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#yeah so I get an iq test next fall
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Update on my mental health testing I’ve been doing since I finally got my diagnosis. I was not diagnosed with adhd or ocd like I thought I’d be. Apparently there is a disorder for inattentiveness due to screen time that I’m diagnosed with but was told that doesn’t cover all of my issues. And then I was told that I’d need some more testing to prove this but the psychologist testing me thinks that I just have too high of an iq and am simply bored. Catch me making a list of symptoms now both good and bad
#my iq is just too high. if that’s it I swear I’m gonna lose it. I’m bored?? that’s my problem??? everything’s too easy???#yeah so I get an iq test next fall#she’s like I think that would cover a lot of things! and also why you’re able to be doing relatively ok in life#like girl I’m suffering out here#anyways. my tests all mostly asked about what I struggled with which is mostly just. no motivation procrastination#but my day to day life?? includes obsessing over the things I love checking in online like clockwork and definitely obsessing over my things#little witch single handedly is shaping huge parts of my life bc I love it so much and definitely not a normal amount#like. I’m taking odd classes I would have never taken moving even more cross country in a year to do voice acting and just like#dedicating tons and tons of time to just. interacting with people who love the show as much as I do as well as making my friends watch it#i am by no means upset with my diagnosis my psychologist was like this is the thought you need lots more testing tho#with an additional hey I put in ur results that I’ll give to the school that u clearly need help and to get you in for more testing#also she did mention that if I wanted to totally rule out the screen time thing I’d probably have to do like a complete detox for 60 days#which is certainly not feasible for school I have to take digital notes or else I will fail classes but also#quite frankly I’d die. like my mental health would speed run itself so far down I would simply die#so! i certainly will not allow that to happen bc I’m not interesting in seeing how hot glued my brain is together via the internet#probably very. but yeah essentially I have gained nothing except my time on the waitlist is up#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#soup talks
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n4talia-chaparro · 11 months
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Yeah hello I'm glad I had the opportunity to finish this garbage for once so hopefully I don't screw this up-
Reminder: I will make a next post for Cap cuz I don't wanna make it very long so-
Yippee but first...👇🏻 (1/2??)
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Contains- Blood/gore (?), mention of murder (?), abuse???, cringe AU, poor grammar, etc.
🫀 || ꒷꒦︶🩸︶︶꒷꒦︶∪∪︶꒷꒦︶︶🩸︶꒷꒦ || 🫀
₊˚꒰🫁⸝⸝︰ 𝐆𝐏!𝐊𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐩 ┆ ⤿ 🧠 ⌗
✧ ┊• uhh I don't know what to put but he's a silly little bastard.
✧ ┊• He may be 5'8 or almost the same height as the original Krupp. Some of the students say he's bigger than a damn tree but that's not the case. Just a bit bigger or shorter compared to Mr. Meaner/Kenny and Mr. Ree/Toilette (?)
✧ ┊• In case anyone forgot, Krupp in this AU is a manipulative and aggressive person. At first, he might be neutral but eventually, he will slowly show his real colors. No matter what the victim does or says, Krupp will do anything to manipulate, gaslight, and make the victim miserable. Even if he seems "nice" or not, he shouldn't be trusted by a student or staff (especially if they are new to the school)
✧ ┊•His face can change when he's mad (well also snap and get more aggressive than ever.) He then realized that students will be more scared of him so he feels chill keeping the face like that (unless he needs to rest or pretend to be nice so he had to turn his face "normal" without letting no one see his terrifying face.) And goes to his voice too. His voice goes deep or glitchy.
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✧ ┊• Krupp is a human in this au- the only reason why his face looks like that is because Melvin accidentally shot him with his new invention so um let me explain instead
Melvin's intention was to make a teacher smarter since the substitute teacher (Jerry) is getting on his nerves and didn't understand why he's working there so he built the "SmartyyChanger200" and decided to show it to his principal.
Krupp like a total fucking idiot he is in the damn show decided to grab it from Melvin's hands and wanted to see if it can heat up anything- Melvin's got mad and tried to get it back- it was like a silly ass tug of war except they were fighting over the invention and pulling it back and forth until it slipped out and Melvin accidentally pressed something that caused the SmartyyChanger2000 to shot his principal in the face. NOTHING bad happened to Krupp, he got unconscious by it, and idk what else. Melvin thought it didn't shoot him so he shrugged it off and left the office to test it on Jerry.
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Krupp did NOT turn into a vampire like Jessica, or a random creature (or monster) that happened to some other people like Mr. Fyde and others. He simply woke up and thought he fall asleep on the floor.
And it took him a few weeks to turn him into a villain since his mind or well his "brain" was developing and functioning. And it was before he murder his first victim, Ms. Hurd. (Well I have spoiled the au for y'all)
- his IQ is similar to Melvin's except it's worst than smart. Aggressively smarter than an average staff so far. 🧍‍♀️
✧ ┊• He's a walking red flag ! ! (Pls be aware of that LMFAO💀💀)
✧ ┊• Not only does he change his face (or appearance) he is capable of breaking things. Whether it is wood, bricks, or any sort of material he will get through them just like he did on the 2nd episode of the 1st season 👁👁 and this motherfucker fits on the damn vent. Don't even ask me- um...I don't know how to explain the logic of this one. 🗿
✧ ┊• Unlike the show (well the original Mr. Krupp), this Krupp seems smart and knowledgeable. However, he does everything to avoid getting caught which it was a success for him.
✧ ┊•GP! Krupp has also developed an obsession with murder and cooking stuff. Although he's taking a break from guacamole and salami, he enjoys trying new things and using some of his "special ingredients" for the food. Of course, he even used the ingredients to serve the WHOLE school without letting them know what they are eating is human flesh and mea-  OH FUCK I MEAN UM very cool ingredients!! Um..yeah cool....???
Yeah so epic..umm GP!Krupp will always hide the ingredients and keep it a secret without letting a single student or staff know except for Melvin. He is forced to work with Krupp and knows exactly about the "special ingredients". 👁👁💦 and that's how he gets rid of the bodies.
And he does NOT eat human meat. I mean unless he wants to make a trip-tip roast for himself and get it from the body- (and using blood as a silly dip for the French fries who fucking knows -)
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꒷︶໑꒦₊꒷꒥︶꒥꒷︶‧₊˚ଓ︶꒷꒷꒦꒥໑꒷੭︶︶꒥
✧ ┊• Although people would call him Benjamin or Benny, he prefers to be called Ben for short. But hey he still doesn't mind being called by his real name or any weird nicknames.
✧ ┊• GP!Krupp still has a soft spot for his nephew, Kipper. Our dear buddy Kipper is UNAWARE of his uncle's gruesome behavior, he simply wanted to visit him and GP!Krupp had to hide some corpses in his cellar and lock it in case his nephew tries to get in without his permission. He does not wanna upset and scare Kipper if he lets him witness the things he had done to the people.
✧ ┊• He hates everything that is around him, why of course just like the original Krupp. He hates children and stuff that is associated with "fun" but there are other things that he hates the most; loud sounds/noises and possums. It's not like he seems like a weakness or anything
✧ ┊• And speaking of weaknesses, he does have some that are strange but maybe silly such as:
- Loud noises? (air horn, kids laughing, giggling, and TV statics.)
- Bee sting
- Anything associated with "cuteness" and "adorable" themes
- Children (from kindergarten to 3rd grade)
"Is he really that scared of children? really?" Not really but when it comes to kids who are in kindergarten, it makes him sick in the stomach and personally scared- and there's a little good example
💕•example: Heidi
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You may ask yourself what she has anything to do with this part. Well, you see, since Heidi is very small and childish like the other kids from kindergarten, somehow managed to make GP!Krupp more uncomfortable around the children. Sure, he also wanted to get rid of her to see Harold's reaction, but unfortunately, Heidi makes it more difficult and uneasy for GP!Krupp to kill her. She would also give him some small hitting, kicking, and punches when she's angry at him- soo GP!Krupp would easily give up and ignore her instead of killing her.
꒷︶໑꒦₊꒷꒥︶꒥꒷︶‧₊˚ଓ︶꒷꒷꒦꒥໑꒷੭︶︶꒥
✧ ┊• His relationship with others isn't that bad, some of the relationship (well friends or exes idfk)
- George and Harold: a disaster. He will end up killing them for sure
- Staff members: holy shit, I don't know! Krupp is aware one of them will backstab him and escape
- Toilette & Jerry: a pain in the fucking ass. Krupp seriously wanna fucking kill them so badly mostly Jerry. Jerry is the other reason why Krupp had enough of being patient meanwhile Toilette is a fucking scumbag to Krupp. I mean they have a valid reason to hate his guts but dear lord. Just them fighting seem silly and weird.
- Edith [1st ex]: OHHH....this is getting fire....ummm...- Krupp's 1st relationship wasn't terrible. Edith is kind and sweet but since Krupp fell for Ms. Yewh then they broke up but that doesn't mean they will be friends or anything. They will meet up again except Edith knows exactly what he did after Tara/Ms. Ribble explained the situation um shut.
-Ms. Yewh [2nd ex]: YIKES.. big ass dumpster fire. After breaking up with Edith, he found out Ms. Yewh and Toilette aren't together so uh Krupp took the time to date her for once- weeks or months has passed and they broke up. Oops. Which I don't know if Ms. Yewh will be next dead victim or the alive ex. Who knows. I don't wanna spill the info 💀
- Melvin: oh boy....this poor little bastard...damn... I would say his relationship with him isn't that good, I would say it's very toxic. Krupp ALWAYS sees him as a son to him but he enjoys harming him in the physical, verbal, and emotional ways to get his anger out. Sure Melvin may be an assistant or teacher's pet but he is more than that. A source of entertainment and a punching bag to his principal. cuz that's how his mom (Bernice) treated him when he was a kid and since Krupp sees Melvin like a son and not a student like he used to, probably he would do the same to him, giving Melvin trauma and PTSD on purpose (haha um get it? Mother and son moment? No? Ok, that was too far my bad.)
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✧ ┊• He cares about his job, image, and reputation a lot. If a staff member witnes a tragic event and tries to spread the information, GP!Krupp will eliminate the staff. And you may ask how will he do that. Simple MURDER- *COUGH* FUCK *COUGH* - damn too many gory eliminations? Yeah, how unexpected and silly of him.
✧ ┊• He despite Jerry a lot with a burning passion. Even tho he didn't have the chance to kill him but still. He's still thinking about getting rid of him as well once he gets rid of George and Harold.
✧ ┊• SUSSY SUS AMOGU- I MEAN I MEAN. He makes sure to keep everything hidden- ummm he still wants his rule book to be safe so uh yeah he still owns the damn "safe".
✧ ┊• "Fuck you, I can't stop it's so satisfying!!!" -GP!Krupp
✧ ┊•Like I said GP!Krupp would see Melvin as a son and still treats him terribly. But deep down inside he has a soft spot for him as well. Since Melvin is his assistant or his son figure, he always teaches him some stuff in case if GP!Krupp gets himself arrested or ends up disappearing from his life.
Teaching the kid some stuff like:
- how to use the surveillance camera
- drawing symbols and codes (?)
- attacking/harming others
- hunting random people or animal (which went fucking wrong cuz Melvin bit Jessica's arm and ripped her skin from her arm like a fucking animal which made Krupp proud as hell.)
Which of course GP!Krupp doesn't regret doing that, after all he ALWAYS wanted to raise Melvin like he wad his son so he took the whole "Fuck Adoption center" into a whole level and kept Melvin with him without letting hid parents know.
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And of course. Sometimes he has to keep his eyes on him but hey! He knows what to do with him when he gets the chance to adopt him in the new way possible- even tho he might end up using him for his gruesome tasks or silly father-and-son moment stuff..👁👁
꒷︶໑꒦₊꒷꒥︶꒥꒷︶‧₊˚ଓ︶꒷꒷꒦꒥໑꒷੭︶︶꒥
✧ ┊• what the dog doi- I MEAN AHEM. GP!Krupp is pan *cough* *cough* or poly
✧ ┊• He makes random codes for fun just to show signs that he's messing with you. Yep he does troll everyone so don't expect him to do something unquestionable.
✧ ┊• "I AM MORE THAN A GOD...A FUCKING MOUNTAIN! HOOGA!"
Goofy ahh move
That's all pls don't cancel me this took me 4 days to make this garbage 🗿🗿 grrahhh-
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wrathofrats · 11 months
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Mushy May Day 14: love languages
Wc: 804
Rating: explicit. Partial smut
Aether makes dew take the love languages test
Extra stuff: forcing dew to be loved 2023, I was violently high writing and editing this, and am still high now posting this. So just take that into consideration. Liberal use of italics. There’s also a blowjob!
“Aether this is fucking stupid” dew turned his phone off and threw it next to him on the couch. “I don’t have a love language. My love language is having someone’s dick in my-“
“DEW” aether quickly shouted at him, preventing him from whatever filth was about to fall out of his mouth. He rolled his eyes and stood up, “you don’t have to, just thought it would be fun”
“Yeah yeah yeah aeth I know. If you really want me to I will” dew didn’t want aether to be sad that he didn’t do his silly little quiz. It wouldn’t take long and he could just ignore whatever stupid results there were, or the results would ask for a credit card and ultimately be a scam, as he learned after taking that “ IQ “ test Swiss sent him where he scored a 60. He’s not still bitter not matter what anyone else says
Whatever
It’s not important. What was important (at least according to aether) was answering the questions on his screen currently.
what’s more meaningful
Someone I love does something unexpected for me to help me with a project
Or
I can share an innocent touch with someone i love
What a weird question. Dew didn’t want to other ghouls messing with his stuff. If they ever got their grubby little paws on anything he did they’d ruin it. Dew thought about the other answer. I mean sure it was nice to sit with one of the other ghouls. Snuggled into their side, or their head sitting in the crook of his neck, maybe their hands resting on his thigh. Slowly inching up and down, making more progress on every pass, before finally landing on his
He quickly clicked that answer
it’s more meaningful when
Someone does nice things for me instead of just talking about doing nice things for me
Or
I hear supportive words from someone I love
Dew didn’t like when anyone did anything for him. He didn’t want to be doted on, and rather just did stuff himself. If you want something done right you have to do it yourself right? So that was clearly a no. He again considered the other answer.
”god dew you always look amazing like this for me. Like you were made for taking my cock yeah? I’ve always said you act better when you have something to do with your mouth” Swiss babbled, guiding dew up and down on his cock by his hair. Dew whimpered at the words, desperately trying to get off against the boot between his legs
He blushed. Sure fine whatever, that could be the answer. Dew quickly realized he was squeezing his thighs together, almost noticeably hard in his shorts. He threw a blanket over his lap and tried to get through the rest peacefully. He wasn’t sure why he was letting this dumb quiz work him up so much.
That’s how dew continued, curled up on the couch taking a love languages quiz, purely to make aether happy. No other reason.
Once he was done he kinda just stared at the screen. He doesn’t know which option he wanted to get, but physical touch just seemed cliche. Dew took a screenshot of the little pie chart it gave him and sent it to aether, hoping that would be the end of it. Dew wasn’t a sentimental ghoul. He didn’t want to be hugged, or patted on the back, or to hold hands.
Did he?
The next day in the kitchen aether slid his hands around dews waist, giving him a quick kiss on the neck. “Heard ya liked physical touch”
“Oh fuck off” dew pushed him away, ignoring the goosebumps that the soft touch left behind. There must be a draft. He made a small mental note to spit in his coffee later while the other ghoul doubled over laughing at his joke.
“I’m just messing with you. Besides I think it’s cute” aether continued to grab him in a joking attempt to hold the smaller ghoul, but dew kept slapping him away like a petulant child.
“ well I think you’re cute when you’re not being a fucking dickhead” he grumbled, grabbing his coffee and going back to his room.
He could still feel aethers hands on him. It didn’t feel abnormal, this was a usual thing for him. Touch always lingered on his skin but he had never thought about it before now. The way it shot electricity through him when another ghoul brushed against him, or how relaxed he felt in someone else’s lap. He damn near smiled tracing where aethers hands had been earlier, and aether was just messing with him. But he still enjoyed it anyways, he knew aether loved him. Whatever.
It was still a stupid fucking test.
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incarnateirony · 7 months
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I. Think I figured out Vacation Boy's problem.
Um.
I think, despite all my anger, no offense intended here, he is a little uh. Mentally handicapped.
Some of his recent behaviors started stacking up as does certain expressions he makes. There's a certain "deer in the headlights mouth open" freeze hard to explain in text, when they're caught on something, and they like, expect to get yelled at.
Then I looked at his age and realized he would have been like 13-14 when the uh. IQ bar for mental handicaps got shifted about ten points. So right around when people might notice he might need a hand here, he probably slipped through the cracks.
*Note, IQ tests aren't a be all end all, education level and availability can play a part, which is why some people suggest flex in the diagnostic. But it is, in fact, a criteria--and generally set low enough that it falls outside of what one might call "Average Sub-Average" margins.
