where are we going, by the way?”

Frankie waits to answer until you’re both safely across the street and heading further into downtown, the crowds getting thicker and you push yourself against his side so as not to lose him. His arm finds its way across your shoulders to keep you close and he answers, leaning his head down closer to your ear. “There’s this bar and arcade thing down a couple more blocks that I figured we could spend some time at. Maybe head to the park after that and walk around. See where the night takes us?”

It’s easy to tell he hasn’t quite planned this out and something about that makes your heart race. He really had just wanted to see you, planning this as he goes only so you can spend more time together.

“The park can get a little murder-like late at night,” you point out with a laugh,

“That’s true. Well, we can always just see where the night takes us after we play a couple of games then if that’s alright?”

“That’s the part where you’re supposed to tell me you’ll protect me,” you poke a finger into his side and laugh. “But yeah of course, Frankie. Whatever you wanna do,” you reassure him. “I’m just along for the ride.”

The bar slash arcade was… something. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t what you walked into. The building was packed to the brim; loud noises, slots and different game noises sounding from every corner, and a small bar was tucked in the left corner with a tv playing what looked like The Shining above it.

“Have you been here before?” You raise your voice, balancing yourself on his shoulder to get closer to his ear.

He nods shouting back, “Yeah, once. Came with a couple of buddies of mine. They’ve got some cool retro games in the back that we used to play as a kid. Everyone loves air hockey too, right?”

You can see the air hockey table he’s referring to. The black light makes everything under the table glow and it reminds you of the arcades off of food courts that most malls used to have. The skeptical feeling you had when walking in seems to fade away and suddenly you’re excited, wondering why you hadn’t been here before when it was so close to your apartment to begin with.

“Once the table clears, I wanna play,” you say, tugging Frankie towards the back where you see a racing game that looks familiar.

Frankie exchanges a few bills for tokens while you hold the two racing games and once he’s slid in the appropriate amount, it’s immediately turned into a competition.

As the screen starts to countdown to your race, you turn to him quickly with a proposition. “If I win, you buy me a beer.”

“I was gonna buy you one anyway,” he tells you, shaking his head as if he’d do anything less. “But alright. If I win, you have to give me a kiss right here.”

He annoyingly points to the empty spot on his jaw where his facial hair didn’t seem to grow, that you had drunkenly pointed out the night before, and you can’t help the loud bark of laughter that escapes your lips as you quickly nod. “Deal.”

You’re almost tempted to lose once the race starts, just so you can kiss him there. But deep in your gut you feel like there’ll be plenty of opportunities to kiss him there in the future so you don’t hold back. The routes feel familiar as you and Frankie virtually drive through them and you’re sure you’ve played this game before, years ago.

As you both reach the last lap and the finish line, you just barely win and pump your fists as you cross. The screen declares you the winner in big font, a trophy spinning in circles and you turn to Frankie. “So, about that beer.”

You two end up at the bar for a little over an hour. The barstools surrounding the area are a hot commodity and once you and Frankie are sat down, you’re reluctant to give them up, especially with the bartender keeping your drinks filled without having to ask.

Frankie tells you about his friends. Benny, Will, and Santiago. How they’ve kept him going since returning back to civilian life. He says they’re all one big support group to each other, knowing that even if it feels like there’s no one you could count on, one of them is always around. There’s a tightness to his voice when he talks about them, like he can’t believe his luck that he has such supportive friends. The clear despair on his face has your chest aching, and you squeeze his hand in comfort.

It makes you yearn for a friendship like that. Most of your friends are married and it’s harder to relate to them when you’re single and living in the city while they’re still living in your hometown with a couple of kids. You tell Frankie as much and he sympathizes and points out that you have at least one friend in the city now, shaking off the emotions of such a heavy conversation.

“Looks like the air hockey table is free,” you nod, seeing the table free for the first time that night.

Frankie nods, standing up to grab his wallet. “You grab the table, I’m gonna close out the tab.”

You quickly walk over, grabbing the two handles and knock a few tokens into the machine when the lime green puck pops out. Frankie joins you a few seconds later, grabbing his handle and standing opposite you.

“So, what are we competing for this time?”

You think for a moment, “Well, I don’t think I need another drink. What about if I win, you have to cook me dinner sometime this week? Maybe Wednesday?”

Frankie seems taken aback by your suggestion but readily agrees. “I can do that. And if I win, you have to cook me breakfast Thursday morning.”

His offer isn’t lost on you and you toss the puck onto the table with a smirk as the air starts to push it around. “You’re on.”

The match is filled with trash talk as you two play. You even manage to gather a small crowd of people around you, cheering you both on. It’s close. For every point you get, Frankie’s one step behind you. Your wrist is starting to ache and the countdown starts on the side, signaling the end of your game in the next 30 seconds.

“You’re gonna lose, Frankie,” you taunt, scoring another point and he tosses the puck back on the table and shoots it towards you as you block it, sending it back across the table.

Except you lose. By a point.

There are cheers for Frankie and slaps on the back as another couple takes over the table and you both move to the side to watch.

“I can’t say I’m all that mad that I lost,” you tell him honestly, glancing up and locking your eyes with his own deep, brown ones.

“It was kind of a win-win for both of us either way,” he agrees, nudging his arm with yours. “So, another date Wednesday night?”

You nod quickly, “Sounds perfect.”

--- Frankie walks you home a few hours later.

After the arcade, you both grab slices of pizza from a small place down the block and walk around, grease staining your fingers and tongues burnt from being so hungry.

Most people are tucking themselves back into their beds at the late hour, your watch showing it was coming up on 2am as you both approach your building.

“A successful first date, I think,” you turn to him, arms wrapped around yourself as the wind turns cold around you. You sniff as your nose starts to drip, scrunching it up and Frankie laughs.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against chest in a hug.

You savor the warmth as you press your cheek against him, then turn your head. “I should go inside. And you should head home, it’s so fucking late.”

Untangling yourselves, Frankie shoves his hands into his pockets and knocks his arm against yours. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Nodding quickly, Frankie shoots you a smile and turns, jogging across the street to where his truck is parked.

It’s like seeing him walk away pushes something inside you, itching to see him just once more and you call out to him quickly before he can get in his truck, “Frankie! Wait! I forgot something!”

He turns to watch you run across the street as he stands in front of the driver’s side door, looking at you curiously once you’re stood in front of him.

“What did you forget?”

“This.” And you lean over to press a kiss to the bare spot along his jaw, the sparse hair around it tickling your lips and you pull away with a grin.

Turning to glance both ways before crossing the street you call behind you, “Goodnight Frankie!”

NEXT CHAPTER

[firewoodfigs]

Hi!! Could you do "It was a hospital bed, and A slipped in carefully to lie beside B all night" for a Royai fic from that prompt list? Thank you!! ❤️❤️

hello anon!! thanks for the prompt aaaah I had a lot of fun toying with it in between work and the other shenanigans that have been cropping up this week <3 I hope you don't mind the somewhat unusual ending ahaha I dimly recall writing a few other fics indirectly responding to this prompt (here and here!) so I wanted to try something slightly different from my usual fare 👉🏻👈🏻 part of this was also originally from a two-shot I'm working on, tweaked to fit the prompt hehe. I hope you enjoy!!! 🥰

                                       +++++

Riza can think of a million reasons why hospitals are awful.

First, the food. She’s not sure if it’s as nutritious as they make it out to be; there are times when she wonders if it’s even edible. She’s had worse, of course - hospital food isn’t as bad as ration bars - but she’s quickly getting tired of eating plain yoghurt and bland porridge every day, for every single meal.

Second, the stench. Riza hates that every inch of the place smells like a victim of obsessive cleanliness; she has to resist the urge to upchuck every time the door opens and the smell of chemicals and antiseptic filters in like an unwanted guest.

Third, the fact that she’s sharing a room with a man who, at this point, is behaving more like a cat on hot bricks than a disciplined soldier is quickly driving her insane. She’d readily agreed to be his caretaker, of course; Riza doubts there’s anyone else capable of dealing with his antics and ever-growing anxiety. But after hearing him sigh and toss and turn in his bed for the fifty-eighth time that night (she’d counted, because she was bored out of her wits, and there was nothing else she could do other than sleep or stare at the ceiling, per doctor’s orders), Riza decides she’s just about had enough.

She looks at him from her bed. He’s presently engaged with twiddling his thumbs, thinking out loud.

Riza sighs and rises from her bed quietly. She brings the IV stand along with her - an unnecessary inconvenience - and carefully slips into his bed once she’s made sure that the tubes and wires connected to them are tangle-free.

“I never pegged you as an opportunist, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, despite her best efforts to be discreet. “Sleeping with your commanding officer while he’s blind?”

“You could always court martial me later, sir,” Riza deadpans. “Now scoot over.”

Luckily, he obliges without much retort. 

“Your wish is my command.”

Riza huffs. She adjusts the thin, scraggly piece of linen that the hospital justifies as a blanket - another downside of this shitty place - and makes sure he’s probably covered, warm.

“Three words,” she mutters.

“Eight letters?”

“Twelve, actually.”

Roy raises a brow. “What could it be?”

“Would you like to wager a guess, sir?”

“Not really.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says. Roy laughs, and it’s a tiny little sound that is so discordant with his current mood, but it’s at least genuine. “Now go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright.”

He stops fidgeting, for a while. Riza closes her eyes and attempts to fall asleep - and she actually does, for a while - at least until she hears the sheets rustling again, the movement and tension coming from beside her. She groans softly.

“You should sleep, sir.”

She feels him stiffen. Roy smiles sheepishly, looking right through her like she’s not there. It still unnerves her how this is probably going to be their new normal: him without his sight. Her as his eyes.

“Sorry.”

Riza frowns. An apology is not the answer she wants. What she wants is for him - or them both, actually - to sleep and rest and properly recuperate so that they can have a speedy recovery, so that they can get out of here as soon as possible.

