#throw me back in the freezer ill be fine

[rainy-anon]

New hc, I'd Dew/Sodo wakes up in the middle of the night he has a chance to get super emotional very easily. Like if someone starts talking about how he did bad he will sniffle softly and come curl up on their lap and apologize and they'll be so confused because they were playfully scolding him?? But he thinks he really upset aether yeah its aether now. He thinks he really upset aether and he's apologizing and aether is just there like "dew? Hey,, Bubba it's okay,, you're alright I was just messing with you,," and aether would gently hold and rub his cheek, throw a hand at his back and rub and soon he's rocking him back to sleep, whispering sweet things about how it's okay, he's here and he forgives him and even kisses the top of dews head. Dew is still mumbling about how he's sorry and aether will pull his hand back from his cheek to even find tears. Aether realizes 3 am Dew is a very soft dewdrop.

[paikothecateater]

What does Denmark do when his baby brothers are ill? (Basically asking for anko family fluff) (⁠ ⁠･ั⁠﹏⁠･ั⁠)

Alrighty. Let's do this.

Denmark always wakes up at around 6-6:30 am. He doesn't particularly enjoy being up alone, but Iceland usually wakes up around 7:30am, so it should be fine. He and Iceland have made a habit of spending the first few hours of the morning together, eating breakfast, talking, laying down on the sofa together. It's become the highlight of Denmark's mornings.

Only, there's one problem. It's 8 am. Where on Earth is Iceland? Denmark tried to ignore the tardiness chalking it up to Iceland oversleeping, but Iceland just doesn't oversleep. If he's not up by now, something's wrong.

He gives in and walks into Norway and Iceland's room and much to his surprise, Iceland is actually awake, but not only him, Norway was up too.

Norway normally wakes up much later in the day.

Denmark walks over to Iceland's side and takes a seat on the bed, reaching over to stroke Iceland's hair.

"don't feel like getting up today, huh?"

Iceland opens his mouth to retort, and is subsequently interrupted by a huge coughing fit. It finally clicks for Denmark that Iceland is in fact sick. One glance at Norway confirms the same for him.

Awe crap.

Denmark accepts that any plans he'd had for the rest of the week went out the window at that moment.

He leans over and pulls Iceland into his arms, patting his back and shushing him. It was likely Iceland's coughing that woke Norway.

Speaking of which, the coughing fit finally dies down and Denmark is able to put Iceland down and get up to head to the bathroom and by extention the medicine cabinet. He grabs pain killers and fever reducing medication and heads to the kitchen where he grabs water and cold packs from the freezer.

He then heads back into the room where he heads to Norway's side first dropping off the medicine and water while also leaning to place his cheek against Norway's forehead.

"this is actually the worst way to check someone's temperature..."

"and yet you're still doing it? Get off."

Denmark ignores Norway's complaints rather focusing on his temperature. He can tell even through this awful method that Norway has a mild fever. He moves to Iceland's side and does the same, resting his cheek on Iceland's forehead. Iceland's protest is much weaker coming in the form of a pitiful whine. Denmark can tell that Iceland's fever is quite a bit more intense, but that's to be expected given his generally weak immunity.

Denmark turns to look at Norway.

"hungry?"

Norway's irritated expression softens slightly.

"starving."

Denmark reaches over and smoothes Norway's hair back.

He turns to Iceland as if asking the same question. Iceland mimes throwing up which makes Denmark chuckle sympathetically. He leans over to kiss Iceland's head.

He turns again to address Norway.

"I'll go make you something to eat." he turns to Iceland and adds " you don't have to eat, but I'll make you some too. You want tea?"

Iceland doesn't respond, instead focusing on taking the medicines with as little water as he possibly can. Norway reaches over and pulls Iceland into his arms, resting his chin on Iceland's head.

Denmark smiles at them before heading over to the kitchen. He begins prepping to make some of Norway's favourite foods. Mainly Danish pastries. Denmark did enjoy baking, so in a way, it was a win win.

Iceland could never eat whenever he was sick. Nothing would stay down, and it's not like he even had the appetite to want to eat. It really was no loss. He didn't exactly love a lot of foods. Hong Kong's family was determined to change that.

Denmark still wanted to make sure he'd eat at least a little bit.

He walks back into the bedroom with a tray to the sight of Norway and Iceland engaging in what can only be described as a weak cat fight. Denmark roles his eyes.

"hey! Why are we fighting?"

"he pushed me because he 'doesn't want my cooties on him'"

"hey, everything feels gross right now. I don't need you getting your slime all over me."

"Norway stop being so clingy, Iceland quit calling Norway slimy."

Iceland manages a sly expression.

"but Daaaad."

Denmark laughs.

"I'm sorry, son, but I can't have you calling your brother slimy, true as it may be."

"Hey!"

Iceland sighs and pinches Norway's cheek.

"come on, we're messing with you. You know we love you, slimy as you may come."

Norway shoots his little brother a mock angry look before turning to accept Denmark's peace offering of food.

Iceland rolls his eyes and mimes throwing up again. Denmark crosses over and hands him a mug of hot herbal tea. Iceland nods in appreciation and takes a sip.

Denmark then reaches into Iceland's bedside table to pull out a small device he then plugs into a nearby outlet. With the knowledge that there was no way Iceland would be needing the rest of the water he needed for the medicine, he pours a portion of it into the humidifier. It was a gift from South Korea, Iceland didn't use it often, though he probably ought to.

Norway remained preoccupied with eating. Denmark's home cooked meals always managed to comfort Norway whenever he felt down or ill.

Denmark climbs in between the two and puts his arm around them, not caring enough about contagion. Denmark's immunity is just a lot stronger.

Iceland having given up on even the tea, leans on Denmark's shoulder for warmth. Denmark instinctively wraps his arm around Iceland, bringing him closer. Iceland begins drifting off.

Norway on the other hand takes it upon himself to take the tray as well as the rest of Iceland's tea to the kitchen. He then comes back into the room, not to lay back down, but to grab some clothes to go take a shower. Denmark offers help, but is almost immediately turned down.

It's only two pm by this point, but the concept of time means nothing when these two are sick.

Norway finally finishes up and crashes to the bed with a comedic thud. He then proceeds to weakly try to push Denmark off with his feet.

There was no shot that Denmark would give in. It was once in a blue moon that Iceland was tired enough to cuddle up with him and he wasn't about to let that go to waste for Norway's little tantrum.

Norway eventually tires and settles down to also take a nap.

They sleep until about 8pm. Denmark was entertained by his phone for most of the time. One of the perks of having these two get sick is that it gives Denmark the excuse to lie in and do nothing.

Iceland wakes up groaning. Denmark puts the back of his wrist on Iceland's forehead.

"man... It's almost like you keep getting hotter."

He notices the ghost of a grin on Iceland's face.

Denmark playfully smacks Iceland's shoulder.

"not in that sense, you cheeky fuck."

He leaves to grab Iceland some more medicine. In the meantime, Norway stirs awake and manages to make his way over to Iceland's side and starts stroking his hair affectionately.

"still feeling like crap?"

"mhm... You?"

"yep... A bit better though... Where is he?"

"grabbing more medicine... Says my fever got worse."

Norway makes a soft 'oh' noise before leaning over to kiss Iceland's forehead.

"anything I can do to make you feel better?"

Iceland shrugs.

Denmark walks back into the room with another half glass of water and a few pills. Pushing the pills into Iceland's hand and handing him the water glass.

He also presents playing cards.

"we've literally done nothing all day, I'm bored. Come on."

Norway agrees primarily for the reason that he's always been pretty good at card games. Iceland's just desperate for anything to help him forget the absolute burning in his throat.

They play a few rounds of rummy. An easier game as Iceland had never been a fan of card games.

Norway wins every game shy of two that Denmark actually managed to win. Iceland didn't exactly care to win. He was just trying to not mess up any sets in his delirium.

Denmark then heads downstairs into the living room to set up the pullout sofa. The sofa was usually taken up by Sealand and Ladonia whenever Sweden brought them over because there was just not enough space. Denmark, however, found another use for it. Whenever the whale brothers get sick, he'll always try to get them to come sleep on the pullout sofa, so he can strip their bed and put it together for when they eventually get better. It also helps get them out of the stuffy room and get them some fresh air.

He gets Norway to head downstairs and carries Iceland, not trusting him to navigate his own way down a whole flight of stairs.

"you're already dying to death, you don't need a concussion too."

He gets them both situated and gets to work he sets up their bed and heads back downstairs to check on them. He felt he had to make sure Iceland would eat, so he brought him some Skyr, Iceland's comfort food. He manages a few spoonfuls of it before giving up and passing it to Norway who also doesn't seem super eager to eat.

Denmark sighs and turns to head upstairs to his own room, but both of them pull on his arms and beg him to stay. He reluctantly agrees and lays down in between them, his arms wrapped firmly around the two of them.

As no one was feeling particularly sleepy, they just opted to put on some kind of children's movie. Unfortunately, Denmark's request for the lego movie was unmet.

They fell asleep with the TV still quietly running in the background.

The next morning would become one of the rare mornings Denmark would sleep in. Poor Finland would come in to the sight of the three of them still fast asleep at 10:30am.

[yuupotatos]

sleep over!!

A/n:this is my first fanfic so its bad

summary:you are having a sleepover with Miguel and Peter B

you:yellow

Peter b:Blue

Miguel:Red

Miguel and Peter b were on the sofa Miguel was peacefully reading a book while Peter b was just kicking his legs "whats your issue?!" Peter B responded in 1 second "iM SO EXCITED!!" "about *reader?*" "YEAH I HAVEN'T SEEN THEM IN FOOORRRRREEEVEEEERRRR" the door bell then rings and Peter is jumping off the couch and opens it "*walks in*" "heeeyyyy" you then sit by the comfy chair nearby "hey Peter boo boo spider"

"so how have you been." "just chilling" you put your bag down and cross your legs on the chair "*he blushes from the nickname you gave him*how's your universe I haven't seen you in forever" you just stay quiet not feeling like responding cause you just don't exactly pay attention on whats been happening "..." Peter felt sad on how you were just ignoring him till Miguel spoke up and broke the silence "you know Peter maybe they are just trying to express themselves-" Peter then throws a cushion at Miguels face and then jumps on you giving you a hug and starts squeezing you

time skip

you guys are now in the bedroom on the mattress playing truth or dare "Peter B truth or dare" "I can do a dare" "I dare you to let me give you a sharpie tattoo" "I guess I can do that..." you grab a sharpie and just when you were about to start drawing Peter B jumped back "NO WAIT.....don't do it" you put the sharpie lid back on "whatever" moments later while you were talking with Miguel not paying attention to your bag which was on the bed open and Peter sees your undergarment(panties,bra,briefs,binders whatever you want) and thought of a funny idea "*grabs the undergarment and stands up to leave while hiding it* ummm ill be right back" while Peter is away you and Miguel start to talk about you and about what you've been up to while with Peter he is tiptoeing in the kitchen giggling he dramatically opens the fridge and throws your undergarment in the back of it then cackles loudly while closing it "HAHAHAHHAHAHA"

TIMESKIP

You guys are now watching Netflix(titanic) and you are texting the group chat(miles,gwen,pavitr and hobie) while Peter is weeping "*tears up*why can't I get a hot girlfriend on vacay.." Peter then looks over at you "*snatches your phone* STOP TEXTING!!!" "okay..* you then suddenly start getting a craving of ice cream and get up "do you guys have any Ice cream?" "yeah" "cool :D" you then get up to leave leaving Miguel and Peter there watching the movie and Peter b suddenly starts crying and sobbing(the scene isn't even emotional) "whats wrong with you?!" "they always have girlfriends *hics*" "oh my goodness..." "IS IT CAUSE IM FAT 😭" mean while with you, you open the freezer and there's only vanilla you then grab it and go upstairs "all you guys have is vanilla" "everyone loves vanilla" "VANILLA!!" "whats wrong with it?" "its plain..." Miguel then throws a bottle of chocolate sprinkles at you "oh thanks :D" you then put the sprinkles in the ice cream(yes you put it in the entire tub) and started eating it "Leonardo DiCaprio was so fine younger what happened people be right white people really don't age well" "...*tears up*" "oh no no Peter I didn't mean it like that you age beautifully Peter" the scene is now where jack dies "NOOO YOU DUMB UGLY GINGER FUCKING BITCHHHHHH" "I know well there was a lot of room on what she was on "I will never let go" my ass" "can you guys shut up this movie is supposed to be sad-" "I WILL NEVER FORGET YOU JACK!!!"

[invisible-key]

Sick in Public - part 1 (new version)

I rewrote this story into first person POV for the sake of consistency, but you can still read the original version (third person POV) here if you prefer it!

Kinks: emetophilia, (a little bit of stuffing?) 

OCs: Bernie 

Summary: Emetophiliac Bernie shares his experience with purposefully vomiting in public.

Word count: 1.1k words

(Warning: Bernie is a fucking degenerate. And so am I. xD Contains detailed description of nausea and vomit as always.) 

===============================

I threw up in public

September 20th 2009 | 21:59 | Bernie | My diary

I had a super exciting experience today. Let me tell you! 

I woke up this morning feeling kinda unwell to my stomach. So, naturally, I decided to go shopping. :)

Before today, it had been two years and three months since I was last naturally sick so when I started feeling nauseous, I was very excited to experience natural sickness again! I love making myself throw up by sticking fingers down my throat, but natural vomiting is just so different and exciting!

I concluded this was the perfect opportunity for one thing: public vomiting. I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I love to make a mess in public and watch the worried and disgusted stares of other people. I kinda like the humiliation of it. So I decided to try to get this to happen. :)

I thought that overeating was gonna make me more sick so I cooked one of my favourite meals - spaghetti with minced meat and vegetables. Normally I can eat a lot of this, but today I didn't have an appetite due to the weird feeling in my stomach. But I wanted to be sick so I served myself a larger portion than usual and forced myself to eat it. I was quite full after that meal, feeling a bit of pressure in my stomach, but I didn’t feel sick yet so I also ate a box of cookies. My stomach was becoming unhappy about being forced to contain so much food. I was starting to feel queasy, but I wasn't close to throwing up yet so I went back to the kitchen and took out an open box of strawberry ice cream from the freezer. It was a one litre box but there were only two thirds left as I had eaten the other third yesterday. I ate all of it, and I started feeling quite sick, maybe because it was so cold. I was shaking from the cold and my stomach started gurgling. This amount of food would have normally been fine for me, but I must have actually been ill because I already started feeling the increased salivation typical for incoming sickness. 

That meant I was ready to go out. 

I thought about calling my boyfriend so that he could enjoy this too, but he wouldn’t approve of me purposefully making a mess in public, surely he would try to talk me out of it, so I didn't call him. 

I put on my less favorite jeans - in case I end up dirtying them - and a brown shirt, picked up my backpack and left for the bus stop. The outside heat worsened my nausea. As I stood at the bus stop, I was breathing deeply to try to stop myself from throwing up too soon.

The bus came and I took a seat close to the middle door, facing a large open space meant for strollers. The heat inside the bus was even worse, and I felt like I was choking on the heavy air. As the bus started moving, my queasiness rapidly increased. Three stops in, and I wasn't sure I was going to make it to the shopping center. I was salivating again and felt tightness in my throat.

When the door opened at the fourth stop, I wondered if I should run out to be sick on the sidewalk instead of the bus. The amount of saliva in my mouth increased and I started to get up from my seat-

The door closed. 

I collapsed back in my seat. I desperately clenched my teeth to try to keep my food down for a little longer. “Only two more stops…” I thought. “Maybe I'll be able to make it to the shopping center.” Yet I couldn't help constantly eyeing the door. 

Next stop, the door opened. As I stared at the open door, I tried to calm myself, “It's fine, I can keep it down… Only one more stop…” But I kept swallowing a lot of saliva. 

As soon as the door closed, I knew I had made a mistake. The taste in my mouth grew bitter and I felt intensely sick. My body was preparing to reject all the contents of my stomach. Right now. I couldn't control it anymore, I couldn't stop it. I took a deep breath and my stomach contracted forcefully, sending a large wave of pinkish vomit on the floor in front of me, staining my jeans and shoes. It was the ice cream. A few people turned to me in shock and hurried to get away from me. But I couldn’t pay them much attention since I immediately doubled over as more food forced its way up my esophagus and out through my mouth. This time it was more brown, I think it was the cookies. I only had time to take in a short breath before my stomach spasmed for the third time. A waterfall of reddish liquid mixed with undigested pieces of spaghetti splashed on the floor and my shoes. I retched again, letting out a small amount of spaghetti, which dribbled onto the existing puddle.

I breathed in and coughed. My throat burned and I felt the acidic taste of vomit on my tongue. My stomach has finally calmed down and pleasant relief washed over me. I sighed and leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. I enjoyed the blissful after-vomit relief. I was feeling so good! Getting rid of the food that was making me sick felt soooo nice!

I opened my eyes to look down at what I’ve thrown up. I was surprised to find that some spaghetti pieces were several centimeters long. I thought I had chewed more. When the bus took a turn, the pool of sick started flowing in one direction, people dodging out of its way. I looked up at the people. Half of them were staring at me, the other half pretending not to see me, but everyone had a disgusted look on their face. They all thought I was a gross pig! They saw an ugly guy who doesn't even puke into a bag and just pukes on the floor and all over himself. They thought I was so disgusting! The most disgusting person they've ever met! Or maybe they thought I was super ill. Were they worried about me? 

When the bus stopped, I picked up my bag and ran outside, leaving a mess on the bus behind me. My clothes were dirty with barf and the people at the bus stop stared at me too. I couldn't help smiling.

I was standing in front of the shopping center but I didn't feel like shopping anymore. Instead I crossed the street to wait for a bus in the opposite direction, and went back home, satisfied. 

===============================

I didn't want to make the original sickfic too long, but in reality Bernie’s sickness wasn't over! 

>> Part 2

(For the record, this story was not written in 2009. I just tried to make it look like a blog post consistent witht the timeline these OCs live in.)

[stiltonbasket]

Hi hi~ 💖

I hope you're still taking prompts for the art thief au! I just wanna ask how did NMJ join in on the Lan Family's... side job? And how did he react about it?

A couple of months after their first anniversary, Nie Mingjue receives a text message from his boyfriend (though boyfriend is hardly the right word, since Mingjue already considers them engaged) canceling their next shopping date in town.

I’m sick, the message reads. Can we reschedule it for next week, A-Jue?

Nie Mingjue’s stomach sinks. He hits the call button next to Xichen’s contact, counting down the seconds as he waits for an answer; but Lan Xichen does not reply, save for another text message explaining that he was running a fever, and didn’t feel well enough to talk.

Wangji is with me, Lan Xichen says. You don’t have to worry, sweetheart.

But Nie Mingjue does worry, because Xichen was fine yesterday afternoon. They had lunch together at Mingjue’s apartment, after which Lan Xichen kissed him goodbye and drove back to work without any sign of illness, so what could have gone wrong in the last thirty-two hours?

“I wish Huaisang were here,” Mingjue grumbles to himself. His brother left the house earlier that evening, muttering something about a sale going on at the local night market; and though Nie Huaisang spends hours wasting his time and money there every month, his absence tonight means that Nie Mingjue will be moping in his tiny kitchen until dawn, with nothing to do but await Huaisang’s safe return and worry about Xichen, lying ill in bed halfway across the city with no one to look after him but Wangji.

That isn’t exactly fair, Nie Mingjue knows, because Lan Wangji is a decent caretaker. He can cook and clean better than most young men his age, and he bullied Huaisang into taking a first-aid class with him last year: so Lan Xichen is in good hands, and Nie Mingjue’s interference would be neither welcome nor wanted.

But as the hours tick by, Nie Mingjue finds himself growing restless. He wonders if Lan Xichen has enough to eat, if Wangji might end up falling ill as well, and then he begins tormenting himself in earnest. Xichen could be sick with anything from a common cold to the kind of deadly food poisoning Mingjue reads about in the news every other week, and he already knows that A-Huan is sick enough to require looking after. Wangji lives thirty kilometers west of Xichen’s neighborhood, close to his university, and Xichen would never have called his didi over so late if he could manage on his own.

At around eleven o’clock, he calls Huaisang.

The call goes straight to voicemail. His brother’s phone has been turned off.

Suddenly, Nie Mingjue can bear it no longer. For some reason, he is terrified for them both—and though finding Huaisang in the night market this late would be practically impossible, Mingjue can go to Xichen.

He rifles through his kitchen cupboards, throwing instant meals and groceries into a tote bag before opening the freezer. Huaisang boiled a pot of hangover soup two days ago, and the leftovers should be good for sickness if Xichen has something worse than a cold.

Food packed, Mingjue grabs an electric blanket—he doesn’t know if A-Huan owns an electric blanket, if he ever thought of buying one after that time he got stranded during a snowstorm and almost came down with hypothermia—and hurries out into the night before climbing into his car and backing out of the driveway towards the main road.

“Please be all right, A-Huan,” Nie Mingjue murmurs, fighting the impulse to call him again. His fiancé retires at nine o’clock precisely, even without sickness thrown into his routine, but with it...

You have reached Lan Xichen’s voicemail, says his phone, after Nie Mingjue gives in and presses the fast-dial button next to Lan Xichen’s name. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If this is a professional call, contact my office at Tianyun Law by phone or email to set up an appointment.

Nie Mingjue hangs up and hits Wangji’s contact icon.

The mobile customer you have tried to reach is currently unavailable, the speaker drones; unsurprisingly, Wangji never recorded a message for his voicemail inbox. Leave a message at the tone, or hang up and try again.

Mingjue’s blood runs cold. Even if they were both asleep, surely at least Wangji should have left his phone on?

As he approaches Xichen’s apartment complex, a flash of blue light sparks in his rearview mirror. Nie Mingjue freezes at the closest stop sign, trying not to panic at the sight of at least ten police cars crawling all over the neighborhood; he passed one at the last intersection, and three at the one before that, and now the neighborhood itself seems to be under surveillance.

But the police pay no attention to Nie Mingjue as he passes by, and five minutes later, he lets himself into the gated complex and hurries up the stairs to Lan Xichen’s third-floor apartment. Xichen gave him a set of spare keys, which Nie Mingjue never anticipated he might have to use without his A-Huan’s permission; but now, here he is, sliding them into the doorknob and letting himself in without a sound.

Inside, the apartment is pitch-black. Nie Mingjue frowns, groping for the light switch: but before he can find it, someone crashes into the little foyer and shines a floodlight into his face.

He cries out in alarm, throwing up his arms to shield his eyes from the glare. But then the floodlight dims, and the ceiling lights come on, revealing a slight figure dressed from head to toe in black.

Nie Mingjue drops his bag.

“Huaisang?” he says hoarsely. His brother is pale and wide-eyed, looking strangely shaken at the sight of him; and then, almost immediately, Nie Mingjue remembers that Huaisang said he was going to be at the night market, not here with Lan Xichen.

At that moment, something breaks in Lan Xichen’s kitchen. Nie Mingjue picks up his bag and pushes past his brother, so terrified of what he might find that he can scarcely breathe: but the sight that greets him in the kitchen is completely bizarre, as if it were something out of a film, instead of real life.

Lan Xichen is sitting at the kitchen island with Wangji beside him, in the same way they usually do when Nie Mingjue eats with them. Wangji is in front of Xichen and slightly to his right, holding a steel bowl filled with wads of bloodstained cloth, and Lan Xichen’s attention is fixed on a gaping wound in the jade-white flesh of his own side.

“What’s going on here?” Nie Mingjue croaks, watching as his boyfriend threads a long, curved needle and draws it through his skin, tying a double knot beside the gash before cutting the piece of suture thread and holding out his hand for another one. “A-Huan, what have you done to yourself?”

He looks on in horror as Lan Xichen finishes stitching up the wound (deftly, easily, as if he had done it a hundred times before) and bandages it, all without a sound of pain or a word to Nie Mingjue. But the job is done before Mingjue can count to fifty, and then the two of them are facing each other: one bewildered, in Nie Mingjue’s case, and the other resigned.

“Have you eaten?” Nie Mingjue asks numbly. He can think of nothing else to say—in fact, he can hardly think at all with Lan Xichen looking at him in mingled agony and shame, as if he had done something wrong here. He hadn’t, of course he hadn’t, because his A-Huan is a lawyer with five bitter enemies for every year he’s been practicing, and no matter what Xichen got tangled up in this time, he couldn’t possibly have shot himself—

“No, I didn’t,” Lan Xichen sighs. “It was either a policewoman or a security guard, I think.”