But um. If he's used to squirreling through things and is utterly flabberghasted when I don't take his weird attempts to rephrase things, he's probably deflected most attention, and coasted on 90s-current White Guy Powers.
I had this thought in the middle of the investor group and my eyes popped open. And everyone was like. wait. wait, holy shit hold up, everything makes sense, wait. HOLLUP.
So he does have things he's legit good at like animals, and DOES like jobs where he helps people, and does great in those capacities. But then he runs into things with First Ideas he locks on and can't let go of that conception, and spreads out real big, then wonders why he fails and his ego gets shattered.
It hit me the night when he was like
"Did you tell (my ex gf) that I said (some super sexist shit) 'because Feminism?"
"Uh, not exactly in those words, but yeah, (counterpoint to the sexist shit)"
"Nono, that's not what I-"
"[First names him with tone like scolding a child.]"
He deflects his eyes. "I mean that might be the subtext of what I said but it's not what I-"
[repeats name/tone] "You and I both know, what you and I both mean and meant."
[freezes on the spot with The Look]
Me, realizing: .. oh my god [goes back through long series of interactions over the years]
I review a long string of, "I can do that!!" "I think I can do that!!" "I'll do my best." and overly simplified understandings. And suddenly I'm processing them in a whole other light than before.
He visited the other day and I tried to handle it as if genuinely handling the IQ of a younger age average. The 'give a kid a chemistry set and say you'll study with him'. "Hey. You know I'm germinating my stuff right now, and you said you were getting the personal cultivation license, right?" Right? "Well... instead of going like $1000 in buying equipment and it going less than great at first, I had an idea."
I watch him freeze. It's like he's expecting a shutdown. "Well. I got two free bonus seeds. And they're a strain I never tried before, and autoflower. And I remember you wanted autoflower because it was less complicated. So I thought, why not give you one of these in a personal pot, and you like, take an extra LED or one from your landlord coming back in a few days with stuff? I'm going to be learning this strain too, you know. So I figured you can have a little pet plant on your desk or something to figure out how it works, and it's just a free seed so if it doesn't work out that's okay, and you can watch how it matures and maybe even understand my thoughts on it when I start discussing what I notice about the strain? We already have all the stuff... it doesn't put us out any."
And he was like. R-really? Are you sure? Yeah! I'm sure. And oh my god his eyes lit up. Then he ran out the door and next day got right on a bunch of stuff. "Hey I'm at walmart do you need more promix? Look! I got the receipt!!" Thanks!!!! :)))))))
And I was like. here's the tough one. So he was on that "was my employee at old company" thing. And yeah, my training there was geared for. Shall we say. A wide audience not necessarily up to any specific bar since the company wasn't picky with new hires. And I had two good references. And I was like. Hey, can you help me out? Yeah, what's up. Well, I wanted another reference. "Are you sure I won't mess up? I don't want to mess up what anyone else says I really want you to have that job." Yes, I'm sure, I just want you to be honest.
Ok. And then he started getting nervous and copy pasting the questions to me "it says please describe candidate's work related strengths." Okay, so I have you down as a former employee. So describe why you thought I was a good coach for you. "OK! I'll do my best." Yeah, I just want you to be honest. Like you used to say I taught better than the other coaches, right? Stuff like that.
So then he pastes me his and it's DEFINITELY in his voice even if he spelled my deadname wrong but, lol that's fine my others are super professional references, and he's never had to call me that. It was, overall, a relatively competent and thought out thing a short paragraph long. "How's that?" That's good!!
So it asks what I can improve on. Mind you, this is Vacation Boy. He enters "Sometimes too focused on work and is really knowledgeable so sometimes (s/he) says too much until (s/he) learns how to communicate with you." THANK YOU!!
Were there any interpersonal problems at work with this applicant? "I don't know because s/he didn't say much about internal things to employees but everyone was unhappy when s/he left and the company shut down not to much longer after that." I wasn't about to correct his Too. This is effort. He is caring. Would you hire again? "I wasn't /her manager but I'd love /her as a supervisor at any job again as s/he was by far one of the best I ever had." Thank you, man.
So he got to the end--and mind you, this man ran from his job trying to lean on mine, and dodged any applications or anything for literal months now. But he knows it's for an LGBTQ crisis line and yes, he did emergency dispatch in the past, so apparently it asks if you want to hear about job opportunities with them and he clicked YES. And then started panicking "Oh no it needs my resume I haven't updated that yet!" I bet you can find the site later. "Nono I can fix it up real quick. There. Wow it's asking why I think I'd be good for the job too. They just closed their LGBTQ one but the general suicide support line is still hiring!" Wow, okay, lets get this ship turned around together. C'mon my guy, get it. I TURNED IT IN!! AND YOUR REFERRAL!! YAAAAAAAAS GET IT.
And I'm sitting here reading it over and going. Holy shit. This is literally a man that has been failed by the system and slipped through the cracks until everything else became untenable. The midlife crisis of mediocre white dude hit him like a freight train and he didn't know how to do it anymore, he admitted recently he didn't even know food or rent prices anymore, and he was trying to learn.
This is like. the opposite of when autistic folks like myself get called "gifted" so we get ignored while teachers focus on other students or lack study skills then run into a brick wall just to be told, nah, ur too smart for brick walls, you're not struggling. And then we struggle in that shit for life. But it's the same effect. I genuinely think he slipped in between that IQ/mental disability change with his age bracket and coasted as a solid C student that started running away from why he was Never Enough the older he got. And that's probably why he latched on me as a coach. Ironically, I got too close, and started treating him akin to my normal MENSA-ass friend group on expectations and understanding, and not like an employee I had to prepare for uh, generally training the proverbial bottom of the barrel. So once I got too close I couldn't see WHY he had attached to me.
But I think I understand how to work with him. It'll start with him getting his license and us sharing my Two Free Seeds to compare notes as a starting point, not another big jump he tries to launch into and burns out on when it doesn't work right.
I get it. I finally get it now. Other things like when he gets stuck on "but the lady said," "but Carrie said," "but David said," The man had gotten confused somewhere and thought he couldn't be on food stamps because "he makes too much with disability" like no man that's an automatic qualifier, here's the government site "but ten years ago a lady told me-" did the lady know your income WAS disability? Uh, I can't remember. OK let's get you applied. Then when he showed up before the Realization Hit when I was like THANK YOU, this is what I wanted to see, getting in the right direction. And he was just. So happy to get basic praise on it. Then goes "This is the earliest appointment they could get me at the office." [10 days off] "You know you can call them on the phone, that's how I did mine--" "but the lady said I'd done all I can right now." "Well yeah, at the office, there's only so many people there but there's lots of callers if you take a few hours on hold." "But the lady said--"
IT ALL. MAKES. SENSE.
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Remedial Classes in Essay Composition
Summary: Due to his extended absences from the Academy, Arven is about to fail out of school. Director Clavell arranges for some help.
Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.
Words: 1800
Notes: Arven feels like the sort of person who’s absolutely insufferable if they think they’re right.
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There is a right way to react to bad news and a wrong way, and Arven seems hell-bent in always getting it wrong.
“Why the fuck do I have to get a tutor? I have the highest fucking IQ in this school!”
Director Clavell sighs. So much for a mature conversation…
“That might be true, Mr. Turo, but this is not in discussion. It, apparently, has had no bearing on your academic performance.” The older man points out, a chilling glare settling the boy back into his seat.
The blond looks away and a grimace takes over his expression. “I know that my grades are less than stellar, but it’s not that bad.”
“As of the last battery of exams, you have the lowest grades in your class.” The teacher counters. “Since we do not grade on a curve, this would not necessarily pose an issue, but it has become quite clear that, should you not improve significantly on your remedials, you will be inevitably held back this year. Believe me, it is exactly this bad.”
“I…!” A protest rises in his throat, but it dies right back down. “Yes, OK, fine. You know why I don’t attend the lessons, Director Clavell. This is important to me, it’s very important. I’m not like those punks at Team Star.”
The principal sighs again, his countenance softening. “I know, and I understand your situation. If it were up to me, I assure you, we would not have been having this conversation. While I had been able to be lenient with those circumstances so far, the members of the board feel that enough is enough. I am sorry, but my hands are tied. This is the best deal I can offer you.”
Arven takes a moment, and then looks deep into his guardian’s eyes. “What now?”
“Ms. Franco is going to be tutoring you for now and we shall see if your grades improve by the next test.” The principal informs the boy. “Try to make an effort, at least, my boy.”
*_*_*_*_*
Juliana Franco is sitting on her own in an empty classroom, waiting for Arven to turn up.
This is not something that she thought she would be doing at a Tuesday afternoon, but, alas, this is what she gets for not knowing how to say no.
She had been asked to tutor the Turo boy for the next couple of weeks and try to help him get his grades back up. She has a good transcript, between her high grades, voluntary service and battle abilities, but she is hardly the best student in the Academy.
That title would go to Penny, but the girl quickly deadpanned a strict negative, with no room for discussion. The responsibility would, then, fall upon Nemona, but they have a notorious rivalry, one that seems to have culminated with him throwing a chair out of the window. Director Clavell’s third option is Juliana herself, and she could not think of a good reason to say no fast enough.
To say she was nervous is a severe understatement. Whilst she had never actually met Arven, she had heard about his reputation around the school. She can recognize that the student gossip mill is usually overly-dramatic and highly exaggerated, and would usually strive to give him a chance to show himself on his terms, but, well, Nemona is her friend and it is hard not to take her testimony to heart. Especially considering that they still had not fixed the window through which the chair fell through.
“I take it you’re Juliana?” A voice questioned, breaking her away from her reverie.
She looked up and was met with a single glistering green eye. “Arven?”
He nodded stiffly. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Hi, I’m Juliana.” She said, silently cursing herself for repeating her name when he clearly knew it. “Nice to meet you!”
“Right.” He said, throwing himself in the seat next to her, poignantly refusing to give her the usual pleasantries. “Let’s get this over with.”
“O-kay…” The girl responded, uncomfortable. “Did you bring your homework?”
He picked up a stash of papers and threw them haphazardly on the table with no further words.
“Should we start through History? It’s your worst subject, and it’s a big chunk of your grade at the Humanities Track.” She offers.
“Fine by me.” He deadpanned, cracking the book open.
The pair spent the next couple of hours going through his assigned reading and his last few essays.
Soon enough, Juliana realised why he was so impatient with the whole thing. He was clearly intelligent, perhaps more so than her, in spite of what his grades might suggest. The points he made were actually very convinced and he clearly knew that he was talking about, even if they lacked a certain argumentative refinement and the presentation did not land quite as well. He just needed someone to trim at the edges and they would be golden.
“Arven, I’m sorry. Can I be honest with you?” She interrupts him suddenly.
The blond glares at her. “If you must.”
“I just think that us being here, doing what we’ve being doing, is a huge waste of time.” The girl declared, straight.
He scoffs, bitterly and derisively. “Giving up already? So much for being an exemplar student.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She counters defensively. “I just don’t think that you need remedial classes, strictly speaking.”
Arven looks over at his tutor, encouraging to elaborate on her point through an interest he had not displayed at all so far, but not bothering to express it in proper words.
Juliana picks up one of his assignments. “Look at this, for instance. It’s your paper on food habits in Southern Hoenn. It’s, honestly, great. You know exactly what you’re talking about, there are a lot of sources and the content is great.”
“Of course, it’s great. Raifort is just being a…” He stops short of a curse word, mindful of the company. “She’s just being unreasonably exigent.”
“Well, not quite.” The girl counters, earning her a glare. “I mean it when I say that it’s good, but it’s not perfect. The way that you’ve structured the essay lost you all these marks. It’s confusing, messy, all over the place. If you just move some stuff around and focus on a few arguments, it’s a solid A-work.”
He hummed. “So, I just need to write it better?”
“Exactly! We’ll just go through that until your exam and then you’ll be fine.”
A few thoughts pass through his expression, until he finally settles on a, “Okay. I guess it works for me.”
From then on, Arven was much more receptive to her criticism and her gentle lecturing, letting up of the attitude. Eventually, they even managed to laugh together.
*_*_*_*_*
Juliana is, once again, sitting in the same lecture hall waiting for Arven to show up.
She had been tutoring him every day for the past three weeks, helping him refine and correct his academic writing style and, this morning, he had his remedial exam.
As these things go between them, the girl is much more anxious about the results than her tutee, who went in as if it was no skin off his back. She is going crazy waiting to find out how he did so, when the door shut behind him and she heard his feet on the stairs, she jumped out of her body.
He had a wide smile in his face, and it made her immediately perk up in return.
“You are amazing!” The blond boy exclaimed as he picked her up and hugged her.
Her eyes closed at the feeling of his arms wrapped around Juliana, along his characteristic smell of sugar and spice. Over the past few weeks, she had gradually developed a bit of a crush on him.
“How did you do?” She asks as he loosens his hold.
He holds up the marked paper. “A B+! I’m free!”
She gasps. “Arven, that’s great! I told you that you could do it!”
“Of course, I could do it!” He smirked, self-confident, which earned him a withering glare. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Thank you for all your help, I know that I wouldn’t be able to do this without you pointing out my many, many mistakes to me.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled in return.
“Who would have thought it only took the most well-behaved girl in school to do it?” He mused.
“Wait, what?” She asked, his comment throwing her off. “I’m not the most well-behaved.”
“Oh, come on, Juli! You’re never at any of the parties, you’re always hanging around the school attending every class and, as far as I know, you don’t run an underground racketeering ring like your friend Penny. You’re a complete goody-two-shoes” He teased with a scoff.
Juliana opened her mouth to counter his statements but quickly stopped when she realised that all of the points that he made were correct. His mouth had quirked up into a small smirk when he saw that she had no room to argue and he walked towards her, throwing himself in the seat next to her and leaning over.
“And I bet you’ve never kissed anyone.” He declared, smug.
She inhaled a bit too much air at his comment and coughed, dropping her pen when her body jolted. Cursing under her breath, she leant down to pick it up, gasping again when she felt his hand brush against her own slightly. When she sat back up, she realised that her glasses had slipped down slightly when she leant down and her hand reached up to push them back into their proper position.
As her hand lifted, his own came out to lightly grab her wrist, halting her movements.
“Are you ready?” He asked, confusing her.
“Ready for…?”
Her words were cut off by his lip crashing against hers.
His lips were soft as they guided her own in the kiss and when his tongue crept into her mouth, Juliana found that Arven felt like a rich grape juice with a tangy aftertaste. She started to lean over to him, hands tangled in his hair, keeping his lips pressed against her own as their tongues continued to taste each other.
His hands came down to her waist, tugging her towards him until she pressed up against the arm in between their two chairs. This made they break apart, laughing lightly.
“So, I guess I’m wrong.” He declared holding her chin in his hand.
“What about?” The girl asked breathlessly.
“You’re can’t be the most well-behaved if you know how to kiss like that.” He declared, humorously.
The girl smirked back at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Until the sun was down in the horizon, Arven and Juliana stayed in that classroom, behaving badly.
*_*_*_*_*
9th Gen Masterlist
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10 Favorite Family Guy Episodes
Again, like the South Park list, it’s not in any particular order. Also, it is kinda hard to pick 10, since there are over 400 episodes as of making this list! The newer seasons have a bunch of stinkers, so it’s a little easier this time around, but not by that much.
1. Road To The Multiverse - Most “Road To” episodes are pretty good, but this one really blows the others away. We’re taken on a trip through many of the infinite universes, including a Robot Chicken universe, and even a Disney universe. And who can forget “It’s A Wonderful Day For Pie?”
2. Da Boom - Who remembers the Y2K panic? The Griffins were apparently the only ones that were prepared for the nuclear apocalypse. But Peter establishes his own community and it goes surprisingly well until Stewie’s mutant octopus babies destroy the town. This also marks the debut of the longest running gag in the show: Peter and Ernie’s Chicken Fights. Seth MacFarlane even said his favorite moment was from this episode, when Peter feeds his TV beans when he sees Tom Selleck!
3. Yug Ylimaf - When Brian meddles with Stewie’s time machine to get laid, he accidentally causes time to reverse! We see Family Guy’s most infamous moments played out in reverse, such as Peter falling down the stairs, one of Cleveland’s “No no no!” moments, and the infamous ipecac puking contest! Needless to say, this was something Stewie’s and Brian did not want to go through again, but in reverse it’d be much more gross!
4. Family Guy Viewer Mail - I love a good ol’ What If/anthology episode! From the start of the show, Family Guy was given suggestions from the fans on episode ideas, and there were two episodes in the series that have answered some suggestions. They show Peter and the guys as the Little Rascals, the Griffins having superpowers, Peter having no bones, everything Peter touches turning into Robin Williams, British Family Guy, and everything being shown from Stewie’s point of view. These make for some hilarious moments in the show.