“Bad dreams?” she asks, because it’s the exact same thing that’s been haunting her. (She’s lucky her throat makes it impossible for her to scream or kick up a fuss; she’d hate for Roy to stumble blindly through the room in what he probably thinks is an act of chivalry and/or heroism.)

He shrugs.

“Then and now,” he offers. His smile fades, and he lapses into an unexpected moment of vulnerability. “Hard to differentiate between day and night nowadays, too.”

And because Riza doesn’t know what to say, she simply brushes her knuckles against his.

Roy returns the gesture, drawing indiscernible patterns on the back of her hand with his bandaged one.

“Well, it’s almost midnight now, sir.”

He lets out a small laugh, but it’s painfully hollow.

Riza shifts slightly. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze - hospital beds are clearly not meant for two persons (or anything inappropriate) - but it doesn’t bother her all that much. She just wishes there’s more she can do, to comfort him. Make him feel a little less gloomy.

“It feels like I’ve been sleeping for years.”

“If it helps reduce the incidents of you falling asleep during office hours, then you should get more sleep now, while you can.”

Roy turns, like he’s searching for her, even though there’s not much closer she can be at this point. He exhales shakily. She feels his hand trembling against hers, and responds with a gentle caress. (She knows he’s still feeling guilty, probably berating himself internally about their predicament, about what transpired beforehand. And to be fair, there’s a part of her that’s still angry about all that's happened underground. They’ll probably have to talk about it, at some point, but probably not now — not when they’re both still drugged up and only half-lucid.)

“Humour me, Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep,” he confesses. Dimly, Riza notes that his voice has taken on a somewhat petulant edge — like a child complaining about their bedtime, but she doesn’t comment on it. Being nearly bedridden for a week is enough to drive her nuts, too. “I’ve tried counting sheep and all that shit, and it’s just — it’s not working.”

Riza sighs. She’s tired, yes, but she’s also aware that she’s probably not going to get any sleep at this rate. She tries to think of ways to stave off his restlessness. Reading is one — she can probably bore him into sleep with a Xingese recitation (she’s gotten pretty good at that lately), but she’s technically not supposed to be talking much. Alcohol is another, but neither of them are supposed to be drinking (and besides, the only form of alcohol available in hospitals isn’t meant for human consumption). Maybe chess, then. She’s not particularly keen on playing a game of chess, now (because she just wants to sleep), but she thinks it’ll help exhaust some of his boundless energy.

“We could play a game of chess, if you want. Breda was kind enough to drop a vinyl board here in the afternoon.”

“I can’t see —“

“I’ll tell you where I move my pieces.”

He frowns, clearly not liking the idea. “You’re not supposed to be talking much, Lieutenant.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, turning to pour a cup of water for herself before continuing. “I won’t have to speak much — unless you’re being a nuisance or a cheat or a fraud.”

He laughs. “I’ll be none of those things, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

She sets up the board on his bed and helps him sit up. Riza lets him play white.

“It’s your move, sir.”

“You’ve made yours?”

“No. You’re playing white.”

“Tough. It’ll be more embarrassing if I end up losing.”

Riza smiles. “Well, we don’t know that yet, sir.”

He opens with pawn to e4. She helps him move his pieces and parrots her movements back to him. Pawn to e4, too. Pawn to d4. Same here. A closed game, not quite like his usual aggressive style of playing.

Riza watches as he frowns with intensity. It’s probably more a test of memory than strategy for him at this point. She wonders if there’s a way he can adapt to chess, to the military’s utilitarian (and frankly unsympathetic) demands now that his sight’s impaired.

(Life is so unlike chess, Riza thinks, in spite of Roy’s silly metaphors that postulate otherwise. The rules are never fixed, and the universe is always rife with uncertainty. It’s not like chess, where you can predict your opponents’ moves if you get good enough. Neither of them had expected that he’d be here right now, losing sleep and contemplating life over a chessboard while blind.)

He clucks his tongue, reciting a series of movements from memory. The Blackmar-Diemer. Riza smiles indulgently.

Still as aggressive as ever, sir.

Of course.

The game quickly becomes a round of blitz, and though he manages to open his lines and mount a rather decent attack, it’s clear that he has trouble recalling after the eighteenth move. It's still an impressive feat, though. Better than the average layperson.

“Check,” Riza announces, conversationally. Technically, she’d had the advantage, both on the board (and in real life). It shouldn’t really count, and besides, checkmate isn’t her objective — it’s to get her commanding office to sleep.

“Well-played,” Roy hums. He’s strangely still in his bed as he closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples — presumably to ease off an oncoming migraine. It happens a lot, when he’s in deep thought, when he’s over thinking. Thinking too much for his own good. “I need to work on my recall, I think.”

“I think so too, sir.”

He laughs, but the sound is again empty, foreign. It is so at odds with his usual smirks and unbridled laughter (when he’s laughing at someone else, or a joke made at somebody’s expense), like there’s an ache beneath the surface that she cannot reach.

Roy turns slightly, bumping into his dethroned king as he adjusts himself on the bed.

She blames the sudden, uncharacteristic urge to cry on her drugged-up system.

(Riza doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how uncommunicative his eyes are. He’s always regarded each and every one of his subordinates with respect and meaning and gratitude, but he’d simply looked over the unit as if taking inventory when they had come by earlier.

But she’ll make do, Riza thinks. She has to. She’s always known him in a way nobody else has, in a deeply intimate way, like a book she’s memorised by heart.)

They fall silent for a few minutes. His lips part a little - she knows  he’s about to say something - but it snaps shut again, like he can’t bring himself to say the words.

Riza simply waits for him, like she always has; holding onto his held breath like it's the last thread of hope. She leans into his touch a little closer than necessary.

I’m right here, even if you can’t see me.

Roy smiles.

“I hope I won’t forget your face, Riza.”

[vvienne]

CHENGXIAN FIC RECS

Petals on a Wet Black Bough by DachOsmin

While drinking at a tavern that caters to men that favor men, Jiang Cheng happens upon a masked stranger that looks eerily like his dead brother.

from these nettles, alms by callowyn, zorrosuchil

Jiang Cheng didn’t have a plan for Wei Wuxian coming back into his life, and he realizes now this was a mistake. He’s going to slip up. He’s going to give it all away.

Fate—or at least Jin Ling—is going to make sure of it.

you're the one that I want by verity

They haven't really talked about what's going on between them, except this morning while Jiang Cheng was eating breakfast and Wei Wuxian was lying on the sofa with his arm over his eyes, Wei Wuxian said, "Are you going to be weird about it if I hold your hand in front of our friends?"

Jiang Cheng chewed his youtiao.

"Just let me know," Wei Wuxian said. "It's chill."

Oh, Jiang Cheng knew very well that it was not chill. But he wasn't like Wei Wuxian; he couldn't just do things like that, like it was nothing. Wei Wuxian could name his sword—gleaming now on the rack above his head—Suibian, he could do whatever he wanted. He got all the curses and the blessings of being always inside and outside the Jiangs, and Jiang Cheng got everything else.

"You can hold my hand," Jiang Cheng said after he swallowed, feeling like he'd just walked over a bed of hot coals.

letters from inside the storm by serein

"Jiang Cheng," Wei Wuxian hears himself say, echoing and strange as if from underwater. His hands feel slow and fumbling as he reaches for Jiang Cheng's chest, watching the blood soak through the silk and keep dripping.

______________

A year post-canon, Jiang Cheng takes a blade meant for Wei Wuxian. Things unravel.

family resemblance by ruche

“I am good-looking,” Wei Wuxian cuts in, theatrically pouting. Then he drops the act and gestures at Jiang Cheng’s-- everything, “but in a different way than you, obviously.”

In which Wei Wuxian takes Jiang Cheng to a sex store. They are, as always, so incredibly supportive of each other.

i was put together wrong, still i was made for you by finedae

Wei Wuxian wakes up in Mo Xuanyu's body, and the five slits across his wrist. He also wakes up in a brothel where the Mo family had sent Mo Xuanyu after the embarrassment of harassing Sect Leader Jin Guangyao, his half brother and now Chief Cultivator.

Jiang Cheng pays for a night, looking for a demonic cultivator.

too much, not enough by Shamelesscooper

“Okay, so good news!” Wei Wuxian says, swanning into the room with just enough energetic cheer that Jiang Cheng knows whatever it is he’s going to say is going to be awful. “We figured out the nature of your curse! You’re probably not going to die! It’s not even going to hurt!”

“Yeah? And what’s the bad news?” Jiang Cheng gruffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Wei Wuxian does a double-take, like he’d expected his (fake) good mood to fool Jiang Cheng. Like it’s ever managed to fool Jiang Cheng. His laugh is a little shrill, a little frenetic as he says, “Well, uh. You know our ghost friend back there? Yeah, she’s possessing you. Which is why...” He makes a gesture at the general area of Jiang Cheng’s... problem.

“Ah,” Jiang Cheng said, expression souring. “I’m not going to like the cure, am I?”

“You’re not going to like the cure,” Wei Wuxian nods.

--

Jiang Cheng gets cursed on a nighthunt. Wei Wuxian helps him with the cure.

Halves by jusrecht

What do you call halves that fit each other in all the wrong ways?

Start a Riot by ohwhatevrewhatevr

“They killed A-Die and A-Niang,” Jiang Cheng says, his sharp but defined muscular frame curling in. He's all lean, purposeful muscle, nude and bruised.

“Wei Wuxian -” Jiang Cheng grits out in a dangerous, furious rasp - there’s a slight tremor to it still. He still isn’t looking at Wei Ying, just lying there limp, his face to his side, showing his profile and those sharp cheekbones. “Where the hell did you go? Where did you go that was worth leaving me behind ?”