“What--”

“It was the security guard,” Huaisang mutters, folding his arms across his chest. “The policewoman missed. The security tend to be better marksmen than the cops, in our experience.”

Nie Mingjue closes his eyes.

“Will somebody tell me what’s going on here? Xichen?”

Lan Xichen nods shakily and pulls on a tattered shirt, as if the thin cotton might  offer him some form of protection from the conversation ahead. Lan Wangji gets rid of the bloody gauze and the suturing kit, losing his thuggish black clothes on the way, and Huaisang vanishes up the stairs before coming back in a pair of jeans and a soft white sweater.

“We’ll eat first,” Nie Mingjue says gruffly, suddenly desperate to postpone this bizarre confession for as long as he can. “You look dead on your feet, and I don’t want anyone passing out before I’ve heard everything. All right?”

All three of them nod, each one looking guiltier than the next. Nie Mingjue can hardly stand to meet their eyes, so he boils the frozen hangover soup and steams a pot of rice to go with it, scooping the richest portion into Lan Xichen’s bowl before carrying the dinner tray to the table.

“Hurry up and eat,” he orders. “Don’t say a word before those bowls are empty.”

They eat without speaking, silent but for the clicking of their chopsticks; and then, after the last spoonfuls of rice and soup disappear, Nie Mingjue pads off to the living room with Xichen and Huaisang trailing behind him. Lan Wangji brings up the rear, looking like a ghost in his bloodstained clothes, and goes straight to Nie Mingjue’s favorite armchair: leaving him and Xichen without the option to sit close to each other, unless they share the worn loveseat tucked against the back wall.

That is out of the question for obvious reasons, so Huaisang claims the loveseat for himself, and Mingjue and Xichen end up in a pair of easy chairs on opposite sides of the room.

“Well, I’m listening,” Nie Mingjue says at last. “Now talk.”

[lordabovehelpme]

Request for Din! When he leaves on a quarry you two get in an argument and when he leaves you get injured in some way. When he gets back he’s still mad and you try to hide that you got hurt until he notices and is upset that you tried to hide it, but you tell him you didn’t want him more upset and everything’s good again and you two make up!

Bicker- Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: The mandalorian leaves you without saying goodbye.

Warnings: Pregnancy!

A/N: I have been in the giant abyss of baby fever sooooo... no comment. But if that is totally not what you wanted, just tell me and I’ll write it again!!!!!

masterlist

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

“I AM PREGNANT NOT INCAPABLE TIN CAN!”

“I know you are very capable, but you are carrying my child and-”

“YOU’RE CHILD? DIN DJARIN THIS IS AS MUCH AS MY CHILD AS IT IS YOURS!”

“Yes, we both definitely made it.”

“THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR JOKES. YOU WANT TO LEAVE ME!”

“I’m not leaving you, I am only going to be gone for a few days.”

Throwing your hands up you scoff. “Yes, why don’t you leave your pregnant wife and your adoptive son all alone for a couple days. I am sure that is going to go perfect.”

He sighs, rubbing the spots on his helmet where his temple would be. “This is the only place I can assure that you’re kept safe.” He grabs his pulse rifle before walking out.

“DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME!” The hatch closes behind him and the tears start to fall from your eyes.

“I love you.” It’s a whisper, he’s never left without telling you that he loves you. Placing your hands around your prominent belly for comfort, you cry. A little force kicks your hand, almost as if your baby is trying to comfort you.

***

When you wake up in the morning you go straight to working on the ship. Falling into a focused trance you block all the emotion from your mind. It’s soothing, being able to do something with your hands without having to worry about anything.

It feels as if you are in the backseat of your mind. You can see yourself doing the work and yet you can’t stop, you are totally out of control, body moving on auto pilot. It’s like a fog has coated your mind, making everything you do feel like a dream.

***

“OUCH!” Your hand has slipped in the middle of reinstalling some wires, causing you to burn your left hand a tad. You get up as fast as a heavily pregnant woman can and run over the sink. Running the water as cold as it can go you place your hand under the water.

The ship starts to rumble to life, and you can hear the hatch open. Crap, a certain mandalorian is back and judging from the loud stomps of boots he is still angry. Turning off the water you bite back your tears and hide your hand behind your back.

He is pushing an unconscious quarry into a carbonite freezer when you emerge from the fresher. “How was it?”

“Fine.” He turns away from you, “where is the kid?”

A sharp pain blossoms in your chest, “umm, he is sleeping.” Your voice falters and wavers as you look down at your feet. The mandalorian nods before climbing the ladder to the cockpit. You hear the door woosh open and closed. “Great, good talk.” You murmur to yourself.

***

After a long needed cry you decided to face your husband. Climbing up the ladder the best you can you finally make it to the top. Sitting down in the seat next to him, you find yourself holding your breath. The tension is thick enough that you could cut it with a knife.

“How was the baby?” He moves to look at you, well look at your womb.

“They were fine, they kicked for awhile last night but besides that it was great.”

He makes a hum of approval, “Look, cyare, I’m sorry I left so abruptly, I never should have done that.”

Moving his hands to grab yours, you hiss when he touches your burn. Pulling your hand back into your lap you realize your mistake.

His hand instantly grabs your wrist, pulling your hand in front of his face, examining it. “What is this?” The annoyance is clear from his tone.

“I just slipped.”

“You slipped!? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I- I didn’t want you more upset.” You shrink away from him pulling your hand back. He sighs and you can see the gears turning in his head. Standing up, he grabs you and moves you into his lap.

“Oh cyar’ika. I am so sorry. I just want you to be safe and I hate not being able to control that.” He nuzzles his helmet onto your forehead, a keldabe kiss he calls it. “I kicked myself over and over again for leaving you without telling you how much I love you. I wanted to run back to your arms and just hold you but I had to get this quarry.”

He places one of his hands on your stomach, “You have given me so much. I was angry at myself when I came back, you deserve someone so much more than me. Someone who can stay with you and protect you and give you a house. Someone who is not always catching quarries or on the run.”

You grab both sides of his helmet and pull it off his head. His eyes are swirling with emotion and his frown lines are becoming prominent. You kiss him, trying to push your love into him. “Baby, I love you so much. You are everything and more than I ever wanted.” You kiss both of his cheeks, “You are perfect baby. Although we do fight a little, that just means we are healthy.”

You can feel his lips twitch up into a small smile, so you continue, “Have you ever seen a good couple not fight? It just means we are comfortable enough to voice our own opinions.”

“I guess so.” His shaggy curls fall over your face as he nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent. His hands make their way to your hips, squeezing them before they trail lower.

“Stop that!” You swat his hands away, he looks up with you with a sly little grin on his face. “You’re as bad as the child sometimes.” You mean to sound strict but the giggle that follows and the smile on your face betray you.

“Do you forgive me?”

“Hmmmm.” You place a finger on your chin, “It was pretty mean to leave me like that.”

“I know, I will never do that again. I promise.”

“Hmmm… alright. I forgive you tin can.”

“Hey!” He frowns at you but his eyes crinkle with a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Leaning into kiss him a coo stops you. Looking at the floor, the child has his arms up. Picking him up, you hold him over your belly. “I love you too.” All of a sudden a strong kick comes from your stomach. Din looks down, placing a hand where the baby just moved.

“We love you too.”

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

Anyway, I hope you liked it! Again, if this is totally not what you wanted, then just tell me and Ill totally write it again!

Love, Lordy. 

[thebeautyoffanfics]

se!saeran x gn!reader

a/n: I’m really really sorry for taking so long on requests,,, I’m working on them slowly, but I’m in a sort of weird mental state, so I wrote this mainly for comfort. Thanks for understanding ^^

Pfff, as i’m writing this, my internet has cut like 6 times- honestly i’m just trying to write comfortttttt

warnings: negative thoughts/feelings

word count: 1,869

Your stomach ached, as you wrapped your arms around your torso. So many thoughts flooded your head that it was beginning to make you feel physically ill. Your brain was screaming at you- things you should be doing, things you regretted doing, how lazy you were being, how tired you felt, how overwhelming every little feeling, sound, light, and texture was to your senses. Yet, all you could do was sit there. You wanted to cry, but, despite everything you felt, you were… numb. Where was the point in crying? It was best to accept everything as it was.

Though you told yourself it was best to accept such a defeat, there was a part of you that was well aware that you were close to some sort of breaking point. All day was spent doing things- all day for several weeks now, you spent your time working. Working, worrying, running errands. Still, every day seemed to bring another thing to do- another problem- more drama, none of which you could control. Everything was out of your control.

You nearly jumped at hearing your phone ring. Grabbing it, you were half-ready to give some sort of curt answer, before realizing that it was just Saeran. Holding the phone to your ear, you gave the most cheerful answer you could.

“Hello?”

“Hey, (Y/N)... I was just… wondering how you were.”

Of course, you weren’t doing your best. Knowing that, but also knowing that Saeran probably couldn’t afford to bother himself with your problems, you told him “I’m pretty good. How about you?”

“I’m fine… my stupid brother went into town, so I was thinking about walking to your place. Not like I… really feel like seeing you in particular, I’m just….”

“It’s alright. You don’t need an excuse to come visit me, you know? I’m decent, and I’ve probably got ice cream in the fridge.”

Saeran paused on the other line, and you could vaguely hear the sound of boots zipping up. “Right then. See you in a few.”

“Okay. Love you, see you in a few.”

“............” He whispered, despite the fact that no one was in his home nor yours, “love you too.”

The phone call ended, and you sat back, staring at the ceiling. Saeran was comforting to be around, sure, but… were you going to be comforting for him? You had no energy left. Just making yourself talk on the phone felt like too much work, you honestly just wanted to sleep… sleep for a long time. Maybe a month of two. A year or… ten.

“Alas, life goes on,” You whispered to yourself, attempting to lighten the mood. Forcing yourself to stand, you walked to the bathroom and grabbed a hairbrush, deciding to make yourself somewhat decent for Saeran.

You glanced at the mirror, pulling the brush through your tangled hair. The knots were tough, probably due to running your hands stressfully through your hair so often, and you watched as your face contorted in pain.

“You’re so… ugly,” You sighed to yourself, continuing to brush your hair. “You can’t even handle brushing your hair… it’s not hard. It doesn’t hurt that bad… you’re fine, you know? Just suck it up...”

Sighing, you tossed the hairbrush back onto the counter, then fixed your hair a bit with your hands. “Talking to yourself, huh… not even for a fun conversation. Just… complaining.”

You began your walk towards the kitchen, aiming to grab some medicine to calm your upset stomach. As you stepped, the thoughts continued- upsetting, self-deprecating thoughts, on top of impulsive ones. It was all… too much. Even as you swallowed the pain relieving pill, so many thoughts ran through your brain. Throw this, hit that, do this, clean that. You wanted to pull out your freshly-brushed hair, as you instead opted to chug the water bottle held in your hand.

“Giving your kidneys a boost?” A familiar voice asked, a joking tone laced in the comment. You nearly jumped again, calling yourself lucky for having just finished drinking the water.

“I drink plenty of water, actually. Maybe not today, but I usually do.”

You gently wrapped an arm around the tall boy, feeling him lightly return it, before the both of you sat back quickly. “Saeyoung always tells me that you should drink water every day. Not just when you feel like it.”

“And does Saeyoung follow that?”

Saeran laughed, “does Phd Pepper count?”

“Nope. So, his comments are invalid.”

“I didn’t take them seriously to begin with, sooo…”

You smiled, tossing the empty bottle into the recycling bin, before looking back over at Saeran. “So? What brings you here? Ice cream, a movie, popcorn?”

He shrugged, grabbing a bowl and a spoon, then making his way towards your freezer. He took out the ice cream container, before preparing himself a bowl. “...Want any?” He asked, not bothering to look at you as he did so.

“No, thank you though.”

"Sure… it’s your ice cream, so you don’t really need to thank me.”

After having made his bowl of ice cream, you found yourself resting next to Saeran on the couch. A comfortable silence ensued, and you finally felt at some sort of peace. Though your eyes were shut, at feeling a gaze on you, you peeked them open, catching a glimpse of Saeran as he quickly turned his head. Sitting up a bit, you smiled at his dismissiveness. He’d die before admitting it, but he had been looking at you… you felt lucky. He could look at you without disgust- something not even you could do to yourself.

“What’re you thinking?” You asked after a few minutes. Though the silence was enjoyable, his voice wasn’t something you could complain about either. Honestly, all you wanted to do was hear his sweet voice talk about whatever he pleased, and maybe fall asleep to him talking. The last part was less likely, but-

“You’re acting dumb,” He muttered, turning and shoving a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as you noted the pout on his face. You swallowed the ice cream, your heart rate picking up, worrying that you did something wrong.

“What do you mean?”

“See, you’re already getting defensive. It’s,” He paused a bit, and you didn’t bother speaking, knowing it was hard for him to put things to words. He didn’t want to seem too worried, although it was clear he cared. “It’s weird. You haven’t…” His voice grew quiet, as a pink spread across his face, “texted me as much. And I’ve had to initiate half the calls- and even then, you sometimes don’t pick up. And then, your texts are all quick and boring. I’m not… the best at picking up on things, but I can tell something’s wrong. So, just tell me. That’s what I’m here for, you idiot.”

You sat there, unable to form any words. You hadn’t thought that anything seemed wrong. You were… your normal self, right? He’d been worried just because you… couldn’t keep up with your own mind. His concern was your fault, despite the fact that all you wanted to do was focus on him. To help him. This wasn’t help-

“Stop. Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking. I don’t like that look on your face. You don’t need to force yourself or anything, just… I’m... here. It’s not a problem or a bother or anything.”

Like that, so many of those negative thoughts were contradicted. Your head hurt a bit, as you felt your heart ache. Tears filled your eyes, as everything finally came crashing down. Letting out a sob you were sure was ugly, you felt Saeran tense up next to you. Maybe he wasn’t expecting such a reaction- maybe it was overwhelming for him- still, despite the fact that he could turn away, despite the fact that he didn’t need to care, he wrapped his arms tightly around you. He began to rock you back and forth a bit, petting your head gently, as you had often done for him.

Normally, Saeran struggled to start physical contact. He struggled to deal with it, always needing you to slowly initiate touch. He’d gotten better about it, but just having him hold you so suddenly and so tightly, so comfortingly, made your heart ache further. He’d worked so hard, and, in that moment, you were so proud of him. You felt so much love for him that you were sure your heart was going to burst. And, the way he was treating you made you sure that, even if it wasn’t you yourself, there was someone out there who loved you… Saeran was that someone.

After a few minutes of Saeran holding you as you cried, you found the energy to sit back, wiping your eyes, almost embarrassed of the mess you were sure you’d become. He reached out, wiping some tears for you, before squishing your face slightly. His face was red, eyes slightly watery, as he made direct eye contact.

“Don’t hide your feelings from me… you convince me to tell you things, so you should tell me. If I’m comfortable around you… then, you… should be comfortable around me. It’s not like I have any room to judge you.”

Taking a shaky breath, you leaned back into the hug, the side of your face squishing against his chest. “Can I just… sit here for a bit…? Tell me about your day, please.”

Saeran hesitated, before shifting the two of you, leaning against the couch so that you’d also be reclining a bit. Once settled, he took in a strangely calm breath, before speaking. “Well… when I woke up, Saeyoung said he was making breakfast. It smelled bad though, and I realized he’d used Phd Pepper instead of water in the pancake mix… which, I guess was his way of saying ‘hey, Saeran, you make breakfast today’. So, I made normal pancakes. Actually, I put some… little chocolate chips in them, like the kind we got last time we ate breakfast-”

His voice continued on, as you listened to him describe every detail of his day. A sort of calmness enveloped your heart, along with exhaustion enveloping your body. There in Saeran’s arms, everything felt… safe. Nothing could hurt you, not even the problems, drama, and work that you had just panicked over. There… was no rush to do things. If you took things slowly, maybe… just maybe, it’d all work out. With those thoughts in mind, and Saeran’s voice in the background, you finally fell asleep.

---

“(Y/N)? Are you even listening?” Saeran questioned, lifting a hand from your back. As he did so, he glanced at your face, before freezing up. Realizing you were asleep, he put his hand back, sitting back in place. “They’re… asleep,” He thought, a bright blush growing on his face. Despite himself, he smiled slightly, proud that you were comfortable enough with him to fall asleep on him. He rubbed a hand up and down your back, beginning to realize how sleepy he was. As a few more moments passed, the only sound Saeran could hear being your gentle breathing, he found himself drifting off to sleep as well.

[fadedflame]

Late Summer Day 7

Detroit: Become Human Prompt Challenge from @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Day seven-Ice Cubes

Words-785

Never. Prank. Connor.

Ao3 or

Connor let out an undignified, startled shriek as the ice cube slid down the back of his shirt. He sprung from the couch as though he had been electrocuted, the motion causing the offending object to fall unceremoniously to the rug.

Hank couldn’t stop himself from laughing uncontrollably. “God, kid. I should’ve been filming that.”

Connor’s expression was entirely unamused. “That wasn’t funny, Hank,” he scolded.

“You’re right,” he agreed, still laughing. “It was hilarious.”

“I would beg to differ,” Connor countered, picking the ice up off the floor so it wouldn’t make a mess. He went to the kitchen, depositing it in the sink.

Hank just shook his head, still smiling. He felt a little bad, he didn’t want to actually upset the kid, but it was an ultimately harmless prank. “Ah, come on, Connor, it wasn’t that bad.”

He dried his hands on the kitchen towel before turning back to Hank. “It was still unpleasant.”

“Eh, I’m sure you’ll get me back later,” he said offhandedly.

Connor seemed to freeze for a moment before a smile of his own spread across his face. “Yes, I suppose I will,” he acknowledged.

Hank didn’t like how he said that. A sense of dread ran through him. “I mean, it was just an ice cube. You're not gonna do somethin crazy, right?”

Connor made it back to the living room, sitting down on the couch. His posture was perfect. Too perfect, calm and controlled. It was unsettling. “I believe that is subjective, Lieutenant,” he answered calmly.

The use of his title did nothing to ease Hank’s concern. He had the distinct feeling that he had just made a huge mistake.

He was right of course.

For the next couple of days, Hank was finding ice cubes everywhere. In the coffee maker, in his shoes, in every damn cup in the cupboard. It was never ending. He didn’t know how the kid was even doing it. He had gotten rid of the ice in the freezer, but that didn’t change anything. It was even at the precinct, he opened his desk drawer to find it had been put in upside down and spilled ice all over the floor.

Whenever he cussed Connor out for it, he would adopt an absurdly innocent expression and feign ignorance, as if there was anyone else that could be doing it.

Hank had tried retaliating a couple of times, but that had been about as successful as getting the android to stop. He was at his wits end with this bullshit and officially ready to throw in the towel.

Hank let the hot water from the shower wash over him. The kid was good, he’d give him that much. He reached for the shampoo bottle when he heard a soft creaking sound.

Someone had opened the bathroom door.

“Connor?” Hank called cautiously. Years on the force trained him to trust the bad feeling that surged through him.

The only response he got was an entire bag of ice being dumped over the shower curtain.

“Shit! What the hell!” He screamed, instinctively trying to back away from the torrent. Connor, you asshole!”

He could hear the android’s laughter from the other side of the curtain. Hank scooped up a handful of melting ice cubes and pulled back the plastic curtain just enough to chuck the watery mess at him. Connor’s laughter only intensified as he dodged the ill-aimed throw. “What’s the matter, Hank?” he teased. “It’s just ice.”

“Screw you,” he responded, but it was hard to really be mad at the kid when he was laughing like that. “I get it, alright. Don’t fuck with you. Not making that mistake again, ok?”

Connor’s laughter had dissipated, but he was still smiling. “Does this mean you want me to stop?”

“For the love of god, yes!”

The kid’s smile turned less cheeky and more genuine. “Very well,” he agreed. “I suppose it’s only really fun as long as you aren’t truly upset by it. I do hope I didn’t take things too far.”

Hank couldn’t resist smiling back at him. “Eh, you’re fine,” he told him. “Can’t say I’m not impressed. We should sick you on some of our coworkers sometime.”

“Now that could be fun,” Connor agreed.

“Reed’s not gonna know what hit him,” he said, chuckling to himself. He picked up another ice cube and tossed it at Connor’s head. “Now get lost. I’ve got a shower to finish.”

Connor nodded, heading towards the door. “I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re done,” he promised before leaving.

“Thanks, kid,” Hank called after him. He closed the curtain and finally grabbed the shampoo. He had a now-icy shower to finish.

[whumphoarder]

Beanimia

Summary: While Peter is visiting Tony and Morgan at the lake house for a long weekend, the six-year-old manages to accidentally break his nose. Unfortunately, Spider-Man's super-healing decides to go on holiday the same weekend that he does.

Word count: 3,877

Genre: Fluffy illness/injury, whump, hurt/comfort, humor

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta-reading and to @awesomesockes for plot, summary, and title ideas <3

Link to read on Ao3

“So”—Tony snaps the single use ice pack to activate the chemicals and gives it a few shakes as he moves back over to the kitchen table—“which one of you is going to explain what happened here?”

Morgan shakes her head gravely side to side. “Peter didn’t catch the beans...”

“Well, to be fair,” Peter points out, his voice significantly more nasally than usual due to the wad of paper towels he’s pressing to his heavily bleeding nose, “you didn’t really warn me you were about to chuck a can of beans at my head.”

“But I did!” the six-year-old defends. “I said, ‘I’ll throw down the supplies.’”

“Supplies for what?” Tony questions. He passes Peter the ice pack, earning a grunt of thanks.

“For the mission,” Morgan explains as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We were playing superheroes and we needed to pack the supplies to take with us ‘cus we had to go fight the bad guys in space.”

“She’d been stockpiling stuff for the last couple days in the treehouse,” Peter goes on, “so she was just tossing everything down for me to put in the bag. Which, y’know, was fine for the stuffed animals and the walkie-talkies and the plastic lightsabers”—he gingerly touches the ice to his nose—“just not for a sixteen-ounce can of refried pintos.”

(Tony winces in sympathy.)

Morgan lets out an exasperated exhale. “Well, we had to bring something to eat—it’s a long way to Pluto.”  

Huffing out a laugh, Tony shakes his head slowly. “I guess it’s hardly Peter’s first experience getting injured before a mission officially even begins...” he muses. He grins at the teenager. “Remember when you tripped off the quinjet ramp and sprained your ankle two minutes after we landed?”

Peter rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. “That was one time, Mr. Stark.”

“Memorable though,” Tony quips. He gestures to the kid’s messy face and sighs. “Alright, let’s see the damage.”

Reluctantly, Peter pulls the paper towels away and fresh blood starts to trickle down. There’s a cut at the bridge of his nose and it’s rapidly swelling, a dark bruise already starting to form under his eye.

Tony prods carefully at the break, making Peter wince. “Well, it’s definitely broken,” he reports after a moment, “but it seems pretty well-aligned at least. Nothing to reset.”

Peter lets out a short, breathy laugh. “Probably because it was already a little crooked from the last time I broke it. Guess she knocked it back.”

“So… I made it better?” Morgan asks hopefully.

Tony turns in his daughter’s direction. “Oh no, don’t you start thinking you’re off the hook here, Little Miss Budding Plastic Surgeon,” he says, holding up a stern finger. “You still need to be more careful where you’re chucking your beans.”

Peter snorts, then instantly seems to regret that as he groans and adjusts the ice pack on his face.

Morgan’s expression sobers and she drops her gaze down to her feet. “I just thought he would catch it. He always catches stuff when I throw it to him…”

Her comment gives Tony pause. Now that he thinks about it, it’s not the first time since Peter arrived at the lake house for their long weekend that the kid has seemed rather sluggish and off his game. He’d dozed through most of the drive over on Friday afternoon and then slept in until almost noon the next day. Even now, he can see the dark circles under Peter’s eyes and the pallor to his cheeks that can’t be completely explained by his current blood loss.

“It’s okay, Mo,” Peter reassures her with a small smile. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. It’ll be all better by morning, okay?”