5. Hell Comes To Quahog - This episode has a similar concept to South Park’s “Something Wall-Mart This Way Comes.” A mega-store similar to Walmart and K-Mart, Superstore USA, opens in Quahog and takes away everyone’s jobs. Peter and Chris both lose their jobs due to Superstore USA having a brewery and paper route respectively. Also, the Superstore takes away everyone’s electricity to meet its power demands. Needless to say, as soon as the Superstore was destroyed, everything was back to normal. Also, who can forget “‘Meg!’ ‘*pbft*’”?
6. Pet****d - I’m not even gonna say the title. Peter is a moron. I think that’s already been established since the beginning of the show. But he wins a game of Trivial Pursuit thanks to Lois giving him the preschool questions. Of course, that makes him believe he is actually a genius. When Brian has Peter take an IQ test for the MacArthur Fellows Grant, the latter is shocked when the test results reveal that not only is he not a genius, but he is mentally challenged. Yeah, this episode aired in 2005, so some much more outdated language was used. Of course Peter uses this as an excuse to do what he wants, thinking he could get away with it, but this costs him his children after he accidentally spills hot grease on Lois. My favorite part is when Brian profanely tells Peter “I told you so” about not being a genius, but, YEAH!! IN YOUR FUCKING FACE, FUCKWAD!
7. E. Peterbus Unum - Can’t Touch Me! Instant classic. In this episode, after not being able to get a pool, Peter finds his property isn’t part of the US. Naturally, this prompts Peter to declare his house its own country named Petoria. And in classic Family Guy fashion, this goes about as well as one would expect. After being under siege from the US Army, Peter “invades” the US by breaking into his next door neighbor Joe’s yard, earning him the respect from the rest of the United Nations.
8. Back To The Pilot - Family Guy has been on the air since 1999, save for two cancellations, with the last of which lasting for 2 and a half years! Needless to say, the show has visually come a long way the past 24 years! In season 10, Brian and Stewie travel back in time to January 31, 1999, when the pilot episode “Death Has A Shadow” first aired. The world’s visuals were primitive, Meg was voiced by Lacey Chabert, Peter and the guys were watching a television set that’s not even plugged in, Stewie’s got a more diabolical genius vocabulary, Peter’s eye goes over his nose due to an animation error, everyone just sits there doing nothing during a cutaway, and the aspect ratio is in 4:3. Brian informs his past self about the biggest tragedy in America, which hails him as a hero, but causes Civil War II, and eventually a post-apocalyptic CGI future with Joe being a Terminator. Of course, Stewie and Brian have to go back and fix everything by showing up right before their counterparts do, erasing their timeline in the process.
9. Death Is A Bitch - Death pays Peter a visit. No, he literally pays him a visit! After Death sprains his ankle, the Griffins have to nurse him back to health. Of course, with Death incapacitated, no one can die, and Peter, being the idiot he is, drunkenly blabs it to everyone. Death then forced Peter to do his job for him, since the natural order of things has been disrupted with no one being able to die. Also, Stewie just can’t wait till Death gets better, as his attempt on Lois’s life has failed due to Death not lurking in the shadows. This marks the first appearance of Death as a recurring character, and the only time he was voiced by the late Norm Macdonald, whom I liked better than Adam Corolla voicing him in subsequent appearances.
10. I Dream Of Jesus - A WELL A BIRD BIRD BIRD, THE BIRD IS THE WORD! Ok, got that out of my system. Peter’s favorite song, “Surfin’ Bird,” annoys the hell out of everyone, prompting Stewie and Brian to steal it and destroy in a shot by shot remake of the printer scene from Office Space. This causes Peter to find Jesus. Literally find Jesus working at a record store when looking for copies of “Surfin’ Bird” to replace the one that was stolen. Of course, Peter reveals Jesus to the world, causing Jesus to reach celebrity status overnight. Of course the Hollywood fame gets to Jesus’ head, as he acts like a diva towards Peter. To say that many Christians did not take too kindly to this portrayal of the Messiah would be an understatement, but at least it wasn’t as bad as the way he’s depicted in a much later episode…
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Graveyard
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summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too.  pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence
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As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.  
It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.  
They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.  
Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.  
“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.  
You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.  
For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.  
Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.  
“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.  
“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.  
You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.  
“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.  
“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”  
Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.  
Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.  
He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.  
“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”
“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.  
“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.  
He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.  
You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.  
A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.  
Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.  
You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.  
Not that you’d let them know.  
“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.  
“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.  
“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”
Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”  
It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.  
“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.  
You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.  
A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.
“What about you, Sergeant?”  
Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.  
You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.  
“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”  
Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.  
“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”
A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.  
“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.  
It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.  
“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.  
“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.  
“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”
***
The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.  
The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.  
The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.  
And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.
You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.  
It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.  
You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.  
It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.  
You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.  
“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”
But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.  
“Bucky?”
You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.  
A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.
“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”
You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.  
“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”
“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”
Bucky narrowed his eyes.
“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.  
“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.  
You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head.
The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.  
He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.  
“Will you let me heal your hand?”
Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”
“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”
“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”
A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.  
He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.  
You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.  
The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.  
“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”  
A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.  
“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”
Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.  
***
“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.  
“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”
You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”
“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”
“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”
There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”
A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.  
“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”
“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.  
“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”
“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”
You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.  
“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”
“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.  
His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.
“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”
He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.  
“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.  
You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.  
“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”
Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.  
“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.  
Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.  
It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.  
“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.  
You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.  
You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.  
As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.  
You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.  
You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.  
“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.  
You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.  
Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.  
You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.  
The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.  
“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”
You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.  
“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.  
“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”
You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.  
“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.  
***
You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.  
He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.  
He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.  
“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”
“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.  
Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.  
“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”
“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.  
He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.  
“Y/n! Thank God.”  
It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.  
“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.  
Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.  
“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”
Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.  
“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”
“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.  
By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.  
Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.  
Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.  
“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.  
“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”
“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”
Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.
But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.  
You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.  
Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?  
“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.  
You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.  
The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.  
As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.  
The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.  
A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.  
Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.
But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.
Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.  
Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.  
Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.  
Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.  
None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.  
You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.  
The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.  
Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.  
“Y/n? Are you—”
Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.  
Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.  
It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.  
Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.  
Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.  
The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.  
You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.  
The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.  
“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.  
But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.  
“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.  
Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.  
He couldn’t breathe.  
“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.
Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.  
You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.
It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.  
***
A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.  
Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.  
You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.
The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.  
You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.  
Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.  
A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.  
A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.  
“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”  
He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.  
He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”
You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”
Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.  
Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”
Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”
“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”
Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”
“Oh.”
A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.  
“Were you ever going to tell us?”  
You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.  
“Were you ever going to tell me?”  
“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”
“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”
He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”
You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.
You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.  
So, you told him as much.  
“I’d do it again.”
Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.  
“You almost died—”
You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”
You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”
“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”
You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.  
No one until Bucky.  
You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”
Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”  
“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.  
Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.  
Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.  
“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”
Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.
“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”
Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.  
“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.  
Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.  
“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”  
He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.  
“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.  
You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”
“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”
You didn’t know.
You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.  
Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.
“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.  
“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.  
Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.
“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”  
“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”
It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.
“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”
“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”
“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.  
“Okay.”
“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.  
“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”
You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”
“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”
“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.  
They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.  
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read the sequel here!
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thefanficmonster · 3 years
Text
Just Two Sad Roommates
Corpse Husband x Reader(Female)
Warnings: Swearing (maybe)
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Summary: The power of medieval tavern music gets put to the test when Corpse’s roommate is having a rough day. SPOILER ALERT: it’s more powerful than anyone could assume.
Requested by Anon. You know who you are 😊😋 Wish I could tag you, I loved this idea so much and had such a fun time writing it. Hope you enjoy it just as much 🥰
The last twenty four hours haven’t been so great. 
Last night I had a huge fight with my boyfriend over his flirty messages with several girls. It was not just witty banter, it was way more and way more hurtful to me. He obviously denied it and defended himself, at least in the beginning of the argument. Then he took on the accusatory stance, pointing fingers at me for living with another guy. That had me absolutely fuming. Not only was his statement fabricated and literally made up on the spot, but he also used some seriously horrible insults for him. I was having non of it. Corpse is a really great roommate, sweet guy and overall amazing person. I haven’t once argued with him since we’ve started living together. We’re actually quite good friends. So hearing my asshole boyfriend call him all those names was more than enough to chase him out of the apartment. Thankfully, Corpse wasn’t home to hear all that. He rarely leaves the apartment but by some miracle this was the time he was absent.
Then this morning my mom called me to have a chat. It started off decently enough but it only remained that way for so long. It didn’t take her long to start criticizing each and every element of my existence. From my job, my boyfriend, my living arrangement, the career I’ve decided to pursue, the fact I moved to a different state, my paycheck that’s lower than her friend’s daughter’s...…..You get the point. 
Now I’m sitting here, contemplating what the two years I’ve been in a relationship with Marcus mean to me. I guess it is just like a phone call from my mother - starts off nice but slowly deteriorates. All things follow this pattern in my life, apparently. And just like the phone calls, I’ve considered ending things between me and him many times but never actually decided on it. Until now. The last part of this decision is executing it, which doesn’t look very promising. My thumbs are frozen, hovering over the keyboard.
I take a second to take a look at my life from a third person point of view, like an out of body experience. I am wrapped in a blanket, huddled on the couch like a burrito with a face. A really sad burrito with a face. I have a job where I work as much as three highly ranked workers and get paid a little over a secretary’s paycheck. I’m in a constant state of exhaustion and disinterest. I often forget I’m human and just assume I can live like a cactus - no food, no water. I have a boyfriend that’s cheating on me and most likely has been for quite some time now. And we’ve been dating for two fucking years. Man, that must be the longest cheat streak in history. Who knows with how many girls as well. And I still have trouble deciding weather to break up with him or not. Actually no, scratch that, I have already decided, but it feel so unnatural and so out of character that my body refuses to complete the task of delivering the final blow to the structure of this relationship which was already weak to begin with.
And it only got weaker when I started catching feelings for another guy. I know, I know, I’m a bad person for that, but I was never planning to act on those feelings. They have always just...lingered, loomed over me. They got stronger and stronger every time Marcus and I would fight, as though they were laughing at my mock of a relationship.
Speaking of laughter, I hear my roommate laughing in his recording room. I gave him the spare room for his recording equipment for a cheap add to his rent fee and it’s probably the second best decision I’ve ever made - first being picking him to be my roommate. He was among the first to reply to my online add and appeared the least sketchy over the phone. More hypnotizing if I’m honest. He could’ve told me he was a hitman and I wouldn’t have batted an eye, handing the keys to his room and the apartment without a second thought. All he had to do was keep talking. Again, SUE ME.
“Fuck, I’m so fucking pathetic!“ I drop my phone when all the strings inside me snap, releasing the sobs and tears I’ve been holding back for so long.
I bring my knees up to my chest, hiding my head in between them, desperately trying to shield myself from the plane crash that is my life at the moment. Crying makes me feel even sadder and more miserable but I have nothing left to do to get all the crap that’s piled up inside me out.
I’m on the verge of falling asleep, the tears have dried and the sobs have died somewhere in my chest, when I hear what sounds like music straight from Robin Hood’s time. 
Holy shit, I’ve lost it
I lift my head from in-between my knees, looking around the living room for the source of the jolly, lighthearted tune which despite all the heaviness of my self-loathing makes me feel like the main character in an medieval adventure. Wait...Holy crap, it’s that medieval adventure, Robin Hood-ass music I hear from Corpse’s room!
I whip around to face the entrance from to the hallway where I see an arm sticking out, holding a phone which is where the music is coming from. 
“Corpse?“ I call out to him in a questioning manner, shifting to a sitting position with my blanket kicked off of me and bunched up next to me.
“I can’t tell if you’re angry or sad...or both. Didn’t want to get attacked upon entering the room.“ I see the right side of his face peek out as well.
I break out into laughter, covering my mouth with one hand, “You’re such a dork.”
He takes this as a sign to come in, pausing the music as he does so. “What’s wrong?”
My laugh stops but a smile remains on my face as I look at him. He just has that effect on me. “A lot. What’s going on with you?”
He shrugs his shoulders, plopping down on the couch, “The usual, streaming Among Us. You should play with me and my friends some time.”
I scoff, “I can pull of a lie no problem. Maybe I really should.” I don’t actually consider it, it’s just funny to think about. 
I have never watched any of Corpse’s content. Not his scary story videos, not his streams, not his animated compilations. Just his songs. And let me tell you...they are hella good. One song and I was hooked.
“Hey, I have a question.“ I tilt my head to look at him, “What’s with you and your love for medieval adventure music?“
“Medieval tavern music, and it’s not really love.“ He shakes his head with this dopey grin that is just. so. adorable. “More like a coping mechanism. Tell me, did you feel less sad I played it for you?“
I stop and think for a second. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Point made.“ He declares, leaving me to nod in amusement. “Now, tell me what that ‘a lot’ is.“
So, I do. I tell him everything, from how my boyfriend is cheating on me to how my mother thinks I’m a complete failure. He listens carefully, paying close attention to everything I’m saying. I catch myself laughing a few times while I retell the recent upsetting events.
Must be that music.
“So, you broke up?“ He asks once I end my monologue with a sigh
I shake my head disappointedly, “Not yet. I still haven’t pulled the plug. I don’t know what to say.”
He holds out his hand to me, “May I be of assistance?”
I look at his hand then at him and contemplate for only a second before deciding ‘what the hell’ and handing over my phone after unlocking it. The screen displays my boyfriend’s chat so Corpse just types away what he has in mind. Before pressing ‘send’, he hands the phone back to me. “Proofread it.”
‘Dear Marcus, this is one of your girlfriends speaking. Yes, one of them. You think I’m not onto what you’re doing, you little shit? Well, to your dismay, I am. And so, I discontinue this relation between us. That word might have been too long for your IQ so let me rephrase: We are over. Finished. Hope your other girlfriends wake up too, unless they are already in the know, of course. Love, but really hate, Y/N‘
I was never aware this level of sass even existed.
I add a smiling emoji and send the message, sighing in relief. “I can check that off my to-do list now.”
We both lean back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. A moment of comfortable silence takes over, leaving us both wandering in our own heads.
“Hey, um, I wanted to do this when I first moved in, but then I met your boyfriend and I took the hint. Now that you’re single, would you want to...“ he sounds a bit uncertain but continues regardless, “It’s ridiculous cause I don’t really like the idea of going out, but maybe we could order take-out...“
“Are you circling around asking me on an at-home date?“ I am surprised by how unbothered I manage to sound while I’m squealing on the inside. It’s fascinating how quickly a person can flip someone’s day around. Turns out it wasn’t the music at all. It was him that had the positive effect on mine.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch his face turn red and have to contain my laughter. The grin can’t be tamed though, especially not when he says, “Yes.”
Internally squealing, I launch myself from the couch, standing up straight in front of him. “Thai. My usual order is on the sticky note on the fridge. But first,” I offer him my hand, “I need to find out if a person can even dance to that ridiculous music.” At his amusement, my grin widens, “May I have this dance?”
He laughs that adorable laugh of his I’ve only heard through the layer of a wooden door. It’s even cuter when there’s nothing between me and its source. The source is cute too, not gonna lie.
With a shake of his head which is most likely disbelief, he takes the hand I’ve offered him, saying: “And you call me a dork.” 
@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze
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donald4spiderman · 3 years
Text
Sweating, And A Lesson On Self-Worth
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masterlist
Summary: Spencer finds himself falling for his NAT (new agent training) defensive tactics coach.
Pairing: SR x Fem!Reader *described as petite to give the illusion of assumed vulnerability when IRL she’s a badass— no other specific physical details are mentioned*
Category: Fluff
TW: Mentions of body image, general CM talk, mentions of fighting/grappling/wrestling, small age gap (reader is 28 & reid is 22)
concept inspired by @sierraraeck’s fic “Bad Liar” about Morgan training Spencer. I love wrestling so I wanted to do one about a badass female combat coach/agent.
REBLOG!
-
When Spencer and the rest of the trainees are ushered into the fitness center on their second day at the academy, he almost shits himself. He’s well aware of the physical demands being in the FBI requires, and he’s been dreading the PFT (Physical Fitness Test) since he applied.
There are hundreds of men and women huddled in the middle of the room, anticipating the orientation, and Spencer feels his palms sweat before he’s even started working out. The majority of the trainees are football players, wrestling’s, and weight lifters— he can tell by their muscular build and general atmosphere of strength and confidence.
SSA Jesse Fallon introduces their defensive tactics coach for the next twenty weeks— a petite but athletic woman. She’s dressed in a gray t-shirt and flexible khaki pants— Spencer would be lying if he said she didn’t look gorgeous, even in the bland attire.
“I’m SSA and defensive tactics coach (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She introduces herself, giving a warm smile to the crowd. “I’ve been an SSA for five years and the head coach of this portion of the academy for two. This is my third official wave of trainees— and believe me— I won’t be going easy on any of you.”
Light laughter disperses through the crowd, and Spencer wears an uneasy look on his face.