“I-”

“And why won’t you tell me? Why won’t you-”

TL;DR Jiang Cheng goes into heat, they fuck, and hormones make them spill some of the beans before they go spill some Wen blood. (no romance happens :/, just sex)

like you’ve never known fear by tsunderestorm

He doesn’t want to take it slow, because Wei Wuxian doesn’t want things slow. Wei Wuxian wants passion and skill and things Jiang Cheng doesn’t have, he just has anger and inferiority and a head full of fucking thoughts that won’t stop running around and bumping into one another when he’s trying to focus on this.

翻云覆雨 // in clouds and rainfall by oh_fudgecakes

A night hunt goes wrong when the group encounters a Qiongqi. While protecting his nephew, Jiang Cheng is hit with poison by the beast. They don’t have time to research an antidote, but prolonged dual cultivation with another cultivator will neutralize the poison...

When he’s chosen for the job, Wei Wuxian is surprised, and determined to give his shidi a good time. Alternatively: In Which Yunmeng Recon Happens While Wei Wuxian is Balls Deep In Jiang Cheng.

oh my god they were (step)brothers by serein

"Really, boys?" Yanli sighs. "Right in front of my salad?"

________________________

chengxian and step-brothers porn tropes: a montage.

baby it's a black hole by villainousfriend (katzenfabrik)

"What's wrong, Jiang Cheng?" he asks suddenly, looking up from his bowl.

Jiang Cheng just meets his gaze, not even lifting an arm to convey, Where do you want me to start?

"You've been... staring at me, this whole evening, shidi," Wei Wuxian adds, more slowly. The colour in his cheeks didn't fade after the bath, and now, with the food and candles, the room's got stuffy and he's even pinker than before. It should look healthy but it only highlights the shadows under his eyes, so deep they look like grooves in the skin.

"No, I haven't," he says automatically, and shoves a meatball in his mouth.

Jiang Cheng meets up with Wei Wuxian after Baoshan Sanren restores his golden core, just as they planned. After this, surely things are going to go right, right?

don't you worry honey, 'cause i can't say no by Runespoor

Wei Wuxian tests a talisman and hopes Jiang Cheng doesn’t make it weird.

hungry little fool by serein

Despite the easy warmth of the picture, Jiang Cheng immediately pegs something as wrong.

Wei Wuxian's looking at his slim forearms, held aloft in the air, with that look on his face like his unease is lapping at the edges, threatening to escape.

Like the tide is rising too high, and it's threatening to wash Wei Wuxian away.

[soft chengxian post-canon ft learning to love your new body]

lotus bridge by Sectionladvivi

Wei WuXian comes to visit Jiang Cheng's shitty apartment and they wax nostalgic about when they used to whack off to porn together as teens.

for a moment (i forget to worry) by everyearning (noctiphany)

He wants to fuck him, of course he does. But this is good. It’s almost too good. Wei Wuxian is afraid of things that feel too good now, too scared that he’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream. But he thinks as long as he can keep them like this, right on the precipice, maybe he won’t have to find out. Maybe this won’t get stolen from him like so many other good things.

smoke by serein

"You do piss me off," Jiang Cheng replied automatically, ignoring Wei Wuxian's faux-sad swoon. Jiang Cheng scowled. "If I'm such an oblivious idiot, why didn't you say something?"

Wei Wuxian huffed. "Well they're very confusing feelings to explain, Jiang Cheng. I want to kill anyone who thinks they can hurt you, but I also want to fuck you until you cry." Oh. Jiang Cheng's stomach fluttered in mixed interest and trepidation.

Canon divergent AU chengxian ft. Jiang Cheng's not so subtle danger kink and Wei Wuxian being a jealous, dangerous gremlin.

when everything soft abrades you by tsunderestorm

Jiang Cheng had said “no” when Wei Wuxian had first asked him to wear lacy panties and a bra when they fucked. He doesn’t feel bad about that, either - after all, it hadn’t even been a serious request, more rather one of Wei Wuxian’s off-hand, teasing remarks. They come off as jokes - at least, he means for them to - but Jiang Cheng knows from experience that they are backed one hundred and ten percent by Wei Wuxian’s modus operandi of “haha, unless it you’re into it though”.

Turns out Jiang Cheng is into it, too.

weaving figure eights and circles by vrooom

“Wait hold on. Jiang Cheng?” The voice is no longer sultry. It’s matter of fact, incredulous, and horrifyingly familiar in a way that makes Jiang Cheng’s insides shrivel up and crumble into dust.

“Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng says, holding the phone as far away from his ear as possible. He glares at the phone like it personally betrayed him. “What the fuck are you doing on my phone sex line?”

can’t train a moth by Runespoor

"Hey. You alright?"

"My boyfriend wants to put nudes of me after sex on Grindr. Take a wild guess."

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng attempt communication and a new kink.

clothes make the man by verity

Jiang Cheng requires a new suit. Wei Wuxian removes it.

[atlafan]

Lock the Door

a/n: college!Harry one shot because why the f not??????? I’ve wanted to write a good college!Harry au for aw while, and I’m happy with this. 11K of friends to lovers. (not proofread) 

Warnings: Smut.

It was junior year of college, Y/N and her friends were thrilled to finally be out of the dorms. Even though they were still living on campus, they were in a student apartment, and incredibly thankful. Now instead of sharing a bathroom with hundreds of other people, there would only be four of them. The only thing was Y/N’s parents weren’t thrilled about the people she was rooming with.

There was her best friend, Liv, who her parents actually really liked. It was the other two roommates that made them feel uneasy. See, Liv really wanted to live with her boyfriend Chris, but they didn’t want to exactly live by themselves, and the student apartments for just two people were really expensive. They’d been dating since second semester their freshman year so it wasn’t weird that they wanted to be in closer proximity. Y/N also thought Chris was an amazing person. He and Liv never made her feel like a third wheel, it was an ideal situation. The three would have been fine to live together, but the university had certain policies in place. One guy was not allowed to live with two girls, they needed another guy. That’s when the topic of Harry came up.

//

“I know he’s not your favorite of my friends, but the other people he was supposed to live with are going off campus, which he can’t afford to do.”

“It’s not that he’s not my favorite, I just don’t know him that well.” Y/N shrugged. “If that’s the case, I think Liv and I should share a room…”

“Yeah, that works. Chris and I don’t wanna be on top of each other all the time, we’re just sick of going across campus all the time.” Liv says. “So, you’d really be okay with Harry living with us? You’ve said before you don’t really care for his lifestyle…”

“He’s just not the first person I would hang out with, but if it means we get this apartment, then I’m cool with it. We’ll get to know each other better if we live together, right?”

//

When Y/N broke the news to her parents they got into a big fight with her about it, but she assured them that a lot of other students did what she and her friends were doing. Living with boys really wasn’t that big of a deal. If anything it would give her practice for when she someday actually got a boyfriend that she would eventually move in with.

The four of them got coffee together the morning they had to have the housing application in. Harry didn’t say much, clearly not a morning person, but he seemed alright with the situation. He and Chris were good enough friends, and he was also excited to not be in a dorm next year.

“I just have one request.” Y/N says. “A lot of the apartments usually have one room that’s bigger than the other, from what I’ve noticed. I’d like for Liv and I to have the bigger room. Chris, I’ve seen your dorm, you literally have like nothing in there. Liv and I have a ton clothes and other things that we’ll space for…”

Chris and Harry look at each other and shrug.

“Alright, that’s not problem.” Chris says. “We should make a group text so over the summer we can see who’s bringing what. We need to figure out dishes and other kitchen shit.”

“And we’ll still need a mini fridge for extra shit, one of my friends was tellin’ me there’s not much room in the apartment fridges. I can bring the one I have.”

“I have a microwave.” Y/N says. “Happy to bring that too.”

“We’ll also need a chore chart.” Liv says. “Just because Y/N and I will be the women of the house does not mean we’ll be the maids. I am not going to be on my hands and knees cleaning the bathroom all the time. We should also pool in money for toilet paper and stuff like that.”

“Good idea, babe.” Chris kisses her cheek and Harry rolls his eyes.

That was is right there, the attitude that turned Y/N’s stomach. She thought Chris and Liv were a really cute couple, their affection didn’t bother her at all, but Harry seemed overly annoyed. All it was, was a peck on the cheek.

//

You all wished each other a good summer when the time came. The four of you group texted off and on best you could to make sure there was little miscommunication about who was to bring what. Since Harry was an international student, he would be moving in a week before everyone else. Y/N was actually happy about this because he would be there to help her move in. She’d be coming up the night before move in to get a good parking spot, and then her parents would come the next day with the rest of her things.

For the first time, she texted Harry outside the group chat when she arrived at her apartment. He opened the door for her only wearing a pair of shorts. Her eyes grew wide, and he notices.

“Sorry, it’s hotter than satin’s asshole in here, I hope you brought a fan for yourself.” He rubs the back of his neck, and you laugh.

“I did. That’s the worst thing, no A/C in these old apartment. At least it’s only hot like this for a couple of weeks, right?” He hums his response as she walks in. “To be honest I was expecting a mess…but it looks good in here.”

“Not much to make a mess with.” He shrugs. “I rearranged some of the furniture in the living area so it was less tight next to the kitchen. Got the TV set up too.”

“I can see that, it looks nice.” You smile.

“So…do you like need some help with your shit?”

“That would be great, actually. The microwave is pretty heavy.”

“Thank god you brought it with you. I’ve been dying for some popcorn.”

“Great, you can stink it right up.”

“Relax, I was kidding.” He rolls his eyes. “Take a joke, Y/N.”

Her mouth falls open as he walks out to her car. He opens the trunk and hoists the microwave out while she grabs her luggage bags that were full of clothes.