Morgan perks up at that, so Tony pushes aside the twinge of worry in his gut. After all, Peter’s been taking seventeen credit hours at MIT this semester, not to mention his Boston vigilante activities and the additional part-time lab assistant gig he’s picked up; that’s enough to make anyone run a little ragged.

“Why don’t you two just watch a movie or something?” Tony suggests. “Give Peter’s nose a little time to sort itself out.”

Morgan and Peter agree, so Tony rustles up some of Peter’s super-strength painkillers and sets the kids up in the living room with some weird movie that Morgan inexplicably loves about a talking parrot whose biggest goal in life is to see the sun rise over the Grand Canyon. Before they even hit the fifteen minute mark, from out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees the ice pack slide down Peter’s face as the boy drifts off.

X

The combination of pain pills and the usual post-injury recovery time knocks Peter out and he sleeps straight through the rest of the movie. He’s still a little groggy and disoriented when Tony wakes him for dinner, but years of mentoring a reckless teenage superhero have taught the man that this is all par for the course.

Given that the pork chops Pepper left for them to reheat (before heading to her sister’s house for the weekend) require a bit more chewing than Peter’s face is up for at the moment, Tony whips the kid up a smoothie to drink instead.

Peter peers warily into the glass Tony hands him, swirling the green contents around. “What’s in here?”

Tony shrugs. “Whatever I found in the fridge. Blueberries, yogurt, scoop of protein powder, a banana, some spinach…”

“Ew, why would you drink spinach?” Morgan interrupts, her nose wrinkling up in disgust. “That’s gross.”

“Says the girl who put mayonnaise on her graham crackers last week,” Tony points out.

“It was good!” she defends.

Peter takes a cautious sip of the drink. He looks contemplative for second, then must have decided that he approves of the flavor because he just shrugs and proceeds to down about half the glass in a few gulps.

Morgan makes a dramatic gagging noise. Tony rolls his eyes and flicks her arm playfully.

“It’s actually really good,” Peter admits, lowering the cup back down. “Been awhile since I’ve had real vegetables.”

“Ugh, lucky,” Morgan groans as Tony adds a few pieces of asparagus to the little girl’s plate. “They’re the worst. Except for artichokes—those are good.”

“You like artichokes?” Peter questions.

“Uh huh.” She grins. “And turnips!”

“Well, Gerald likes turnips,” Tony clarifies, “and Morgan likes feeding them to him.”

This comment inspires Morgan to launch into a long-winded explanation of all the things she’s ever seen Gerald eat—from grass, to broccoli stalks, to a weird-looking bug—and which of those were his favorites. Peter nods along to her rambling, but seems far less engaged than usual and doesn’t even react when she mentions Gerald’s favorite type of cookie is double stuffed Oreo.

(Tony, on the other hand, interrupts at that point with a stern lecture for the six-year-old on what she can and cannot feed the alpaca moving forward.)

Once dinner is over, they all migrate back to the living room. Morgan wants to play Uno, and Peter obliges for a while, but his overall lack of focus persists.

“Peeeterrrr,” Morgan whines for the third time, poking his arm to snap him out of his daze. “It’s your turn again. You gotta draw two.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Peter takes two cards from the deck and adds them to his hand before reaching up to rub tiredly at his temples.

Tony’s brow furrows. “Headache?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Peter admits. “It’s not bad, just like… there.”

“Hm.” Tony nods. Turning to Morgan he says, “What do you say we finish this game up tomorrow?” Morgan’s face screws up and she looks like she’s about to protest before he adds, “Pretty sure there are some fudge-pops left in the freezer. I won’t tell Mommy if you don’t.”

Morgan drops her cards with an excited whoop and jumps up to run to the kitchen.

Tony gets to his feet to follow her. He glances back at Peter, who has sunk into the cushions with a relieved sigh. “Fudge-pop?” he offers.

Peter makes a non-committal noise in his throat. “I dunno. Think I might just head to bed.”

Tony glances at his watch. It’s just shy of eight o’clock—even Morgan doesn’t usually go to bed for another half hour. He knows Peter’s healing always takes a lot out of him, but he’s seen the kid looking less drowsy and out of it after getting slammed into the airport tarmac in Germany and cracking three ribs than he does at the moment. “Think you might be coming down with something?” he asks.

Peter shrugs once more, prompting Tony to press his hand to the kid’s forehead. He definitely isn’t detecting a fever—if anything, Peter’s skin is a little cold.

“What’s not feeling good?” Tony clarifies. “Head? Stomach? Throat?”

Peter hesitates a second. “Just… just my head I guess.” He sighs. “I think I’m just tired. Haven’t really been sleeping that great lately,” he confesses.

Tony’s forehead creases in concern. “Kid, you know May and I talked to you about overloading yourself your first year at school.”

“No, I go to bed,” Peter clarifies, “I just don’t always, like, sleep.”

“Why?” Tony’s frown deepens. “Are you having nightmares, or…?”

“No…” Peter exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that. I just can’t always, like, settle down? I don’t know—it’s really not that bad,” he quickly backtracks. “I think I just need a good night’s sleep. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

(Like an idiot, Tony believes him.)

“Alright, well, sleep well kid,” he says as Peter shuffles off to the guest room.

X

“Okay, so... this is a little weird,” Peter says as he enters the kitchen the next morning.

Tony glances up and blinks at the sight of Peter’s very swollen and now darkly bruised nose and cheekbone. He sets down the bowl of waffle batter he’s been whisking and moves over to get a closer look.

“What the hell, kid?” Tony mutters under his breath, running his fingertips carefully over the still-clearly-broken bone. “You once healed from a compound fracture overnight.” He pauses a beat. “Of your femur.”

“Eh...” Peter shrugs tiredly. “Super-healing isn’t really a science, is it?”

“Well it’s certainly not an art,” Tony retorts. He gestures to the kid’s nose. “Unless this is your Black-and-Blue Period, Picasso.”

Peter groans, sinking down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “That was almost as painful as my face,” he complains.

It’s clear the kid meant it as a joke, but that admission does nothing to alleviate Tony’s concern. He finds Peter a fresh ice pack and doses him out another painkiller before resuming making breakfast.

Somehow even a second night of sleep doesn’t seem to have restored much of the kid’s energy. Peter sits hunched forward with one elbow on the table to hold the ice to his face and has his phone resting in his lap. He scrolls idly through it, looking like he might nod off any second.

After a few minutes, the backdoor to the kitchen swings open and Morgan re-enters with pieces of hay still stuck to her boots.

“I gave Gerald two turnips,” she announces. “And he hummed at me and then he tried to steal my hat but I got it back ‘cept for the fuzzy thing.” She points at the red knit hat on her head, which is missing a pom-pom.

Tony groans as he ladles more waffle batter onto the iron. “He didn’t swallow it, did he? Because if that vet has to come out here one more time, I swear—”

“Peter!” Morgan blurts, suddenly noticing the boy at the table. He startles and looks up from his lap as the six-year-old runs over to him. “Your face looks so bad!”

Tony clears his throat. “Uh, Morgan, we don’t—”

“So, so, so, so bad,” she emphasizes, as tears well up in her eyes. She throws her arms around his waist. “I’m really r-really sorry!” she cries. “I didn’t m-mean to hit you with the beans!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Mo,” Peter assures, wrapping her in his arms. “It’s gonna heal really soon, okay? I’m a spider, remember? I always heal fast.”

“But sp-spiders don...don’t heal fast!” Morgan sobs into his chest. “You can squish ‘em re-really easy and they d-die if it gets too c-cold or if they get sprayed with bug killing stuff, an-and…”

Peter glances up and shoots his mentor a look of utter helplessness.

In return, Tony shrugs his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion. “Don’t look at me, kid. I’ve been wondering the same thing since we met.”

Still holding the crying child, Peter rolls his eyes at him.

“Kidding, kidding...” Tony says under his breath. He abandons the waffle iron and heads over to gather the sobbing six-year-old up into his arms. “Morgan, sweetheart, listen to me,” he says as he rubs her back gently. “Peter isn’t really a spider, okay? He’s actually more of a mutant.”

(Morgan only cries harder at that.)

Peter huffs out a short laugh and leans back against the chair. “Doing great, Mr. Stark.”

“...And because he’s a mutant,” Tony plows right along, “his DNA is different from ours and that’s why he usually heals freaky fast,” he explains over her tears as she buries her face in his shoulder. “Except it’s just being a little slow today, so we’re gonna just let him rest and eat some good food and that should help fix him up, okay?”

She hiccups a few times. “So he ju...just needs some w-waffles?” she manages to get out.

That jogs Tony’s memory. He spins around to see that the iron is still very much on and the waffle is starting to burn, smoke wafting up around the edges. “Ah shit,” he mutters.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Peter says, pushing himself quickly up from his seat. But the moment he gets to his feet, he staggers sideways and grips the table, his face draining of color.

“Pete?” Tony goes to set the still-sniffling six-year-old back down, but before he’s able to get her feet on the floor, Peter’s knees give out.

Tony curses and shoots a hand out just a second too late as Peter crumples first to his knees and then to the ground, landing directly on his already-injured face.

Morgan’s eyes go wide. “Daddy!” she shrieks.

Tony plops her down abruptly. “Go unplug the waffle maker, okay?” he instructs her as he drops to his knees next to Peter. He figures the last thing they need to add to the chaos is a smoke alarm.

Eyes still locked on the scene before her, Morgan nods and runs over to the counter to unplug the device. Meanwhile, Tony rolls Peter over onto his back and instantly grimaces at the sight. Besides the deathly pallor, the kid’s broken nose is definitely crooked now and fresh blood is streaming down.

“Is he… dead?” Morgan asks, horrified.

“No, no, of course not...” Tony presses two fingers to the pulse point in the boy’s neck, relieved to feel a strong, albeit fast, beat. “He just fainted—he’ll be fine,” he says, shaking the unconscious boy’s shoulder. 

“He looks dead,” Morgan whispers, still staring.

“Yeah, but he’s not,” Tony says firmly. Not wanting the blood to run down Peter’s throat, he continues to roll the kid over until he’s on his side in a sort of modified recovery position. “Pete, c’mon, this isn’t a good look,” he mutters, tapping Peter’s cheek. “We’re all getting enough trauma therapy as it is…”

Finally, the kid’s eyelids start fluttering open. “There you go, that’s it,” Tony praises when Peter blinks up at him. “You back with us yet?”

Peter groans and lets his eyes close again. “Do I ‘ave to be?”

“Yes,” Tony says curtly. He starts shaking Peter’s shoulder again, though gentler now. “I need to know how I’m taking you to Bruce—car or ambulance?”

“Ugh… How ‘bout neither?” Peter mumbles. He lifts a hand up tiredly to wipe a bit of blood off his upper lip. “‘M alright. Just got a lil’ dizzy…”

“Nope.” Worry is quickly taking over Tony, though it comes out in the form of briskness. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get off the floor or I’m choosing for you,” he declares, already pulling out his phone.

Morgan’s voice comes out small and quavering. “Peter...?”

Ultimately, that sound is what it takes to make Peter move. With Tony’s support, he pushes himself up and sits there for a moment, blinking wearily as blood trickles down from his nose. Tony sends Morgan to fetch a box of tissues and a clean shirt for Peter, then loads them both into the car for a little field trip.

X

“Anemia?” Peter repeats, incredulous.

The kid is sitting on an exam table at the SHIELD Medical base, his recently-reset nose now splinted. Meanwhile, Morgan sits in the chair beside Tony, entertaining herself with a handful of wooden tongue depressors and a roll of medical tape.

Bruce adjusts his glasses as he scans the results from Peter’s blood panel on his tablet. “Yeah, that’s what the tests are showing. Basically, it means that your body isn’t getting enough iron to produce hemoglobin, so it can’t carry oxygen effectively. This results in fatigue, lightheadedness, insomnia, headaches, shortness of breath, and—apparently in your case—a reduced healing factor.”

“But how did I get anemia?” Peter balks. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“Well, there are a few possible causes,” Bruce explains, “but based on several nutrient deficiencies I’m seeing in your bloodwork, my best guess is from your diet.”

“Ah.” A look of understanding flickers across Peter’s face for a second. “Yeah, okay, that checks out...” he mumbles.

“Wait, how exactly does that ‘check out’?” Tony asks.

Peter shrugs. “Well, I just… haven’t been eating the best food lately.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Doesn’t MIT’s cafeteria serve a pretty decent spread?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Peter allows. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just haven’t been really… uh, going there?”

Tony blinks at him. “Why the hell not?”

“That’s Mommy’s word,” Morgan pipes up without looking up from the two wooden sticks she’s connecting together with tape.

“I just don’t have a lot of time between my classes and job and stuff, and the cafeteria is all the way across campus,” Peter explains. “So I mostly just eat my own food.”

“Which would be…?” Bruce asks.

Peter hesitates. “Ramen,” he says after a moment. “The chicken flavor one.”

“Hm, okay…” Bruce nods, jotting this down on his tablet. “Not really the most nutritious option, but definitely a college staple. What else?”

Dropping his gaze to his lap, Peter starts picking at a piece of fuzz on his sweatshirt. “Uh… sometimes I get the beef one?”

Tony blinks at him. “Beef ramen?”

“I tried the lime chili shrimp one once. Not a fan.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Tony blinks again. “Peter, I’m paying for you to have three square meals a day at that college—not three styrofoam cups of dehydrated noodles.”

“I also eat granola bars,” Peter says. “And bagels.” He starts ticking foods off on his fingers. “Microwave burritos, yogurt, uh.... those little frozen chicken taquito thingies? But like, only if my roommate isn’t using the freezer for his weird cult ritual stuff. That’s why I usually stick to the soup.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves out a sigh. “Jesus take the wheel…”

“Oh! I had an apple last week!” Peter throws in.

Bruce runs a hand through his own hair, exhaling a carefully measured breath. “Okay, Peter, you know that you have an enhanced metabolism, right? That means you need to eat significantly more food than the average person.”

“Right, and I do!” Peter nods. “I always make sure I get enough calories.”

“And that’s good,” Bruce says, “but you also need to make sure you’re getting enough nutrients. Calories are just a part of that. With your unusual physiology, it’s especially important that you’re getting all the required vitamins and minerals to support the rapid regeneration of your cells, and a diet of cup noodles and bagels—”

“And frozen burritos,” Peter interrupts.

“—is simply not nutritionally dense enough for you,” Bruce finishes. “Not by a long shot.”

There’s a beat.

“Oh.”

“What does ‘nu-tri-tion-al-ly dense’ mean?” Morgan asks. Her tongue depressor creation has folded over itself and vaguely resembles a collapsed bridge now.

“It means Peter needs to eat more vegetables,” Tony butts in. “Just like you and Gerald.”

She sticks out her tongue. “Gross.”

“Alright, we’re gonna start you on some iron supplements,” Bruce addresses Peter. “But it might take a couple weeks to get your levels back up enough to reverse the anemia. I’m also going to give you a list of foods high in iron—things like dark leafy greens, broccoli, dried fruit, nuts, red meat, kidney beans—”

“NO BEANS,” the other three all declare in unison.

X

After hauling the kids back to the lake house, Tony sets Peter and Morgan up on the couch with another movie (Pirates of the Caribbean this time) and heads to the kitchen to fix them all some lunch. Potatoes and turnips are both high in iron, so he cooks and mashes up a big potful with some milk, butter, and salt, figuring that would be easy to chew without hurting the kid’s face too much. He scoops some into a bowl for Peter and then whips up another green smoothie for him to drink, as well as sandwiches for himself and Morgan. Once everything is ready, he piles it all onto a tray and heads back.

As he approaches the living room, Tony can already hear Morgan’s voice floating towards him in the falsetto stage-whisper she always uses when she’s voicing make-believe characters.

“Help me! Help me!” she cries. “Oh no, I’m falling!”

Tony stops in the room’s threshold to watch. The movie is still playing in the background, but neither kid seems to be watching. Instead, Peter is lying on his back on the sofa with his eyes closed, giggling quietly while Morgan kneels on the floor in front of the cushions, dancing a single M&M around the edges of the boy’s open mouth.

Suddenly, she drops the candy into his mouth with a dramatic gasp. “Noooo… the king has fallen into the pit! The anemia monster got him!” she cries.

“The anemia monster?” Tony asks in amusement.

Peter’s eyes snap open. “Uh, we were just playing a game.”

Morgan turns back to look at her dad, grinning. “Chocolate is on the list Uncle Bruce gave him!” she says, waving the piece of paper in Tony’s direction.

“Pretty sure that says dark chocolate,” Tony says, eyes narrowing at them as he crosses the room. “Not leftover M&Ms from the Christmas stash.”

Morgan’s face falls. “Aw…”

Tony sets the tray of food down on the coffee table. “Don't worry, kids,” he says, passing Peter the kale and fruit-rich protein smoothie. “Iron Man to the rescue.”

X

Link to all my fics

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X

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Just Sit Down!

I know in the USA that some states are starting to pull back on their self-isolation orders but Please, I’m begging you to listen to the science.

This isn’t over.

We need to continue to flatten the curve.

STAY AT HOME.

__________

Summary: Peter Parker is a man... well, teenager of action. Therefore he and 'social distancing' don't exactly mix and he's about to drive Tony up a wall. The good news is he's able to come up with a plan that will undoubtedly wear his kid out.

Tags:  social distancing, Pandemics, Peter Parker is Going Stir-Crazy, Tony Stark is Being So Patient, Superhero Tag, Raising Morale, Staying Positive, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure... ...

Word Count: 3202

Warnings: None   Rated: G

Link to Post on AO3[2020-3-21]: Just Sit Down-happyaspie

 From the moment the virus, the pandemic, hit the United States, May immediately started talking precautions.  One of which was making sure that Peter was being careful while on his patrols.  No diving into crowds, cleaning his hands regularly and washing his suit after every single use.  Peter complained that she was being overprotective.  Insisting that they had no proof that he could get sick at all but being a nurse, she didn't relent.  They didn't know enough about his immune system to be sure that he couldn't catch this particular virus and even if he couldn't, he could still spread it.  Being cautious was the best course of action.  

Later when things began to spread, the local and national governments decided that social distancing was the best way to slow the progression and prevent the healthcare systems from being overwhelmed.  That meant that events were being canceled, the schools were being closed and businesses were beginning to move towards a 'curb-side pickup model'... it not temporarily closing their doors altogether.  

At that time, May was the first to volunteer to take on extra shifts at the hospital. Especially as some of her co-workers began having to navigate through a sudden need for child care or had fallen ill themselves.  She didn't mind the extra work, it was hard but it was also fulfilling.  The problem was that it didn't take long after the first major influx of patients for the hospital's supply of personal protection equipment to begin to run frighteningly low.  That didn't stop her from pressing forward. She knew she was part of the frontline.  People's lives were in her hands.  That wasn't to say that she wasn't worried.   In order to prevent the possibility of bringing the virus home to Peter, she did the next most responsible thing she could think of.  She sent him to stay with Tony and she knew she was extremely lucky to have that sort of an option for her nephew.  Many families didn't.

Having Peter stay at the tower actually eased most of May's major concerns.   Not only did it reduce the possibility of her passing the virus on to him, should she be directly exposed, it also meant that he would be well fed.  Getting enough supplies to properly feed an enhanced teenager during a time when people were buying in bulk out of fear was difficult.  That wasn't a problem for Tony.  He always had a large supply of everything stocked up at the tower.  It came from housing several heroes, including a super-soldier.  However, she also relieved to know that the man would be available to make sure that Peter didn't try to sneak out as she knew he was itching to do. 

Tony was, as expected, quick to accommodate.  He even made sure to have May's kitchen stocked for her. She tried to refuse but he simply waved her off.  Saying that he'd already made several large donations to various community food pantries and created a few helpful programs of his own to support the at-risk communities.  Supplying her with two weeks' worth of frozen dinners and canned goods that he already had laying around was nothing.   "Besides, you're really helping me out.  The team is sort of spread out across the country, Pepper's stuck overseas for the time being and the penthouse is entirely too quiet.", he said, not really knowing at the time, what exactly he'd signed up for.

~o~o~o~o~o~

By day five of being completely banned from Spidering at both May and Tony's insistence, Peter was starting to go a little bit stir-crazy.  He'd not used his web-shooters or any of his spider-powers during that entire time and he had so much pent up energy that he could feel himself vibrating.  "I need to get out.", he randomly jumped up and announced after having been jittering in place for the past twenty minutes while Tony watched the news.

"No, you don't.  Sit down.", Tony casually stated before flipping the channel to something a little more upbeat. 

"I can't sit down.  There're... things I could be doing out there.", Peter retorted as he began to pace.  

Tony hummed in response.  "Like what?", he asked despite knowing the answer.  He knew the kid was going nuts from sitting around.  A daily jog at the nearby park wasn't enough.  Not when he was having to go at a leisurely human pace.  

"I don't know!  Things!", Peter snapped but felt instantly sorry for having done so.  Taking a deep breath he looked longingly out the window and sighed.   "Stopping crime.  The usual."

"There's nobody out there, kiddo.  ...and the police are already taking precautions to help handle any kind of mass panic.", Tony helpfully supplied but the boy didn't look convinced, instead, he went back to pacing the room and periodically sighing.  

Eventually, Peter paused in front of where his mentor was sitting and began to chew on his thumbnail.  "Maybe I could help buy groceries for the elderly or something.", he suggested because that sounded reasonable.  He could swing around the city and deliver necessities to people who otherwise shouldn't be out.  That would allow him to really move while helping the community. 

"Stark Industries funded an emergency drone delivery service for that very purpose. It's free, highly advertised and my understanding is that it's getting a lot of use.", Tony replied and steeled himself for an argument that never came.  Instead, the kid when back to pacing.  Then, the pacing turned into digging around in the kitchen and before he knew it, the boy was back in front of him.

"We're out of pudding, Mr. Stark.  I should go out and get some.", Peter stated matter-of-factly, shifted his weight as he spoke. 

"Pete... I have enough food to feed me, you, May and a small army for the next three months, you'll be fine for the next two or three weeks.", Tony said in exasperation.  A lack of pudding was not even slightly on his radar.  Lack of coffee might have gotten his attention but he knew better than that.  The coffee he liked was delivered to his door, in bulk, on a monthly basis.  Not to mention the backup supply he kept in the back of the freezer.  "Don't you have some homework you can sit down to do?"

Midtown had turned to digital learning for the duration of the preventative period and posted assignments daily.  Extensive ones.  Yet, Peter had managed to blow through them in record time.  "I finished it already.", he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Throwing his hand up in mild annoyance, Tony rolled his eyes.  Of course, the kid was done with his homework.  "Well, call Ned or do that Discord gaming thingy that you do.  Just sit down, kid!"

"We did that already today", peter complained as he began to absentmindedly bounce on his toes.  "You can only play so much Minecraft, Mr. Stark."

Tony huffed a laugh.  "Really because it wasn't that long ago you were all, '...but there are bees now, Mr. Stark...', when I asked you put the game down for ten minutes to help me with something in the lab.", he playfully mocked.  He really didn't understand the fascination with the game and this was coming from a man who's entire generation had thrived on clunky plastic cartridges and boxy eight-bit characters.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Peter, sighed and then reluctantly plopped down into a chair only to then relentlessly tap his foot on the hardwood floor.  "I have a short attention span, Mr. Stark.  The bees are no longer of interest.", he proclaimed and then immediately stood up to continue his aimless wandering.

"Do you want to go down to the workshop?", Tony asked next.  Even if they had run out of things to do as far as Spider-suit updates go, there was always an abundance of half-finished projects down there to look at.  He sort of hoped that he could get the kid's brain working and that would, in turn, temporarily cease to the whining.  "We can do whatever you want as long as you stop pacing.  You're going to wear a hole in my carpet.  Sit down!"

"Why can't I go out as Spider-man, Mr. Stark?", Peter pleaded, not really expecting any kind of surprising answer.  He'd already asked that question multiple times over the last few days and the response wasn't likely to have changed. 

"You know why, kid.", Tony warningly returned causing the boy to grunt in frustration and then turn back towards the large windows.  It was as though the sly line was calling his name.  No screaming.  The skyline was screaming his name.

"What if I just swing around for like, an hour and then back.  No direct peopling.", Peter begged, hoping that was enough of a compromise.  While he missed talking to his many neighbors, shaking hands and playing with all the children in the streets but he did understand.  He was just aching to get out.  Like he would suffocate soon if he didn't.