“Today, I’ve prepped stations for each of you to cycle through for the next three hours. Agent Rivera is monitoring the weapon defense; Agent Glover is in charge of the takedowns; And I’ll be handling hand-to-hand combat and grappling. You’ll spend an hour at each station, run a mile at the end, and then you’re done for the day. Sound good?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Choruses through the crowd.
SSA (Y/N) clasps her hands together, “Alright, you know your groups. Split up!”
-
Spencer’s assigned to the takedown station first. Agent Glover’s criticisms are primarily nonconstructive, and Spencer struggles with apprehending and cuffing his more robust and much more muscular partner on the floor. He’s never trained this hard for anything in his life, physically, speaking. He’s half-dead within the first hour, and he dreads having to do this two more times.
His next stop is with Agent Rivera, who’s much kinder to Spencer than his prior. Reid is better at disarming his opponent, but his long limbs flail wildly due to his incoordination— he’s trying his best, but he sees the way everyone else giggles at him. It’s a blow to the chest that leaves him defeated more than any gunshot could.
The last hour is spent working at SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s station. She commands the attention of the entire group so naturally, despite being considered a rookie, she has an intimidating amount of knowledge.
“How many of you are wrestlers or judokas?” About sixty percent of the group raises their hand, and Spencer scans around for who might have the strength to kill him with one blow.
“Good,” She smiles. “This will come naturally to you, then. Now, a head-and-arm throw most likely won’t work in the field— so, sorry, judokas. However, double legs, body locks, and blast-doubles are constantly used to take down an unsub with minimal injury to the agent. Even someone as short as me can use leverage to grapple and control a much taller person.” (Y/N) scans the crowd of trainees for a moment before pointing directly at Spencer.
“You, come here.” She commands, and Spencer waddles nervously up next to her on the mat. “This is...”
He’s confused for a moment before realizing she’s asking for his name. “S-Spencer Reid.”
“Hi, Spencer.” She smiles. “How tall are you?”
“Six foot two.”
“Spencer has the advantage of almost a whole foot of height against me. But, I can use his higher center of gravity to tip him over more easily. We do this a lot in wrestling— being low to the ground and agile is important.”
(Y/N) firmly plants her hands on Spencer’s shoulder, moving him so that he’s turned to the side. “This move is called a modified blast double— it prioritizes attacking the ankles and knees rather than the knees and abdomen.”
She leans in closer to Spencer, “Don’t post your wrist out when you fall.” She whispers in his ear, sending chills down his spine. “Keep your neck tucked too.” Her breath is warm and minty, and Spencer almost forgets that he has 30 other people watching him.
“I’m going to simulate an active attack with Spencer. Doing this move in a wrestling match is much more controlled than against a rogue criminal playing by their own rules. They might have a melee or close-range weapon like a knife or hammer on them, so it’s important to make this move when the best opportunity strikes.”
“Spencer’s going to run at me and attempt to land a punch to my face.” She gives him a nod, and he chambers over to her.
Swiftly crouching lower to the ground, she launches herself towards him, gripping the back of his ankles and pushing her shoulder into his knees, and suddenly he’s flying back onto the mat. She follows through, straddling Spencer’s hips and covering his movements with an arm under his neck.
He’s out of breath as he watches the beautiful SSA leaning above him. His head is slightly sore from the impact, but overall he feels... invigorated.
“You never let your opponent fall onto the ground without covering them. Straddling your opponent allows you to keep them down while having full use of your fists.” She swings her leg off of Spencer, standing up. She reaches a hand out and quickly yanks him up.
“Find someone and drill that move. I’m coming around to help all of you.”
She gives Spencer a firm pat on his back, to which he blushes furiously, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth.
-
Spencer spent the rest of the hour getting slammed onto the mat over and over by various men and women. His entire shirt is soaked, and his breathing is so labored he thinks he’s going to faint. SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N) might have appeared at ease earlier in the day, but she wasn’t kidding when she promised she would work them to no end. Everyone was at the brink of death when they approached the last lap of their mile— Spencer at risk of passing out more than others.
The relief he feels after completing his tenth lap around the gym is euphoric. Trainees collapse onto the ground with exhaustion all around him.
“Great job today.” SSA (Y/N) compliments happily. “I appreciate all the effort you guys showed today. It better still be here in four months.” And with that, she excuses them, along with the agents monitoring each station.
Spencer’s one of the last agents to trickle out of the gym. His legs feel like jello when he walks, and his lungs burn.
He almost makes it past the threshold of the door before his name is called.
“Dr. Reid.” She beckons him over with a finger. “May I talk to you for a moment.”
Spencer nervously shuffles over. “Yes, SSA (Y/L/N)?”
“I applaud your effort at training today. I can tell you were working hard.” He blushes. “But I’ve been informed that the board is willing to wave all physical training requirements for your acceptance into the FBI.”
“Yeah... I-I uh figured they’d want me for my IQ only.” He jokes nervously, shrugging his shoulders. He knows it’s disrespectful not to look her in the eye, but she intimidates him too much.
She laughs, and it’s a sweet, joyful sound that Spencer can’t get enough of. She’s powerful and radiant— stealing attention from everyone else. “You’re charming, and your reputation precedes you.”
Charming? Since when has little Spencer Reid ever been charming? He smiles awkwardly, looking off to the side to hide his blush.
“You know, the forensics department wants their hands on the trainee with the chemistry doctorate, and the surveillance department wants the kid with eidetic memory, and word has it that you speak more than four languages, so everyone wants their fair share.”
“W-why are you telling me this?” Spencer asks, voice shy and barely above a whisper.
“Because,” she places a tender hand on his shoulder, “You need to carry yourself with more confidence, Spencer. I saw you— surrounded by all those athletes— it made you feel out of place. I get it.”
“How d-do you get it?”
“I was 23 years old when I became an SSA, surrounded by people two decades older than me. I felt like the office secretary— constantly getting pushed around by people I was afraid to upset. But the thing is, Spencer, you need to demand respect from other people. I’m not saying you need to be arrogant or be a bully, but you are one of— if not the most promising agent trainee— and you need to realize your self-worth.”
“I’m smart, I-I know that. But I’m not strong or athletic by any means.” He sighs, gripping the duffle bag slung across his shoulder tightly.
“That’s alright. You’re not going to be Kyle Dake overnight. But you can’t beat yourself up about it.” (Y/N) chuckles lightly.
Spencer thinks for a moment, “T-thank you... for uh saying all those nice things about me.”
“They're true.” She nods.
“I think I’ll continue with the defensive tactics training. I could um use it.” Its partially true, but he’s most inclined to stick around because of the kind and beautiful SSA that’ll be training him.
“Yay! That’s great, Spencer.” She cheers, wrapping him in a hug that’s a little too friendly to be professional. He accepts despite being drenched in sweat.
Her arms are wrapped tightly around Spencer, and she pats him on the back twice before pulling away like a proud mentor would. He can’t decide if (Y/N) would be a better girlfriend or a better teacher. If she would, he’d prefer for her to be both. He’d give her all he had to offer if she’d allow him.
He doesn’t recognize the smile that plays on her lips, and it’s a foreign feeling for the aggressive and focused SSA. She hasn’t felt something like this in a while, especially not for a nerdy trainee named Dr. Spencer Reid.
“Hit the showers.” She teases. “You stink.”
Spencer nods furiously, “Y-yeah, of course. Thank you, again, SSA—“
“Just call me (Y/N).”
“T-thank you, (Y/N).” He smiles, scurrying out of the gym and into the hallway as giddy as ever.
(Y/N) knows she can’t pursue this— at least, not right now. She’ll give it a few years to let him settle in the FBI (his acceptance is inevitable) if she can be patient for that long. All she knows is that eventually, she wants the awkwardly adorable boy to be hers— and she wants to be his.
i’m so proud of this fic but sry i got carried away talking about wrestling i love it sm
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homoose · 3 years
Text
Love Has a Learning Curve: deleted scene 3
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Summary: A flipped POV/extended scene from the night reader told Spencer that they’re going to be parents (part x of lhalc)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Category: fluff
Warnings/Includes: pregnancy, implied sex (obviously lol)
Word count: 2k
a/n: pls this is unedited so just ignore any typos
Series Masterlist
———
They said their goodbyes and final congratulations to Luke and Penny, and then they were sitting in silence in Spencer’s Volvo. She could feel Spencer panicking next to her— in the car, up the sidewalk, across from her in their kitchen. After two weeks of her own internal panic, now she was standing in front of him, and she couldn’t meet his worried gaze. 
“Please say something,” he begged. 
“I—” She paused, took a deep breath, and forced herself to look at him. “I’m pregnant.”
She watched as his IQ plummeted. “What?”
“I don’t know how it happened. I mean— I know how it happened, I just. I don’t know how it happened.” She laughed nervously, studying his face for any readable emotion. “I’m sure you can tell me the statistics about the effectiveness of birth control—” He opened his mouth, and she held up her hand, begged with watery eyes, “Please don’t tell me about the effectiveness of birth control right now.” 
“Okay,” he breathed. 
She didn’t think she could handle hearing about it, and besides: “The statistics don’t really matter anyway, because obviously it wasn’t effective, and now I’m pregnant.”
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, a little like a fish, before murmuring, “You’re sure?”
“I took seven home tests,” she confirmed, voice wavering. “All positive. And then I went to the doctor on Wednesday. To be sure. And she, um— she’s sure.”
He nodded. “How do you feel?” 
His tone was even, his face neutral, and she couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She could feel the tears brimming, threatening to spill over. “I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t seem to stay neutral then, frowning and cocking his head. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because we— we didn’t talk about this.” She gestured wildly with her hands, the emotion finally spilling over and her fears toppling out of her mouth. “I never asked you what you want. And I— I don’t want you to think I’m trying to trap you, or—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He took a step toward her before he froze, cursed under his breath, and asked, “Can— can you just. Just wait here for one minute. I’ll be right back.”
He practically sprinted out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and out of sight. She sank into one of the kitchen chairs and dropped her head in her hands. Now it was all out in the open, and he was already finding it hard to be in the same room with her. He kept a neutral expression for as long as possible, because he was kind, and empathetic, and he loved her. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do this with her. 
She was so wrapped up in her abject mom-to-be terror that she didn’t hear him practically tumble back down the stairs. She didn’t hear him sprint around the corner and into the kitchen. But she did hear her name, soft and reassuring, and then he was kneeling next to her on the floor. “Hey, hey— look at me. Y/N, look at me.” 
She turned toward him in the chair, and his eyes were soft and reassuring, too. “It’s okay, baby. Are you— are you okay?”
She sucked in a shaky breath. It wasn’t okay, and she wasn’t okay— not until she knew how he was actually feeling. “I— what do you— I need to know what you want.”
“You,” he said plainly. 
Her heart flipped in her chest, but she huffed, swiping at her cheeks. “That’s not what I mean.”
“I know. But it’s the truth.” He shrugged. “I want you. Always. And I want you to be happy and healthy. And I want to support you in… whatever you decide.”
He looked down at his hands, and then he looked back at her. “In regards to ‘trapping me,’ it’s— it’s not a trap if I want to be here.”
He brought his hands up into her lap and opened a small velvet box. She stared stupidly at the ring inside for at least seven seconds, her eyes going wide as they came to meet his own. “What is this?”
“I’ve had this ring for… a long time,” he admitted. “ I bought it the week we came back from North Carolina for Thanksgiving, and I talked to your dad about it when we were there for Christmas.” 
He scooted closer to her on the floor, his own eyes wet. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He’d had this ring for nearly a year? He’d bought it when they had barely been together nine months? He wanted to marry her?
“I kept waiting for the perfect moment, but I— I could never find it.” He drew his brows together and huffed out a laugh. “I understand now that the problem with waiting for the perfect moment was that—” He shook his head in realization, and then met her eyes. “Every moment with you is perfect. Even when it’s not.” He felt a tear spill over and shrugged. “Because I’m with you. And that makes it perfect.”
She brought her hand up to wipe away his tears with gentle fingers, even as her own tears continued. He smiled at her. “I love you. The most. And I wanna be with you: today, tomorrow, next week, next year… forever. In every perfect moment. And that’s not gonna change. Okay?”
Of all the reactions she imagined he’d have to the news of her pregnancy, she had never imagined this. “Okay.”
He hesitated for a split second, and she saw the first and only shimmer of uncertainty. “Do you wanna marry me?”
She laughed, genuine and joyful. “That’s not how you ask.” 
He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Will you marry me?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, all the worry she’d been carrying for the last two weeks just… falling away. “Yes. Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger and then surged up off the floor to wrap her in a hug. “Sorry it took me so long.” She breathed him in, relishing the feel of his body against hers. For the first time in two weeks, she allowed herself to melt into him, no longer worried to be found out.
He held her for a second longer before pulling back to hold her hands, running his thumb along the newly placed ring. “Your answer to this question doesn’t change how I feel or what I want. I need you to know that.” When she nodded, he squeezed her hands. “Do you want to have a baby?” 
She hesitated, chewing the inside of her lip. “What do you—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I already told you what I want. I’m asking you. What do you want?”
She rubbed her thumbs absentmindedly over his for fifteen long seconds. The moment of truth, and it came out in a whisper. “I want to have a baby with you.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Fresh tears gathered behind his eyes, and she felt so silly for ever having doubted what he wanted. “We’re gonna have a baby,” he breathed, disbelief dripping heavy over his words. “You’re gonna be a mom.”
She choked out a wet laugh. “Yeah, that’s usually how it works.”
“You’re gonna be the best mom,” he corrected. 
“You’re gonna be a dad.” She squeezed his hands. “The absolute best dad.”
He scooped her into another hug, the two of them laughing and crying in the soft light of their kitchen at midnight. She was pregnant, they were engaged, it was all out of order, and she wouldn’t change a single thing about it. Like every other moment with him, it was perfect.
“Your mom’s gonna kill me,” he muttered.
She cackled— well, almost perfect. She grimaced playfully. “Mmm, yeah she probably is. If it’s any consolation, she’ll start with me.” She sighed, smiling tiredly at him. “I love you.”
He matched her smile. “I love you the most. Dead or alive.”
She snaked her arm around his waist, pulling him toward the stairs. “You know… I can think of one thing that might just placate Mama Rose…”
They started up the stairs together. “Do tell.” 
Her fingers rubbed along his hip bone. “Do you think Dave would let us use his backyard?”
Spencer pressed a kiss into her hair as they reached the landing and turned for their bedroom, Roald hot on their heels. “I’m sure a bottle of wine and a box of cigars would do the trick.”
“I’m thinking a backyard wedding with your family and mine— here, so that your mom doesn’t have to travel.” She pulled him over the threshold of their bedroom door. “And then we can have a party at the farm for all your new in-laws.”
“New in-laws?” Spencer asked.
“Oh yeah. There’s fifteen aunts and uncles and about fifty cousins that’re dying to meet you.” Spencer’s eyes went wide as saucers, and she laughed, pulling him into her arms. “I’d say there won’t be a quiz, but if any of the uncles find out about the eidetic memory thing, they’re absolutely gonna quiz you.” 
She laced her fingers behind his back, drawing him even closer. “But they already love you,” she assured him. “I get a text at least twice a week about you.”
His eyebrows shot up behind his curls. “You do?”
“Mmhm. Asking how you’re doing, are you teaching a new class, where’s your latest case, et cetera, et cetera. All the aunts are nosy as hell,” she laughed. She tilted her head in consideration, lacing their fingers together and leading him toward their bed. “It’s gonna be impossible to keep this a secret for very long.”
He sat on the side of the bed, pulling her down to straddle his lap. “The twenty week mark is usually the green light to start telling people. How— how far along are we?”
“Dr. Layton said probably... about eight weeks.”
She watched as he did the calculations, the realization settling over his face— the drop of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrow, the pink rising in his cheeks. “Oh. Oh.”
“Mm.” She pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “I think we really, um— manifested that.”
“Wow.” She could practically see the memories flashing in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Do you think your dad would sell me that truck?” 
“Oh my god.” She brought her hands up to his cheeks, grinning ear to ear. “You’d better come up with a good lie about why you want it.” 
His hands traveled over her hips, squeezing gently on their way to her lower back. “You mean I can’t tell Hank that his daughter had se—”
She clapped a hand over his mouth, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed and hovering over him. “Shhhh— he still thinks his baby is an innocent angel. You don’t wanna ruin that for him, do you?”
He laughed underneath her palm and pulled her flush against him. She removed her hand, and he sighed. “I suppose your secret's safe with me. Mostly because I don’t want to incur his wrath.”
“Mm,” she nodded, bringing their mouths together. “Smart man.”
He kissed her, saccharine and slow. She was just starting to relax into it when he suddenly flipped them, knocking a huffed laugh out of her. He peppered light kisses over her face, down her neck, over her racing heart, her sternum. When he reached her tummy, he paused, staring at the barely there bump covered in flowy fabric. And then he pressed his lips gently to it, over and over and over again. 
She tangled her fingers in his hair, waiting for him to get his fill. After fifteen kisses, she laughed as she realized he probably never would. He raised his head at the sound, gently resting his chin on her belly, careful not to press too hard. His sweet smile had her tugging him up toward her.