“I can bring that up for you. It’s an up and up, so Chris and I are on that level, and you and Liv will be up top. That was the bigger room just like you requested.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

Harry helps get everything else inside while Y/N goes to get a prime parking spot. Harry felt sort of awkward just standing around while she unpacked certain things for the kitchen.

“Jesus, it really is hot in here, I need to go change.” She wipes some sweat from her forehead.

Y/N goes up to her room and opens the two small windows, and turns her fan on to try to get the air to move. She comes down a few minutes later in just a sports bra and a pair of shorts.

“This is sort of awkward, but you help me with my bed? I’m having a tough time getting it up a little higher…”

“Not awkward…at…all.” When he looks at her he sees how little clothing she’s wearing.

“If you get to be shirtless then I get to dress like this.” She says, putting her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t say anything.” He smirks. “Besides, I’m sure we’ll be seein’ each other in a lot less as the year goes on.”

She shakes her head and follows him up. Harry’s able to get the bet up a few pegs so Y/N can slide the small dresser underneath it, creating more floor space.

“That’s perfect! My parents are bringing those plastic pins you can stack as like a makeshift dresser that fits in the closet tomorrow. Hmmm.”

“What?”

“Well, usually my mom helps me make the bed. It’s just so long, it’s hard to get a good grasp on the sheet.”

“I can help if you want.”

“You’ve done enough.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” He smiles. “After this though would you wanna get out for a bit? I feel like it’s cooler outside. We could go downtown for a slice.”

“Oh, I like that idea a lot. Pizza is a must right now.”

Harry helps you get her sheets on her bed, and she tell him she’ll fix the rest later. Y/N knew she wouldn’t need a lot of extra blankets tonight. She throws on a shirt and so does he, and out the door they go. They walk down town the local pizza place, and grab a booth after getting their slices.

“Nice and cool in here, huh?” He says.

“So much better.” She giggles. “Where are your other friends living?”

“They’re over on Russell Street. It’s kinda nice, I’ll have a place to go party, and then have a quiet place to come back to afterwards. Think it all worked out for the best.”

“Can you remind me again what your major is? I know Chris is Sports Management…”

“I’m an Art major…” He says quietly. “And yes, I know it’s going to be hard for me out there once I graduate.”

“Woah, I didn’t say anything.” She puts her hands up in defense. “I think that’s cool actually. What do you do? Paint? Sculpt? Draw?”

“Mix of all three actually. Basically if I can get my hands dirty, I will.” He smirks. “I just wanted to get a degree in something I liked doin’, but I do have a minor in graphic design just in case I need somethin’ to fall back on.”

“Oh, is that how you and Chris met? That’s his minor too.”

“Mhm.” He takes a bite of his pizza. “We had a couple of classes together and got paired on some projects, hit it off right away.”

“That’s great.”

“How did you and Liv meet?”

“We roomed together second semester freshmen year. Our other roommates both dropped out so we got paired randomly. She’s the best, I got really lucky. She was already dating Chris when we met.”

“The three of you seem close.”

“He’s really nice, always included me. They never made me feel like a third wheel which was nice. I mean, I have other friends, don’t get me wrong. I found things to do when they needed their alone time.”

“And you ever find any alone time?”

“That’s an awfully personal question, don’t you think?” She scoffs.

“Thought we were gettin’ to know each other a bit here…sorry.”

“It’s okay…um…I mean, there are guys I’ve been alone with…” Y/N clears her throat. “I use Tinder like every other college student, you know?” He hums his response and finishes up his slice. He leans back and sits with his arm strong across the back of the booth. “What about you?”

“Eh, I like to meet people in person, at like a party or somethin’.” He thinks for a moment, and leans on the table to be a bit closer so no one else around could really hear. “You’re pretty, Y/N, why do you use Tinder?” She blushes. “I mean, surely you could just meet someone out.”

“I…well, I don’t really go to big parties, mostly kickbacks.” He nods and finishes up his bottle of soda.

“You ready?”

“Mhm.”

They both walk back to the apartment, and he keys in. She goes upstairs to keep unpacking and to tidy up. She was trying to hang up some curtains, but she fell back from trying to reach to high. Harry hears the thud and rushes right up. He had a nicer short sleeve shirt on now, and a nicer pair of shorts.

“Are you okay?!”

“Yeah.” You laugh. “Just lost my balance. Do you think you could help me hang these up quick?”

“Sure.”

The curtains get hung and they look great with the twinkling lights Y/N strung up.

“Liv and I love these lights.” She looks at him. “You like nice.”

“Matt’s havin’ a party…do you wanan come?”

“God, with the amount of time I’d need to get ready you’d be late.” You laugh.

“I wasn’t plannin’ to leave for another hour, plenty of time to freshen up.”

“Sure, I could come out for a bit, thanks.”

He leaves her to get ready. She puts her hair up in a cute, messy bun, and touches up some makeup. Y/N finds a cute pair of shirts and a crop top to throw on and down the stairs she goes. Harry was pouring two shots of raspberry vodka into two small glasses.

“Here.” He smiles. “Wait, you drink, right?”

“Yes.” You giggle. “I can’t wait to turn twenty-one. Just a few more months.”

“Same here, February actually.”

“No way! Me too. When’s yours?”

“The first, yours?”

“The fourth.”

“Wow, that’s crazy.” They clink their glasses and off to the party they go.

//

Y/N drank way too much last night, and she knew her parents would be able to tell. They were there bright and early with the rest of her things. They also put Harry to work.

“You have a lot of shit, you know that?” He says, setting another box down.

“I’m well aware.”

Eventually Liv and Chris show up and it’s hugs all around. Y/N and Liv get a minute alone in their room, finally.

“So how was last night with just you and Harry?”

“It was good! We went out for pizza, he helped me a bunch with my things, and he took me to a party. I’m glad we had the time to get to know each other a little bit.”

“Me too. He can be kind of shy from what Chris tells me.”

“Apparently he’s an art major.”

“I wonder if he’ll hang any of his things up.”

“You know, he’s been in our room a ton already, but I didn’t think to go into his.”

“Well, let’s check it out.” They both go down and into the boy’s room.

Both sides were organized, but they could tell whose side was whose. Harry had his art supplies all over his desk, and had boxes of paint and brushes under his bed. He had a couple of things up as well.

“Looks good in here guys.” Liv says.

Y/N and Liv end up going out for lunch with Y/N’s parents, and then they go on a trip to the grocery store to pick up what they think they need.

“Alright honey, I guess we’ll see you at Thanksgiving, if not sooner.” Y/N’s mother says, giving her a hug.

“Please, be careful.” Her dad says.

“I’ll be fine. Let me know when you get back home. Thanks for everything, love you both!” She sighs as she closes the door. “Finally.”

Y/N and Liv go up to their room and continue decorating it to their liking while Harry and Chris get their gaming consoles hooked up to the TV in the living area.

“So…you got to know Y/N a little last night?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool so far. I was kinda worried, I didn’t think she liked me every much.”

“She just didn’t know you, that’s all. What did you guys do?”

“I helped her with her things, we grabbed a slice of pizza, and then I took her to Matt’s for a party. I think there were like three different guys that tried to take her home, but she turned them all down.” He shrugs.

“And what did you do?”

“She didn’t have a key yet, so I made sure she got back here, and then I slipped out an hour or so later to hook up with this girl that gave me her number at the party.”

“Well, thanks for getting her back here at least.” Chris chuckles.

“I’m not a fuckin’ asshole.” He nudges him playfully. “She did have fun at the party, I’ll probably bring her out again. You all can come any time. I feel like that place is gonna be my second home.”

Y/N and Live come down with all the things they like to keep in the bathroom and the boys look scared. For a student apartment it was a decent size bathroom, with a good size tub-shower. Liv opens the cabinets under the sink, and you hand her two boxes of pads and tampons.

“Yup, definitely livin’ with women.” Harry smirks and crosses his arms.

“If feminine products are going to bother you-“ Liv starts, but he cuts her off.

“Got a mum and a sister back home, periods don’t scare me. Was just simply makin’ an observation.”

“Good.” She grabs a small trashcan puts a bag in it. Y/N hands her the lid. “Listen to me very carefully, this is just for Y/N and I. There’s another small can for community use, but this is for her and I’s…”

“Say no more.” Chris says. “Just keep it under the sink and we won’t touch it.”

“I also would like some courtesy with shaving.” Y/N says. “I really don’t wanna see pubes around the toilet.” She crosses her arms. “If you make a mess, you clean it up.”

“I feel like the two of you think we’re savages.” Harry laughs. “I’ve been in a girl’s bathroom before, and I have to say, I think girls are way more disgusting.”

“Why were you in a girl’s bathroom?” Liv asks.

“I was asked to join someone in the shower.” Harry says bluntly. “And it didn’t last long because we both walked in and saw a fuckin’ bloody tampon on the floor. So we went to the men’s bathroom and it was spotless. And while we’re on the topic, you both have long hair, so if you don’t wanna see pubes around the toilet, I don’t wanna see hair in the drain.”

“Deal.” Y/N says. “Let’s move on to the kitchen, shall we?” The four walk out to the kitchen area. “If you make a mess in the microwave, you clean it immediately, don’t leave it for someone else.”

“If someone’s name is on something in the fridge, don’t eat it.” Chris says. “However, I would like to see us cooking together. Like if someone makes pasta, someone else could throw in a meat or veggie.”

“That’s a good idea.” Liv says. “If you make a mess in the fridge clean it up. Check expiration dates. Oh! Trash is a big thing. We all need to take turns with that. If you see it getting full, just take it out, don’t leave it for someone else.”

After spending over an hour on a chore chart and going over more house rules, the four feel satisfied.

//

A few weeks into the semester, and Y/N noticed that Harry wasn’t home a lot. He was either down at the art studio, or at his friend’s apartment. She also noticed he didn’t sleep there much on the weekends, but it worked out well for Chris and Liv so they could have the room alone when they needed. Y/N never saw Harry bring a girl home with him, and she was sort of relieved.