Rolling his eyes, Tony sat up taller in his seat and pointed an accusatory finger towards the pouting teenager.  "Right.  Do you think you can just sit there and lie to me like that?  I've met you and there is zero chance of you going out in that suit and not talking to every single person you come across."

"I promise, Mr. Stark!", Peter nearly shouted but his mentor remained placid.

"Nope.", Tony causally countered but when it looked like the kid might actually start to cry he relented.  Just a little.  It wasn't that he had any real problem with Spider-man going out to swing the afternoon away.  The problem was he didn't trust the teenager behind the mask to not dive right into the middle of the first crowd he spotted.  He required supervision and he supposed that technically he could offer that.   "What if I go with you?", he proposed.

Narrowing his eyes, Peter tried to decide what the man had meant by that.  "Like... as my sidekick?", he asked, feigning confusion. 

"Iron Man is nobody's sidekick, Spider-boy.", Tony impassively asserted. "I'm going as your--"

"--Equal?", Peter pipped up with a wide smile.  He knew that was definitely not what the man was going to say either but he was sure his mentor's reaction would be nothing less than entertaining and he desperately needed some entertainment.    

"That's cute, Pete but no.", Tony said with a smirk.   "I'm going as your Superhero mentor or what have you.", he flippantly declared before turning the television off completely.�� Apparently his spider-child required another, more vigorous walk. 

Peter stood by the window and quietly contemplated the offer.  It didn't really take that long for him to decide that the plan, though vague was good enough for him.  If it meant getting to use his web-shooters, that was all he needed to hear.  That didn't make him any less curious about what the man had in mind, though.   "That's cool.  What are we going to do?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas.", Tony said with a grin.

Within the next thirty minutes, the two for them were suited up and on top of the building.  While Peter hopped in place Tony stood there rapidly typing something into his phone.  "What are you doing?", Peter asked as he tried to see over the man's shoulder.  "I thought we were going to actually do something."

For several seconds the man didn't dignify the question but when he did he was smiling triumphantly.  "There we go.  ...Now you can swing around and get your crazies out while doing something nice.", he stated before turning his phone so that Peter could read his latest tweet.  'Bored inside? Spider-man and I are about to hit the skies for some practice.  Enjoy the show from your windows.', it read and tagged several specific locations including the nearby children's hospital.

"That... is a really cool idea, Mr. Stark!", Peter giddily exclaimed.

"It was one of my more genius plans.", Tony said with a flourish of his armored hand.  "Now, let's get going, that's a lot of ground to cover.", he added, engaging his faceplate and then subsequently shooting a mild repulsor beam directly between the kid's feet calling out, "Tag, you're it!", before taking off into the sky.

"Hey!  I wasn't ready, Mr. Stark!", Peter laughed as his mentor hovered tauntingly above him.  Though, before he had the chance to gather his thoughts or shoot a web towards the nearest building the man was swooping back towards him.

"You coming or what, Spider-kid?", Tony said, holding out his hand with the intention of taking another shot but before it could go off, Peter managed to get his wits about him and shot a web towards the man's outstretched hand.  Completely undaunted by his now web covered palm, Tony didn't change his position.  Instead, he raised his face-plate and smiled.  "Nice try, Spiderling.", he calmly replied right before the repulsor went off, burning right through the webs and hitting peter right on the heels as he had already begun to run towards the edge of the rooftop.

They continued to soar through the city, playing their superhero version of tag while people cheered them on from their windows and balconies.  Some of them wearing their hero of choice's colors while others held up signs to show support.  Although, Peter's favorite part of the entire chaotic outing was climbing up the side of the children's hospital and waving to the kids as they sat up in their beds giggling whenever Tony would zap him in the rear.  It was probably the most fun he'd had in a really long time.

By the time they had hit all of the spots that Tony had promised they would appear in, Peter was actually tired.  Not exhausted but comfortably worn out.  So, when the man told him it was time to head back to shower and eat he was more than willing to go.  

"That was really awesome, Mr. Stark.  Like, I can't remember the last time I've ever been able to play with anyone like that.", Peter sighed out as they sat together at the kitchen counter eating dinner. After the spider bite, any and all rowdy antics had come to a rapid halt.  It wasn't like he could wrestle around with Ned.  He had super- strength and didn't want to hurt him.  Yet, it had never crossed his mind that maybe Tony or even Steve would willingly rough-house with him.  Sparring, jogging, team practice, those could be fun sometimes but they weren't the same thing.   

"Yeah?  Well, I'm glad you had a good time, Buddy.", Tony said.  He'd not really considered that end of the exercise.  His goal had been to allow the kid to wear himself out using his spider-powers without putting himself or others at risk.  He'd had no idea that when he'd chosen to turn the whole thing it into a game, that he'd be filling a hole that he never knew existed.  "I think the people watching had a good time too."

Nodding his head, Peter smiled.  He thought about all the families that had come outside to see what the ruckus was about then stood on their balconies laughing and yelling, back and forth towards each other as they watched the action.  He thought about how they were enjoying each other's company without going against any social distancing suggestions and how happy everyone looked while doing so.  "It was sort of cool to see everyone being excited together even though they were still apart.", he mused between bites of spaghetti.

"We gave them something fun to focus on for a little while.", Tony acknowledged.  He'd not expected the impromptu air show to go over quite as well as it had but then again people had been confined to their homes for a while at that point.  No school, no concerts, even the libraries were off-limits.  They'd needed a pick-me-up beyond a computer screen.  An excuse to interact with their neighborhood at a distance.  

"Can we do it again, Mr. Stark?", Peter asked as he began to clear the table.  He wasn't sure exactly how much longer they would have to all be inside but he hoped to have the chance to lift the city's spirits again.   That and the game had been fun.  Laughing, goofing off and scuffling without having to worry about hurting anyone had been amazing.

"At some point.", Tony agreed with a smile.  He could handle that and honestly, he had already decided that after everything had settled, that he would occasionally take the kid out just to play around as they had.  Peter had made it very clear that having someone to horse around with had been something he'd been missing and it had been fun for him too.  It would also come off as good publicity.  Two superheroes working in tandem to brighten the lives of the people around them but mostly the former.  "In the meantime, what do you want to do now?  Lab or movie?"

"Movie.", Peter readily replied as he darted across the room and flipped solidly into the large chair beside the window. "They released some new ones to digital early since the movie theaters are closed.  Like Onward, Frozen Two and most importantly, the newest Star Wars movie."

 "Of course, Star Wars.", Tony replied with a roll of his eyes but settled down on the couch all the same. 

 They sat on the sperate pieces of furniture for the duration of the first movie but by the time they had started into their second, Peter was growing tired.  Eventually, he got up from the chair he'd been curled up in and wandered over to sit directly beside Tony on the couch.  That way he could stretch out a little more. Though as more time passed he found himself leaning more heavily into the man's side and his head resting snuggly on the man's shoulder.

 Looking down at the kid who finally seemed to be more at peace than he had been for the last several days, he smiled.  "You know we're supposed to be practicing social distancing.", teased said while nudging Peter's head with a shrug of his occupied shoulder.  It wasn't that boy had never sat with him like that before or that he really minded, so much as he just wanted to give him a hard time.  It was fun.

 "I live with you.", Peter reason, without bothering to move an inch.  He was comfortable and sitting closely beside someone that you were actively sharing space with was to be expected.

 “You live with your aunt.", Tony counted with a chuckle.  Though he did realize that the kid spent more than a good bit of time living with him as well.  Even before the short term change in his primary residence.  

 Peter looked up and grinned.  "Not right now I don't.", he sing-songed before pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch.

 "Whatever.", Tony returned with a fond roll of his eyes.  "At least your sitting down."

[tinyshe]

Take Stock In The Home Pantry

Its that time of year: taking stock in the pantry. I do it in the Spring so I can see what we used most, what we don’t use much of, make list so I can buy on sale (remember to look at expiration dates), make sure my stock is rotated properly and clear out dust and what nots, in addition to thinking about what to put up/dry or grow come summer.

Some dry goods I like to buy in bulk. An example is beans. I get them cheaper in bulk weight than those tidy little bags or boxes (same with rice). I bring it home, sort through taking out the rocks, dirt clods, broken beans, sifting them gently in my hands before placing them in canning jars with screw cap. Commercially canned goods, I look in the discount aisle for the slightly dented cans or go to the discount grocer warehouse. Don’t get the real beat up ones for storage in case the seals/seams have been violated.  I like to stick with most things in jars because I worry about can linings/seams but I do buy some things in cans like tuna.

Some fruits that I can not grow (or at least not in quantity of field lugs worth like strawberries and apricots) I purchase at peak season when they are cheaper, put in the dehydrator and then into canning jars with screw cap. The grocer will often give me a discount if he know I am buying volume (don’t be afraid to negotiate a price).  Occasionally they will throw in a free case that needs to be dealt with immediately because it is turning quickly. Develop a friendship with your produce grocer and you both can benefit. I still do the hot water bath canning a little and occasionally bring out the mehu-liisa to steam juice but not as much these days. My go to is the dehydrator. 

I also keep an herb pantry: part medicinal, part culinary. Its important to keep an eye on those because they are more fragile and have limited shelf life. I like to grow my own as much as possible. I do not buy in bulk nor buy from the grocer unless I know the product is organic and not  irradiated.  This last part is very important!

Keeping a back up stock of some toiletries is a good idea because  s o m e people forget to tell you when they have used the last bit... like shampoo or toilet paper  = /  . Same goes for some simple first aid items like aspirin, bandages, diarrhea tablets, activated charcoal, antiseptic, wound cleanser … you know, a regular first aid kit with a refill on standby (but later exp dates).

I also have a back up pantry for the pets. Not so much the canary -- its not that he’s not deserving, its just that he eats seeds that I already buy in bulk and then give him similar fruits and veg we eat (I feed him a lot out of the garden, his favourite is the nasturtium blossoms). But the cat and the dog both have back up emergency rations (wet can goods) in case they run out. Or if there are extended power outages and all the shops close down because everything is computerized/ electric! 

Some side thoughts of ‘preparedness’ since I brought up the lack of electricity. Throw in some batteries for your transistor radio, torches (lanterns/flashlights) or get a solar backup charger for your phone and charging batteries. If you have gas cooking and heat, no worries (this is why I don’t keep a big freezer section -- my fridge-freezer is electric)! If you are chained to your electricity, think about cooking and heating safely! No killing yourself off with carbon monoxide poisoning nor burning down the house BBQing in the dining room!!  They have handy little hand warmers that are activated by shaking (for power outages, I keep some for the canary and the kids at bedtime get one in a sock -- it works better than the big red rubber hot water bottles that get cold in the middle of the night). Also look at some camp gear (backpacker stove, sleeping bags, etc). Don’t get all upset thinking you need tons of stuff and all the money it will cost. Think it through. Think of it as an investment. Think about being prepared and just save up and work a   l i t t l e   piece   at   a   time for your basic needs. Or ask for these things as gifts for Christmas, birthdays or what ever :)

If you have medication, see if you can get them in 3 month supplies. I know this is expensive and some insurance companies won’t (and some medications can not) but some pharmacies will actually entice the insurance companies with great discounts if they go the 3 month route or see if they will at least let you over lap the refills. Talk to your pharmacist -- sometimes they have great ideas. Same for the elderly you care for and pets that need special meds. I’m not saying horde; I am saying be prepared if there is some reason you can not get your Rx filled on time.

Some people store water. We store very little unless we know a large storm is approaching then we bottle our own and use regardless. Mainly because if it is out for extended time, the tap water taste weird. Consider your needs and where you live.

Now you can say ‘oh that’s fine for you and yours’ but think about it: in the long run it saves time and money; you can budget a pantry little bit at a time; you don’t become depended as much on outside sources during weather/ emergencies or if you are ill or heaven forbid (!) you lose your income. Unexpected guest can crash your grocery budget but with some planning of basics, you can pull off some pretty great culinary feats out of your pantry!

So think about it. One or two extra items when you go to the market. You can start a pantry almost anywhere if you don’t have a large kitchen or pantry room: a closet, under your bed, that upper shelf or where ever you have a little space as long as it is cool, dry and preferably not in direct sun or place where it can freeze (learn more about food storage). Remember to buy things that you will eat normally and rotate your stock! Soon you will find that it is fun, a sense of pride in your little self-sufficient/ emergency ready stores and a very practical habit!

[liveonmtv]

cash machine || kth

pairing: kim taehyung/f!reader genre: fluff & humor. crack actually. crack cocaine. word count: 11.1k warnings: strong language, drinking, an unwated kiss (not from tae), unsanitary jokes (i’m immature), implied sex, vomiting extra: (fr)enemies to lovers, road trip au, rich kids au but it’s barely there also they’re on summer vacation, also this story takes place in the usa JUST to drag the trip out tbh

summary: Jungkook and Seokjin get a little problematic, you have anger issues and Taehyung is under the impression that he killed a man. Also, did you mention that you’re on your way to your unfunny cousin’s wedding? Go on a road trip from Missouri to Las Vegas and you’ll be in for a hilarious yet scary experience! 

a/n: hi! i’m just starting this account out, so reblogging would mean a lot to me. i’m a novice to writing, so criticism is welcome as long as you’re not rude about it. have fun reading (i hope)! i also have a jungkook fic planned next (:

song

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Jungkook has that look in his face, the one he makes where the person sitting opposite of him is about as depraved as he is. He’s given it to you while you were explaining to him how to scam desperate men under the preface of a faux premium Snapchat and he’s given it to Jimin when they were finishing their high school careers and decided to release grasshoppers in the principal’s office. 

However, if there’s one person that’s about as fucked up in the head as he is, it’s Seokjin. The man also suffers from SMSTS as well (Serious Misconception of Sexual Tension Syndrome, and yes, that’s quite a lot of s’s), which doesn’t hurt given the current affairs. 

While Jungkook is aware that Jimin and Hoseok are always up for a bit of mischief, he has ruled them both out as incompetents and moved on to the real deal. Jimin has these rare moments of sanity and Hoseok, as your most loyal little bitchboy, would probably tattle the situation with made-up details to you before the plan is even set in action. 

So, Seokjin it is. 

The story begins in a faraway land before Jungkook knew about the tragic facets of your family’s relationships. Though his friend group is on good terms with your siblings and your other close relatives are aware of their existence and somehow only have good things to say about them, he never thought they’d be invited to your cousin’s wedding. To be fair, you had to do some serious persuasion for your family to allow you to invite six more people to somebody else’s wedding so there’s that factor contributing, but still, the offer is out of the blue.

Somewhere along the way, you went on a tangent about how much you hate your cousin and how your aunt doesn’t have eyebrows and how bothersome it is to look at her face. Your horror stories were mostly you just being your usual dramatic self, but they also revealed that the [L/n]s aren’t what they appear to be. 

You begged and begged for them to accept the invitations, and though Namjoon and Yoongi, unfortunately, couldn’t make it, the others agreed. 

Then arose the problem of the sixth spot that couldn’t be filled. You would’ve just let it be but your parents insisted that if you’re going to ask for something, you should fulfill it until the end. It was Namjoon you’d asked to come first, but he was busy with visiting family back in Seoul, and Yoongi then declared that he didn’t feel like humoring you this once. And that was the exact moment Jungkook decided to strike.

“You want to play matchmaker?” Jin asks. And though he looks almost skeptical, his tone is definitely an excited one. “With [Y/n] and Tae, of all people?” 

“Well yes, think about it logically,” he explains as he is about to say something completely illogical. “She has that sixth spot to fill, she has no other friends and they’re perfect for each other. All the other shit we’re gonna pull is just for fun, though.”  

Jin laughs an evil laugh, always one to be up for evil schemes. Just another evil day in the evil life of Kim Seokjin. “Well, [Y/n] is Tae’s perfect mean girl. And that girl needs either therapy or to get laid, but like, same.” 

“See? You get me.”

“To be fair, I think that goes for all of us. No offense.” 

“None taken,” Jungkook agrees. “Anyways, I was thinking of a… road trip.” 

“Well you didn’t have to be so dramatic about it, this isn’t The Godfather. Though I do feel like I’ve definitely got a bit of Michael Corleone in me.” 

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly at the other fiend’s remark. “You can pray to god all you want. Here in these streets, the only thing we believe in is El Chapo.” 

“I— Okay…” 

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[11:05] LeBruh James: wtf is wrong with u

[11:05] LeBruh James: get help seriously

[11:06] jk the slump god: all i said was that u should invite taehyung as the 6th person to ur cussin’s wedding 

[11:06] jk the slump god: overreacting arent we 

[11:10] LeBruh James: what the hell is a cussin bitch im gonna kill u

[11:13] jk the slump god: not like u have anyone else to invite tho 

[11:13] jk the slump god: hes not that bad ur just being urself

[11:14] LeBruh James: ur literally Not helping ur case rn

[09:45] LeBruh James: none of the girls want to gooooo

[09:45] LeBruh James: fine if it has to be taehyung ig ill live w it

[10:30] jk the slump god: great he already said yes

[10:30] jk the slump god: btw we’re gonna go in las vegas at the end of a road trip u in?

[10:33] LeBruh James: HE SAID YES BEFORE I EVEN INVITED HIM…

[10:33] LeBruh James: EYE. OK.

[10:33] LeBruh James: on one hand i kind of dont want to see any of u but if ur all gone i wont have anything to do b4 the wedding so i guess im in by proxy

[10:34] jk the slump god: lovely doing business with u y/n-chan

[10:36] LeBruh James: call me y/n-chan again and I Will Put ur Dick-Chan in a Freezer-sama and then Cut-san it off

[10:39] jk the slump god: i dont think ur using the honorifics correctly tbh..

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“I don’t see how this is a good idea,” you state with a dramatic pout while looking out of the window. Your expression is solemn. 

Taehyung kind of can’t believe that you’re throwing a tantrum just because you had to sit next to him in the three-row SUV, but on the other hand, he’s kind of into it. You’re more appalled by the fact that he’s not as disgusting up close as you’d imagined him to be. Well granted, you’re being immature, but it’s your shtick so they take it with a grain of salt.

“Why’s that?” Jungkook asks obtusely. He ruined your life the moment he started calling you [Y/n]-chan and he has that bad case of crazy eyes he gets sometimes when you look at his reflection in the mirror going on right now. You’d be more understanding of his condition, hadn’t your trip started barely five minutes ago. 

“What do you mean why is that? We’re all unstable backstabbing lunatics, do you think we can survive together for six whole days?! Stranded or even in a hotel? And then the ride back to Springfield?”

“Hotel? You’re funny. It’s always been my dream to sleep in a motel,” Jin pipes up. 

“Seriously? No limo, now this.”

“Hotel, motel, holiday inn,” Hoseok starts singing. Perhaps if it was queen Britney, it would’ve curbed your temper but fate doesn’t seem to be that kind. 

“Hotel, motel, holiday inn! Hotel, motel, holiday inn! Hotel, motel, holiday inn!” 

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“So we’re not going to visit the Grand Canyon?” 

“It’s in Nevada,” Jimin explains. “We don’t have any business there except for going to the wedding. I’d be more down to do it if I wasn’t afraid that one of us, meaning [Y/n], would push one of the others, meaning you, in the gutter.” 

“Just a little visit?” Taehyung is talented at only hearing what he wants to hear. However, that doesn’t make the conversation any more productive.

“Well not to be the acrophobic buzzkill, but why are you so adamant about visiting the Grand Canyon?” This is the first time you’ve directly addressed Taehyung since the beginning of these mind-numbing two hours. Jin, hands still on the wheel, dares to take a peek at Jungkook and smile an asshole-type smile before almost accidentally crashing into a pole. 

“Watch the road!” Hoseok cries out. Everyone else either refuses to acknowledge what just occurred or decides to spare themselves from doing so.

“Jin says that he always wanted to sleep in a motel. I have another dream.” 

“To visit the Grand Canyon?”

“Not exactly. I want to take a shit in there and see if I can hear it splatter. Think that’s possible?”

“Maybe if you angle your butthole the right way—” Jimin’s explanation is cut short.

“Oh my god, you are disgusting. Shut up. I don’t want to hear it.”  

“What did I tell you about El Chapo, [N/n]?” 

“What about El Chapo?”

“Holy shit, I think I’m confusing conversations,” Jungkook admits. Jin offers no more than an eye-roll.

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Tulsa is a dump, really. Unfortunate that you had to make a stop here but also you’re satisfied because your right asscheek feels numb right now. Might have to take Kelly for a walk, though.  

Taehyung stumbles out of the vehicle after you and all six of you seize each other fleetingly before making your way towards the gas station, a tense sort of silence following. You’re first to speak up. “Y’know, I’ve been listening to your voices for so long now that I don’t wanna look at your faces.” 

“This tbh,” Hoseok agrees with your most profound sentiments as per the usual. He’s quick to match your pace, trailing after you like a lost puppy, successfully getting Taehyung out of his way. He puts his arm around your shoulders casually and you give him that sardonic smile that’s only really reserved for him.

“Don’t say tee-bee-aytch out loud. I get humiliation by proxy.” 

Jungkook makes an exaggerated gagging sound before nudging Taehyung subtly enough that Jin is the only one who sees the interaction. Though the eldest had agreed with his deranged idea, there’s one thing that Kook knows that Jin hasn’t come to find out. 

Taehyung has an ongoing problem or maybe he’s a masochist. He’s always been one to internally get attached to these girls who’d never give him the time of day, who can’t stand him at all. The tragedy-comedy that is his best friend’s love life started on a rainy day in second grade when a girl by the name of Seulbi punched him in the face and he was hooked on her for three years after. 

After the infamous Seulbi, came Yeonji from the cheerleading club who blew off his invite to his first-ever party when they were fifteen. She’d called him a loser to his face and he was smitten with her for a while, too. 

And then, you appeared in his life seemingly out of nowhere. Hoseok’s catty best friend with a tongue sharper than her stilettos and lipstick that goes perfectly with her skin tone. 

Of course, he was aware of your existence prior to that accident he calls his first conversation with you—be it from the exciting yet flat-out brain dead antics Hoseok would describe you’d gotten caught up in at the time or from the sound of your heels sinking into the floor promptly before you entered math class.  You were always late but claimed that the teacher should be grateful because you cut in line to arrive at school earlier. You always had one of those shitty overrated pumpkin spice lattes in your manicured hands. 

Simply put, Taehyung likes you. Though after your disastrous first meeting during which, blunt-natured and seemingly lacking a sense of self-preservation, he called you a stuck up moron and you threatened to make an attempt at his life. With your bullheaded nature, things never did solve themselves after that one instance.

It’s not something that he’s expressed outwardly, but Jungkook knows him better than he knows the back of his hand. Unfortunately, he knows you too, even if not as well and he knows how you can’t get a boyfriend because you either scare them away or you find out they’re only after a quick fuck and some money. 

Regardless, Jungkook writes off his inner ramblings as irrelevant before turning to Jin in what could be described as a conspirative manner. While clumsily handing the cashier gas money, he whispers something in the other man’s ear and Jin’s eyes literally twinkle like he’s in a low-budget porno. 

He nods, furiously so, and the cashier simply stares at them like they’re two idiots that somehow merged into one. It’s not a pretty sight. 

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“What? We’re sleeping out here?” Your whining is to be expected by now. Had any of your friends written an actual, physical, list of all the things you’ve complained about so far, it’d probably fill a notebook. Thankfully enough, said list remained as a mental compilation of your not-so-epic moments. “What about the motel?” 

“Oh, so now you want a motel?” Jin quips back with a smirk. “They always come ‘round.” 

Despite his boasting and apparent eagerness to go to a motel, that doesn’t change the fact that you all find yourselves in a campsite. You’re not an outdoor person save for going to parties or on a shopping spree with Hoseok. And well, your surroundings are a bit too green right now.

Taehyung is the next person to speak up, with a tense posture and his arms crossed over his chest, almost defiantly so. “Honestly, if you don’t want to be here, I don’t understand why you keep coming to these things.”

“Well, I don’t understand why I had to invite your dumb ass here either. I guess the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.” 

“Yeah, I thought Namjoon or Yoongi would be more fitting for your taste of guest,” he says, outright taunting you now, as if to remind you of your failed love rendezvous with your now close friends. 

“Well yeah, but they both denied, so I had to invite you.” 