“I can’t believe I was ever worried about how you’d feel,” she whispered.
“I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out,” he countered. “I should have known when you said no to sushi.” He grinned, but then it softened into something more empathetic. “Is that why I couldn’t hug you for the last two weeks?”
She nodded, feeling absolutely ridiculous. He sat up and pulled her with him, his chin hooked over her shoulder and all his long limbs folded awkwardly around her. “Well. I guess I just have to make up for lost time.”
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ash-callenreese · 3 years
Text
The Likelihood of Ash’s Resurrection
Ash is dead.
It’s pretty much impossible to have a sequel once the main character dies. However, sequels are a must for works that are referred to as masterpieces. This often happens, not only in the manga industry, but also in the realm of dramas and movies.
As a reader, I get the feeling that I should leave it as it is, but my fan mentality also makes me want to read a continuation, if it ever gets written.
And so, I considered a few scenarios in order to see if there are any chances for a sequel to be made.
[Changing the Main Character]
There are no rules saying that the main character can’t be replaced, so a continuation would be possible even if the protagonist happens to die.
The main character for “Tokimeki Tonight” (serialised in “Ribon”), changed twice throughout its 30 volumes. It’s certainly hard for the second and third generations to surpass the first one, and it’s true that many fans end up thinking that “the first generation was the most enjoyable”.
But there is a possibility. So what kind of character could be a potential candidate?
① Ash’s unknown relative
When talking about simple approaches to a sequel, the most plausible pattern would be introducing Ash’s half-sibling.
Ash’s mother left home shortly after giving birth to him. Since there’s no information about her thereafter, it’s possible to imagine that she might’ve gotten married and had children. And that one of these children might be a boy who looks exactly like Ash. This boy then ends up in NY, the city where his older brother once lived. Naturally, there would be people making a great fuss over this lad who’s the spitting image of Ash.
If we’re considering a half-brother, one coming from his mother’s side would be ideal — appearance-wise —, as Ash doesn’t seem to resemble his father at all.
The next potential character would be Ash’s own child.
The only issue would be the mother. When Eiji asked whether he was popular, Ash said that “there are plenty of women who want to be the boss’ lady, so I could pick and choose whoever I wanted, if I felt like it”. If he ever did feel up to it — even just once —, it would make it possible for a child to be hidden somewhere, but it seems unlikely as Ash claimed that he “would refuse those unsightly women even if asked” (Vol.8, p.84).
Of course, if one of those women’s child showed up — moreover, as the protagonist — they would be completely rejected by Ash fans.
Ash did tell Eiji that there had been a girl who he really liked before. I started thinking, “maybe if it’s her!”, but as they never had any sort of physical relationship, there are zero chances.
If it isn’t possible for a baby to have been spontaneously made, there could be an artificially produced one — a test tube baby.
Considering that Golzine’s corpse couldn’t be found, a scenario in which he actually survived and was shocked by Ash’s death might be possible. And then, since he’s obsessed with him, he gets Ash’s sperm and cryopreserves it in order to try and produce a baby. Since it would be meaningless if an average person was born, he would abduct only gorgeous women with an IQ of over 200 and, as a result of making as many babies as possible, he would succeed in producing a superb human who looks exactly like Ash. Nevertheless, no matter how many times Golzine says “I’m the one who created this demon”, they would still be Ash’s child. Harbouring suspicion about their own birth, they escape from Golzine’s side and another battle begins.
② A supporting character
The number one choice couldn’t be anyone other than Eiji Okumura.
Eiji can be seen living a peaceful life seven years later in “Garden of Light”, the only extra work ever written depicting events that took place after “BANANA FISH”. But even if it talks about Ash’s death, it doesn’t mention the aftermath of the incidents caused by the Banana Fish drug.
Golzine may be dead. Even if he isn’t, he’s completely lost his position as a director for the Corsican Mafia, as well as his power in business and politics — he would be nothing but an Ash maniac.
In the novel-style work “Max Lobo’s Memoir”, it’s mentioned that after the whole incident pretty much everything was spread by the mass media, so it seems that the White House chief of staff Mr. Smiles and the president at that time were both dismissed.
However, once things have calmed down, yet another wicked government official might appear in the White House. It could happen right after Eiji’s finally recovered from Ash’s death, seven years after the main story, as depicted in “Garden of Light”. And so, Eiji ends up getting sucked into the vortex again.
With a similar setting, it’s possible for Sing Soo-Ling to play a major role.
A man is shot dead right in front of Sing — who’s in charge of New York’s Chinatown, under Yut-Lung’s orders —, leaving behind a strange capsule and the mysterious words “Los Angeles, Westwood 42……”. Indeed, Dr. Dawson’s death wasn’t completely confirmed. Maybe Dr. Mannerheim has already developed an antidote and brought Dawson to his senses. He might have escaped in a panic when the National Mental Health Institute blew up.
Well, the next option would be Max Lobo.
A father figure to Ash, the guy who continuously supported him from behind the scenes. Having Max as the main character, there could be something like “The diary of News Week’s¹ struggles”, but because, visually, it should be a shōjo manga, we can pass that one up.
And there could be Golzine — who’s actually alive — as the protagonist in “The Production of a Second Generation Ash”. It would be interesting to see the creation of an Ash lookalike mentioned in “① Ash’s unknown relative” drawn from Golzine’s perspective, in a world filled with agony and madness. But, for the same reason as in Max’s case, it would probably be rejected.
③ A supporting character’s relative
Going this far would just end up making it closer to a side-story, let’s consider a scenario where basically “① Ash’s unknown relative” gets involved.
Firstly, the strongest possibility would be Ibe’s niece, Akira. She’s already been introduced in the extra story “Garden of Light”, and she left NY with lingering feelings of love towards Sing. In other words, the basis has already been laid.
This girl turns into an Oriental mysterious beauty and returns to New York. As she comes back motivated by her love towards Sing, Ash’s half-sibling makes an appearance. Sing, who previously had to help Eiji get back on his feet following Ash’s death, now has to get the person he loves back from Ash’s younger brother — it’s the perfect love story.
The next candidate would be, of course, Eiji’s child.
New Ash — the product of Golzine’s madness — and Eiji’s son are brought together in a great new struggle against the government. Or maybe it could be a love story with Eiji’s daughter. Or the opposite, Ash’s child could be a girl of unmatched beauty, who looks just like her father — a romantic story between this girl and Eiji’s son would also be nice.
If it really should be a love story, Eiji could be the main character and fall in love with Ash’s half-brother or half-sister. This may be more likely.
[Ash as the Main Character]
Is Ash really dead? Yeah, he probably is. However, since the manga is a fictional world, it wouldn’t be weird for all sorts of things to happen.
So, it may be a considerably unlikely scenario, but let’s also look into the possibility of a sequel with Ash as the main character.
To begin with, Ash being found earlier would be a reasonable situation.
I wonder how many readers yelled “Hey! Wait” at the library employee who just left him saying “…looks like a good dream” (Vol.19, p.36)… But she can’t be the only staff member in the library. It’s quite possible to believe that he was rushed to the hospital immediately after the last scene, thanks to another employee.
That being said, this is only possible because you can’t verify whether Ash’s dead in the original work. In the extra story “Garden of Light”, his death can be confirmed by Sing’s words: “Ash is dead!”, and by a flashback that shows him standing before what seems to be Ash’s corpse.
Then, could it be that this corpse seen by Sing was a fake?
Scott, the lawyer, did previously mistake the corpse of a boy who looked similar to Ash and was about the same age for Ash’s (Vol.10, p.41). On that occasion, Scott was fooled because he wasn’t used to seeing corpses.
Sing might be familiar with dead bodies, but could he keep his cool seeing Ash’s body? We’re talking about the death of someone he greatly admired, of the very Ash who seemed so invulnerable. It’s certain that Sing got fairly upset. And then mistook the dead body for Ash’s corpse.
But someone needs to be behind the forged corpse. And that person is, of course, the actually-alive Golzine. Once again, the insane Golzine finds Ash in the library by chance. And while raging at Ash — who’s unconscious — with a “what a shameful sight!”, he succeeds in bringing him back home and treating his wound in complete isolation. Eager not to let Eiji have Ash again, he makes a fake corpse. Something like that.
And after Ash breathes his last due to an unhelpful treatment, he would perhaps have him stuffed²……ugh, what a bad taste.
Other than these scenarios, there could be an occult version with “Ash’s Resurrection Theory” — where he reappears as an invincible being —, or with “Ghost Ash Theory” — where he comes back as a ghost… But I don’t want to think too much about those.
After going to great pains to meet his deeply moving ending, suddenly finding out that he’s actually alive would just ruin everything. As expected, leaving it as it is may be the best choice.
NOTES:
1. News Week is the magazine that employs Max. It wouldn’t be very shōjo-like, watching a middle aged man and his daily struggles working as a writer for this magazine…
2. I don’t know if this is clear enough but you know, getting Ash’s body for taxidermy. Bad taste indeed.
* I’d like to say, once again, that this is merely a translation (and not a perfect one). So in case the author says something possibly inaccurate or implausible, that’s just it. It doesn’t express my personal thoughts. About Ash’s mom having another child, it’s highly unlikely as she seems to have died shortly after leaving him. Dino being alive is also kinda hard to believe. But the point here is exactly to come up with unlikely-but-what-if scenarios.
#banana fish#ash lynx#research papers#bf translations#this was the longest one yet…#it was about eight pages long which doesn’t look like much at first but once you get into it#as usual I’m sorry for any mistranslations#I’ll edit this post if I find any mistakes so let me know if anything sounds weird as well!#I did a lazy rereading so I’m sure I’ll end up finding many mistakes later#btw I used to like Tokimeki Tonight quite a lot I didn’t really finish reading it but it was one of my favourite shōjo manga#ranze arc really seems to have been the best one#and the second generation Ash thing just made me remember Eve no Nemuri!!! it’s literally ??? the same ???#well not the same as Sei and Rin weren’t exactly born from natural circumstances but#would second generation Ash really turn against Dino and be a cool guy?? or would he be like death??#ultimately Death was also a victim but he certainly had a chaotic evil vibe going on there#maybe new Ash would be really bitter about having been born in order to replace someone?#and just how old do they think Dino is? he was already in his 60s could he really go up against new Ash by the time he turns 16 or something#eve no nemuri broke me#not only for obvious reasons but also bc I kinda felt bad for death and arisa#while it’s true that he was just awful and we can’t just overlook everything that he did just bc he was a tormented person#this ‘not being understood/being the only one like this’ thing with Yasha and Eve no Nemuri was just sad#it was particularly strong for Sei like just how happy he got to have a brother#a brother who could understand everything that no one else ever could#rambles
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mk-tozier · 3 years
Text
BRAT| RICHIE TOZIER X READER
@softbumble asked: I was wanting a smut with Richie x quiet reader where the reader is acting like a brat and Richie decides to teach them some manners.
17-18 years old or whatever age you want idc lmao
I’m sorry if this is bad or not what you wanted, I’m also gonna be kinda slow on requests, I’m trying the best as i can. Also sorry if its short or kinda rushed I’ve been kinda busy!
It’s kinda bad and very repetitive. Thats on me tho cuz its rushed. Again sorry if this is not what you had in mind. I was also writing this with the IQ of 2 because my brain was not working after taking a 1 hour and a half science test and then a math test right after so please excuse the absolute chaos this writing is.
warnings: smut, language, slight choking, degrading, teasing, fingering, overstimulation, idk man’, unedited as hell
I sat in Bill’s living room, next to Richie, sitting on the couch. An hour before me and Richie were at home, fingers tangled in each others hair, He trailed kisses down my neck, leaving hickeys and love bites on my neck as he played with the waistband of my underwear, teasing me and rubbing my clit through it. Then we got a call from Bill asking to hangout and Richie being Richie said we’ll go and left me unsatisfied. So now i was stuck on the couch, bored and horny. “why do you look so upset y/n, did something happen?” Ben asks. “No I’m just tired, thats all.” i said sweetly, but shooting Richie a glare. He smirked, before looking back at the tv which was playing some movie that i had no interest in. Bill and Stan were setting things up, getting snacks from the kitchen, board games from the closet, getting things together. I wasn’t exactly sure what we were doing but we were waiting for them to finish up.
Stan came into the living room, placing a bowl of chips onto the table. “Heyy stanny boyyyyyyyyyyy” I giggled, i have no idea why but i made myself laugh. “hey Y/n” He smiled. “you’re my twin” i say. “how so?” he asks, seeming genuinely interested in what i had to say. “We’re both quiet, sassy, funny” i stop to send Stan a wink at the word ‘funny’ “and cool people” I smile brightly. “i agree” he shakes his head, smiling. I look over to see a annoyed Richie. Hes very easy to make jealous, thats whats fun about him. Stan walked out of the room to continue helping Bill. “flirting with another guy” Richie muttered to himself, in a growl. I put my hand on Richies thigh. He looked over at me. “what’re you doing?” he growls again. “nothing” i shrug. I lay my head on his shoulder.
time skip
i layed with Richie comfortablely, My hand still on his thigh. The boys finished setting everything up, putting on ‘The Goonies’. I moved my hand higher up Richies thigh, closer to his manhood. I looked up at him, Richies jaw clenched. “Richieeee” i whined into his ear. “what?” he replies. “i need youuuu.” i whine again, kissing his neck. “wait until we get home” he mutters. “but i need you now” i brush my hand against his clothed dick, feeling it harden a bit. “baby pleaseee” “I said wait until we get home” Richie growls into my ear. I huff but listen to him, keeping my hand on his thigh. He moves my hand off his thigh and onto the couch. I huff again, annoyed, hes being no fun. I wait a few minutes before putting my hand back on his thigh. “princess, stop it” he whispers into my ear. I ignore him, moving my hand closer to his manhood. “if you dont stop I’ll have to punish you” he growls. I stop moving my hand, leaving it directly on his hard-on. Richie keeps his eyes on the tv, jaw clenched and anger in his eyes. Just what i wanted. I began to palm Richie through his joggers, causing his breath to hitch. He grabbed my wrist, moving it away from my pants. “I just remembered i told my parents that I’d have Y/n over for dinner, they love her so they insist in inviting her to dinners. they’ll kill me if I’m late so we gotta go” Richie says to the losers, they nod understanding. He pulls me through the living room and out the door, shutting it behind him. “what the fuck was that?!?” Richie growls. He gets on his bike, i get on the back, wrapping my arms around him. “answer me” “its your fault, you said we could go to Bill’s, maybe if you werent such a tease then i wouldnt of done what i did” I snap back. “Acting like a brat now, are we?” he says, pedalling faster
When we arrived to the house Richie threw his bike to the ground on his front lawn, he dragged me inside, the door unlocked. Richie pushed me against the wall, attacking my neck. “Made me lie to the losers because you were so needy” He mumbled against my neck. “Needy slut can’t even wait until we get home” Richie says before beginning to suck and lick at my soft spot. I moan from the unexpected contact. “you like that? hmm?”  i nod my head. Richie trails down my neck, kissing my cleavage, his hands roam under my shirt. “Rich, not here” i gasp. “Its my house, we can fuck wheverever the hell i want” He grumbled. Richie picks me up, walking up the stairs, continuing to attack my neck with hickies. He pushes open his bedroom door, kicking it closed when we enter the room, throwing me on the bed. Richie quickly takes off his shirt, throwing it somewhere, revealing his pale skin and skinny frame. He walks over to the bed, getting on top of me, arms on both sides of my body. Richie takes off my shirt, throwing it behind him. He kisses around my bra and down my stomach, kissing the skin right before my shorts/skirt, leaving hickies along the way, getting closer to where i needed him the most. “Rich, please” I whine. “please what? Use your words” “i need you, please” i whine again. “bad girls dont get what they want, beg for it.” He growls into my ear, the raspiness of his voice and the lust in his eyes made me want him more, a wetness pooling in my underwear. Richie unclasped my bra, attacking my breasts, licking and sucking at one nipple as he fondled with the other breast. “please Richie, i need you inside me so bad, your fingers, your tongue, anything, i just need you. so, so, so bad Rich” I beg. “such a needy slut, you’ll use anything to get off, won’t you? so desperate for my cock, huh” Richie kisses down my stomach, removing my shorts/skirt. “you’re so wet for me. you’re my little whore, just begging for my cock.I barely touched you and you’re all riled up?”  Richie smirks.  