Living with two guys wasn’t as awkward as Y/N and Liv thought it might be. Everyone was really chill, and it was nice to cook together. It was like being in a little family.

One morning Harry woke up late for class, but desperately needed to shower. Y/N happened to be in there. Everyone usually showered at the same time, but Harry was in a rush and annoyed. Liv and Chris had already left for class. Harry was standing the hall, just in a towel, waiting for you to finish. When he hears the water turn off, he sighs with relief. When she didn’t come out right away, he groans.

“The fuck is she doin’ in there.” He knocks on the door. “Y/N?! I’m runnin’ late, and I need to shower!”

She opens the door immediately and they both freeze. Her eyes fall to the towel that was hanging low on his waist, and then up to him. Her towel wasn’t exactly as secure as it could be either. Her hair was just brushed out and dripping wet down her chest.

“I’m so sorry, why didn’t you knock sooner? I, uh, just let me grab my blow dryer…” She snatches it and scoots by him.

“I’ll be quick if you need to get back in there…”

“Thanks.”

Harry takes his very quick, and semi-cold shower, and gets ready for class. He had ab out ten minutes to spare. Y/N comes down the stairs, and slips into the bathroom to grab some spare tampons, and bumps into Harry on her way out, causing her to drop them.

“Shit sorry, I’m fuckin’ up your entire routine this mornin’.” He bends down to pick up what he caused her to drop and blushes when he sees that they’re tampons. He grabs them anyways and hands them to her.

“It’s okay, really.” She takes them and sticks them in her bag. “Um…well, have a good day Harry.”

“You too.”

//

“Y/N?” Harry knocks on her bedroom door late one night. She climbs out of bed and goes down the few steps to open it.

“Is everything okay, Harry?”

“Yeah, I think Liv and Chris fell asleep…and I really don’t wanna sleep on the couch, nor do I wanna go in there in case they decide to get busy again.” He huffs. He looked exhausted, he was at the studio all evening and just wanted to sleep.

“Oh! Well…okay, I could sleep in her bed if you wanna sleep in mine?”

He follows her up the stairs.

“I’ll just sleep in hers, we’re all close enough now. She doesn’t really have a leg to stand on to say much about it.” He yawns and takes his shirt off.

“Okay.” He watches as she uses the small step stool to get back into her bed. He waits until she’s scrolling on her phone to take his pants off, and he climbs into Liv’s bed. “I’m gonna turn the light off now.”

“Alright.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

//

Similar nights to those kept happening, and Harry was starting to get aggravated, so he called for a roommate meeting to discuss it.

“I’m sick of not bein’ able to sleep in my own bed. I know I’m not here a lot, but when I am, I’d like to be able to just go to my room and go to sleep.”

“You’re right, Harry. I’m sorry.” Liv says, sort of embarrassed.

“I think you two should just share a room. It’s clear that’s what you want anyways.”

“But what about Y/N?” Liv looks at her.

“I feel like Harry’s been my roommate anyways.” She shrugs. “We share every other room with guys, guess I wouldn’t mind rooming with one either.”

“What if your parents find out?” Chris asks.

“It’s not like we’re gonna push the bed together and sleep next to each other like you both are probably gonna do. He’ll have his side, and I’ll have mine. I think it makes the most sense too.”

That afternoon everyone helps move things around. Liv gets situated with Chris while Harry gets his things the way he likes.

“You know secretly, I’m happy they didn’t ask for the bigger room. It’s way nicer up here.” Harry says, sitting down on his new bed. “You sure you’re okay with this? I don’t wanna take away your privacy…”

“I’ll just change in the bathroom more.” She shrugs. “Or, I mean, just look the other way if I happen to need to change quick up here and I’ll give you the same courtesy.”

“I know I’m not here a lot on the weekends, but for the times I am, I mean, uh, like do you ever bring anyone back here with you? If you could just text me a warning or somethin’ or put somethin’ on the door.”

“I don’t…I haven’t, um, it’s been a dry start to the semester.” She blushes. “I had my period, and then I’ve started to get busy with my classes…I’ve gone out a few times, but there’s also no one I’ve really wanted to hook up with. Don’t worry, if the occasion happens I’ll give you a heads up.”

“Cool.”

“Is that what you’re out doing on the weekends? Hooking up?”

“Sometimes…mostly I just end up sleepin’ at Matt’s. They have a futon for me there for when I get too drunk to walk all the way back here. You should come out to another party, he’s havin’ people over tonight if you wanna come. Let the lovebirds down there have a little privacy.”

“Good idea, yeah, that sounds like fun.” She gets up and goes into her closet to pick out a casual dress. “Is your friend Matt single?” She asks without looking at him.

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know…I think he’s cute, and he was really nice to me last time I was there. Gave me a bunch to drink.”

“Well, that’s just common courtesy when you bring a girl to a party. Get her all liquored up.” Harry smirks.

“Mhm.” She rolls her eyes at him, and grabs a blue dress from her closet and her jean jacket. “Do you think he’d be into me?”

“What’s not to be into?”

“Oh stop it.”

“M’serious! You’re really nice, and you’re cute. He’d go for you.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

//

Harry walks Y/N to the party after pregaming a bit at their place.

“Harry!” Matt says as he walks in. “And you brought Y/N again, hey.”

“Hi.” They smile at each other.

“We’re just setting a game of flip cup up in the kitchen, you guys wanna play?”

“Sure!” Y/N says brightly.

The night was a lot of fun. Harry found himself talking to some girl who was clearly trying to get him to go home with her, but in the pit of his stomach he wanted to make sure you got home okay.

“Let me just find my friend and make sure she’s all set, okay?” He say, leaning into the girl and she nods.

Harry searches for you. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Matt in a while either. He walks into the kitchen and stops short when he sees Y/N sitting up on the counter with her legs wrapped around Matt’s waist, and his tongue down her throat. He wants to say something, but he opts to just text her that he’s left with someone.

“She’s all set, let’s go.” He takes the girl by her hand and leads her out of the house.

She tells him where she lives and that her roommate was gone for the weekend so they wouldn’t be disturbed. She was a good shag, Harry was having fun, but just as he coming an image of Y/N’s legs wrapped around his own waist, instead of Matt’s popped into his head.

“Shit.” He groans and looks down at the girl underneath him. She smiles up at him and he smiles back.

He pulls out and throws the condom away. She frowns when he starts to get dressed.

“You don’t have to leave…”

“I know, usually I would spend the night, but…uh…I.” He sighs and looks at her. “Listen, I don’t really have a good excuse, I just wanna go sleep in my own bed, I’m sorry.” He leans in and kisses her forehead. “I had a lot of fun though.” He gives her a reassuring smile. “You have my number?”

“Yeah.”

“Text me anytime.” He winks, and leaves her there.

When Harry gets back to his empty room, he’s not entirely sure what it is about it that’s bothering him. Eventually he’s able to fall asleep, but he’s woken up a few hours later by the sounds of Y/N coming up the few steps to their room. She was carrying her shoes to not make much noise. She gently opens her dresser drawer to grab a large t-shirt and shorts. He looks away while she changes, not that he could really see her anyways with how dark the room was. He hears her get into bed, and the satisfied sigh she makes turns his stomach.

//

The light creeping in from the curtains punched Harry in the face. He sits up and see Y/N on her side facing him, scrolling on her phone. She looks up at him when she sees he’s awake.

“Morning.” She says quietly.

“Hey.” He stretches and gets up. Even though they’d been sharing a room for a while, she would never get used to seeing him in just a pair of boxers. “M’takin’ a shower.”

“Okay.” He stops short before going down the stairs.

“What time did you get home last night?”

“Um…like 3AM I think. I was surprised to see your shoes downstairs. I’m glad I caught them or I would’ve flipped the light on and barreled up here.” She laughs. “I thought you went home with someone.”

“I did.”

“Oh.”

“Didn’t feel like spendin’ the night.” She hums her response. “Did you hook up with Matt?”

“Yeah.” You blush. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, why the fuck would I care?” He crosses his arms.

“I don’t know…I mean I figured you knew what my intention was since I asked you if he was single, but if you don’t want me hooking up with your friends, I don’t have to again.”

“So if I really had a problem with it, you wouldn’t fuck him again?”

“If you had a valid reason, sure. I mean…it was a nice hook up, but not the best I ever had. It’s not like I need to have his dick again.” Harry had never really hard Y/N talk like that before, it surprised him. “Oh god, don’t tell him I said that…”

“What wasn’t good about it?”

“I…what?”

“Well, if it wasn’t the best you ever had, what wasn’t good about it? Come on, you can tell me?” He leans back against the wall.

“I didn’t get off.” She says bluntly.

“Oh.”

“And I had to fake it so we could be done.” Her cheeks grew redder.

“You sounded pretty satisfied when you got back…”

“I sighed with relief because I was exhausted and was finally in my comfy bed.”

“So you faked it.”

“Mhm.”

“Why not just tell him he was doin’ it wrong.”

“He was so drunk, Harry, I don’t think it would’ve made a difference. He passed out after, and I slipped out the door.”

“Wait, you walked back by yourself?” He frowns.

“Yeah.”

“If that happens again, just call me, okay? I don’t like that.”

“But you were with someone.”

“So? I’m always there for my friends, come on Y/N. What if somethin’ bad happened?”

“Okay, okay, I won’t walk alone again.”

“Good.”

“Go shower so I can shower, will you?”

“We could just save water and shower together.” He jokes, and she whips her pillow at him. “Oi!” He picks it up and whips it back at her, making her laugh.

//

Harry came home with paint all over his hands, and was scrubbing them profusely when Y/N came in through the door.

“Thank god it’s Friday, I’m beat.” You sigh and flop onto the couch.