“Ah,” he gives a slight sigh and you dismiss the sadness you register in his voice as something deserved for annoying you, “that does make more sense. Lucky me, I guess.”

“Awkies,” Jungkook announces as if it’s something that needs to be announced. Hoseok simply shrugs, and though you’re definitely not looking forward to sleeping out in the woods, he seems excited to try something new. 

There’s something hilarious about seeing a bunch of upper-class kids trying to set up tents and start a fire. You’ve converted to the cavemen with Hoseok, seemingly unaware that engaging in a one-sided debate with a bundle of sticks won’t make them randomly engulf in flames while Hoseok is trying out a trick he saw in the movies.

Honestly, it’s enough of a miracle that you actually went out in the woods and helped without tripping your silly ass and getting lost among the catacombs. Granted, Hoseok would’ve been compassionate enough to look for you had you gotten lost, but you probably wouldn’t get over the trauma of being covered in mud. 

Taehyung notices you both struggling. Part of him wants to make amends with you and a bigger part of him wants to leave Jimin to scramble on his own. Not that he’s sadistic or anything, he just likes seeing others suffer sometimes for entertainment purposes. 

Anyways. 

He approaches casually, like the kind of casual where you can tell that the person has an ulterior motive that they don’t want to reveal. Hoseok appears happy to see him, like he’s a savior on a white horse, while you don’t acknowledge him that much except for a sharp question regarding what he wants. 

He greets the older boy with one of these grins you won’t admit you enjoy looking at before roaming through the pockets of his jacket. Now that you’ve noticed him wearing one, you come to the sudden realization that it is getting quite breezy. 

Taehyung has the habit of scrunching his nose when he’s looking for something and then unconsciously smile broadly after succeeding in finding it. You don’t like that you’re aware of that and you especially don’t like that you can pinpoint the repetitive action.

It appears that Taehyung was looking for a lighter, of all things. 

“I thought you quit smoking?” You simply give him an incredulous look. 

He doesn’t grace you with an answer. Though he doesn’t reek of the putrid smell, you’re still hoping that the answer to that question is yes. Instead of soothing your curiosity, however, he uses the lighter to ignite a spark in the firewood and you guess that it’ll have to do.

“Well, that was quite pathetic,” you comment unhelpfully. 

“Better than Hobi’s attempts and uh, whatever the fuck you were doing.” 

Hoseok is enthusiastic to announce that the bonfire’s ready. You watch the clumsily prepped three tents in disinterest, not bothering to defend your attempt at enchantment to him. “Hoseokie, you’re gonna share a tent with me right?” 

“Hoseokie,” Jin repeats, but in good fun, “I thought you were gonna crash with me tonight?”

You roll your eyes before redirecting your gaze towards Jimin and Jungkook. By the guilty smile Jungkook gives you, you can tell he doesn’t plan on letting Jimin out of his clown clutches. You narrow your expression and jut your lip out disapprovingly. 

“Well, Mr. Handsome,” Jin interrupts whatever you have to say with a thank you, “since you and Kook have been jointed by the assholes since we got here, I don’t see what the problem is.” 

“I think you’re just saying that because you don’t wanna sleep with Tae,” Hoseok comments obliviously. 

“What he said. Also, these crackwhores are planning something, and I’m going to find out what.”

“Well, you’re in tough luck because Hoseok promised,” Jin argues, emphasizing the word promise. He has a shit-eating grin on his face and he’s not even denying your accusation. 

Taehyung coughs once. The second time is overkill and sounds even faker than the first one. “Sorry, but if [Y/n] isn’t comfortable sharing the tent with me, it doesn’t really matter what Hoseok promised.” 

You gape at him. This is probably the first intelligent thing that you’ve heard come out of his mouth. You almost reconsider your treatment of him after that, but then you remember that a guy being half-decent isn’t something you’re supposed to celebrate. You suppose that even he looks like a saint compared to some of your exes.

Everyone notices the conflict on your face but doesn’t say anything about it. Jin admits that Taehyung’s right with a wail yet the tension doesn’t dissolve, somehow. You excuse yourself by declaring that you’re going to get the blankets out of the SUV. 

“Damn, that bad huh?” Jungkook laughs. It’s the hyena laugh that kind of doesn’t suit his face but also the one he does when he’s having fun for no good reason. 

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“I heard in the girls’ bathroom once that this girl went on a diet where she only eats bananas for three months. Like, five a day,” you explain while you munch on your banana in front of the bonfire. Needless to say, you’ve come out to be severely underprepared in terms of food on your first day. 

“That sounds like a strategy to make yourself unhinged,” Hoseok retorts. He believes your story but he’s skeptical about that banana business. “I’d never do that.” 

“Me neither. Diets are stupid, anyway, can’t a bitch eat?” 

Jungkook reaches over and high-fives you, looking at you like you’ve just invented air or some shit. “Amen to that sister.” 

“By the way, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Jimin is the one to speak up this time. 

“I have quite the plan for you, alright,” Jin laughs. His next statement, however, is the embodiment of his immature nature. “But that banana talk had me all distracted.”

Everyone collectively groans. You’re not really sure if what he said would classify as a dad joke at this point; you’re now entering single-and-desperate-dad joke territory. Can’t say that you’d enjoy it coming from someone else, but Jin is Jin.

“Anyways,” he dismisses his previous remark with an easy-going smile and a wave of his hand in thin air, “we’re going to a breakfast place first thing in the morning. By foot.” 

His grin is mischievous. You think this is the worst idea he’s had yet and no one else present seems attracted by the prospect of it either, so you vocally oppose him with a raised brow. “Don’t you realize how likely it is we’ll get lost?” 

“Yeah, I also don’t wanna walk too much.” Hoseok’s always one to back you up.

“Technology doesn’t lie, [Y/n].”

“If technology doesn’t lie how come I had a D on my maths test in junior year when I used Photomath?” 

Hoseok agrees, remembering the incident. That day was truly one of sorrow. 

“Technology only lies if you’re gullible enough,” Jin now changes the narrative. 

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You sneak out of your and Hoseok’s tent with a brief explanation thrown over your shoulder. Something about getting your make-up wipes from the trunk. Hoseok mutters inspiring words of advice—be careful, it’s dark and who knows what animal puke is on the ground—and you stumble your way to the SUV. 

Shoving the keys in the hole proves to be a difficult task, however. You aimlessly jut it in, hoping to hit the correct place by some sort of miracle. This is the moment that you realize that your eyes aren’t so good at adapting to the darkness. 

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

You jump up out of pure reflex. Startled, you whip around with a bemused look on your face. You’re gonna get wrinkles, damn it. 

“Woah, girl jumps in heels,” Taehyung comments dryly. 

“Don’t sneak up on me, you idiot cokehead,” you retort. You’re not sure why you said that. He’s not a cokehead. 

“No, but seriously, what’re you doing?” 

“I’m trying to look for my make-up wipes.” 

Taehyung takes the keys from you. Without half as much fumbling as you’d done previously, he opens the trunk and you proceed with looking through your purse, only to come to the conclusion that you’ve forgotten your make-up lines somewhere. There’s now a new resolve, clear as day in your twisted mind—you have to find the supermarket you passed by on your way here and buy new ones.

“Did you find them?”

“No.” You scoff. An angry thaw and the trunk is now closed. “I’m going to buy some.” 

“Woah, calm down tiger. Can’t you just sleep with it?” 

“No! Do you know how bad that is for your skin?” 

“Well, we could find a river and you could wipe your face with the dirty water.” 

You give him a blank stare, barely suppressing a small giggle. “Do you understand how ridiculous you’re being?” 

“I’m being ridiculous?”

Silence.

“...You’re not planning to go off in the woods during the dawn of asscrack, right?” 

“The what? Yeah.”

Taehyung looks towards your tent only to see that the light is completely shut down. Hoseok must be asleep already. “I’ll go with you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do whatever you want.” 

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“So, why do you hate your cousin so much?” Taehyung asks abruptly from behind you. 

Most of your walk has been a silent one, so far, except for an occasional grumble from you and an absentminded one-liner from him. There’s also the sound of sticks crumbling under your high-heels that’s slightly irritating. 

“Because she’s unfunny,” you reply seriously.

“You have issues.” This is probably the least significant reason someone has ever hated somebody else for, in the entire history of hatred. Strangely enough, however, Taehyung can’t help finding it endearing how outlandish you can be.

“I’m sorry, I must have Alzheimer’s because I don’t remember asking,” you snap with a roll of your eyes. 

“You know, I have a dog,” he begins dramatically. “And sometimes he shits on the carpet and one time he puked on me, but I still love him very much. He’s gang, you feel?” 

“I don’t see how that helps with my family situation.”

“I never said it’s supposed to help, I just wanted to talk about myself.” He snickers. You’re getting the most violent of urges. 

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Leering over the thin metal fence that looms over an otherwise mundane hill gives you an idea. Down the admittedly high hill, the supermarket is obnoxiously lit up. However, the hideous sight doesn’t deter you—this is what your nirvana looks like in the given moment.

With one bold move, you lift your leg up the fence and Taehyung considers you, your motives and perhaps even your life until now. “What are you doing?” 

“It’ll be faster if I go down the hill.” 

“You’re gonna break your ankles in these shoes,” he rebuts, his voice a tilted monotone. “Also, I can see your underwear like this.” 

“Perveeeeert.” This is your final taunt before you do make it over the short fence and onto the other side. Examining the hill from up close—but not before you roll your miniskirt down—you come to two conclusions. The first one is that it’s quite steep and the second one comes when you’re one step down, that maybe, just maybe, you’re a bit deranged.

With your back turned to him, you don’t get to see Taehyung experiencing the five stages of grief. There’s obvious conflict on his face and to be precise, his current dilemma is between worry for you and a lack of power to stop you. Perhaps had you turned around, you’d find the sight entertaining.

His movements are leisurely once he does get in motion. Taehyung’s plan is to simply help you up now that he noticed that you’re hesitating to go further than you’ve already gone. 

His voice cutting through the night’s silence startles you. “Hey, you really shouldn’t do this.” 

You stumble. 

As tragic as that is, there’s something else to placate you; you’ve never seen Taehyung move so fast. Not even during the blip test in high school. The rest of his actions are less endearing—he throws you over his shoulder carelessly, stumbles onto the sidewalk and drops you like it’s hot. And then your legs are a bit wobbly, but you pretend they aren’t. 

The unnerving silence remains all the way to the supermarket, then back to the campsite and even when Taehyung’s awkwardly using his phone as a flashlight in your face while you remove your make-up. There’s nothing to say, except maybe if he were to ask you a question that’s not to your liking.

(He’s not that bad.)

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Jin is in a hurry, but you’re not sure what for. It’s been practically less than a day since you started this road trip, but it feels longer. You’re conflicted about how to feel regarding that, but even so, Jimin and Hoseok’s enthusiasm is hard to ignore. 

The feline smile on your face drops the moment Jungkook basically drags you out of your tent, bare-faced and severely underdressed. Well, to be honest, you blend in with them just fine, but in your head, you’re severely underdressed. Something more boujee is usually your style, but you realize your predicament won’t magically change the longer you’re walking in what feels like the middle of nowhere. 

Tusla is gross, yes, but maybe Oklahoma is just gross in general. 

When you’re unhappy, you don’t get shy about it—honesty is the best policy, after all. So you’re going on one of those annoying tangents you like to go on like it’s second nature to you. Maybe it is. 

Taehyung drones out whatever it is you’re saying the moment you start talking about a pimple in your nostril that has hair growing out of it. He’s not particularly grossed out by this revelation, rather, he doesn’t like listening to you go on and on about everything you don’t like about yourself. 

“And I couldn’t put on that necklace you got me for my birthday,” you complain before linking your arms with Hoseok’s and feigning a sniff.

“That is pretty horrible,” he hums in agreement. “I think I have a rash on my thigh.” 

“See, if Jungkook wasn’t being horrible I could probably get some kinda product to smear on it.”

Taehyung feigns a loud yawn. Tagging along with you and Hoseok isn’t as tiring as he’d like to make it out to be. 

“What’re you yawning so blatantly for? I hate being interrupted.” You roll your eyes cockily. 

“Sorry, I almost fell asleep during this uninteresting speech of yours.”

You fume again and Hoseok reassures you with something along the lines of don’t worry, [Y/n], it’s very interesting. Then, silence follows. It always seems to end up like this between the two of you. 

“Well, if it helps,” Taehyung starts, tone breezy, “you’re still beautiful.” 

You feel your face heat up. Sure, boys have given you plenty of compliments before—you’re no stranger to it—hot, sexy and maybe pretty on a good day. But beautiful? Especially without any make-up on? This is definitely something new. 

Hoseok smiles. “Yeah, he’s right.” 

You don’t want to admit just how flattered you really are. “Of course I am.”

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You take the first thing you find to your liking once you reach the breakfast place. Actually, it’s more brunch than it is breakfast, but all that walking is making you starve so you don’t feel particularly inclined to be hung up on semantics. 

“It’s on me.” Jungkook sweeps in smoothly, giving you a flashy smile. 

“Fuck off. I’m still mad at you.”

“You might be, but not for long,” he argues with an obnoxious grin on his face. “They call it… The Kook Effect.” 

You shake your head. “I’m pretty sure you just made that up.”

“Yeah? Remember when you won a bet against Jimin and he had to call you Supreme Majesty in freshman year? And then you pretended that he did it out of his own volition.” 

“Oh, I’m not taking this from you and your dead trim.”

“My trim is fine, thanks.”

“Dead trim!” you repeat, almost frantic. You’re so caught up with Jungkook’s dead trim that you don’t notice that Taehyung is giving you a cheesy smile as he buys you your food. He looks like the greasiest gentleman alive when he hands it to you. 

“And what’s that about?”

“In junior year, at summer camp, they took away our phones because someone recorded the instructor jerking off. And then like, blackmailed him.” 

You quirk an eyebrow up at this, unsure what he’s hinting at. “Right.”

“Right. And then they took all of our phones for a month and you started crying about how your life is a living nightmare.” 

“Right…” you trail off, suddenly embarrassed as if that hadn’t happened a whole two years ago. But like, it totally was a big deal! “The no phone rule was the worst. Even worse than the public bathroom rule.”

“I did it. I’m making it up to you,” he explains. 

You feel your mouth twitch into a small smile, one that he hasn’t quite seen on you before. “I forgive you this once, then.” 

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“We’re going to a hotel after sightseeing,” Jin explains. It’s like he’s got everything figured out all by himself and perhaps with the help of Jungkook’s annoying personality. “I arranged the rooms and everything while you were eating.” 

“Quite epic,” Jimin comments absentmindedly. “Wait, rooms? Like, you mean who’s rooming with who?” 

“Yeah, I finished the registration.” He stares directly at you and then Taehyung. “You could switch if you wanted to, it doesn’t really matter.”

You give him a light glare, already having a brief idea of what he’s done, but don’t comment any further. With a sense of deja vu, you speak up again. “What about the motel?” 

“I wasn’t sure if we’re going to be passing by one today, so I thought hey! Better safe than sorry.” 

Everyone nods in half-agreement until Jin speaks up again. “Plus, you guys reek. You should shower. Couldn’t be me.”

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Predictably, Jin did set you and Taehyung up. You can’t tell what kind of game he and Jungkook are playing, however, the poor boy isn’t half as insufferable in your eyes ever since this road trip began, so maybe you should thank them. Still, you don’t trust them—their minds are as twisted as yours.

As the two of you are dragging your luggage towards your shared room, Taehyung reminds you that you’re free to tell him if you don’t want to sleep with him. “I could go to Jungkook’s room or something.”

You find the idea of being alone more unfavorable than you thought you would. Perhaps your high-school, drastically more histrionic, self would’ve found anything more pleasant than sharing a room with Taehyung. You’re a (slightly) changed person now, though. Or at least you’d like to believe you are.

“Let’s put it like this. I hate a lot of things.”

“You don’t need to tell me that, I already know,” he interrupts with a crude giggle. 

“But you’re not one of them,” you admit. 

There’s also the fact that the two of you are blatantly ignoring that you could switch with Jin and sleep with Hoseok instead.

No more words are spoken between the two of you that day. New Mexico isn’t half as bad as Oklahoma was. 

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You wake up before Taehyung does, punctually so. Rolling out of bed, you partly don’t care whether you wake him but at the same time, you try to avoid making too much noise before slipping into the bathroom. Though you’re definitely one to value your beauty sleep, yesterday’s incident left you paranoid over whether Jungkook or Jin would catch you unprepared. 

You go through your routine calmly and by the time Taehyung goes in the bathroom to take a piss, you’re ready to start doing your make-up. You stare at the foundation in your hand but before you can apply it, you hesitate. 

Do I need make-up to be desirable?

Of course, you’re aware that not all women who use make-up are insecure, or that it’s always necessarily toxic for your self-esteem. And you thought that was the case with you as well, but your doubts suggest otherwise. Swiftly, you put all of your stuff away, stick with your trusty lipstick and nothing else. 

“Morning,” he says, groggy still. 

“Morning.” You look over to him from the corner of your eye and he looks kind of dazed. “Jin says we’re staying here until tomorrow morning.” 

“Cool. Hotel’s nice. The scenery too.” 

“I guess.” 

There’s something cripplingly awkward when the two of you aren’t hurling insults at each other, you realize. 

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You’re off somewhere with Hoseok and Jin when Taehyung is hanging out with Jimin and Jungkook. Turns out their room has a nice balcony, and with the others out of the picture, there’s some kind of buzzed chatter about incoherent topics swirling around. 

Jungkook suddenly decides that it’s a good idea to start talking about his sexcapades. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe his mind’s slipping. Jimin kind of wants to admit how much he doesn’t care what his friend does outside of watching anime and playing video games, but there’s also a part of him that’s morbidly intrigued by Jungkook’s words. Like a dark spell or something. 

“I wanted to hit it off with [Y/n] in high school,” he admits bluntly.

The other two stare at him.

“Oh really? What made you change your mind?” Jimin asks, now more awake than ever. 

“Dunno. Like, she’s more like, the bitchy rival in rom-coms, not the protagonist. I liked her, but I didn’t think I could handle her,” he admits.

“Once we were clubbing and this guy was messing with me and I complained to her about it,” Jimin begins, leaning into his chair with a fond smile on his face, “and she was all like, I’ll show him. And I was like, what? And she was like, I’ll show him who he’s dealing with. And then I was like, okay, maybe don’t show him that much.” 

The three of them chuckle. Taehyung talks for the first time in a while. “Nah, I agree.”

“You dig it though, right?” 

Jimin gives him a knowing look right after Jungkook shoots his question with a drunken smile. He guesses that since Hoseok isn’t here, he can finally admit it. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. But I can’t get things right with her.” 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like, we’re either fighting or it’s really awkward.” 

“You’re on your own.” Jimin dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “I don’t think she hates you that much. It’s always Taehyung this, Taehyung that.” 

“True,” Jungkook agrees. “Like yes, maybe she’s complaining about you half the time and I know she loves gossiping but I’ve never heard her talk about someone else that much. Except maybe Yoongi. What I’m sayin’ is, you should give it a shot.”

“Why do you guys even fight so much?” Jimin laughs. “Whenever it happens, I like, forget what even happened to lead up to that.” 

“Well, you know me. I’m always too honest for my own good and when I hit her with some snark she starts getting all defensive. I just...” He sounds defeated by the time he’s finished with his explanation. Taehyung’s shoulders visibly slump and his frame slides down the uncomfortable chair. “I just want to get along with her.” 

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The fourth day is the first time you actually aren’t sure where you are. Save for supposedly being close to Nevada by now, you tuned out the rest of Jin’s explanation despite your previous attempts at keeping up with your location. 

Regardless, what’s important is living in the present. And the present for you right now is walking down a nameless street, in a mess of other tourists, with your pants uncomfortably sticking to your ass with sweat. In short, you feel gross. 

Taehyung doesn’t seem to be having the same problem, while you can’t even fake being unfazed. You envy him just the tiniest bit. 

A trashy souvenir shop seems to catch Taehyung’s attention. In the scorching heat and sand-yellow scenery of this town, however, even that seems more appealing. So when he urges you to go with him, you find yourself reluctantly agreeing. 

When you step in, the air conditioning of the otherwise homey shop welcomes you like taking a breather during an overcrowded party. You let an unconscious smile take over your face when you greet the cashier. She’s cute and her adorableness factor only spikes up when she practically beams at the sight of customers. 

“Hi! Please, feel free to look around.” 

“We will,” Taehyung answers offhandedly. Her gaze lingers on him. 

Most of the things don’t interest you. Actually, they’re hideous if you had to be completely honest. He doesn’t seem that enamored by them either, but you can tell he finds more redeeming qualities about them than you do. 

Your eyes almost bulge out of your face when you see the most live-laugh-love-esque decoration to exist. Like something your mom would laugh-react to on Facebook. 

The offender is no more than three inches tall and wide, a ceramic plate with a cartoony burger portrayed on it. It’s holding a flag that says two simple words: “Nice Buns!” 

You can’t tell if it’s the radioactivity of Jungkook’s cooking from earlier or if this thing is what’s making you nauseous. However, food-poisoning or not, you’re quite disgusted by what you’ve just seen. “Oh my god, the caucasity.” 

“Aw, you don’t like it?” Taehyung says with a mocking pout. “I think it’s cute.” 

“What’s wrong with you? It’s corny.”

“No, it isn’t. It might’ve been if it was a corn-dog, though.” 

You heaved an over-dramatic sigh. “You’re saying words that have no positive impact on my life.”

“I think I’ll buy it,” he declares, before checking the price and realizing he hasn’t brought enough money with himself. 

You shake your head. “I’m not gonna be an accomplice to… that.” 

“Well, of course not. This is your Valentine’s present.”

“Go to hell. As if I’d be your Valentine in the first place,” you reply sardonically before pushing him out of the way.  

Taehyung realizes something at that moment. Even outside your evident disinterest in him and his affairs, the two of you are completely incompatible. You, too quick to judge and be offended and him, too quickly to say the first thing on his mind, obviously don’t mesh smoothly. 

Neither of the boyfriends you’ve had that he’s spoken to is anything like him, either. If Namjoon and Yoongi have one thing in common, it’s that they’re both calm, collected and have a good head screwed securely on top of their shoulders. He’s not like that.

Even so, that revelation only makes the concept of being with you more alluring. 

Kim Taehyung is an idiot. But more importantly, with one glance towards the admittedly good-looking cashier making googly eyes at him, Kim Taehyung makes a decision.

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While you’re taking a shit in a nearby cafeteria, you receive a text from Taehyung. This is shocking by itself since despite the two of you having each others’ numbers, you never really text. 

[15:30] pain in the neck: im going on a date w/ the cashier

[15:30] pain in the neck: feel free to leave

[15:45] Princess Complex: i’m just gonna hang with jungkook thank god

Why is your stomach sinking?

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Once you meet up with Jungkook, you explain the situation briefly. He quickly looks you over, confusion evident on his face. “What? On a date?”

“Yeah, he just kinda left me in the toilet,” you confirm with a shrug. “Anyways, where do you wanna go?” 

It’s not like Jungkook is an oblivious idiot with the emotional capacity of your aunt’s mutated sixth toe, even if he may appear to be. But you never thought he’d call you out the moment your overly confident facade starts slipping. His gaze softens. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?” 

He isn’t examining you when he asks. No, he appears to be looking off, somewhere behind you. However, you remain ignorant to that fact. 

“Yes! Why would I care? I’d rather drink toilet water for ten years straight than spend any more time with that moron,” you snap, too worked up for someone who supposedly doesn’t care. 

“Is that how you really feel about Taehyung?”

“Yes! Yes, oh my god, let it go.”

Jungkook makes one more helpless expression, shrugs lightly, and you fail to realize that neither of those gestures is directed at you. “Let’s go to the arcade.”

“I’m not really into video games,” you lie as you run your hand through your hair, “but fine.”

“Hell yeah.”

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When Taehyung goes back to your room in the trashy motel, notably late during the night for a mere first date, the atmosphere is tense. There’s a crease in your brows when you unlock the door and obvious bite marks over your bare lips. He stumbles ahead to enter, but you continue blocking his path with your arms frigidly crossed over your chest.

“You’re late.” 