He puts his thumb on my clit, rubbing me through my underwear, i moan, satisfaction running through me. Richie rubbed my clit slowly, applying pressure. “please Rich, please i need you inside of me.” I whine. “Such a impatient needy slut, can’t wait to feel my fingers inside of you, falling apart just from a little touch” He pulls down my underwear slightly, blowing air onto my clit. “such a little whore, all soaked” Richie pushes one finger into me, thrusting slowly, i moan loudly, before biting my lip. “faster Rich please” i let out quickly. He speeds up his pace, lifting himself to my lips. Richie connects his lips with mine, kissing me softly, sometimes he can’t help himself and he’ll kiss me softly or passionately, he’ll never admit it but he has a soft spot. Richie curls his finger, hitting a different angle, causing me to moan into the kiss. “you like that? hmm?“ I nod my head moaning, my hips buck, the familiar pit in my stomach growing, i clenched around his finger. Richie enters another finger, thrusting quickly. My hips buck again, i moan loudly, letting my hands go to his hair, tugging. “fuck, rich im gonna cum” i whine, clenching around his fingers. I feel my release pulsing through me. Richie pulls his fingers out, i whine, annoyed. “riiich” “Bad girls dont get to cum” He says before licking his fingers. “you always taste so good princess” Richie connects my lips with his once again, shoving his tongue in my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip. He pulls away, lowering himself. Richie licks a stripe up my pussy unexpectedly. “Rich!” i squeal. He swirls his tongue around my clit and down to my slit. Richie licks my clit slowly, holding my thighs. I bite my lip, holding back the sounds. He begins speeding up the pace, drawing little circles on my thighs with his fingers.
Richie starts licking slower before sucking on my clit, i cover my mouth, whining. Richie sits up, grabbing my hand. “let me hear you, dont cover your mouth. i want everyone to hear what a slut you are, let them know that you’re mine” He says before lowering himself, beginning to suck on my clit again. “Rich! Fuck!” i gasp, causing him to suck on my clit faster, i could feel the pit in my stomach growing already. My hips bucked into his mouth, i tugged on his hair. “Richieee baby im close” i groaned. He sucked faster, licking at my clit, swirling and moving his tongue. My hips bucked again as i let out an aspirated moan. “I’m gonna cum, fuck” i moaned, Richie pulled away quickly. “Riiiich.” I whine. “I told you, bad girls dont get to cum” he leans over me, arms on both sides of me again. “Maybe next time you’ll learn your lesson, flirting with Stan and acting like a brat? You had it coming” Richie whispers into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Needy slut” He mumbles. He connects our lips once again, my hands travel to his hair, playing with it. Richie grinds against my heat, groaning into the kiss,his hard on rubbing me through his joggers. “Rich i need you, please. I know I’m a bad girl, please i learned my lesson, I’ll behave i promise”
“Yeah? You want this cock? Huh?” “Yes. Please richie.” “Good girl, begging for me so well. You’re gonna behave?” “Yes i will.  i promise rich. I’ll be patient and i wont flirt with anyone, I’m yours and only yours” Richie groans. He gets off the bed, taking offf his joggers, his dick clearly showing through his boxers, is it up, helping him remove them. “Eager brat” Richie chuckles, he crawls onto the bed, pushing me onto my back. He looks up at me, his tip nearing my entrance. I nod, letting him know to go ahead. Richie slowly enters me, groaning, his precum leaking into my entrance. “So wet and warm for me” he groans. “Rich” i plead. Richie starts to thrust into me slowly, i moan, finally getting the pleasure i wanted. “Can Stanley fuck you this good? Huh?” Richie picks up the pace. I shake my head, whining. “Does his dick fill you up like this?” “N-no only you do.” I gasp. “Who’s are you?” He thrusts faster, groaning. “I’m yours Rich, only yours.” Richie groans again, he leans over, sucking on my neck, leaving dark purple bruises. My back arches and i moan loudly. He hovers over me again. “You’re mine” his words made the pit in my stomach grow, Richie puts his hand around my neck, making me moan. “You like that? You like when i choke you like the little toy you are.” He growls. I whimper, nodding my head. “You like using my hand as a necklace, hm? You like when i use you as my little sex toy?” Richie groans, i moan, his words sending me over the edge, my hips start bucking as i clench around him. “Are you gonna cum, princess?” I nod my head “yes richie. I’m gonna cum, please let me cum” I whimper again. “Go ahead doll, cum for me, cum all over my cock. I wanna see you” He whispers into my ear, completely sending me over the edge, making me cum harshly, my vision blurred from all the pleasure hitting me. “AH! RICH!” Richie chuckles,  kissing my cheek. His fast pace continues, the grip on my neck loosening a bit. “Rich.” I whimper. “You wanted my dick, you’re getting it. You’re gonna take it until i cum, is that alright?” I nod, moaning from overstimulation. “You like that baby? You like how I’m using you as my little cocksleeve?” He groans into my ear. I nod, whining. Richies thrusts start to falter, getting sloppier. I can feel my high coming back, the pit in my stomach starting again. My hips buck again, clenching around Rich. He groans, making me clench around his dick more. “B-Baby you close again?” He says, shutting his eyes. “Mhm” “cum again for me. I’m here, its okay.” He thrusts rougher into me, his head falling back in pleasure. I whine, his pleasure sending me over the edge, cumming. Richie groans, his dick twitching inside of me. “I’m close. Shit. You fuck so good princess, taking my dick so well.” “You’re so good rich, filling my up with your big dick.” I whine, he groans, cumming in me, stopping his thrusts.
Richie pants, i run my fingers through his hair. “You did so well doll” He flashes me his signature goofy grin. Richie looked down. “That was hot.” He chuckles, i smile admiring his features. “I love you Rich.” I whisper, barely audible. Richies head snaps up, his cheeks red. “Y-you what? Did i hear that r-right. Y-you love me?” His face softens, he smiles slightly. “I love you too Doll.” Richie plants a small sweet kiss on my lips, he pulls out. “You need a bath princess?” He asks. “That’d be nice.” I say softly. “C’mon I’ll go set up the bath”
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ricksroaches · 3 years
Text
Namjoon - Dysphoria ch. 3
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pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)
Summary: As a last resort, Namjoon tells his strict, overbearing father something that isn’t exactly true. He ends up having to find a way to prove his bluff.
Notes: Namjoon is also a junior. Jungkook and Taehyung are sophomores, Jimin, Y/N, and Namjoon are juniors, and Hoseok and Yoongi are seniors. Jin has graduated but still hangs out w them.
word count: 5.4k
warnings: cursing, mentions of drug use, mentions of mental hospitalization
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Perfection.
The Merriam Webster Dictionary defines perfection as: freedom from fault or defect.
Perfection was the standard held over Namjoon’s head since the day he could walk. His dad expected perfection. Not excellence, no. Excellence has the stain of room for error. Perfection was pure, unscathed by failure. Freedom from fault or defect. And he accepted nothing less. He was obsessive. His mom always said that’s where he got it from.
When Namjoon was 13, he stayed up all night binge watching Star Wars. He didn’t mean to, the time just flew by. What he forgot though, was an Algebra unit test he had that day. He snuck a cup of coffee from the pot and felt tip top, but by the time 5th hour came around, he was dying. You know that feeling when your in class dozing in and out and time kinda warps and every time you blink, 10 minutes have gone by? It’s also not easy to think about quadrilaterals and Euclidean triangle proofs while your at it.
He made a C. He never scored less than an A. Ever. He was sure his fate was sealed. The walk home alone had his palms sweating.
Namjoon remembered a lot of screaming that night. At him, his mom, his brother. No one was safe. Even long after they’d been sent to bed, he could hear their shouts, muffled by the walls. Sleep didn’t come to him that night either.
Naturally, he grew to resent his dad, but then strive for his approval at the same time. All that stress festered into rage. The kind that would put the fear of God in anyone. It scared him, and he was smart enough to know he needed to do something about it. Every time he felt that twinge, that compulsive urge to bash someone’s head in, he’d do push-ups. 10 turned to 20, 20 turned to 50, 50 turned to 100.
By 14, he had developed a strict diet and workout schedule. His body fat dropped from 23% to 10%.
He joined the football team by his dads wishes as a freshman and quickly excelled. By sophomore year, he was not only the starting quarterback, but the team captain. His IQ and OCD allowed him to see patterns in the other team’s offense that others were too brain damaged to notice. He was basically the team’s strategist and often took the coach’s job of giving the rundown before games.
He loved to win. He loved the endless cheers and adoration they showered him with. None of that, however, could compare to the feeling of seeing his dad watching in the stands with a proud, contained smile. His dad’s approval wasn’t Namjoon’s driving force. It was the wrath that he’d do anything to be spared from.
Beads of sweat were blown from Namjoon’s forehead as he sprinted around the track surrounding the school football field. His heart hammered in his chest and his legs begged for rest, but he needed to make exactly 7 laps without stopping or he had to start all over again.
He could see the finish line inching closer in the distance and he pumped his legs even harder to go even faster until he sped over the thick white line. With a parting ‘fuck you,’ his muscles went slack and he collapsed into the grass. He couldn’t hear himself think over the all consuming sound of his heart thundering in his ears and him gasping for air.
Once his pulse slowed to a non frightening pace, he pulled the hem of his jersey up to wipe the sweat from his eyes. He laid his arm over his face to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun and let his body sink further into the grass.
He thought he fell asleep, because the light reaching through his eyelids faded, and he couldn’t feel the cancer waves beating down on his arm. Confused, he peeked under his arm-“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”
Y/N was standing at his side staring down at him. He didn’t fall asleep, he was just laying in the long shadow she cast. “What the fuck what are you fucking Annabelle?!”
“I called your name like twice.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Okay first of all,” she took the sucker she had out of her mouth and pointed it at him “watch it. Second of all, Jimin told me you needed a ride home, so I’m telling your ungrateful ass ahead of time.”
“Why aren’t you in class?” She put the sucker back in her cheek.
“Skip n trip.”
“You’re a dumbass. There’s no way they won’t notice your gone.”
“Joon this school’s budget is $300 and a handful of Chuck E. Cheese’s tokens. Those teachers could give a shit. Besides, this isn’t my first rodeo.”
“What did you take?”
“Shrooms.”
“What are you gonna do until I get out?”
“Dunno. I might rescue a cat from a tree, might steal the Constitution. You never know.”
“Okay well I need to shower before next period so,” Before he could finish she offered him her hand. He took it and she heaved him up a lot easier than he’d expected for a 5’4 druggie.
“Thanks. Now begone, demon.” With the small shove he gave her arm, she turned and meandered to the front of campus.
~~~
Namjoon’s stomach fluttered when his 7th period teacher started talking about what they were going to do tomorrow. A key sign of the end of class nearing. He watched the clock make its way around and around until finally, the bell rang.
He came down the brick front steps of the main hall, eyes sweeping for Y/N’s car. Nothing. With an annoyed huff, he made his way to the parking lot. “Why can’t you use the carpool like a human?”
He was nearing the back of the parking lot when the 1993 Corolla e100 came into view. Its dusty blue paint job and modifications courtesy of Yoongi and his father’s garage that he worked at. A pair of converse hung out the passenger window. When he got closer he saw Y/N laid across the front seat, plastic sunglasses balanced on her nose, hands folded behind her head.
He wrenched the door open making her feet flop to the seat hard enough to wake her with a choked snore. He swatted the bottom of her feet so she’d move. He sunk into the passenger seat and watched her hastily rub her eyes trying to wake up, glasses now perched in her hair. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why the hell were you asleep when you were supposed to pick me up.” She rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
“Sorry. Shroom come downs make me hella sleepy.”
“Do you want me to drive?”
“Nah, just hand me a Monster. I keep some in the pocket behind your seat.” He gave her a concerned look but reached around and pulled a lime green can from the pocket. She shifted the car in reverse and cut the turn to exit the parking lot, opening the can in her hand with her teeth in the process.
“I could’ve gotten that for you.”
“And not look badass? I think not.”
“That wasn’t badass.”
“Sure it wasn’t.”
~~~
Y/N wanted burritos and Namjoon was getting hungry so they stopped by La Michoacana, their favorite Mexican place, and ate them on the hood of her car.
By the time she pulled in his driveway, the sun was beginning to sink below the trees and buildings. He grabbed his backpack and sports bag from the trunk and walked around to her window, leaning his forearm on the edge and bending to be eye-level. “Thanks for the ride. My dad's home so don’t floor it out of here okay?”
“No problemo brochacho.” She gave him an OK sign before pulling her shades back down and driving off with two small growls of her engine.
His family was already having dinner when he came through the door. “Joon honey, is that you?”
“Yeah mom!” Who else would it be?
“Come eat dinner will you?”
“It’s fine I already ate-”
“Come sit with your family.” His neck hairs prickled at the sound of his dad's voice. He knew better than to keep him waiting. He dropped his bags by the coat rack and made his way to the dining room. He took his seat across from his older brother, Geongmin. “Care to tell us why you were late coming home?” His dad, at the head of the table, finally spoke.
“I was just getting something to eat with my friend who gave me a ride home.” His dad took in his answer before giving a dismissive nod and returning to his plate. Another wave of silence carried the table for another few minutes before his mom spoke up.
“So, Mrs Kwon told me today that her daughter Somin is still looking for someone. Why don’t you give her a call?”
“What? Mom, no. Why?”
“Aw come on sweetie it could be fun you never know. You need at least one highschool relationship before you graduate.”
The truth was, he’d actually had a few relationships in the past. He just never let them find out about it.
“Listen to your mother, she’s right. If you want to understand women enough to marry one, you better start learning now.”
“But…I just can’t.” His dad's gaze zeroed in on him.
“And why is that?” The words came out before he had time to rethink his idea.
“Because I already have a girlfriend.” His mom dropped her fork. Geongmin let out a snort and choked on his iced tea.
“What?” She placed a hand on her chest. His dad didn’t seem too mad. Yet. He set his silverware down neatly and folded his hands in front of his mouth.
“Who is it?” Oohhhhh shit. Now everyone was staring at him, waiting for an answer. Okay Namjoon, just say a female name. Any name, just say something.
“Y/N.” FUCK!
“Y/N? Y/N who?” His mom jumped in.
“L/N.” SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU IDIOT!
“Hmmm…. I've never heard of her.”
“You wouldn’t have.” He turned back to his dad who was still eyeing him. He could tell something wasn’t right, only making Namjoon’s thighs sweat more against the seat.
“I want to meet her.”
FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK! NAMJOON YOU STUPID ASS MOTHERFUCKER WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?
“Okay.”
Fuck a duck.
~~~
Y/N took a thoughtful hit of her joint. “So you're telling me…that I have to go to dinner with you…to meet your parents…because you said you had a girlfriend?”
“Yes.” The pair were sitting on the school roof during lunch. Her usual hiding spot.
“You know,” she blew out the wispy cloud, “for a genius, you’re really fuckin stupid.”
“Please Y/N they’re trying to get me to date this girl I used to go to preschool with. We hate each other!”
“Woah woah chill my guy. I never said I wouldn’t.” His eyes lit up and she held her joint above her head to avoid it being crushed by Namjoon’s hug.
“Thank you so much I mean it! I owe you big time.”
“All you have to do now is ask Yoongi.” She had to hold in her laugh when she felt his body stiffen, and ever so slightly take his hands off her.
“Oh…right.”
~~~
“Hey, Yoongs.” Y/N tapped one of the boots jutting out from underneath one of the various cars in the garage. The raven haired boy rolled out from under the car, laying on one of those rolly things. He looked up at her with streaks of motor oil and sweat on his face. His eyes lit up when he recognized the lame stance and shaggy hair that was his person.
“Hey, N/N.” In one swift motion, he was on his feet, wiping his hands on the red rag that was tucked in his waistband. He noticed Namjoon standing behind. “Sup. What are you guys doing here?”
“You see…about that.” Namjoon scratched the back of his neck.
“Come on Joon, spit it out.” She shoved him forward.
“Fuck’s wrong with him?” Yoongi pointed at him with his thumb.
“He has to ask you something.”
“Well on with it I have a job to do.”
“IneedtotakeY/NtodinnerwithmyparentscauseIsaidshewasmygirlfriendtogetoutofthemsettingmeupwithsomeone.” Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut and braced for his reaction.
“I don’t think that was a question, but okay.” His eyes popped open.
“Wait, really??”
“Yeah. If she’s willing to clean up your mess that’s all I care about.”
“I told you he’d say yes.” She bumped his arm with her elbow with a smirk. The wave of relief washed over him like jumping in a pool on a hot summer day.
“There are rules that come with that.”
“State your terms.”
“No touching below her waist, no pet names, no staring, and have her home before 10. You’re also allowed exactly one kiss if things get sticky.”
“Deal.”
“So when is it?” Yoongi listened to Namjoon explaining their plans while Y/N took his rag and started wiping the grease off his cheeks, nose, and forehead. Namjoon watched him sit still while she practically climbed all over him like a jungle gym. His patience with her was simply astounding.
By the time she finished and tucked the rag back in his waistband, Namjoon got a call. It only lasted a few seconds before he hung up. “That was my dad. I gotta get home.”
“Ight. That means me too. Bye Yoongs.” She spun around and followed Namjoon to the car.
“Ah, ah, ah.” She turned around. Yoongi held his hand up and made a ‘come here’ motion with his index finger.