“Me too, I think I’m gonna stay in tonight.”

“Oh?” She was shocked.

“Mhm.” He sits down next to her. “Might play some video games or somethin’. What about you, do you have plans?”

“As of right now, no. But who knows, my friends my text and say something’s happening.” She shrugs.

“We could hang out if you wanted.”

“What would you wanna do?”

“We could watch a movie.”

“Sure! That sounds nice actually. We should see if Liv and Chris wanna join. I feel like we never all hang out.”

Harry was annoyed, but not visibly. He really hated hanging out with couples.

//

That night the four get cozy on the couch for a movie. Chris made everyone drinks, and Y/N popped some popcorn. The girls sit in the middle of the couch while the boys take the end seats. Not that that mattered, because eventually Chris pulled Liv into his lap, and they got comfortable together. The wine Y/N had been drinking was making her sleepy, and her head dropped onto Harry’s shoulder, not that he minded.

She wakes up to the feeling of being carried up to their room.

“Harry?” He sets her down on her bed.

“Yeh fell asleep.” He smooths her hair away from her face. “Brought yeh up.”

“Do you…never mind.”

“What?”

“I don’t know…it’s stupid, never mind.”

“Y/N, would you just tell me what you want?”

“Well…sometimes I get a little jealous that Chris and Liv can just cuddle, and I didn’t know if you’d wanna have a platonic cuddle with me for a bit.”

“A platonic cuddle?”

“Yeah, but only if you want.”

“What does that entail exactly?”

“Well, you could lay next to me and I could just rest my head on your chest. No spooning unless I’m the big spoon.”

“Why’s that?” He chuckles. “Not that I don’t like being the little spoon.”

“I wouldn’t wanna give you a boner if I was little spoon.”

“Ah, right, because I have zero zelf control.”

“Do you wanna cuddle or not?”

“Yeah, alright.”

He climbs onto her bed and lays flat on his back so she can rest her head on his chest, just like she wanted. He puts an arm around her and rests his hand on her shoulder. What Y/N didn’t know was that Harry had gotten a booty call text, and was supposed to be out the door, but this was something that Harry just couldn’t say no to, so he texts the girl and apologizes, and tells her he’ll be over another time. He feels her nuzzle into his chest further. Harry realizes he very much likes the attention he’s getting from wine-drunk Y/N.

They both asleep like that, cuddled together on Y/N’s bed. Her eyes fluttered open, at first she was confused when she saw Harry, but then she remembered she asked him to cuddle with her. She didn’t remember getting so comfy she had fallen asleep. Both of his arms were around her, and she had a leg over one of his. His lips were parted and light snores were coming from him. Y/N desperately needed to pee, but she also didn’t want to disturb him. She notices his phone lighting up with texts, and her curiosity got the better of her. After all, it could’ve been an emergency.

Lindsay – Matt’s Party: are you serious?   12:04AM

Lindsay – Matt’s Party: you’re rly not coming over? 12:07AM

Lindsay – Matt’s Party: this is the 3rd time you’ve done this, H. I’m done. 12:15AM

Y/N sets his phone back down, and looks back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He blew off some girl for me? She thinks to herself. He could’ve gone…maybe he didn’t really like her that much.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes slowly open. He has the same slight confusion Y/N did, but then he relaxes when he remembers he voluntarily slept next to her.

“Hey.” He mumbles in a sleepy voice, one she had gotten quite used to and liked a lot.

“Hi.” The air suddenly felt awkward. “I need to pee.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

“Okay.”

“So, I’ll just…”

She sits up slightly, and ends up straddling him to try to climb over him. Her head suddenly started hurting and she almost fell off. Harry grabs her by her hips to steady her.

“You’re like really clumsy.” He says to her.

“I’m aware.” She looks down at his hands. “I still need to pee, can you let go of me.”

His cheeks heat up and he lets go of her so she can continue trying to get off her bed. Harry was still tired, and he could easily go slip into his bed, but he liked Y/N’s bed, for whatever reason. So he rolls onto his side and checks his phone.

“Fuck.” He says when he sees the texts from Lindsay. He thinks to text her back and apologize, but he didn’t want to lead her on anymore because odds are he’d stand her up again. ]

Y/N comes back up a few minutes later, feeling much better after having used the toilet and brushed her teeth. She chuckles when she sees Harry still on her bed.

“What are you doing?”

“M’not awake enough to move yet.” He mumbles as she grabs some clothes from her dresser.

“Well, I have some homework I need to get done, so I’m gonna shower and then go to the library.”

“I’ll be at the studio most of the day, and then I’ll probably go to Matt’s tonight…”

“Okay.”

He watches her go back down the stairs and he sits up. The two had gotten into the habit of giving each other a play by play of their plans. Harry figured it was just common courtesy as a roommate, but maybe it was a little bit more. It was like they were an old married couple who slept on two different beds. Harry changes into some new clothes quick and goes downstairs. Chris was eating some breakfast as he grabs a Gatorade from the fridge.

“Mornin’, mate.” Harry says, taking a sip of his drink.

“Morning, thought you went out last night?”

“Nope, I stayed in with Y/N instead.” He shrugs. “I feel kinda bad, the girl was pissed…but I think it was for the best.”

//

Things were a tad awkward between Harry and Matt since Y/N slept with Matt and never really followed up.

“Did she ever say anything to you?”

“No.” Harry lies. “You hook up with girls all the time, why are you hung up on her?”

“I don’t know, she was a good fuck, I’d like to hit it again.” Harry rolls his eyes as bites down on his cup. “You haven’t brought her here since.”

“She hasn’t seemed interested.” Harry shrugs and turns to see Lindsay talking to her friends. They make eye contact and she flips him off. “Jesus.” He walks over to her. “Can we talk?”

“Why? Because you suddenly have the time?” She huffs.

“Please?”

“Fine.” They step aside from her friends.

“You know, you act like I didn’t even tell you I couldn’t come over…”

“One second you’re saying see you ten, and the next you’re saying not tonight. So what happened? Get a better offer?”

Yes.

“No, it wasn’t that…my roommate needed me…”

“Right, the girl you conveniently share a room with.” She crosses her arms.

“It’s only like that because our friends are dating.”

“What did she need from you then, Harry? Your dick?”

“No!” He groans. “It’s not like that with us, we’re just friends.”

“So then what did she need?”

“She got a little wine drunk, and she seemed like she needed me to stay, so I did. She didn’t know I had other plans when she asked me to hang out a little longer…” Not a total lie, not a total truth. “I really did wanna see you.” He puts his hand on her shoulder.

“I hate how crazy you boys make me, I swear. It’s not like you’re the only person I’m hooking up with…”

“Yeah, same goes for me.”

“I just thought we had a regular thing going, and that was like the third time you blew me off. If you don’t wanna-“ Harry cuts her off by kissing her.

“Let’s get outta here.”

She nods and takes his hand. They walk back to her place, and start to get busy. He was just about to go down on her when his phone rings. He pops his head up to grab it.

“You can’t be serious.”

“It could be an emergency.” He sits up and squints to see it’s Y/N. “Hello?” He starts fingering Lindsay while he’s on the phone with her.

“Harry?” She slurs.

“What’s up?” He rubs Lindsay’s clit and her head rolls back into the pillow.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but.” She hiccups. “Liv and Chris left, or maybe I just can’t find them, anyways, I wanna go home, and you told me to-“

“Where are you?”

“On Russell actually…uhhhhh, 19D I think.”

“Okay, I can be there in like ten minutes, can you hang tight?”

“Mhm. I’ll sit out on the steps for you.”

“Okay.” He hangs up and tosses his phone. “What?”

“You’re a nutbag.”

“Do you want me to fuck you or not? Yeh get me for ten minutes, how do you want it?”

//

Y/N was sitting on the front steps of the house she was at, waiting for Harry. She was slightly cold from the crisp fall air.

Harry: be there soon :) 1:30AM

She sighs with relief when she gets his text. She sees him walking up the drive and stands up and walks towards him.

“I’m so sorry if I ruined your night.” She stumbles as she walks over to him.

“You didn’t, I’m glad you called.” He hooks his arm around her waist to steady her.

“You smell like perfume.”

“I just hooked with someone, sorry.”

“You what?!” She starts laughing.

“I was in the middle of it when you called, actually.” He starts laughing. “She wasn’t too happy, but I made up for it. Although I deleted her number after I left, it was sort of a parting gift.”

“Sometimes I forget you can be just like every other guy.” She scoffs.

“Hey, I told her it was the last time before I left. She said it was probably for the best anyways.”

“Oh, well as long as she knows.”

“I thought you didn’t really go to parties like this often.”

“I don’t…but Chris got invited out so he brought me and Liv with him, and we all drank a lot. I don’t know how I lost them. I texted them both and told them you were coming for me.” She looks down at the heels on her feet. “I have to take these off, they hurt.”

“It’s too cold to walk barefoot. Lemme give you a piggyback ride.”

“Really?!”

“Sure.” He shrugs.

Y/N gets on his back, and he carries her the rest of the way home. When he gets her inside they see Chris and Liv on the couch.

“There you two are?!” Y/N yells as Harry sets her down. “Where the fuck did you two go?”

“Liv got sick at the party, so I brought her home, we’re so sorry Y/N.” Chris says standing up.

“Yeah, Y/N…this is the first time in over an hour I haven’t had my head in the toilet. Chris cleaned it up so it’s all good.”

“Well I’m sorry you got sick.” She starts unbuttoning her pants and scurries to the bathroom. “I have to pee so bad!”

“Thanks for getting her.” Chris rubs the back of his neck.

“It was no problem. I told her I didn’t want her walkin’ alone and to call me if she was in a place where that might happen.”

Y/N comes out of the bathroom and looks at everyone.

“Feel like I’m gonna pass out so I’m going to bed.”