“And what’s it to you?” He’s never spoken to you so harshly. There are moments where his words bite, but never does he say them with an expression and tone that are so frosty.

“Nothing in particular.” You move out of his way, finally, and he enters. You briefly wonder if he’s had alcohol before you start talking again. “I’ve been stuck in this room for like, an hour because the keys are in me. Waiting for you...”

“Poor you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I heard what you said about me to Jungkook. You know, I’m starting to understand why you scared away all your exes.”

Warth washes over you in waves for a millisecond before it disperses into nothingness, a cold numbness that makes your back shiver. Your gaze on him is empty yet livid at the same time and he cowers under it. You’re not sure if the guilt on his face is a flicker of your imagination or if it’s genuine, but you hope it’s the latter. 

It’s never his words that are a big deal to you. It’s the way he speaks every syllable, so earnestly with truth laced in every letter, that makes you go off the hook. Because deep down, you’re aware that he doesn’t mean to be malicious or to offend, it’s merely him telling his truth.

You grab a few things impulsively with a mundane declaration, before storming off god knows where. “I’m not sleeping here tonight.”

When the door clicks behind your frame, Taehyung backs down and sprawls out across the bed. Truthfully, he regretted his words before he even opened his mouth. But he was so angry, be it with you or with himself.

It just seemed so unfair that you could blow him away time after time and yet, on his date the only thing on his mind was you. The mediocre make-out session and him awkwardly leaving out of nowhere didn’t help, either. And then you had to be so perfect, waiting for him instead of locking his ass out like he thought you would.

It isn’t the girl’s fault she’s raised to be as sweet as sugar while you’re more like citrus. He’s always had a knack for lemons, anyway.

The fact that you spent the rest of the day with Jungkook only aggravates him further, the younger’s words repeating in his head. I tried to hit it off with [Y/n] in high school, or whatever it was that he said exactly. All of this is his own fault, anyway—if he hadn’t been so temperamental, you would’ve stayed with him for the rest of the day.

Taehyung stares at the cheap lights hanging on the ceiling until his eyes hurt that night.

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Half-way through your trek to Hoseok’s room, you crumble. A sob escapes your throat and then another one. After these two instances, your tears don’t cease. 

At first, Jimin is excited to see you at their door but his smile slips the moment he realizes what a bad state you’re in. You’re practically making whale noises while desperately searching for Hoseok. 

“I’ll give you two a moment.” He gives you one final look-over and leaves with a not-so-threatening threat. “Or maybe thirty. You better be smiling and singing Toxic by the time I’m back, [Y/n].”

Hoseok rushes to hug you. “God, girl, what’s wrong?”

“I like Taehyung.” 

“Is that it? You’re a strong girl, y’know, I never pictured you crying over some pretty boy.” 

“No. I’m crying because I’ve liked him all this fucking time and I tried to run away from him because I’m scared. And he said the most horrible thing to me,” you explain as you bury yourself deeper into his embrace. “That’s why I’m crying.”

“I hope he isn’t allergic to hands, because he’s about to catch them. Actually, I hope he is allergic.” Hoseok isn’t one to ask about details. He lets you get it out of your system, makes a few promises (most often of violence) and then allows you to elaborate if you wish to do so.

You laugh, but it turns into choking considering how much snot you have running down your face by now. “He said that he understands why my exes run away from me. I mean, I— I said something rude about him first, but Jungkook was backing me into a corner and I didn’t know he would even find out about it, I just—”

“Forget about him, forget about Jungkook, everyone. Tonight is for Britney,” Hoseok commands more than he asks you.

You smile sadly at him before uselessly wiping your tears away and giggling like you’re on the brink of losing your mind. Perhaps you are.

“My 45-carat booger. Hey, let’s make Jimin do the chicken dance,” Hoseok starts off like he’s coddling you in his strange way of doing so, but then quickly turns diabolical. He throws some tissues at you and you accept them. If there’s one thing you’re truly grateful for, it’d be your best friend.

You nod, suddenly more excited than you should be. Hoseok’s right—you don’t need some pretty boy when queen Britney is watching over you.

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The next day, you’re wearing a full-face of make-up, and Taehyung notices it. Hoseok’s driving and you’re in the passenger seat, talking about some nonsense as usually do. The atmosphere is light, with Jimin and Jungkook occasionally joining in your conversation and Jin sleeping with his forehead pressed against the window.

Truth to be told, Taehyung feels like a zombie right now. Pretending that your scuffle with him meant nothing to you only convinces him further how little you care about anything that has to do with him.

“I think we’ll be in Las Vegas soon,” Hoseok announces cheerily.

On one hand, you’re happy to finally be seeing the end of this road trip. Though you’ve technically just been relaxing, you wanted to be done with your cousin’s dumb wedding and go back to spending an average amount of time with your friends. You want to forget how flippant things are between you and Taehyung, your quote-unquote friendship dictated by mood swings rather than actual feelings.

“Fuck yeah! I wanna get drunk in Vegas,” you say with a smirk. “It’s on my bucket list.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah.”

“You want to get drunk everywhere,” Jungkook corrects with a laugh. You can’t help agreeing with him. “And Jin will probably stay in the hotel and play Candy Crush or something.”

“Ew, ew, ew, a fucking millenial,” you exclaim in mock disgust.

“Jin can be a beast if he wants to. Remember when he twerked in front of the whole school on Taehyung’s birthday party?”

“Shit was wild, man.”

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No one except you, Hoseok and Taehyung himself is aware of what transpired yesterday. So Jungkook and Jin are still stubbornly placing the two of you together, yet you’re too powerless to fight it.

The hotel is a fancy one, courtesy of your annoying cousin. She’s been texting you and you sent a short message back to inform her you’ve arrived, but you haven't bothered to deal with her provocations any further. 

After dumping his luggage near his bed, Taehyung was straight out of the room and you started getting ready. And that was that. 

You feel more like yourself when you find the wine hidden in the fridge, a free present from the hotel. Or maybe your cousin’s way of making peace. Ha, as if that’d happen. 

When Taehyung comes back to get dressed, you’re already tipsy and acting like a fool.

“Drinking already?” There are many things that Taehyung wants to say to you. An apology he’s too sober to say and a confession you’re too drunk to hear, to begin with. 

“It’s pre-game,” you explain dizzily. “You know. I never told you why I hate my cousin so much. She used to bully me and she stole my first boyfriend from me. And we never got past it.”

With your trademark look, high-heels, acrylics, a fancy yet revealing dress along with whatever else you consider fashionable at the moment, Taehyung feels familiarity staring at your lopsided smirk. Though he’s gotten glimpses of other sides of you during these past few days, like how you like cuddling during the night, this is the epitome of who you are.

“Yeah,” he replies agreeably, though you’re not sure what for.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but Hoseok is waiting for me. So, this is bye-bye.” 

“See you there.”

“Probably not.” You snicker. Taehyung can tell that you’re still upset with him.

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You’re so wasted that the things happening around you aren’t really making sense anymore. While you and Hoseok were drinking together for a while, at one point Jungkook whisked him away, then there’s a blank in your memory and now you’re here. Alone. And you’ve lost count of how many drinks you’ve had. 

A man, that’s definitely a few years older than you, finally approaches you after observing you from afar. He says some sort of sleazy line—you’re not sure what it is, you’re not really listening—and offers you a drink. 

You consider him. He’s not your type at all and that pornstache isn’t helping his case but, when you look at Taehyung and see him talking and having fun while you’re being an alcoholic by your lonesome and moping about him, you quickly accept his offer. Pornstache or not. 

“Pick anything you’d like, kitten,” he purrs, in an attempt at being seductive. 

“Well first off I’m not a furry so don’t call me that,” you snap with a self-assured grin. And then you start listing off the most expensive drinks on the menu. 

This man is so enamored by you that he buys you all of them. You’re three steps closer to alcohol poisoning when you clumsily stumble onto the dance floor along with him, running your hand over his jaw in what you believe to be a sensual manner. He seems to dig it, but from an outsider’s perspective the two of you look like junkies trying to get off. 

Your experience in the club is romanticized. The dim lights are reminiscent to those few times you’ve gone to a rave and it reeks of alcohol, overpriced perfumes and sweat. You and your nameless pathetic fan mingle with the grinding crowd and begin imitating them. 

As the poet Lady Gaga once said, “redlight pornographic dance fight”. 

The act itself is indifferent to you. From across the room, Taehyung locks eyes with you and you’re not really sure why but you feel this sudden need to provoke him, even when you know he most likely wouldn’t care. You sloppily kiss your suitor’s cheek while looking at him intensely from across the room. A red trail from your wet lips makes its way down his face.

For the sake of pettiness, you might’ve gone further—I mean, you were already playing some weird game of tug-and-war but with clothes—but you don’t want to know the feeling of this guy’s lips against yours. He finds the mostly innocent action as an invitation, though, and abruptly halts your staring contest with Taehyung by forcing you into a greedy kiss.

Pushing him away, you give him a pointed stare and rejection is clear on his face. “Excuse me…” 

He’s a terrible kisser. 

Pushing through everyone that’s in your way, you make your escape through the first door you find. In your intoxicated parade, you fail to make sense of the words ‘CLOSED’ that are so blatantly taped over the entrance. So, you find yourself in front of a swimming pool. 

The cold breeze outside prickles at your skin unpleasantly, and a quick look around tells you that there’s no one around to put this in their cringe compilation. Apparently more disgusted than you’d initially thought, you puke your guts out in front of the pool. Now light-headed and somehow empty, you stare at your vomit and take a deep breath. 

“Hey, why’d you run away?” Your suitor from earlier appears to have followed you outside. You stare at your feet—doesn’t he understand that you wanted to get away from him?

“You’re a bad kisser,” you say bluntly after getting over your little trance. 

“Give me a chance to change your mind then,” he offers smugly, taking menacing steps towards you. You move away instinctively before you’re quickly backed into a wall, with his two hands trapping you in between. 

Your eyes widen with fear and you sink into yourself. If you had anything else to puke out, you’re sure you would’ve done so at this point. “I have sharp nails and I’m not afraid to use them.”

“Oh, she bites-”

The events that play out next happen so slowly, you’re not sure why you’re surprised. Taehyung appears, and you do see him in your peripheral vision, stares for a bit before knocking the guy out with a punch to his temple. He falls unconscious on the ground.

“Oh god, did I kill him?” he asks, a vacant look on his face. He imagined his first kill to be more thrilling, but on second thought, he’s not sure why he was thinking about that without being under the influence of substances in the first place. 

“I’d be happy if he’s dead, if that helps,” you comment dryly. 

“Do we dump the body in the pool or what?”

The two of you are drunk enough to consider it. Your mind is blank for a bit, before you finally speak up. “I’m trying to think of what I saw on How To Get Away With Murder, but it’s not coming to me. But like, on Blacklisted, there was this guy who like, made the corpses turn to gas or something!”

“You watch too much TV. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s called The Blacklist.”

“Whatever. Do you know how to do that?”

“No.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” A new voice cuts in.

“You better come up with something convincing or we’ll have to kill him too,” you urge.

“Did you say something?”

“No.”

“Umm, awkward believe it yeah,” Taehyung begins, a strong start. “This guy slipped on her puke and hit his head. And he has a concussion now.”

“Man, that sucks,” the guy says. You’re relieved that he’s as trashed as he is, otherwise the situation would’ve went really badly, considering how Taehyung straight-up lied to his face. “I’ll go call someone over ‘ere.”

Once he’s out of sight, the two of you stare at each other and decide to flee the country. But then change the plan with the more economically-efficient idea to simply leave the club. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

“Why were you with that guy anyway?” Taehyung asks. Frankly put, neither of you know where you’re going, but you’re boldly leading him through the artificially-lit streets of Las Vegas as if you’re born there. Where you end up is a concern your sober selves of tomorrow should worry about.

“I wanted to make you jealous,” you reply, bold, like everything you do when you’re drunk is. 

“...I don’t get it.”

“You pissed me off so much yesterday. And you made me jealous when you went out with that cashier. But also, you killed a guy for me, so I guess I’m not mad at you anymore.” 

“Well aren’t you high-maintenance,” he retorts sarcastically, gaining what feels like a confidence spurt because of your sudden confession. “You don’t have anything to be jealous of, anyway. The only thing I had on my mind during that stupid fucking date was you.”

You freeze up. You thought that your own attitude was what made any possibility of him returning your feelings seem laughable. Even if it’s drunk blabber, alcohol is an honesty elixir, at least in your case. “Kiss me?” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, attacking your lips so eagerly you’d consider it funny if you were in a right state of mind. Still, your reciprocation is just as hungry, so maybe you don’t have any room to laugh. He is indulging you, after all.

The wipeout that happened at the club happens again and you’re left to wonder how things escalated. From teeth clashing against each other in pure excitement, you’re left hovering over Taehyung’s form and straddling him unsteadily.

He reaches under your already high dress and the glimpse of your panties seems to excite him. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” he admits breezily. 

You smile, a teasing one, adjusting yourself better. “You don’t need to be so dramatic about it, it’s just underwear.” 

“Dramatic is how many times I’ve jerked off after we went to the supermarket and you flashed me.”

“Ewwww, we shared a bed like three times, freak,” you scold and he pouts when you distance yourself from him. 

“I was just trying to be funny!”

“Not funny. Didn’t laugh. It’s better when you don’t talk,” you instruct before leaning down again to kiss him. At least he’s having fun with groping whatever he can get his hands on. 

“You’re so annoying it turns me on. Always whining, it drives me nuts how much I really like you.”

You snicker. “Well, I sure am feelin’ the love here.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

When you wake up, you register three things. Four, actually. First—your left shoe is missing. Second— Taehyung is knocked out cold next to you. Third—you don’t know where you are, except for the fact that there’s a garbage bin next to you. Fourth—your head is throbbing with pain and you’re so sore you’re not sure if you can walk. Needless to say, you had the wild night in Vegas you wished for in your bucket list, and you only half-regret it.

You see your shoe discarded near you and nudge it with your toe for a bit before finally gathering enough power to sit up and put it on. Or so you think, because the moment you’re propped in a standing position, you vomit like you did yesterday. 

Speaking of yesterday, the only thing you remember is that you and Taehyung were convinced that he’s now a murderer on the run, confessing your feelings for each other in an anti-climactic manner and then having like seven rounds of public sex. 

With a recap of yesterday’s events, you digress and put your shoe on before reaching in your purse. Surprisingly, you haven’t been robbed. Fishing your phone out, you come to the conclusion that you’ve been knocked out cold for way too long. 

Hoseok has generously spammed you with seventy texts, but you don’t bother to read them, already assuming that the gist is something about where the fuck you and Taehyung are. Instead, you call him immediately. 

“Hi,” you greet casually.

“[Y/n]! Where the fuck are you and Tae? We were so worried. Jin almost declared you two missing. But on the positive side, Jungkook didn’t care because he got food poisoning yesterday at the club.”

“I don’t know where we are, but he’s with me.”

“What do you mean?!”

“I’ll send you my location. I don’t have money for Uber, love you, kisses and hickeys,” you say in one breathe before hanging up quickly and doing what you said you’d do. 

At first, you thought this road trip was an opportunity for you to grow and mature. However, after yesterday’s shenanigans, you’re almost convinced your sociopathic tendencies are now higher by 5%. 

You start shaking Taehyung until he wakes up and swats your arms away. Now upon closer inspection, while you’re aware that you look bad right now, he’s not looking too hot either. The lipstick marks you had left on his face make it look like you’ve either slobbered all over him or that he’s a vampire, you’re not sure. And you’ve bitten him so much somebody could think he got attacked by a racoon judging solely on those bruises.

You quickly explain the situation to him as you’re fixing up your bra and top. Considering the fact that you were bordering on nip-slip territory, that was your priority. Smoothing your dress is easy enough, but your pantyhose is mysteriously ripped in some incriminating places.

He reaches out, rips out the fake eyelash that was pathetically hanging off the corner of your eye and throws it away. You take care of the other one, wipe off your ruined make-up and then wipe off the lipstick on his face. 

Your head hurts so much that you don’t know what to say to break the silence. Though you also don’t doubt that he’s in the position, and so, for the first time it doesn’t feel awkward between the two of you. 

“Hey, [Y/n], are we like… dating now?”

“I think so? You can be my date to the wedding if you want.” 

A dopey smile takes over his face. You realize you’ve made someone this happy before with merely being yourself. It fills you with a kind of warmth you’ve never felt before.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

“Your cousin won’t stop calling you,” Taehyung emphasizes as you’re pointedly ignoring your ringtone while you get ready. Considering the atrocious state both of you came back in, the process taking longer than usual shouldn’t be a surprise. Especially since you had to take turns for the shower.

Also the part where the two of you got into a fight over who should go in first—your thesis being arguably stronger once you mentioned the mud ingrained in the left sole of your feet—only slowed you down further.

“I know right? Can’t this pregnant moron get a life.”

“No, I think she’s calling you because we’re late to the wedding,” he elaborates. “You should pick up.”

“But I hate her!”

“You can roast her at the wedding and I’ll hype you up if you do what I ask.”

“Oh my god, promise?” 

“Promise.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

“Look who finally showed up,” your cousin greets you with a tight smile. You can only return the sentiment as Taehyung dumbly trails behind you. 

Well, as much as you don’t like your cousin, the wedding is certainly nice. With a light atmosphere and a fancy ceremony, he can’t pretend he hates it—that much is certain. Though he can also tell that it’s a lot of money wasted on food that doesn’t look appetizing in the slightest the more he examines the buffet.

“I see you’re not wearing the dress I shipped to you. Is it too tight, perhaps?” She’s smiling fakely and sweetly as she waits for your answer to her provocation. Of course it’s too tight; what else could it be when she picked it two sizes smaller than what you usually wear. And she did it on purpose too.

Despite the rather mundane conversation happening, the tension is thick.

“I’m going to be quick. You look like a greasy manatee.” You give her your own uptight smile before strutting away, cueing Taehyung to follow after you.

“Pregnancy-shameeeeed,” he yells out as he offers her finger guns and speed-walks in your direction. 

Once he’s caught up with you, he speaks up again. “I know you could’ve been more brutal than that.”

“Oh please, I’m sophisticated, I’d never engage in some barbaric behavior.”

You both burst out laughing at your blatant lie. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

“Do you think they’re dating now?” Jin asks, looking at the two of you as you dance and joke around. Though he imagines that you could only be having a deranged conversation, one that isn’t as sweet and lovey-dovey as it might look from an outsider’s perspective, it’s still quite disgusting how smitten Taehyung looks with you. 

“I don’t care,” Jungkook answers. Him saying he doesn’t care is a metaphor for how much he doesn’t care about anything after his food poisoning.

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Oh definitely. I saw them making out near a garbage dumpster when we were driving back to the hotel.”

Seokjin chokes.

[vityacristo]

Grilled Cheese

Para: Grilled Cheese

Who: Vitya Cristo & Monty Prescott @montyprescottjoy

When: June 27th, 2020

Where: Vitya’s apartment

What: Vitya, mid-manic episode, goes grocery shopping for food beyond candy. Monty is waiting, unannounced, in his dorm room. They tip-toe through conversation, yet again, unable to break down each other’s walls. That does not mean boundaries aren’t broken, though...

Triggers: Suicide, Drug use, Abuse, Sexually Explicit

VITYA

Vitya was cursing to himself as he walked to his dorm room. Something processed him that morning, something gripped his gut and it would not go away; Go buy groceries. Vitya never bothered, just eating junk food. he figured, if he wasn't going to live long, why bother taking care of himself? He had no idea how to cook, anyway, so this could be a complete failure. the only guide he had was the 'diet recommendations' his doctor had, buying everything he could find on that list. His wallet was looking thin now. He opened his dorm door, noticing a familiar pair of shoes by it; Monty had let himself in. Vitya didn't mind. It felt... nice coming back to his dorm, knowing someone was there waiting for him. Even if it was Monty, of all people. Now that he thought about it, the voice in his head, telling him to do this, was less his own just telling him to get groceries, but more Monty's voice. 'Eat some real food, asshole' was more appropriate. Knowing the other man was likely in his bedroom, he passed by the kitchen and opened his bedroom door. Unceremoniously, he dropped one of the bags on the bed, the contents of apples, lettuce, and a loaf of bread spilling out.

"Get up. You're teaching me how to cook."

MONTY

Monty had been waiting for Vitya, he was rather surprised when he'd gotten no answer at the door and part of him was worried by that. as far as Monty knew Vitya didn't spend the night with clients so it was concerning to not get an answer this early in the day. It was barely lunchtime. Monty often showed up here without any warning these days and this was the first time there had been non answer. Monty pulled a small tool from his wallet and jimmied the lock, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who might see him breaking in but luckily the dorms were quiet because it wasn't quite official move in day yet so only returning students were even on campus.

Monty looked around the dorm as he entered quietly, toeing off his shoes so he wouldn't make much noise just incase Vitya was still asleep. Monty found the apartment empty which made his stomach fall in disappointment. He huffed but decided to wait, after all it wasn't like he had anything better to do than hang around with the younger man for the day. Not that he would admit he wanted to spend the day here, just that he had nothing else going on with no classes to keep him out of trouble at the moment when he wasn't working on his research project.

Monty took a peek in the refrigerator and couldn't even find a beer. He grumbled under his breath about Vitya having finished off the last case he'd left here and flopped down on the bed. He let his mind wander as he laid there and was half asleep, face buried in Vitya's pillow when he was shocked from his sleep by the sound of Vitya's footsteps and a bag of groceries hitting his leg.

"The fuck asshole?" He groused, voice thick with sleep and hair sticking up in every direction. "Where the fuck ya been man? What with the bag attack?" He huffed, brow raised suspiciously at the food that had rolled out of the bag.

VITYA

Vitya couldn't help but laugh to the state of Monty. His disheveled hair, the sleepy tone of voice, the huffing and puffing. "I went shopping. I actually paid for something, for once." He stepped to the edge of the bed, leaning over and petting his hair back, kissing his forehead. "Come on, you're going to show me how to make something." Vitya said, standing back up and grabbing the tossed bag and walking outside the bedroom.

"I was able to grab you a bottle, too. I had to smuggle it out, since you Americans have moronic age gates for that, but I still got it," Vitya said, placing the bags on the table and starting to unpack. An array of healthy foods, fruits, grains, meat, as well as a few bags of candy, more due to Vitya's love of sweets and impulse to buy them. "I have no idea what I am doing with all of this, so I hope you at least know something. I'd rather learn from someone in person than a Youtube video," Vitya admitted, reaching into his left boot and pulling out the bottle of bourbon he stole. He set it to the side, for Monty to go at whenever he wanted.

MONTY

Monty hummed softly in appreciation of the gentle forehead kiss that helped bring him back to the land of the living and batted Vitya’s hand away playfully. “So you’re telling me ya didn’t just raid a vending machine damn kid what is this a special occasion?” Monty laughed teasingly. He’d never see this much food in Vitya’s apartment and he couldn’t help but wonder if the younger man was finally taking his own illness seriously by actually trying to live a healthy lifestyle.

“I see! The truth is finally out. The prince of poison himself doesn’t know how to cook. that’s why he lives on a diet of candy!” Monty actually laughed out loud, messing with Vitya and using his childhood nickname against him. “I ain’t exactly master chef ya know. I don’t just eat take out around you, but Nikko did teach me some shit an’ I do have my own famous grilled cheese I can show ya real east an it looks like ya got all the stuff for it. I see ya couldn’t resist ya sweet shit though.” Monty teased as he spied the candy while collecting the ingredients for a good grilled cheese and starting to throw the rest slightly haphazardly into the refrigerator out of habit, not thinking (or more like not allowing himself to think) how helpful he was being by doing it without being asked or forced. “Good call on the bourbon.” Monty moaned eying the label. “Ya got any ice goin in the freezer or do I gotta wait to have a glass of this?”

VITYA

Vitya laughed to himself, shrugging at Monty's question. "Not sure... You're here fairly often, and we always eat, figured I can have something here," Vitya noted, still pulling out various items. He looked at a rather girthy cucumber with a twinkle in his eye. "Thought of you," he joked, setting it on the counter.

Vitya could not control his impulsive laughter, this one making his eyes crinkle, his cheeks turn pink. "Shut up, I was a pampered prick. I never lived somewhere without a personal cook until moving America- Imagine my horror!" he said with both sarcasm as well as self-reflective truth. Feeding himself was hard at first, and that challenge made his diet of candy an easy choice. Nevermind what it did to his emotional state, eating junk all the time. It wasn't the cause of it but it certainly didn't help.