“Oh shit!” She came bounding back and threw herself on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her chin and planted a kiss on her lips. He made eye contact with Namjoon over her shoulder and gestured around her figure clinging to his body, dramatically mouthing ‘mine.’ Namjoon chuckled and climbed in the passenger side and waited for the lovebirds to finish their visit.
~~~
Y/N had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel when there was a knock at her door. She padded to the door and opened it. “Jimin! You learned to use the door!”
He rolled his eyes and stepped in.
“I was told I’m needed for assistance.” She swung open her bedroom door and they entered.
“Yeah, I need your help picking an outfit that won’t get Namjoon killed.”
“Hmm. I see.” He put his finger to his lip and eyed her closet. “Are they religious?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Old school or progressive?”
“Pretty old school I think.”
“Underlying misogyny?”
“What? Fuc- Jimin I don’t know.” He simply eyed her hair, face, and body, nodding.
“Okay, I think I have an idea.”
“And what is thAH!” Her towel was ripped off and he began rifling through her drawers. “JIMIN!”
“Oh please, nothing I haven’t seen before. Let's see…” He tossed a plain bra and a pair of underwear over his shoulder to her.
“Something comfortable, since you won’t be getting lucky tonight.” He moved to her closet nonchalantly while she scrambled to clothe herself. He pulled out an armload of clothes and tossed them on the bed. It was funny how he seemed to know her closet better than she did.
After countless trial and error, he finally decided on an outfit. A white, one shoulder long sleeved bodysuit with a black velvet pencil skirt.
Next was hair. “Jesus what am I gonna do with all this?” He held locks of her curls in each hand. It ended up not being as big of a problem as he thought. A nice bun with a few curls hanging out suited the look well. It was messy, but not too messy, and made her look put together.
Last was makeup. He opted for nude shades on her lids, minimal foundation and contour and a soft peach lip gloss. “In case they’re secretly Amish, I don’t want them thinking you're some whore.” She chuckled, his light hearted nature broke through her nerves. He pulled her in front of the mirror and admired his work. “You look stunning.” She couldn’t help the bashful smile that she hid behind her hands. Suddenly he gasped. “SHOES!” He raced to the closet and looked through her meager collection. He settled on a pair of white block heels, the white strap across her toes complimenting their fresh white pedicure. She slipped them on and he repositioned her in front of the mirror. “Now,” he slid his hands down her arms and rested his chin on her shoulder, “you look perfect.”
Her phone buzzed on the bed, interrupting the sweet moment.
Joon🦒: I’m almost there.
“Okay he’s almost here, do I look like a good girlfriend?”
“The best.” With a smile and a peck on his cheek, she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. She opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Hydroxyzine. Namjoon had asked her to refrain from being stoned at dinner, since she tended to say some crazy shit when she was. Granted, he didn’t say sober, just not fucked up. Shaking out three capsules, she eyed them before tossing them into her mouth.
Namjoon’s grey BMW M4 pulled into the driveway, it’s headlights pouring through the front kitchen window. Y/N and Jimin shot up in unison. He grabbed her by the shoulders and faced her. “I know you're probably freaking out right now, but just remember, you got this. There’s no way you can fuck up so bad they never want him to see you again.”
“Way to put that in my head.” He just smirked and opened the door for her.
“Go get ‘em tiger.” He landed a playful swat on her ass, sending her out the door for him to close behind her. No going back now. She made her way down the front steps and Namjoon got out wearing a matching charcoal grey suit and met her on the passenger side. He opened the door for her and held her hand for support until she was settled before shutting it gently. His car was spotless. Yoongi took great care of his car but even he had maybe a jacket laying in the backseat. It looked like he just rolled out of the dealership.
He climbed in the drivers side and pulled out of the driveway. “Was that Jimin?”
“Haha yeah. He helped me get ready.”
“How is he gonna get home if you don’t get back ‘til 10?”
“Hobi’s on his way to pick him up. Apparently they’re gonna drop and watch scary movies.”
“Hobi? Watching horror movies. You're kidding.”
“I've done it with him a few times, it’s quite entertaining.”
“I’m sure it is.”
~~~
It wasn’t a long drive to the restaurant they were meant to meet his parents at. It was a restaurant she’d never heard of, and probably would never be able to afford. He offered her his arm which she gladly took and they entered.
She was immediately hit with the smell of olive oil and fresh bread. Italian music floated over the light din of patrons dining on luxury dishes. Namjoon leaned down and whispered, “I didn’t think they’d pick such a nice place.” A hostess carrying an arm full of menus approached them.
“Mr. Kim?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Right this way please.” Y/N almost couldn’t keep up in her heels with the swift steps the hostess made. She remembered why she never wore them.
The woman led them past table after table, until they reached another smaller room, lit with candles and a crystal chandelier. It was quieter than the front, but still filled with the light chatter of diners sipping million dollar champagne. Okay, she knew Namjoon was wealthy, but this? God damn. She might as well be meeting the President.
They eventually stopped at a table with a couple already sitting. His parents. She put on her best face and gave a polite bow when they stood to greet her. “안녕하세요 당신을 만나서 매우 기쁘게 생각합니다” She looked back up to see them both frozen in surprise. His mom looked to Namjoon.
“You never told us she could speak Korean.”
“주금” Y/N held her index finger and thumb close together with a humble smile. This was good. She’s off to a good start. Once they exchanged pleasantries, they all sat down. A waitress came by for their drink orders. His parents ordered wine and they both ordered sparkling water.
“So, Y/N, how did you get to know our son?” His mom was the first to speak. She was clearly the more excited one. His dad looked like he was at an interrogation.
“We met at a pep rally sophomore year, and I noticed he kept visiting the art room where I worked after school, so when junior year came around I just risked it and asked him out.” His mom melted over the story she made up on the fly. God bless her wicked creativity. It wasn’t until he met his dad's eye that his smile tapered. Although it wasn't noticeable to anyone else, it was obvious to Namjoon. His dad wasn’t happy. Allowing himself to wait around to be asked out by a girl? Disgraceful.
Y/N basically lied about everything she was asked. Where she lived, who her parents were, plans for the future. Somehow the conversation shifted to religion.
“Are you religious, Y/N?” His dad asked. She definitely feared talking to him the most, given the few rants Namjoon went on in the past.
“I was raised Catholic, mass on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, the whole deal, but nowadays we hardly have time to go.”
“Were you confirmed?”
“No sir.”
“Why not?”
“We…” Her mind froze. She couldn’t get past the memories of that age. Cold metal bed frames and IVs, stringless hoodies and slip on shoes. “We moved and by the time we found a church to join, my parents were too busy with new work to take me to the classes. So it never really happened.”
“Aw, well that’s a shame.” His mom remarked. And the conversation moved on.
Y/N barely remembered the rest of dinner. Her mind still stuck in the padded rooms. Eventually, the last of dessert was finished and it was finally time to go. She briefly excused herself to use the restroom. She was feeling pretty good while she washed her hands. She said all the right things, they didn’t seem annoyed or too judgmental. She pushed the door open and nearly ran into Namjoon’s dad on the way to the mens’ room.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!”
“No, it’s alright. Listen, I’ve actually been meaning to tell you something.”
“Okay?”
“You and my son seem to have a strong bond. I can tell he likes you a lot. But just between us, I know you lied to me.” Her heart dropped into her stomach. “I know you don’t live uptown, I know you don’t live with your parents. I know where you actually live.”
“W-what?” She was frozen in place as he stepped closer. “I understand you may be embarrassed of your financial standing and I’m proud of Namjoon for accepting you for who you are. But I’ll tell you one thing.” He leaned in her ear. “You will never be good enough for my son.” With that, he turned and vanished into the restroom.
All Y/N could do was plod back to the table where Namjoon and his mom were standing. “Joonie? Would it be okay if we went now? I’m starting to get cramps.”
“Oh no please. Namjoon, take the poor girl home.” Best. Excuse. Ever. Works every time.
Once they were inside the car, she let out the breath she’d been holding. Had she been holding it the entire time? It felt like it.
“Ohhhh shit.”
“Dear god what now.”
“Don’t look now but my parents are staring at us from inside. I don’t think my mom believes us.”
“Why?”
“She’s talking about how I wasn’t affectionate enough.”
“How do you know that?”
“I've seen countless of their conversations, I don’t need to hear to know what they’re talking about.”
“Nuclear option?”
“Going nuclear.” With that he leaned across the console and cupped her cheek, melding his lips to hers. It wasn’t as bad as she expected it to be. She thought it’d be rigid and awkward, but he had a way of making them feel comfortable. They parted and he shifted back into his seat.
“Did it work?”
“My mom is jumping up and down. I think it worked.”
He started up the car and pulled out onto the road to her apartment. “What you said about cramps, was that true?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t dare tell him the real reason. Knowing Namjoon she knew that would only turn out one way. He reached over and popped open the glove box in front of her. Inside were tampons, pads, makeup wipes, muscle relaxers, and more lined up in neat rows. She gladly took one of the pills. “How you don’t have a girlfriend yet I’ll never know.” Namjoon may be a compulsive hothead, but at least he knows how to treat a lady.
“Hey, N/N?”
“Yup.”
“Are you actually Catholic?”
“Yeah. All of it was true except for the moving part.”
“Did you, you know, believe in it? In God?”
“I mean it’s kinda like Santa. Your parents tell you he’s real and you’re too naïve to think for yourself so you believe. To answer your question, yes, I used to at least.”
“What happened?”
Hospital gowns, bed restraints, pills in little paper cups.
“….I pretty much lost faith in anything I couldn’t see the moment I was admitted to that place. Shit like that kinda breaks down your character.”
“Are there still times where you think you might still believe?”
“What are you, Jehovah's witness?”
“I’m just curious. You’re the last person I’d expect to be religious.”
“Rarely. I only turn to a higher power when I think there’s nothing left between me and death. When I’m so sure that my life is coming to an end that the only thing I can think to do is pray that heaven is real.”
“H-how many times has that happened?”
“Three times.”
“Oh.”
“Namjoon, promise me something. If one day you see me with my rosary, I need you to throw me in a mental ward and burn all of my religious shit. The whole box I keep in my closet. All of it.”
“I…I promise.”
~~~
The Beemer pulled into her driveway and he helped her out of the car, heels in hand. She took the shoes from him and he gave her a warm hug. “Thank you.”
“No problemo brochacho.” He mocked a scoff and pushed her away.
“Ruined it.” He circled around and climbed back into the driver's seat. Y/N made her way up the steps and turned around. She gave him a wave and he waved back from behind the windshield. With a chuckle, she went inside.
She was met by Yoongi and Taehyung sitting cross legged at her kitchen table. “And just where have you been all this time, young lady?”
“Yoongi, why is it here?” Tae sipped from the mug he carried daintily in one hand.
“Heard Yoongi whored you out. I tagged along to watch the drama.” She chuckled.
“There isn’t any. Go home Tae.”
“Can’t.”
“Yes you can. We were gonna hang out tomorrow anyway.” Yoongi fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to the fluffy haired pervert. “Leave even a scratch and I’ll skin you. Make sure you lock the garage cause if someone jacks it then I’m really gonna come for you.” Taehyung gave him an exaggerated salute and a boxy grin before he bounded out the door and to the car like Tigger. Yoongi shut the door behind him and spun to face her. “What’s wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play that game with me, you know it never works.” She let out a long sigh and flopped onto the couch. The cushion dipped beside her when Yoongi sat down. She instinctively laid her head in his lap. He began plucking out the bobby pins holding her wild hair in place. “So how did it go?”
“It was fine at first. I pretty much had to lie about everything so they wouldn’t think I’m some gold digger.” He loosened the hair tie, finally setting her locks free. His fingers rubbed her scalp to ease the tension from the tight hairstyle.
“That’s obviously not the problem. You have no shame lying.” She giggled.
“It was pretty much fine halfway through, then for some reason they started asking if I was religious.” His veiny fingers mindlessly scratched her head, nearly sending her to sleep. “His dad asked if I went through confirmation, but it just reminded me of other stuff.”
“The hospital?”
“…yeah.”
“What about the other half?”
“I couldn’t really focus after that so I’m sure my conversation wasn’t the best.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No, I was pretty much in a different place after that.” He tucked a piece of hair that was hanging in her eyes behind her ear. “After dinner, I went to the bathroom and ran into his dad on the way out.” Yoongi stilled.
“Relax, he didn’t diddle me or anything.”
“What did he do?”
“He knew I lied about where I lived. Luckily he still believed we were actually together, cause then he told me that I would never be good enough for his son.” The head scratches halted all together. “It’s really not that big of a deal, it’s not like it matters. We’re not even dating.”
“Y/N look at me.” He met those e/c eyes and made sure he had her full attention. “You don’t actually believe that do you?”
“Believe what?”
“That you're not good enough.”
“I mean….no?”
“That didn’t sound very certain.” She turned her head back so her temple rested on his thigh.
“I mean I haven’t exactly been the gold standard in my lifetime.”
“You don’t have to be. Name someone you think is perfect. I’m talking not a single flaw inside or out.”
“….”
“So, why do you think you have to be?” She was quiet. He didn’t need her to answer, he just wanted to plant the thought in her mind. The softest sniffle could be heard. “Hey, come here.” He laid longways and guided her on top of him. She pressed her ear to his heart and he cupped the back of her head in his hand. He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You might not be good enough for him, but you're too good for me.”
“I think I can live with that.” He could feel the small smile grow against his chest.
After a half assed shower, Yoongi tucked them both in bed. Once again her head was on his chest. “Did you tell Joon?”
“No.”
“Good.
“Although we did get kinda deep on the way home.”
“Like what.”
“My religious awakenings.”
“Oh, you really went balls deep didn’t you?” Her head bobbed when he chuckled.
“Ha, yeah. Speaking of which, there’s something I forgot to mention earlier.”
“Oh boy.”
“When we were leaving, his parents were starting to get suspicious because the entire night he didn’t touch me once.”
“I don’t see the problem here.”
“So he had to kiss me in the car where they could see.”
“…”
“Hey you can’t get mad you said he could.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just thinking.”
“About what?” He gently rolled her off him and he peeled the covers back. “Where are you going?”
“Hold on, I gotta piss.” She just laughed and watched him lumber out of the room in his t-shirt and boxers.
When he came back, she was sitting up with her knees hugged to her chest. “So what were you thinking about?”
“Was it good?”
“Was what good?”
“The kiss.” She thought for a second.
“I’m gonna be honest, it was unexpectedly pleasant, but you have nothing to worry about.” He came to stand at the foot of the bed.
“Why’s that?” She stood and bounced to the end of the mattress. She grabbed both his shoulders and looked down at him.
“Why would I cheat when I already have the best sex I’ve ever had?” He gave her a long, cool look.
“Until now.” He grabbed the backs of her knees and swept her onto her back with a surprised yelp. He crawled onto the mattress and attacked her with a barrage of kisses anywhere he could reach. It was going to be a long night.
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lyssismagical · 4 years
Note
Maybe 28 and 57 for the prompt writing? That would be really cute 💖
28 - “No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”
57 - “Who changed the thermostat settings? I’m freezing to death.” 
Idk how it happened but nearly 4k words of Cheerleading Captain!Peter x Quarterback!Harley for your consideration
 *
Joining a new school in junior year wasn’t easy. Moving from Tennessee to New York was even harder.
But if there was one thing Harley had on his side, he was a fantastic football player. And everyone knew football players were top of the social pyramid.
“Quarterback? Really?” One of the boys say when he says it to the coach. “You think the new kid will get the position?”
Harley shrugs. “I played in Tennessee. I won every game.”
The coach lifts an eyebrow and then nods in approval. “Ever since the schoolboard started talking about implementing athletics at a STEM school, we’ve been pretty emptyhanded. Not enough students willing to drop robotics to join a team, not enough good students. We won one game last year out of a total of nearly fifteen.”
With a smug grin, he rolls his shoulders and slips his helmet over his head.
He gets Quarterback with ease.
As he’s leaving the field after tryouts, he notices a group of girls and a boy congregating by the bleachers, all dressed in blue and gold.
“You’re new here,” a girl says, appearing beside him. He recognizes her, having been sitting in the bleachers alone during tryouts. She’s not wearing a football uniform or the ones the group across from them is wearing.
“Harley Keener,” he replies. “You’re Michelle, right? You’re in my chemistry class.”
She offers half a smile. “MJ. I heard you landed Quarterback.”
“Not that it was particularly hard, there’s not much competition.”
Looping their arms together, she leads him a few more feet away from the group. “They’re the cheerleaders in case you didn’t know. Cindy, the one with the pink water bottle, she’s co-captain. And Peter Parker is captain, he’s been captain since freshman year.”  
“He’s captain?”
MJ’s smile turns knowing. “Yeah, he’s captain. Too bad you missed him in freshman year. The school didn’t have the budget for two sets of cheerleader uniforms, so Peter had to wear the short skirt the whole first year. I had to teach him how to shave his legs. Now he gets to wear pants.”
Harley turns, pretends not to look, but still says, “The pants are nice.”
“I know what that’s code for,” MJ laughs.