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll be up soon.”

“Okay.”

“You two sound like us.” Liv jokes.

“M’just bein’ courteous.” Harry points out and goes to take his shower. He didn’t wanna smell like Lindsay anymore.

When he gets upstairs, only in his towel, he see Y/N sitting up in bed wearing just a large t-shirt and panties. Harry walks by her quick and hope to god his face isn’t red.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He turns to look at her.

“Would you come cuddle again?”

“Course. Now turn around so I can change.”

She playfully covers her eyes and he shakes his head as slides his boxers on.

“This is all I’m wearin’, hope that’s okay.”

“S’fine with me.” She yawns, and he turns off the light.

“Scootch over.” Instead she just rolls onto her side, facing the wall. “Thought you said no spooning.”

“Thought you said you had self-control.”

“I do…” He looks down and sees the t-shirt was now bunched around her hips and he could see the lovely curve of her ass in her cheeky panties. “Just don’t wiggle against me like a brat.”

“I’m never a brat.”

“Mhm.” He mumbles sarcastically as he settles in. He slips a leg between hers, and wraps an arm around her stomach. She adjust against him, just to get comfier, and they both settle.

“Goodnight, Harry.” She yawns.

“Night.” He liked the smell of her perfume much better.

//

“What the hell happened up here?” Liv cackles the next morning, well, more like afternoon, it was already noon. Harry and Y/N wake up and groan. Harry was still spooning her.

“Liv…no offense, but this isn’t your room anymore.” Y/N groans as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“I just came up to grab my sweatshirt that I let you borrow a couple days ago, but I can see I walked in on something. How long has this been going on for?”

“How long has what been goin’ on for? We’re just sleepin’.”

“Harry you don’t have any clothes on!”

“Not true! I’m wearin’ boxers.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“I asked him to sleep with me, just sleep, well cuddle really.” Y/N speaks up. “It’s platonic.”

“Yeah, not all of us have a boyfriend to go to sleep with every night, Liv.”

“Well, pardon me.” She scoffs and grabs her sweatshirt. “You know it wouldn’t be a big deal if you two hooked up. I think it would make sense, and-“

“Goodbye, Liv, have a nice lunch with Chris’ parents.” Y/N says. “Hope you’re feeling better.”

“Much…and I’ll tell them you say hi.”

“Thanks.”

They watch as she goes back down the stairs, and then look at each other.

“Wanna grab brunch downtown?” Harry asks.

“God, that sounds amazing. Just let me jump in the shower quick?”

“Go for it.”

Harry waits for her to leave before getting out of bed. He removes the blanket and looks down at his morning wood. He was sort of glad Liv woke them up so Y/N didn’t have time to notice it poking her. Or maybe she did and just didn’t say anything or care. Either way he wasn’t going to say anything.

He gets dressed quick and waits for her in the living area. Once she’s ready they walk downtown to the diner, and get a booth for two. They both order coffee and water.  

“Wanna split some hashbrowns?” She asks, looking at the menu. “I might get a veggie omelet.”

“Yeah, we could do that. That sounds good too, I think I’ll get the same.” He chuckles.

They both give their orders to the waitress.

“I hope Liv didn’t bother you, you can sleep in my bed any time you want. I kinda like having your wait on me.” She blushes.

“You mean your three weighted blankets aren’t enough for you?” He laughs.

“I do not have three…I have two, and no, they’re not.” She crosses her arms. “I don’t really think it’s that weird.”

“It’s only happened twice too…” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Your bed is way comfier than mine, so I think I’ll be taking you up on that more often than not.”

“Works for me.” She smiles. “I’m really glad we’ve gotten so close, Harry.” She puts her hand over his and it gives him goosebumps. “You’re like my best guy friend.” A punch right to his gut.

“I’m glad we’ve gotten closer too.”

//

It didn’t happen every night, but Harry and Y/N had gotten into a habit of cuddling and falling asleep together pretty often. There was just something soothing about it for the both of them.

“What the fuck happened up here?” Harry says coming home late from the studio one Thursday night.

“I’m so sorry, I have like two midterms tomorrow and I’m trying to study for both of them and I’m freaking out!”

Y/N had papers and books all over the place. Her laptop was open and she had music playing.

“How long have you been studying for?”

“Hours.” She groans.

“Well, maybe you need a break.”

“I can’t take a break! What if I don’t…what are you doing?!”

He was in the middle of taking his clothes off.

“Hi, I’m Harry, and I tend to get paint all over me, so it required me to change quite frequently. What’s your name?”

“Your sarcasm isn’t helpful. You’re supposed to tell me to turn around.” She pouts.

“Y/N.” He sighs. “You’ve seen me in next to nothing, and to be honest, I don’t really care if you look.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He throws on a fresh shirt and some sweatpants. He sits down on the floor in front of her. “Look all you want.” He shrugs and picks up her flashcards.

“What are you doing?”

“M’gonna help you study.”

“You don’t have to. I’m sure there are better things you could be doing with your Thursday night.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, don’t you have some girl you need to go fuck?” Harry’s jaw drops. “I’m so sorry, that sounded meaner than it was supposed to. I didn’t mean-“

“But you still said it.” He shakes his head at her. “Is that what you think of me? Some guy that just fucks a ton of girls.”

“Well, to be fair, you do fuck a lot of girls, Harry.”

“A lot of guys do.” He huffs, and then he smirks at you. “You know what your problem is?”

“What’s my problem?”

“You don’t get fucked enough, no scratch that, you don’t get off enough. That’s why you’re so stressed. You get A’s all the time, you know this shit. You’re just tense because you can’t get there, and you share a room with a dude so it’s not like you’re gettin’ yourself there, unless you’re doin’ it in the shower.”

“Would you listen to yourself?” She laughs. “Can you please quiz me?”

“Thought I had better things to do?” He grins.

“Harry.” She sighs.

“Okay, okay.” He squints at the flashcard. “What is Andre Bazin’s main film theory?”

“Realism.”

“Correct, see, you know this.”

“That’s an easy one!”

“I still think you’re just wound up.”

“Would you like to do something about it?” She scoffs.

“I would, actually.” He puts the cards down.

“What? I was kidding, Harry.”

“Well…I’m not.” He sighs.

“You…wait, I’m very confused.”

“To be blunt, I’d like to have sex with you.” Her eyes grow wide and her cheeks flush. “But…I don’t wanna do anything that might ruin-“

“Go down and lock our door.” He’s stunned.

“Wait, really?”

“Do it before I change my mind.” She whispers.

Harry stands up and quietly goes down to lock their door. When he comes back up he sees Y/N bent over cleaning everything up off the floor. She puts everything on her desk, and turns her twinkling lights on. Then she turns the main light off, creating more of an atmosphere.

“You really wanna do this?” Harry asks.

“You’re like the hottest guy I’ve ever met, of course I want to…I just didn’t think you wanted to. You treat me like your little sister or something sometimes.”

“I…wouldn’t call the way we sleep the way I would sleep next to my sister.”

“You really do like grind right into me.”

“So you have noticed that.”

“Of course I have…I just figured it was something all guys did in the morning so I never said anything.”

“You’re on the pill?” He asks, stepping closing to her.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to use a condom?”

“Yes.”

He nods and goes into his desk drawer to grab a couple, he sets them down.

“Let’s do it on my bed, it’ll make less noise, yours will rock too much since it’s up higher.” She nods and goes over to his bed and sits down. He sits down next to her. “You’re positive?”

“Yes.”

He caresses her cheek.

“You’re shaking.” He says softly.

“I’m nervous.”

“Why? S’just me.”

“That’s exactly why I’m nervous. You’ve always made me nervous, Harry. I’ve just been good at hiding it.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because we have a really good, chill thing going here. And I like being your friend.”

“This doesn’t have to ruin anything…” He cups both of her cheeks with his hands. “Let me make you feel good, Y/N.”

“Okay.”

He pulls her in and crashes her lips to his. Her eyes flutter closed as he swipes his tongue across her bottom lip, and she opens up for him. He tasted just like the mint gum he chewed constantly. She was making out with the guy every girl wanted. Y/N knew about Harry’s reputation, but she also knew a different side of him. She knew the side of him that liked his head scratched to help him fall asleep, and the way he really did just want a banana and nothing more for breakfast, and the way his hands always smelled like paint no matter how many times he scrubbed them.

He pulls back from her to get some air, or so she things, but his lips connect with her jaw and then to just under her earlobe. She gasps when she feels him suck on her skin, but she loves it. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so she just grips at his shoulders, while his hands roam down to her hips.

In a swift motion, he sits back on the bed, and pulls her onto his lap so she’s straddling him. She rolls her hips down on his while they’re lips find each other again. He groans against her bites down on her bottom lip. He hands tug at the hem of her shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He says, panting.

“Yes.”

He lifts it up over her head, revealing a sports bra that was really pushing her boobs up. He pulls her close and kisses on the tops of her breasts while she continues to grind down on him. She was starting to feel how hard he was and it was making her wet.

“Just take it off.” She says.

He nods and lifts the bra off her. He moves to take his own shirt off as well before cupping her breasts in his large hands. He tweaks her nipples, making her head roll back.

“I’ve wanted to see you like this for a long time, Y/N.” He says as he wraps his lips around her, sucking one of her breasts into his mouth, and letting it go with a pop.

“You have?” She gasps as he does the same thing to other one.

“You have no idea.”

He pulls her close so they’re chests are flush and they go back to kissing. His hands slide down to the globes of her ass and he gives her a good squeeze. He shifts them to lay her down, and she wraps her legs around his waist, just like how he’s wanted for a while. He kisses down her neck, chest, stomach, and then hooks his fingers into her leggings.

“You’re sure?”

“Please, just get them off. Get my underwear off, just take everything off of me.”