"Well, I am not expecting high cuisine here. You have just... lived more than I have, and if anyone is going to teach me how to be better at this 'feeding yourself' thing, it would be you." There were little butterflies in his stomach as that sentence came out. It was tart to say, sour but sweet. Monty had such a riviting life, of mob hits and gun fights and a brother he would die to protect. To Vitya, it was a far more exciting life than his. His eyes wandered to where Monty was helping him put the groceries away, tossing them inside. Hey, as long as they were edible, he didn't care where they ended up. First step was actually eating them, not organizing them like colors of socks. "Of course I do, Red Bull with vodka demands ice. It's in the freezer," the pointed to the top compartment.

Vitya collected the plastic bags, shoving them under the sink to be used as trashbags later. He grabbed his precious bags of candy and placed them on his desk, having to move some jars of dirty water and ink to give them a spot. He walked back to the kitchen, playfully resting his chin on Monty's shoulder. "So, are you going to make me watch you make the grilled cheese, or are you going to recreate the pottery scene in Ghost?"

MONTY

"Tryin' ta tell me ya sick of take out? Fuckin' sure they can cook more than me, but unless ya highness has a money tree we do need to cut down," Monty cocked his head, and stuck out his tongue in a way that wasn't exactly common with him but he was still a little pliant from sleep in a way that was also unusual so it seemed his guard was down for a change... though it didn't last long as he made his next quip he instantly felt his own insides shatter... "or ya need ta be takin' ya ass ta work more." Monty instantly bit his own lip. There was a time he didn't care about Vitya's job, he understood doing whatever a person needed to do to make money but now the thought of Vitya going out and doing that made him feel sick in a way he didn't understand. Monty turned away feeling himself blush, he never blushed.

Monty only looked back when he saw the cucumber waiving in his peripheral vision and he was finally able to laugh again, to took the produce from Vitya and lewdly imitated the motions of a handjob on the length of it before throwing it into the refrigerator with the rest.

"Fuckin' fine. Grilled cheese it is. It's one-a the first things Nikko showed me, figure if he let me do it you can too, and I throw slices or tomatoes in there so it counts for vegetables or whatever." Monty shrugged off Vitya's comment about having 'lived more'. He didn't find his life something to be proud of something people should be interested in, to him it represented the very worst of his memories and as much as he used his mob connections as a shield; something to terrify others with, it was the thing he was most ashamed of. Monty looked away from Vitya, keeping his eyes downcast as he moved around the kitchen area collecting a glass, ice, and the bottle of bourbon. He took a deep swig before pouring a half glass and topping it with ice. Monty leaned back into Vitya's body when he hooked his chin on a shoulder, he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the younger mans jaw. "If by that ya mean forgettin' the food and going to the fuckin' I ain't complainin' but if ya wanna eat today ya better gimme a frying pan and the bread and butter." He chuckled.

VITYA

"What, and you aren't? There are only so many fucking times I can eat chinese food, or afford to." Vitya joked again, giving Monty the middle finger at him sticking his tongue out. The playful warmth between them froze like Hell in a blizzard, for a split second, when Monty let slip his addendum. Vitya's jaw locked a moment; it had been a long time. His last 'paycheck' was three days before his hospital visit, nearly two months ago. Vitya never said anything, but he was strapped for cash. "Let me worry about that," he said, in a somber tone. The reality was, Vitya knew nothing else. He had no other practical skills beyond sex, but he was having so much fun with Monty, feeling better than he ever felt, both inside and out- He didn't want to fuck someone else. Vitya had to be rational; he needed cash. And he wasn't going to take it from Monty anymore. So, whoring himself out it is.

The tone met in the middle, lukewarm, as Vitya watched Monty pour his drink, feeling the other man's warmth against him made it so tempting for Vitya to let his hands wander, maybe jerk Monty off from behind, but he resisted, for now. He chuckled, returning the kiss on his jaw with a lick up the shell of Monty's ear, biting the lobe and then letting it go. "Alright, hold on," Vitya said, letting Monty go, searching through the cupboards for a frying pan. he eventually found one, handing it to the other man along with the items he asked for.

"Normally I would take you up on the 'skip food, just fuck' thing, but the last time I ate anything was when you were here last, so I figure I better not skip this time," Vitya admitted. It affirmed one thing; his grocery shopping today had nothing to do with Monty coming to visit. Vitya had no idea he would be there today. He didn't buy it for when Monty was there; he bought it for when he wasn't. For when Vitya was on his own, not caught under Monty's eye, who Vitya knew watched him eat...

"Tell you what; once we're done here, I'll blow you. As long as you want."

MONTY

"Fuck, fine, okay, sendin' Nikko ta LA hurt my wallet an' I'm even more on the outs with pops after refusin' ta do a job for him but I should be gettin' some cash at the end of summer for this project I'm workin' on if I get all the fuckin' math figured out. That or we go Breaking Bad in here an' I start cookin' my own shit." Monty laughed dryly. Humour fizzling out as he mentally took stock of his current savings. Yes his graduate program got him room and board thanks to the scholarship prize but it barely stretched beyond the apartment rental. Textbooks and equipment in his field were not cheep.

"Ya know, ya could think about sellin' some of this." Monty gestured to the art littering the room. He actually did appreciate Vitya's art more than he would ever feel comfortable voicing and the thought of Vitya selling that rather than his body was oddly comforting in a way he couldn't understand never mind explain.

A shiver ran up Monty's spine thanks to the heat of Vitya's breath and the kiss in return. A blush raised in his cheeks and he cleared his throat distractedly, trying to refocus himself on the task at hand.

"Fuck Vitya, it's been two full days." Monty sighed heavily, wanting to punch the other boy for his idiocy but not wanting to expose his concern, already berating himself for the words he'd let slip so he kept the anger in check as best he could as he attempted to butter the bread gently so it wouldn't tear it up.

"Al'ight sounds like a fair exchange," Monty grinned, feeling more relaxed as their easy banter set back in. "Want ya ta swallow it too, look so fuckin' hot when ya swallow it down for me, pretty boy..." Monty couldn't help the words slip out as Vitya's lips caught his eye, reminding him of the image that was Vitya's lips red and puffy...

VITYA

Vitya snapped his fingers at Monty, in a small 'told you' sort of way. Monty was stretching himself, too; all the more reason Vitya needed to get back out there and work. Monty at least had a plan, one that involved his career, uplifting himself. It was admirable. His train of thought was interrupted at Monty's suggestion, eyes rolling over the mounds of art he had made. He grimaced. "Really? It's all depressive ramblings and... I don't know, devil worship? That's a niche market if I ever heard of one." He said. In all honesty, Vitya had no faith in his own work. He only chose it as a major so then he could get into this college; it was either that or be homeless, so Vitya chose college.

Vitya could hear the concern in Monty's voice. Instead of give in, he just smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, well... I'm working on it." he spoke softly, returning Monty's concern with a hopeful optimism. A rare form, in Vitya's case, the emotional vulnerability making his heart pound. "It takes a lot, sometimes, just to get out of bed, so the fact I made it to the store and back? I call that a win," Vitya threw his hands into the air, hoping this conversation would end here. He didn't want to talk about his mental health, or his behavior, right now. He wanted to make food with Monty, and ignore the past two days entirely.

"Mmmn," Vitya teased back, licking his lips when they caught Monty's eye. "Oh, I will, if you..." Vitya leaned to Monty's ear again, sliding his hands down's Monty's arms. "...Slide your cock so far down my throat, it makes my body freeze, and my head go all fuzzy-" He cut himself off, stealing Monty's glass of bourbon a moment and backing away, taking a sip before putting the glass back where it was. "Don't get too distracted, " he teased, motioning to the task at hand. "You need to earn it!"

MONTY

"Hey stop thinkin' so hard over there, ya know I can mock up some financial documents for ya, that's how I cleaned up freshman year, been doin' ma dad's taxes an' shit for years, the man's an ass but we know how ta play the system." Monty laughed, he'd never told anyone but Nikko about this and even then it was only recently, after he started college. Yet he didn't question the way he was opening up to Vitya, it just seemed natural and somehow he knew Vit wouldn't snitch.

"Nah man, crazy old collectors go mad for this shit. An' if tryin' ta sell legitimately doesn't work gettin' ya shit inta an established gallery is a scam I could work easy." Monty winked, letting his mind wander down the road of imagination. Even if scamming was part of his horrid upbringing it was something he often genuinely enjoyed. The thrill got his heart racing. Though that could just be from Vitya's proximity... Monty cleared his throat "Got a knife for cheese or did ya get craft slices?" he asked, concentrating more than necessary on the pan heading up and melting the glob of butter he'd thrown in.

"Did someone fuckin' sneak happy pills in ya mornin' red bull? Ain't seen ya this fuckin' optimistic since the idea of havin' my cock up ya ass" Monty teased, but it was soft, almost kind, pleased to see the younger man in a light he wasn't used to. Having someone to connect with, who understood his pain was one of the best things about Vitya, after fucking of course, but seeing him hopeful did something to Monty he hadn't experienced before except with Nikko... it made him proud. But even deeper than with Nikko it also made warmth stir in his belly.

"Fuck..."Monty groaned shamelessly at Vitya's response, that familiar tingling racing through his body, making his dick twitch in response, his head fell back onto Vitya's shoulder and he pressed his ass back against the taller man's dick instinctively. His body instantly felt cold when Vitya moved away and he had to press his hands hard onto the counter to regain his composure.

VITYA

Vitya shook his head. "Temping, I don't want charity... As nice as your offer is," Vitya added on the end, not wanting to sound ungrateful at Monty's offer. It was kind of him, and Vitya had no idea what to do with that. Vitya had nothing to offer Monty beyond sex, and yet he wasn't asking for anything by offering this to him. At home it was 'Smile for the camera and you get a treat', a concept that Vitya still used to this day with his prostitution.

Vitya laughed for a moment, a air of disbelief on his face. "You would scam my way into a gallery? I went to so many useless galas and balls at art galleries growing up, the people at those were posh and snarky and... gross. You think you can trick that crowd into thinking my depraved, sexual, borderline rancid work is high class?" Vitya reached into a nearby drawer, handing him one of the knives inside. The drawer was disorganized, taking a moment to find it.

"This is just... normal," Vitya said, cryptically, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm low, sometimes really low, for a few weeks and then, boom. Really, really high for a few days. It comes in waves. My professors back home would say I was 'manic'," Vitya explained. He had never gone to a therapist, psychologist, nothing. With his physical health being so poor, he hid all he could about his mental health. But with Monty, away from home, feeling more free than ever... He was able to talk about it. For the first time in his life, someone knew he had a problem.

A tingle of power went down Vitya's spine as he watched Monty fumble before him. It made him feel so strong, like he could take on the world, when he had Monty like this. In the palm of his hand... "Don't let the thought of me circling my tongue on your tip distract you too much. Go on, I want to learn how to make your sandwich..." he teased, grabbing a jelly bean from one of his many, many candy bowls and slowly sliding it onto his tongue.

MONTY

“Ain’t like I’d be the one giving ya money, just a few fake documents ta have the school giving ya what ya need.” Monty shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal to try and scam a huge business like a university. His perception of what constituted ‘a big deal’ was extremely warped thanks to his upbringing. Kindness, selflessness, compassion were things that terrified him as much as if not more than putting a gun to someone’s head and pulling the trigger but fraud was nothing.

Monty shrugged, continuing to work on the food as if it really wasn’t a big ask. “Sounds easy enough, those bougie pricks are easy ta manipulate, they’re like fuckin toddlers always wanting new entertainment and bein possessive little fuckers.” He laughed. “We’d persuade some hot dude who can pull off that mysterious shit ta play the part of you an’ charm his way into those inner circles with a bit of blackmail and the promise of a small cut.” Monty mused, letting his mind run wild planning a con. It had been a while since he’d done anything more than running drugs and the potential had his mind buzzing.

Monty listened closely to Vitya explaining some of what went on in his head. It was similar to how he felt when he was taking drugs regularly, but those feelings were chemically induced highs and lows not his own brain chemistry and he had heard enough from Nikko to know what Vitya was describing wasn’t healthy or normal but he had no idea what to do or say and it terrified him.

He did the only thing he could think of. He put down the knife and turned into Vityas arms and placed a hand on the taller boys neck, his thumb resting on his sharp jawline and kissing him hard. Not sexually and filled with desire but firm and filled with promise even though he had no idea what he was promising.

“Fuck you!” Monty tried to sound threatening at Vitya’s teasing but it came out breathless almost like a whine and he couldn’t even gather his thoughts enough to care how pathetic it sounded.

VITYA

"And I'm telling you, I don't need it," Vitya said again, this time more firmly. "You already have given me enough money, I don't need you goading the university to give it to me, too." He said, hoping this would be the end of it. Knowing Monty, he would bring it up again, butt hat was for another time.

Vitya snapped his head to Monty, a curious, and fake-offended look on his face. "What, you don't think I could pull it off? I've played The Game before, Monty. I've wowed a crowd or two. Mainly at my father's request, but if I can convince money-hungry dogs that I was, indeed, the perfect son with full intent to take over his business, I can con some art hacks into thinking I'm some bougie personality," Vitya glanced at his art again, pursing his lips.

Vitya was shocked at first, at Monty's sudden burst of affection, but didn't refuse it. He kissed back, with a similar fervor, taking Monty's waist with one hand and his hair with the other. He gripped tightly, wanting nothing more than to strip him down, there and then. It was so hard to resist.

"You really want it bad, don't you?" he whispered, the hand on Monty's waist sliding to the obvious bulge in his pants. "Really, really bad," he continued, sliding his hand up and down. Fuck, this is what Vitya needed! That dominating power, that hold on Monty like a vice. He could get drunk from this... "Be a good boy and finish cooking. Then, whatever you want. You'll be a good boy, right?"

MONTY

"Thought I was payin' for a service." Monty raised a brow trying to read Vitya but he didn't press any further no matter how much he wanted to. To be good at illicit activities you needed at least some level of perception and he'd quickly learned when not to push Vitya if he didn't want it to turn into a fight though he was still more in the dark about this guy than he would like.

Monty laughed. "I've got no doubt the littlest prince could pull it off but do ya want all them jerk-offs knowin' ya face? Aren't ya supposed ta be hidin' from Daddy? Figured ya'd be tryin' not ta draw attention to yaself but whatever we'll throw ya ta the dogs if that's what ya want." He rolled his eyes, feeling as though Vitya was only pushing this to prove a point and he didn't feel like fighting. Monty knew all about trying to be the perfect son but his families idea was far different than the Cristo family.

Monty held Vitya tight, the hand not at his neck was wrapped tight around his waist keeping them close. He let his eyes close and leaned their foreheads together in a comforting, intimate gesture once their lips broke apart. To some sex was intimate, but to him these soft gestures were more than he could bare. Usually.

"Always want you," Monty gasped out, losing himself to the feel of Vitya surrounding him. The taller man was taking over all of his senses and the thought of cooking completely left his mind as he tried to thrust his hips forward to find more friction for his fully hard cock. Vitya had power over him like nobody else and all he wanted to do was give himself over willingly and have someone take care of him in every way. Monty shivered with the words ''good boy" and he whined shamelessly. "Y-Yes." He forced out.

VITYA

Vitya looked at Monty with an unblinking stare, a mile long, navigating the words that came out of Monty's mouth. He broke eye contact a moment, licking his lips. "You aren't giving me more money." There. Final. Done.

Vitya shook his head. "Not really hiding anymore. He paid my hospital bills, sends me these medications he wants me on, but aren't FDA approved. He knows where I am. Why he hasn't come after me... I have no idea. I think he knows if I see him again, I will make damn sure he can't find me..." Vitya stopped, his hands balled into fists as he went on. he let the pressure go, breathing his fury out. "Besides, I don't want some rando claiming my work, even if we pay them."

Vitya continued palming Monty's erection, his wrist changing the angle every few strokes, letting Monty practically hump his hand. "Good. Then," Vitya turned Monty back around, but this time, pressed his chest to Monty's back, lightly grinding his own hard cock against his lower back. His hands were on Monty's hips again, but this time, one went up to play with his belt buckle. "You keep going, and the more you do, the more I do," he said. With the pace of a snail, Vitya started pulling at Monty's belt, slowly starting to take it off. He stopped, just before the last of the belt left the metal buckle. "See? Look what being such a good boy got you... So much closer to your reward."

MONTY

Monty rolled his eyes but dropped the subject, seeing it wasn't worth fighting anymore right now.

He took a moment to absorb Vitya's words on the subject of his father trying to process it. "So no Bratva followin' ya around?" Monty tried to tease, shying away from talking about fathers, it was an uncomfortable subject and he tried to block out the memories of the the last time his father had contacted him because his threats were still hanging over his head and he was both scared and glad his father hadn't yet followed up on the threats. "We'll make ya the perfect little Russian gentleman an'  have 'em fawnin' all over ya." Monty chuckled, redirecting his attention to the image of Vitya suited and booted for a fancy party. It was a good image.

All the thoughts of scamming and scheming were driven from his mind as Monty tried his best to move his concentration back to the task at hand. The pan was smoking from the time he had been distracted, usually he was more than capable of preparing the food while the pan warmed but not today. A strangled moan left Monty's throat at the feel of Vitya's hard cock sliding against his ass. He had to clench his fists the stop them shaking from desire before he could turn down the heat on the burner and put together the sandwiches. He layered the cheese and tomato between the bread waiting for the pan to get back to a proper cooking temperature. "More, please...." He whined, trying to buck his hips up to the hands that were so close yet so far. He loved and hated how quickly Vitya could reduce him to begging. Monty Prescott did not beg for anyone. Except for this man.

VITYA

"If they are following me, they are doing a good job keeping themselves hidden," Vitya said, noticing that this was a subject neither of them wanted. Good, this was uncomfortable. Both of them had difficult connects with their fathers, and neither wanted to talk about the details too much. Yet one more thing they could agree on. Vitya smirked and ran his fingers in his hair, rolling his eyes. "You just want me in a suit," he teased.

Vitya watched Monty try so hard to keep it together. He really was doing everything Vitya said, without question. He was trembling, and each little shake made Vitya feel so damn powerful. Vitya kissed and sucked at Monty's neck, watching his hands work. When he whined, Vitya smiled against his skin. He gracefully unbuckled the last of Monty's belt, letting it dangle by the loops. His hands were on Monty's jeans, two fingers sliding up and down the length of his zipper. "Almost there," he whispered, undoing the button and peeling the zipper apart. Vitya's finger's danced over the elastic of his underwear, tracing circles around his confined cock through the thin fabric. "You're doing so well, so close. Such a good boy.”

MONTY

"We could throw a few Cugine on ya see if they find anythin'." Monty mused, though thinking how badly that ended after putting a few young idiots on Sam and it ending with him being robbed and putting him and Nikko on the outs. But it was worth it to protect someone he cared about... wait no he couldn't go that deep... but another thought cut him off as he realised it was too late now...

Monty winked, "Wouldn't say no ta that, bet ya look hot as fuck." He licked his bottom lip teasingly, letting his eyes roam Vitya's lithe body.

Standing there Monty felt completely powerless. Usually it was a feeling he hate more than any other. For his whole life he'd craved complete control because he'd been stuck under his fathers thumb doing things he hated but giving up control to Vitya was freeing. He didn't have to make tough calls and painful decisions because here was someone doing it for him, keeping him safe and steady. He didn't hate this because in the end the things Vitya was making him do were things he wanted to do, he'd just never understood how to ask...

Monty felt completely consumed by Vitya who's body was all over him; fingers, lips, chest, dick. He sloppily threw the two sandwiches into the pan and prodded them with a spatula he'd spotted in the draw Vitya had opened to find a knife so they didn't stick. Monty's body was getting hotter and hotter, every inch of him was tingling with too much not enough as Vitya touched and teased him. "Please man fuckin' touch me" He groaned, letting go of the pan handle and reaching back to fist his hand into Vitya's hair. "Been good, please, more." He keened, wiggling his hips, trying to grind back on Vitya's cock to get him as desperate for more as Monty himself was.

VITYA

Vitya cocked an eyebrow. "No. If I'm in danger, I run. Simple as that. I don't need protecting," Vitya said, in the same tone he uses when he is annoyed. The type of annoyed when someone asks how he is feeling, or if he is taking his meds. It felt like he was being babied, and having wanna-be mobsters keeping an eye on him? No, he'll brave it on his own.

Vitya's heart was pounding. He had this man, who was so loud and strong and independent, around his finger, whimpering and begging for release. He wasn't pushing, either, to get it himself, he was letting Vitya choose when. Vitya sighed on Monty's neck when he grabbed his hair, biting his lip and letting Monty rut against his crotch. The friction of the fabric made it so hard to saw no... But if anything was going to happen, he needed the energy to do so. And that meant eating before getting busy.

Vitya's fingers slid under Monty's waistband, fingers now touching the bare skin of his cock. He was warm, hard, and Vitya could feel Monty quivering. "Shh, shhh," he shushed in Monty's ear, slowly starting to pull his waistband down. "You're almost done, look," Vitya motioned to the food in the pan, cooking away. Vitya's hand coiled around Monty's cock, finally freeing it of it's cloth cage, and with an agonizing slow pace, his hand slid up Monty's shaft. "So hard for me, and waiting so patiently... Can you wait till after I eat? Just a little bit longer, for my mouth on your aching cock?"

The way Monty was shivering had Vitya's head going wild. All the things he wanted to do to the other man became possible realities, and not just his sick, twisted fantasies. And Vitya, being a man of unsound mind, grew a devilish look on his face. "If you wait, like a sweet, good little boy, then I'll fuck you, too," he whispered, his free hand slowly sliding down the back of Monty's jeans.

He made sure to give every opportunity for Monty to stop him, in case this was too far. "Would you like that? Would my good boy wait for my cock in his ass? Will he?..."

MONTY

Monty groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Fine man, whatever." He groused. Vitya was being rather stubborn tonight and as annoying as he found it, he was rather impressed with his determination and pride. Maybe Vitya would find it in himself to apply those trait to his will to live. Monty could only hope.

Monty felt as though he was quite literally losing his mind the way Vitya was teasing him. It was almost painful. He' never felt need this intense before. It was driving him wild. The praise was doing something he had never experienced before and it was maddening yet wonderful. Part of him wanted to snap and make Vitya stop talking to him like he was a kid but a far louder part of his mind was screaming for more and had fire coursing through his veins.

"Feels so good" Monty moaned when Vitya's finally touched his hard cock. It felt so much better than rubbing through his boxers even it was torturously slow. Monty bit his lip, trying his best not to let any more of those pathetic sounds out but it was a fruitless effort when Vitya began talking again. He should have hated it but he couldn't.

The dirty talk was something that should have reminded Monty of Schuyler, because it always had before now and would inevitably lead him to trying to shut the mouth of whoever he was fucking or make them leave all together, even if he did give himself blue-balls in the process. But right now there was no room in his mind for Schuy, he was completely consumed by Vitya.

Monty's body began to sing at the thought of Vitya fucking him. It had been so long since Mont had bottomed and it made him moan deep and loud, so loud that if it wasn't summer break they'd have neighbours banging on the walls to try to quieten them. "Yes, yes, fuck me, I'll do anything, please fuck me." He mewled, pushing his ass back against the hand moving over it. The word my had come from Vitya's mouth and served to make Monty evenmore desperate. The food was completely forgotten to him.

VITYA

“Yeah? Feels good?”Vitya asked, rhetorically. The shake of Monty’s body gave him all the clues he needed, every whimper a sign that Monty was enthralled with all of this. In fact, Vitya was, too. Most clients would pop in, pop out, end of story. Monty was unraveling at his touch, giving Vitya a burning passion in his gut.

Monty’s sudden moan, his cry of desperation, his begging to be fucked; Vitya nearly did it right there. His ass pushing back against him made Vitya growl in his ear, looking down at the hot stove, then back at Monty. “Fuck it,” Vitya said, turning the stove top off and making Monty put the cooking utensils. His hand was on Monty’s cock, stroking at a fast pace to keep his attention, the other hand coming around to hold Monty‘s chest.