He smirks and does everything she says. She was full exposed to him and it was a glorious sight to see. Every curve, every dip, every mark on her was beautiful. He kisses her left knee and works his way to her inner thigh. He looks up at her one more time and he gives him an approving nod. She grips the blankets when she feels his tongue on her. Her hips buck up towards him, but he uses his arm to press down on her waist. He gives her a few slow licks at first, and then flicks his tongue back and forth on her clit. She moans softly, and then grits her teeth when he sucks on her. Her hands fly to his hair when she feels a finger slip inside. He looks up at her again and she just nods yes.

His mouth works her clit while he pumps in and out of her, knuckles deep, curling his fingers up. She gasps and groans, desperately trying to stay quiet so Liv and Chris don’t hear anything. Y/N’s legs were shaking around Harry, and he loved it. Her back was arching, he could tell she was close from the way she clenching around his fingers.

“Oh, shit!” She gasps and claps a hand over her mouth.

Harry waits for her to finish riding for him to pull his fingers out. She watches as he sucks them into his mouth, and hers falls open. She blinks tears away.

“Are you crying?” He runs a thumb under one of her eyes.

“I just…um…that was intense is all.”

“Do you wanna keep going?”

“Yes.” She props herself up on her elbows. “Do you want me to, uh, return the favor?”

“Maybe another time.” He stands up and pulls his joggers down. “I really just wanna fuck you, if that’s alright.”

“Mhm.” She smiles. Wow, we haven’t even finished yet and he’s already talking about another time. She thinks to herself.

She watches as Harry slowly takes his boxers off. Her eyes grow wide when she see it. It was big, and thick. Suddenly her mouth felt dry. He grabs a condom from his desk and rolls it on with ease. He gets back on the bed, between her legs.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, Harry, I want you.”

He smiles and kisses her quick. He looks down so he can line himself up with her dripping center. He slowly presses his tip in, and she can already feel him stretching her out. He accidentally slides in a little fast, though.

“Holy shit!” She moans loudly, and he presses his hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wild looking up at him.

“I know, okay, I know, but if you wanna do this you need to stay fucking quiet. I don’t want them to hear. Can you do that f’me, Y/N?” She nods her head yes, and he takes his hand away. “I didn’t mean to just shove it in like that, m’sorry.”

“S’okay, it felt good.” She giggles. He looks down between them.

“S’really snug…you’re so tight.” His words make her clench around him. “Can I move?”

“Please.”

Harry pulls out slightly and thrusts back in, and eventually he found a pace that suited the both of them. He buries his head in the crook of her neck, and hooks his arm under one of her legs, while her other leg was wrapped around his waist. Her nails were digging into his back, and it all just felt so fucking good. Her face was hidden in her shoulder to keep her moans and cries muffled.

“Takin’ it so well, Y/N.” He peppers kisses to her sweaty forehead. He drops her leg and uses both of his arms to prop himself up so he could really give it to her. The bed was shaking, but it wasn’t making much noise. “How’s it feel?”

“So good, so fucking good.”

“Yeah? Like havin’ me in you like this?”

“Yes!” She gasps as he hits her g-spot. “Oh my god.” She says shocked and then looks up at him. “Do…do that again.” He gives her another thrust right on the spot and her eyes roll into the back of her head.

“You’ve never come vaginally before, have you?” He grins.

“No.”

“Oh, baby…hold on tight.”

She grips his shoulders while he hits the spot over and over. Her teeth were clenched, trying so very hard not to make much noise, but when he hits it just right again, she lets go and cries out. Harry crashes his mouth to hers to swallow it best he can. She was writhing beneath him, having never had orgasm so strong before. Harry can’t last much longer after that, and spills into the condom. He collapses on top of her for a moment or two, just trying to catch his breath. He slowly pulls out of her and she winces.

“Sorry.” He whispers. “You…might be a little sore.”

“A little?” She scoffs. “I can’t believe you fit that whole thing inside of me.” She sits up and grabs her shirt. When she stands her legs feel like jello.

“Where are you goin’?”

“I have to pee, you went down on me, I’m not gonna risk getting a UTI. Just get into my bed, I’ll be back in a second.” He smiles and nods. He was happy she wanted to cuddle.

It stung when she went to the bathroom like she figured it would. She was thankful Liv and Chris didn’t seem to be awake. She fills a glass of water and brings it up with her. She takes a sip and hands it to Harry as she climbs into bed. He takes generous sip and hands it back to her to finish. He puts it on her desk when she’s done. They both sink down and she lays her head on his chest.

“How do you feel?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Good, how do you feel?”

“Good…didn’t realize there was that much tension between us.” He chuckles.

“Harry, I don’t wanna be one of those girls, but what’s supposed to happen next…”

“We’re gonna cuddle and go to sleep like we usually do. Then tomorrow you’re gonna ace your midterms.”

“And after that?” She looks up at him, and he looks down at her.

“I think I only wanna be a one woman kinda guy…” She smiles up at him. “Would you wanna try going out on a date?”

“There’s a free skate happening down at the ice arena on Saturday night…any interest?”

“No interest in doin’ anything tomorrow?”

“Someone’s a bit eager.” She smirks.

“Alright, ice skating actually sounds good for Saturday. I have a couple of midterms tomorrow too that are gonna take a lot outa me.”

“How about pizza and a movie tomorrow night then?”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” He kisses her hair line. “What should we do about Chris and Liv?”

“Let’s see how a couple of dates go before we tell them anything.”

“Good idea, although, I’m sure they probably heard you.”

“I wasn’t that loud, and it wasn’t my fault if I was.” She swats at his chest.

“True.” He looks over at his bed. “This could work really well. Use my bed for the fucking, and then we have your nice comfy bed for sleepin’.”

“Yeah, and then there’s no gross wet spot to worry about.” She giggles, and he bursts out laughing.

“I didn’t hurt you or anything did?”

“No, not at all. It felt really good the whole time, I promise. It hurt when I went to the bathroom though.”

“M’sorry.” He sighs. “You were so tight, I didn’t really know how to be any gentler than I was.”

“It’s okay, really. You took really good care of me. I feel way more relaxed now. I think you were right about me just needing to de-stress before my exams.”

//

The two end up falling asleep, and it’s a miracle Y/N hears her alarm go off the next morning. Harry knew Chris and Liv would be gone already since they both have 8AM’s, so he gets up with Y/N to take a shower. They didn’t do anything sexual, but it certainly was an intimate shower. She thought about him all day, everything from last night replaying over and over in her mind. It was a wonder she could concentrate during her exams.

She orders the pizza when she gets in later and sets up the movie. She bumps into Liv after freshening up upstairs.

“Hey, haven’t see you all day. How’d your midterms go?” Liv asks, about to take a slice of pizza.

“That’s not for you!” Y/N yelps. “And they went fine, Harry, uh, helped me study last night.”

“Oh, good! And who’s it for?”

“It’s, um, for Harry, as a thank you for him staying in to help me last night.”

“Um, okay?”

“Sorry…in fact, I’m gonna go put it on his bed so no one touches it. What are you and Chris doing tonight?”

“We were gonna go to Charlotte’s place. Do you wanna come?”

“Nah, I’m exhausted, I’m gonna stay in, but thanks.”

Y/N: I’m bringing the pizza up to our room, I think we should watch the movie up here too…

Harry: are chris and liv home??

Y/N: for now, but I think they’re going out. I just don’t want them snooping

Harry: good call…I’ll be home soon btw, just finished one of my graphic design exams

Y/N: Yay!

Harry gets in, and goes right upstairs. He locks the door behind him. Y/N was sitting on his bed with her laptop and the box of pizza.

“Hey.” You smile.

“Hi.” He smiles back. “That still warm?”

“Mhm.”

“Think it’ll stay that way?” He asks, taking his shirt off.

“I guess we’ll find out.” She sets it on his desk, along with her laptop.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day.” He says, leaning down to kiss her. She lays back on the bed so he can get on top of her.

“Really?” He hums his response as he kisses on her neck. “I thought about you too.” He yanks her shirt up over her breasts and kisses on them. “Harry, I really wanna do this again, but I’m…too sore…” She sighs and he sits up. “But…maybe now I could return the favor.”

“Yeh wanna suck me off, baby?”

“Mhm.”

After one hell of a blowjob, Harry and Y/N cuddle up and crack open the pizza that was waiting to be eaten, and they start their movie.

“How do you think your exams went?” He asks.

“Good, I think I did really well. What about yours?”

“Piece of cake.” He scoffs. “Graphic design is so easy, I don’t know why Chris complains about it all the time.”

“He’s just not as creative as you are. I wish you’d hang more of your paintings up…”

“Really? I have some down at the studio I could bring home.”

“Please! I’d love it, and I’m not just saying that, I think you’re genuinely talented.”

“Thanks.” He kisses her temple.

“I have to say, I was nervous having a guy I barley know as a roommate this year, but it’s worked out way better than I ever could’ve imagined.” They both giggle.

“Mm, I’m sure your parents will be thrilled when they found out their fears came true.”

“God, I can’t even think about that.” She takes a bite of pizza. “I was gonna ask you to come home for Thanksgiving before all this happened, but now maybe that wouldn’t be such a great idea.”

“You were?” He gives her a thoughtful smile.

“Yeah…I didn’t know what you normally did.”

“I usually stay here and eat shitty food at the dining hall. I’d come home with you.”

“You would?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “We’re tryin’ somethin’ new between us, but at the core we’re still friends right?”

“Yeah.”

“So then I’d love to come home with you for Thanksgiving either way, and I think it’s very nice of you to think of me.” He takes a bite of pizza. “Plus, then I can see if your family likes me at all.”

“Good point.” She puts the pizza box on the desk and nestles in closer to him. She looks up at him and puckers her lips. He happily gives her a kiss. “I like you, Harry.”

“I like you too.”