“Listen to me. When I let you go, walk to the bedroom and strip. Get on the bed and wait for me. You can touch yourself, finger yourself, but if you come before I am inside you... Well, you’d be a bad boy. And you want to be a good boy, right?” Vitya spoke slowly. Normally he doesn’t get turned on by his own talk, but this was every fantasy he had been having about Monty since he left two days ago!

He stopped his stroking of Monty’s cock, spinning his finger around the head. He have Monty a few seconds before letting him go. Vitya turned his attention to the forgotten sandwich, deciding to leave it for now and grab an apple out of the fridge. The moment he was done with this was the moment he would follow Monty.

FADE TO BLACK

[ashleyspinelliburnbook]

S1E9: The Box/The Trial

Today I learned that I, growing up on the west coast of the United States, missed the official debut of Recess on the evening of August 31, 1997 because the networks over there were still covering Princess Diana’s death (which happened earlier in the day). The official premiere was pushed back to September 13 because her funeral took place on the original date, September 6.

I don’t know why that’s so fascinating to me. Maybe because it’s a damn thing that the first major news event I remember (not counting Hale-Bopp, but that was less news and more a comet that I was fascinated by?) and such an important TV show that I’m now dedicating a not-insignificant portion of my life to, 23 years later, intersected in this way.

Oh, well. Let’s watch more Recess.

The Box

How do you get all the ice cream you can eat? Apparently, it’s as easy as unplugging the big freezer in the cafeteria, which is what TJ and the gang have just done as the episode opens.

Our friend Hank the janitor informs the whole playground that the freezer is on the fritz and that all the ice cream — including Principal Prickly’s private stash, which I really would have liked to hear more about — is melting! So our friends step in and offer to eat the ice cream, because they’re good people.

Unfortunately for TJ, Miss Finster has discovered his frozen shoe at the scene of the crime, and so she send him to the wall (you know, the punishment where you put your nose on the wall and can’t move for however long. Fortunately for TJ, his friends come hang out with him at the wall. Miss Finster is incensed by this — he’s being punished, but having fun with it — and vows to come up with a better way to punish kids so they really feel it.

The next day, she unveils...The Box.

The playground falls in line, military-style, as Miss Finster explains that they’re just not taking getting into trouble seriously. But when she unveils her next great punishment tool, well...let’s just say it’s no Chokey. Everyone laughs — “It’s just a bunch of lines painted on the ground!” Vince exclaims — but Miss Finster is undeterred, convinced this new punishment will make her “more famous than Mildred Frizbone” — the teacher who invented detention in 1952.

(Other things invented in 1952: car airbag, polio vaccine, roll-on deodorant, pocket-size transistor radio. Ms. Frizbone was in good company!)

Naturally, TJ is the first to get in trouble, and naturally, he milks the attention for all it’s worth. Ten minutes in the box is nothing compared to his peers cheering him on! But Miss Finster then reveals that any kid who gets within 30 yards of the box will get detention for a week (perhaps an early sign that if you can’t beat Ms. Frizbone, join her).

We quickly learn that four lines painted on the ground is the elementary school equivalent of solitary confinement, though — that is, extremely bad (relative to, you know, kids’ attention spans). As TJ realizes he can’t play catch because his ball rolled out of the box, he can’t watch clouds because there aren’t any, and he's too impatient to nap — something he says he hasn’t done in a long time, but um, it’s been literally one episode — he starts to crack.

TJ hallucinates the box sinking into the ground, and all his helpless friends see from a great distance is him clawing at the walls surrounding him like a mime. When Miss Finster arrives to collect TJ after the worst 10 minutes of his life, he’s ready to do anything to never have to go back in the box again.

As the extent of TJ’s apparent PTSD sets in — he can’t eat square foods, like the ravioli and sandwich that Gretchen and Mikey offer him at lunch the next day — the gang realize they have to do something. Gretchen, of course, has an academic answer, while I’ll quote in full:

“According to Dr. Freud here, trying to take a person’s mind off his fears is just playing into them. The only cure is to make the person confront those fears. In other words, TJ must go back in the box.”

Now, as someone who somehow has a psychology degree, I’m wondering if she means Sigmund Freud, who was notably known for a lot of things, exposure therapy not being one of them. Maybe not. Maybe it’s a different Freud. In any case, this course of action seems like a good thing to try, except it also means the gang has to ensure TJ goes back in the box by framing him for a crime (in this case, spitballing Miss Finster in the back).

Back in the box, TJ immediately hallucinates again...until he’s hit in the head with a dodgeball, snapping him back to reality. He’s too shocked to throw it back to the kid who lost it, so the kid just comes into the box to get it, and TJ realizes if people can come into the box, he can get out of it! Wow!

When Miss Finster (and that snitch Randall, who gets his own episode coming up!) arrives to collect TJ from the box, she’s expecting a puddle of goo where TJ’s body used to be, more or less. But...TJ is fine. “I’d have to be nuts to be afraid of that!” he says, as Miss Finster sobs over her (apparently) failed creation (sample size of two?).

Takeaway: TJ can be vulnerable! Which...again, is something we learned ONE EPISODE AGO when he was taken prisoner by the kindergarteners and regressed to being a kindergartener. Which is way more of a Freud thing than exposure therapy is, by the way!!!!

The Trial

THIRD STREET SCHOOL, Ark. — The charge of throwing a rock in a dirt clod war against fourth-grader Ashley Spinelli was thrown out, though the trial took a surprising twist at its end.

Spinelli had been charged with violating the playground constitution by throwing a rock at playground snitch Randall Weems. The prosecution argued that Spinelli’s action was worse than cutting in line, throwing slush balls or spitting loogies in the drinking fountain, per the constitution.

“What kind of rotten, evil kid would throw a rock in a dirt clod war?” an anonymous digger told Recess News.

Though Weems’ reputation as a snitch preceded him, with many on the playground reluctant not to indict Spinelli but to give Weems any benefit of the doubt, the consensus was that the constitution was clear.

The punishment for violating the playground constitution in such an egregious manner, according to the document, is a swirly. According to Urban Dictionary, a swirly is “a prank often pulled in high school, in which a group of kids hold one kid upside down over a toilet then dunk their head in and flush it, resulting in a ‘swirl’ style hairdo.”

A high school-level punishment befitted the crime, King Bob said in a statement, but a trial would be required to prove Spinelli’s guilt.

The case’s first twist came when Gretchen Grundler, a close friend of Spinelli’s, was named prosecutor by virtue of being the smartest kid on the playground — another rule from the constitution.

Then, Recess News learned Spinelli herself would not be taking the stand, citing self-incrimination. Spinelli’s defense team told Recess News they were not in agreement with their client on this strategy.

The first surprise testimony came not from Weems’ own depiction of the incident, but from Mikey Blumberg, another close friend of the defendant. Blumberg told the court that he had witnessed Spinelli threatening Weems before the alleged rock throwing took place, but had not seen the incident in question.

“When will you people learn war is not a game?” Blumberg cried in the day’s most impassioned speech. “It’s not a game!”

But the second surprise testimony came as Spinelli herself opted to take the stand. She told Recess News later that she credited her friend Vince LaSalle with the decision.

“He goes, ‘This isn’t just about you anymore, it’s about all of us,’” Spinelli said. “That was all I needed to hear.”

Spinelli had left the scene to rescue a cat, she testified, and that cat turned out to belong to playground overseer Miss Finster, the teacher to snitch Weems’ teacher’s pet. Weems was so jealous of the attention Spinelli received that he threw the rock at himself and blamed it on her, he revealed.

Grundler immediately withdrew the charges upon this revelation, leaving the playground in a state of disarray.

This is a developing story. Recess News will update this page as news of Weems’ impending swirly is confirmed.

Takeaway: I don’t use the word “badass” very often — it’s pretty overused, IMO — but my goodness, was Gretchen telling Spinelli “I’ll see you in court” badass.

[artificialqueens]

A God-awful crackfic but its Sashea so y'all will love it- Mock-Star

Remember how I said I couldn’t write crack fics? Well, this is about as close as it’s going to get. And by this, I mean an mpreg fic. I don’t really know if there’s a guide to mpreg, but since it’s a crack fic, I’ve just made my own rules for my purposes. Shout out to the anon(s) who have requested this in the past, but I cant write this as angst, so it’s mostly fluffy. Another shout out goes to Mistress for her Branjie mpreg crackfic and lighting a fire under my ass to finish this, as well as inspiring the name of this fic. Love you Missy!!!! Xxxxxx

Sasha walked into the kitchen where Shea was cooking, the pot on the stove was covered, and she could smell fish baking in the oven. Shea walked over to her and kissed her forehead as Sasha retrieved a jug of milk from the fridge. She handed Sasha a glass and Sasha smiled at her in thanks before opening the jug.

“Ewww! That’s spoiled!” Sasha exclaimed as she smelled it, turning away from it in disgust. Shea leaned in and smelled it too, sniffing deeply.

“It smells fine to me, is your nose stuffed up?” She asked, ripping a paper towel off and handing it to Sasha. Sasha rolled her eyes before blowing her nose and smelling it again, almost gagging from the stench.

“Nope, it’s gone bad.” She said, covering her nose, annoyed that Shea had made her smell it again. Shea checked the expiration date before taking a swig, and Sasha gagged again, grossed out that she could drink it when it smelled so bad.

“Well, it’s not expired yet, and I think it’s fine, so let’s keep it and I’ll drink it, or you can put chocolate syrup in it and make chocolate milk to mask whatever you’re smelling.”

“No. I’m not drinking that, and I don’t want you drinking it either.” Sasha insisted, capping the jug to stop the smell. It still lingered in her nose, and she was pissed about it.

“Ok, you don’t have to drink it, but I’ll keep it and drink it when you’re not around. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Whatever, if you get sick it’s not my fault.” Sasha snapped, rummaging for something that smelled good. She found peppermint extract and smelled it, it smelled way better, and she relaxed as Shea put the milk back in the fridge. She turned to go back to what she was doing before she was stopped by Shea’s arms, she turned her back around before pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, and although she was still mad, Sasha felt her tension melt away.

“You don’t feel hot; do you feel ok? Could you be getting sick?” Shea asked, and Sasha could hear the tenderness and concern in her voice.

“I don’t feel bad. I guess I’m imagining things.” She whispered, feeling tears pool up. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s ok, you’re worried. And I don’t think you’re imagining things either, we probably just have different opinions on what smells bad.” Shea comforted her. Sasha nodded, but the tears still fell. Shea wiped them away and kissed her before running her fingers along her sides, and Sasha shrieked into the kiss, trying to pull away, but she was trapped in Shea’s arms.

“There’s that smile!” Shea goaded as Sasha laughed and flailed under her tickles, she let up and wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist, pulling her in for another kiss. Shea always managed to cheer her up.

“Dinner will be ready in a minute. Can you grab some plates?” Shea asked into the kiss, squeezing her ass.

“Yeah.” She untangled from the hug and grabbed plates from the cabinet, heading over to their little breakfast nook and setting the table. Shea came up behind her with the pot and started serving food, careful not to burn her with the pan.

The rest of the night was uneventful, and Sasha forgot all about the milk until the next morning, when Shea hugged her from behind while she was washing her face.

“I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“The milk that you said was spoiled last night. When I went to go pour some while you were in the shower, it smelled awful, like rotten eggs.” Sasha gagged at the thought, Shea rubbing her back as she doubled over. “You must have smelled it before I did. I’m sorry for insinuating you were sick.” She cooed as she kissed Sasha’s neck gently, rubbing her sides. Sasha leaned back into her touch, accepting her affection.

“It’s fine. But you got rid of the milk, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I poured it down the drain and ran the water down after it. I even rinsed the bottle out and sprayed air freshener. It’s gone.”

“Good.”

After breakfast, they got to work, going off to their own little corners to work on their own projects. A little after lunchtime, Sasha started to crave something sweet, and trying to ignore it only made it stronger, to the point where she started to drool. So she decided to give in and head to the kitchen and try to find what it was she wanted. After standing in the kitchen for a few minutes, she opened the freezer and found a carton of vanilla ice cream. She let it sit out on the counter while she found something to top it with, and she settled on some off-brand frosted flakes. She looked in the fridge for something to drink, and her eyes landed on the bottle of chocolate syrup. Grabbing it, she dug the ice cream scooper out of the drawer and scooped up some ice cream, topping it with the frosted flakes and the syrup.

“Are you eating ice cream? Babe, it’s like 2:10.” Shea asked, coming up behind her and startling her. “Did you put frosted flakes on it? That’s different for you.”

“I was craving sugar.” Sasha said meekly, embarrassed. She felt tears pool up, and she didn’t know why.

“Babe, I’m teasing. You’re an adult, you can eat ice cream all you want. The fact that you’re craving it probably means your blood sugar is low.” Shea cooed, hugging her from behind and kissing her tears away. “Scoop me up some?” She asked, and Sasha giggled and scooped some for her, something that was harder with her holding onto her. She sprinkled on frosted flakes and drizzled on chocolate syrup, and they sat down at the table to enjoy their snack together, playing footsie, giggling, and just being together. When they had to get back to work, Sasha held on to Shea tightly for a few moments, savoring the taste of sugar lingering on her tongue and the weight of Shea’s arms around her. She reluctantly let go and got back to work. A few hours later, Shea came up behind her and tapped her shoulder, and Sasha spun around to talk to her.

“I was thinking of making stir fry for dinner, what do you think?”

Typically, Sasha would have said yes. But for some reason, her stomach turned at the thought, and she almost gagged. She covered her mouth, and she could see the look of worry in Shea’s eyes as she knelt down closer to her, rubbing her knee.

“Not tonight, maybe something with pasta?” Pasta was usually a safe bet, even when she felt ill, but she didn’t feel bad, and she had no idea what was up with her stomach.

“That actually sounds good, I’ll go start fixing something.” Shea said, and Sasha could see the wheels turning in her head, but she wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

When Shea set a plate of pasta in front of her, Sasha knew it was going to be a bad time. The sauce that she loved no longer looked appetizing, and her mouth protested against the idea of the parmesan cheese. She forced herself to eat anyway, but she didn’t swallow more than a few bites before she gagged. She tried to continue eating, but it became very clear very quickly that that wasn’t going to happen. She sprinted to the bathroom and managed to make it to the toilet before it came back up. She coughed and gagged and cried as she heaved. She felt Shea come up behind her and rub her back as the worst of it was ending, and she took off her glasses for her before she slumped onto the seat. When round 2 made its appearance, one hand moved to her head, and the other slipped under her shirt, and she rubbed her skin while she was throwing up, and even when it was just dry heaving. Sasha sat back and leaned into Shea while Shea reached out and flushed the toilet, holding her loosely while Sasha caught her breath. Shea took her shirt off for her to help her cool off, and her hands wandered down to her belly, resting her hand and feeling her stomach rumble as it tried to settle.

“I think I’m going to walk to the corner store for some Gatorade and anti nausea medicine, any other requests?” When Sasha shook her head, Shea leaned in and pressed a kiss against the side of her head. “Ok, try and take a shower while I’m gone and see if that helps.” Sasha nodded, and Shea helped her stand up and even helped her undress and turn the water on. The shower did make her feel a lot better, and she dried off and dressed in some cozy PJs and sat on the couch waiting for Shea.

When Shea returned, she greeted Sasha with a forehead kiss before going to put the Gatorade in the fridge. She came back with a shot glass of water and a pill, and Sasha took the pill and handed Shea back the glass, who took it into the kitchen. Shea came back into the living room with something behind her back, and she sat down across from Sasha and rubbed her knee.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well.”

“Thank you babe. I actually don’t feel bad, I just don’t know what’s wrong.”

Shea sighed and took a deep breath.

“I think I may have an idea.”

She showed Sasha what was behind her back, and Sasha felt a jolt of fear when she saw it.

“You think I might be pregnant?”

“I don’t know. It would explain a lot of what’s been happening in the past 48 hours: the strong sense of smell, the mood swings, the strange cravings, the food aversion, the nausea. It makes sense. And I would rather know for sure one way or another than keep guessing. It may be too early to tell, but if you want to, let’s go take this and get some idea.”

Sasha starred at the test while Shea rested her hand on her knee, rubbing it gently.

“Male pregnancy is incredibly rare. All I remember about it from sex ed is that girls born to two males have a 50/50 chance of being sterile and a C-section is practically necessary. Babe I’m scared.”

“I am too. But we need to know if you are pregnant so we can decide what to do. You don’t have to take it tonight, but if these symptoms continue, you’re going to have to. Wouldn’t you rather know for sure that keep guessing?”

Sasha took a deep breath and squeezed Shea’s hand.

“Ok, I’ll take it. But you have to hold my hand while we wait for the results.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Shea smiled at her, and she kissed her hand as they stood up and walked into the bathroom.

The test was straight forward, your typical pregnancy test, but designed for males and with an 98% accuracy rate. They sat on the edge of the bathtub while they waited, hands intertwined. Sasha leaned against Shea’s shoulder, and Shea kissed her forehead as Sasha let out a sigh.

“I think it’s ready.” Shea said, and Sasha reluctantly pushed herself up and retrieved the test from the counter, covering the results with her hand to look at together. Shea was standing, and she hugged Sasha from behind as Sasha opened her hand and held out the test.

It was positive. Very clearly positive.

Sasha gasped, and her hand went to her stomach, and Shea’s hand covered her hand. They stood there like that for a while, frozen. Shea came to her senses first, and she turned Sasha around and cupped her face gently.

“Do you want to get an abortion?”

“No.”

“Do you want to place them up for adoption?”

“No. I want to keep it. And I want to raise it with you.” Sasha said, and it was true. She never planned on being a parent, but when she saw that positive test, she knew there was no way she could not raise her child. Her child with Shea.

Tears sprung from Shea’s eyes, and she smiled as her hands moved down to Sasha’s stomach.

“I guess we’re having a baby then.”

“We’re having a baby, maybe more than one.” Sasha smiled and laughed as tears flowed from her eyes.

“I love you. I never thought it was possible to love you more than I love you right now. And I especially love this little one, I haven’t even met them and I love them so much.” Shea cried, rubbing Sasha’s stomach.

“I love you too. And our little one loves you too. Sasha cried, wiping away Shea’s tears and placing her hand over Shea’s hand, lifting her shirt up to let Shea touch her bare skin. Shea dropped down to her knees and placed a kiss against Sasha’s stomach, and Sasha rubbed her neck as Shea began whispering against her skin.

“Hi little one. Can you hear me? I don’t know what you’re going to call us yet, but we love you so much little one.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m going to be so huge!” Sasha lamented, running her hand across her flat stomach as Shea grinned at her from below.

“Huge and sexy. You’re going to be so pretty with a little pregnant belly.” She cheesed, tickled her sides and grinning at her laughs.

“You flatter me.” Sasha cooed. And Shea stood up and picked her up, swinging her around while she shrieked.

“You wanna try for twins?” Shea asked as she cradled Sasha and started walking to the bedroom, knocking the pregnancy test on the ground in her excitement.

“It doesn’t work that way!!” Sasha laughed as Shea laid her on the bed on her back.

“How do you know? It could!”

“Biology!”

“Babe, this is already a biological rarity, who knows?!”

“I am 95 percent sure it doesn’t work that way!”

“Do you wanna get fucked or not?”

“…Yes!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Later that night, Sasha woke back up, it was significantly darker outside, and she was propped up on a mound of pillows, but that’s not what woke her up. Shea was lying on her legs with her head on her stomach, pressing kisses against it and singing to it, nursery rhymes and love songs and whatever songs came to mind. It was so sweet it made Sasha cry. Shea’s head popped up and smiled at her, rubbing her stomach affectionately. She held out her arms, and Shea crawled up to her, kissing her cheeks and lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you. This is one of the best days of my life, and I cant wait to meet our child. You already look so amazing and we just found out. I may have a pregnancy kink.” Shea laughed, resting her hand on her stomach.

“I am closing up shop after this, so don’t get used to it!”

“Fair enough.” Shea chuckled. She leaned in and kissed her. Sasha smiled into her lips. Her life had taken an unexpected turn, but she couldn’t have asked for a better one. The love of her life and their child. And maybe a dog if she could talk Shea into it. She was so happy, and the best was yet to come.

[write-it-motherfuckers]

Hi there, it’s a me again! I hope you’re enjoying your day! I’m pretty sure you’ve mentioned living on your own/away from family, and I wanted to ask for your advice on planning to move out? If I’m incorrect tho, I’m sorry and feel free to ignore ^_^

I do Darling, and have for some time. I’m more than happy to give you some suggestions, though I’m not sure if they will be helpful to you at all. I shall do my best.

First of all, and probably most obvious, don’t rush. Before you take steps to move out, be certain that you have the following things sorted out. 

-Ensure the place you are moving to, is prepared to accept you, and will be inhabitable.

-Be certain that you have calculated what you can afford and are absolutely certain you can sustain life on your own. This includes Rent (if you’re renting), land rates (if you’re buying), water, power, phone/internet, food, Insurance, cost of transport, be it petrol, or bus/train tickets, and at least something that you can put aside in case of a rainy day.

-Make a budget and stick to it. Bills and necessities first, everything else is free game.

- Speaking of a rainy day fund, this would need to be set up to include, sudden maintenance to house or transport, support in the event of a medical emergency and unexpected bills (sometimes those motherfuckers sideswipe you hardcore). It’s also good to have some set aside just because. You never know when you might want to splurge a little, and this way, you don’t have to worry so much about not affording your regular costs.

-Try to keep two kinds of rainy day fund. One electronically (bank), and one in cash, because sometimes(most times) banks suck, or you wont be able to use the internet or get to an ATM. So have some set aside, and keep it somewhere that no one else knows about. Make sure it’s in something that someone well meaning wont throw away either (please for the love of fuck, not a mattress or a pillow)

-I know many people say insurance is useless, but it is very much necessary. Shop around, read through your contract carefully, because they often slip shit in there. It’s not a done deal till you agree to it.

-Make sure you have the funds, or the ability to get hold of the basics. Fridge, freezer, microwave, frypan, Knives, cutlery, spatula, scissors, at least two of “everything” (bowls, plates, cups, glasses, etc). The cheapest way is to usually buy one of those mass produced kitchen kits with like six of everything.

At least two towels, three sets of bedding. One for on the bed, one for being washed, and one in case something happens (a spill or getting sick), a few extra pillowcases would be wise too.  At least two pillows, again, just in case. If you’re buying a new mattress, let it air before you sleep on it. They are full of chemicals and you will become ill.

If you don’t have aircon in the place you’re moving to, make sure you have a pedestal fan, anything that can cool you down if the temperature decides to fuck with you.

-If you have someone you can ask, then get their help to make a list of “kitchen essentials” things that they almost always use with every meal, that you may not have thought of. (oil, butter, rice, pasta, salt, etc)

-Any paperwork that you have to sign, you need to read through thoroughly. Again, nothing is concrete until it’s signed. Talk to them about it, it CAN be amended most of the time. Make sure you ask for three copies of everything. Keep two of those copies in separate locations, preferably one not even in your new residence, in case of fire, flooding, or anything else that could mean the loss of them. Keep a digital copy too.

-Shop around and figure out which providers you are going to go with when you move in. This will include power and internet/phone. Be prepared to set it up on the first day or to be ready for the first day, this way you’re not left in the dark. Literally. 

-Make sure you wrap everything you are packing as thoroughly as possible, newspaper will transfer onto everything, so be careful with what you choose to wrap things in. Old shirts and sheets can work just as well.

-Don’t bother buying boxes to pack everything in, unless you are buying plastic storage containers for future use as well. You can go to almost any big store and they will have recycling out back full of clean empty cardboard boxes. Most are fine with you taking them, but if you’re anxious about it, just ask. At worst they say no.

-Make sure you have the basic medications and first aid supplies at the ready. It’s good to have that kind of thing stocked all the time. Shit happens.

-Last thing that I can think of, is to remember to keep your eyes out for things people are giving away. Furniture and such can be really easy to get if you let people know you are looking to take unwanted stuff off their hands for free. Never say yes to anything made out of chipboard though. Just…don’t.

I’m sorry it’s such a random assortment Darling, but I wasn’t quite sure what you were looking for. Instead I wrote everything I wished I had known or thought about before hand. I hope some of it helps at least. 

I wish you the best of luck Darling one, feel free to drop in anytime 😘🖤