Indignant, Harley huffs, “I’m not a creep, his pants are just really tight.”
“Well, he is both single and bisexual, so if you’re courageous enough, I’d say to shoot your shot, Keener.”
Before Harley has the time to reply, MJ’s already walking off towards the school, without even a glance over her shoulder.
Harley’s not courageous enough to ask Peter out. All he does is wave from a distance, reveling in Peter’s little smile in return before making his way to the locker rooms.
* The first game of the season they nearly lose thanks to Harley’s constant staring at Peter on the sidelines.
The next two games, he focuses so intently on winning for Peter that they totally annihilate the other teams.
At the end of their third game, a home game, Harley’s on his way to the showers, grinning at his teammates when Peter catches up to them.
“Congratulations on your win,” he says.
Harley’s stunned into silence. It’s the first time he’s really seen Peter up close. They only share one class together, Spanish, and they sit on opposite ends, with Harley only able to see the back of his head.
But Peter’s gorgeous.
His brown curls are messy from the last few hours of cheering on the sidelines and the halftime show, some of it still sticking to his forehead. His pale skin is practically glowing in the lights of the field, bambi-brown eyes sparkling and wide, and chest still heaving from the exertion of their last, over-the-top performance. His arms are practically straining in the tight t-shirt he’s wearing, the gold accents making his eyes look a little more honey, smile wide on his face.
“I, uh-” Harley chokes out, cursing himself for acting dumb. “Thank you. You guys were pretty incredible.”
“Thanks.” A soft blush rises on his cheeks, makes him look down, smile turning shy. “Good luck on your next game. The Brooklyn Team’s the best in state.”
Harley can’t help the frown. “You won’t be there?”
“I’ve got Academic Decathlon competition in DC that weekend. But good luck anyways.”
“You too…” Harley feels like his chest is constricting over the knowledge that Peter’s smart too. “I, uh, I guess I’ll see you around?”
Peter smiles sweetly and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”
* Over the next few weeks of short conversations after games or practices, Harley finds himself watching Peter all the time.
Peter wears his cheerleading uniform all day everyday like the others do, head held high and students parting for him like he’s royalty. He’s friends with pretty much everyone, sending smiles and having short conversations as he goes down the hallway to class.
He’s also unbelievably kind, stopping teasing at every chance he gets, using his popularity to keep people in line, being nice to even the nerdiest looking freshmen.
Harley finds himself falling hard the longer he knows Peter.
Watching the way he moves with grace and confidence in such contrast to the way he blushes and smiles shyly whenever he’s complimented. It makes Harley’s heart clench with this crush that feels like it’s developing way too fast for his own comfort.
* “Could I talk to you?” Peter asks him after practice.
Harley’s still sweaty, still uncomfortably warm in his pads and uniform, helmet dangling from his fingertips leaving his hair messy and ruffled. But he offers a smile. “Yeah, everything okay?”
The cheerleader looks uncomfortable, turning his gaze to the grass, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Hey,” Harley says, voice dropping low and quiet as he pulls them farther away from their teams, trying his best to keep his thoughts away from Peter’s bicep flexing wondrously beneath his fingers. “You can talk to me, whatever it is.”
“It’s just embarrassing…” Peter looks up at Harley through his eyelashes. “My grades have dropped in a few of my classes, and I know we only share Spanish, but I kinda got MJ to snoop and it turns out you have one of the highest GPA’s in school.”
Harley frowns because that can’t possibly be right. “From what I’ve seen in Spanish class, you seem really smart.”
“Well, I don’t want to sound overly confident, but I am smart. I’ve just had a bad habit of slacking off when it comes to homework. So my grades aren’t looking too hot and my aunt threatened to make drop out of cheerleading if I didn’t get it in order.”
Offering a reassuring smile, Harley nods. “Not really tutoring, but I can sit with you in the library and help you work through the homework? More like study date- sessions. Study sessions.”
Peter positively lights up in a grin. “Wow, really? Thank you! I’ve got cheerleading practice three nights a week and Academic Decathlon every other night, so I’m not really free, but if you’re willing to hang out after your football practices…”
“Yeah, of course, sounds perfect. We’ll start Wednesday?”
“Yes! Thank you! I promise I’ll be a good study partner. I’ll see you around, Harley!”
And with that, Peter skips off to catch up with his cheerleader friends.
Harley can only shake his head in wonder and head off to the lockers.
* Wednesday comes quickly, and Harley’s glad because with how much time he spends daydreaming about Peter, he’s not sure he can keep up his grades either.
But soon enough, he’s waiting outside the locker rooms for Peter, hoping that the shower was enough to wash away the sweat from the tough practice.
“Hey!” Peter says, bubbly and smiling brightly. “I know we said we’d study at the library, but I’m getting a little bit sick of being inside all day. Do you want to work out on the bleachers?”
Harley nods, swallowing thickly and trying his best to keep his eyes strictly on Peter face and not watch his arms or his neck or his legs. “Sounds good.”
They head out into the setting sun, playfully nudging shoulders and nearly racing each other to get to the bleachers first, which ends in Peter laughing and shouting when he makes it their first.
“So, I heard from MJ this morning that you were being unbelievably humble when you said you were smart. She said you have a genius IQ. And you needed study help, why?”
“I told you,” Peter says, laughing. “I haven’t done homework in nearly three years. My grades are solely based on test scores and participation which would be fine if the take-home projects weren’t weighted so heavily.”
Harley rolls his eyes but takes out his Chemistry textbook anyways. “Alright, let’s get you caught up then. You’ve got nearly two months of homework to catch up on.”
“Let’s do this then.”
It turns out, Harley loves watching Peter work. He really is a genius, easily getting the work done like it’s second nature to him, able to answer mathematical equations without a calculator or a second thought, speed reading his way through chapters in the textbook. And it definitely helps that he looks absolutely stunning in the light of the setting sun and the gentle wind.
Eventually, though, they can’t stay much longer with the fading, and curfew closing in.
“Thanks for your help today… Same time Friday?” Peter asks, eyes all wide and hopeful, smile sweet.
“Actually, not to be presumptuous, but we’d have more time if we hung out for longer… Would you want to come over? Spend the night? We could work later and get more done on Saturday?”
Peter thinks about it for a moment and then he shrugs. “I don’t think my aunt would be happy with me spending the night, but you’re welcome to come to mine?”
“Sounds like a plan, Parker. You need a ride home?”
“Sure, yeah, thanks.”
Harley helps pack up their things and then takes Peter’s bag before leading him out to his truck. He opens the door for Peter, memorizing the dazzling smile he gives in return.
They only have half an hour together on the drive home, but it’s enough time for them to share more personal information.
Harley tells Peter about his sister and his mom, about Tennessee and how different life was there, how much he loves New York in comparison. He talks about getting quarterback, winning games, being on top of the social hierarchy for the first time in his life.
Peter, in turn, mentions quietly how he was bullied in the ninth grade before and when he first joined the cheerleaders. How at first, people told him it was girls team, that it wasn’t meant for him. But then they won their first trophy which snowballed into him becoming captain and leading them to win nationals and get them fifth in worlds. And then, very quickly, he became the most popular kid in school.
By the time they reach Peter’s apartment, Harley feels like they’ve grown closer and he doesn’t want to say goodbye to him.
“Today was really nice,” Peter murmurs, leaning across to kiss Harley on the cheek. “Thanks for helping me out. I’ll see you at school tomorrow and then Friday night?”
The words are on the tip of his tongue, wanting to ask Peter out, change Friday Night into a Date Night instead of a Study Session.
But then Peter’s hopping out of his truck, bag slung over his shoulder and gold accents of his uniform glimmering in the streetlights. And Harley misses his chance.
* Peter’s quiet the whole way to his apartment, bag sitting in his lap.
He looks almost out of place in the outside world while still in his Midtown Cheerleading Uniform. But Harley’s still in his jersey, so it’s not so strange in comparison.
Peter leads him into his cozy apartment, empty apart from them, and they make themselves at home in the living room around the coffee table.
“Everything okay?” Harley asks, almost startling himself with his own voice. He was planning on leaving it alone, he’s not really Peter’s friend.
“Yeah, I just kind of have a lot riding on this.” Peter’s quiet for a second, fiddling with his nails before he explains, “I can’t afford to go to a school like Midtown, but I got awarded a full ride. If I don’t get my grades up, I might be put on academic probation, have my scholarship taken away… I’d have to switch schools for my senior year, also meaning I’d probably lose the university scholarships I might’ve been offered for cheerleading.”
Harley mulls over it for a moment before shrugging. “Well, you have a very good study partner on your side. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your grades are up by exams. Don’t start thinking of the worst-case scenarios just yet.”
The tenseness leaves Peter’s shoulders in one exhale, expression softening. “Thanks. I don’t want to put pressure on you, but-”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Smiling, Peter opens his bag and they get to work.
Time passes quickly when they’re focused on getting things done, it’s not hard for Peter to get closer and closer to catching up, but there’s only so much they can do before boredom and hunger starts to set in.
They order pizza, Harley offering to pay but Peter insistent after Harley’s helped him so much.
“You know,” Harley says after Peter gets off the phone, “Breaks are important to keep up consistent work.”
Peter grins knowingly, flopping down onto the couch beside Harley. “Are they?”
“As an avid homework-doer and studier, I can totally say that breaks are important. So, I suggest we do pizza and a movie, and then a bit more work before bed.”
“Of course. And as someone who doesn’t do homework or study, I can’t disagree with anything you say. Here.” Peter gives him the TV remote. “Let me go get changed, I can only wear this for so long before I start craving sweatpants, and when I get back, we’ll start on a movie of your choosing.”
Harley picks out Star Wars, seemingly a safe bet considering the very obvious Star Wars poster stuck to the wall above the couch, and texts Abbie in the meantime who teases him endlessly, already having figured out his crush on Peter.
“Star Wars! It’s like you read my mind!” Peter calls out, slipping around the couch.
“I mean there’s science so it’s-” But the words are gone as soon as he sees Peter.
He looks so much different than the Cheerleading Captain Harley’s always seen him as, tucked in a pair of loose sweatpants and an even looser t-shirt, hair mussed and body relaxed. God, if Harley thought he looked incredible in his uniform, it’s nothing compared to the way he looks relaxed and content in lounge clothes.
“So it’s…” Peter prompts, forehead creasing but smiling in amusement.
“Sorry, I- You’re just- Sorry, I’ve never seen you outside your uniform before,” Harley says, voice suddenly thick. “The movie’s educational, that’s all.”
Peter giggles, sitting down beside Harley, against Harley, and presses play so the beginning credits begin to roll. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, but I don’t think Star Wars counts as educational.”
“It is a compliment!” Harley gasps, higher than he means it to come out. “I was just surprised is all… You’re- It’s just- Wow.”
He laughs again. “Wow? For someone with a nearly perfect GPA, that’s not the most articulate compliment.”
“I meant- Oh god, I’m totally embarrassing myself, aren’t I?” He runs a hand through his hair, feeling his face flush warmly. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s sweet. I get a lot of compliments, but most about how my ass looks in the uniform, so I do appreciate being complimenting for being wow while in sweats.”
Harley’s eyes go wide, and he’s quick to try to redeem himself, “You’re just really pretty is all! That was worse than wow, wasn’t it? I’m just making this worse.”
“You think I’m pretty?” Peter repeats, eyes so soft and open and earnest. “That’s a new one.”
For once, Harley manages to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to say anything more, but Peter’s still blushing and smiling when he turns back to the TV, shaking his head fondly.
*
Long after pizza and their movie’s done, homework continued through until they were laughing too much to continue to think straight, Peter finally calls it a night.
Harley changes in the bathroom and purposefully leaves his jersey on the back of the couch, while Peter makes him a bed on the couch.
It would’ve been a good time, Harley knows, to ask that question, to see if this will lead in another direction, but he chickens out and ends up just with, “Goodnight, Peter.”
And Peter smiles, all warm and sweet, and he murmurs, “Night, Harley.”
And that’s that.
In the morning, Harley wakes to the smell of coffee.
He pretends he’s still asleep when he hears voices drifting in from the kitchen.
“So that’s the infamous Harley Keener,” a woman says, Harley guesses it’s Peter’s aunt.
“He’s helping me get my grades up.”
The woman laughs. “For someone with a genius IQ, I don’t know how you managed to let your grades drop like that. It’s not his fault? Or cheerleading?”
“No, May, I promise I’m working on it.”
“Good. Don’t let him get in the way of your education or focus, honey. Don’t let him hurt you, alright?”
Harley finally stretches up, making himself known as awake. He yawns, looking over the back of the couch towards the kitchen. “Morning.”
Peter lights up in a smile. “Morning, Harley. You want coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.”
He slips up just as May says she’s off to bed, still wearing her nurse scrubs, and he offers a quiet greeting to her on her way out.
And then it’s just him and Peter.
“Sleep well?” Harley asks when the silence stretches a second too long. Peter nods, passing him the mug of hot coffee. It’s a Star Wars mug and he can feel his cheeks warm.
“We don’t really have much breakfast food… You wanna maybe go out somewhere to get some?”
Harley, still sleep-warm and relaxed, jumps as the chance. “Do you want to go out? Like on a proper date? Breakfast? On me?”
“The quarterback with the cheerleading captain?” Peter says. “That’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?”
“I suppose. Is that a no?”
Peter seems to ponder it for a moment before he shrugs. “I kind of love clichés.”
“Breakfast then.”
Grinning, Peter nods, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Let me get dressed and then we’ll go.”
“Perfect.”
As soon as he’s left alone in the kitchen, he pumps his fists in the air, barely managing to stifle his excited cheer.
“I saw that!” Peter calls out.
Flushing, Harley quickly sets down his coffee, grabs his bag and heads to the bathroom to get changed quickly, wishing he’d packed something nicer than jeans and a flannel.
“I’m surprised you’re not in your uniform,” he says when he sees Peter waiting by the door.
He’s wearing a pair of tight jeans and a simple t-shirt, grinning just as bright as always.
“I only wear it at school.”
Harley shrugs. “I was starting to think it was the only thing you owned.”
Peter links their hands together and pulls open the door, smiling just as bright as ever.
* All eyes turn towards the cafeteria doors.
“Oh my god-” Betty breathes from near Harley.
He looks over his shoulder, expecting to see something vaguely newsworthy but otherwise boring, but instead finds Peter.
Peter who’s wearing his blue and gold cheerleading uniform as always, curls messy and cheeks flushed pink, except he’s wearing a jersey over his uniform.
Harley’s jersey.
“Who changed the thermostat settings? I’m freezing to death,” Peter calls out, dramatically loudly to get the rest of the student’s eyes on him.
Harley trips up to his feet, eyes wide and shocked because after one date, Peter’s already announcing it to the world.
“You left this at my place,” Peter says, walking up to him. His eyes are bright and amused like he expected Harley to get this flustered. His voice drops to nearly a whisper. “I know it’s soon but I saw you staring, saw you watching me during practices. The only reason I saw is because I was watching you too. I want to make this official.”
“Yeah, I- Yeah, I want that.”
Peter grins, kissing Harley on the mouth for the first time, they’d parted yesterday with only a kiss on the cheek. When he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “Sorry about doing this here. I couldn’t wait. Too much?”
“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes,” Harley chokes out. “I’m just- You look good. I didn’t expect you to like me too.”
“I do. I really do.”
Harley finally smiles back at him, grabbing Peter by the waist to kiss him again. “You want to go out with me again? Wednesday? After practice?”
“I would love to. Can I- Would it be okay for it to be as boyfriends?”
“Okay? Yes, more than okay. I would really love that.”
Peter laughs, tucking himself close to Harley’s chest. “Wow. Boyfriends.”
For the rest of the year and the following year, they’re considered Midtown’s Power Couple.
And when they make it MIT together, Peter having managed near-perfect grades with Harley’s help, they’re considered MIT’s Power Couple too.
Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spidey-reids-2003  @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}
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multiharlot · 4 years
Text
real life spencer / matthew gray gubler x reader
summary: in which matthew meets the woman who inspired the man that’s stolen the hearts of america.
masterlist
part two
third person pov
the girl walked timidly through the busy filming set, clutching her hands around the strap of her shoulder bag. she approaches the studio doors, rocking awkwardly on her white low top vans and running her hand through her hair. her yellow midi skirt swayed softly over her legs as the warm los angeles breeze floated through her white button up. the doors open suddenly and she jumps back, nearly tripping over herself. 
“you must be, y/n. i’m jeff davis, thank you for coming in today.” the man smiles, sticking his hand out to the girl. 
her mouth opens and closes before she smiles. 
“hi. sorry umm...germ thing.” she chuckled awkwardly. 
“oh. oh right i’m sorry. come in and meet the cast.” he says, wiping his hands on his pants and opening the door wider.
she stepped into the doors, tucking her hair behind her ears and waiting for jeff to lead the way. 
“we really appreciate you being here and consulting with us. we want to make this show as real as possible.” he explains as he leads her towards the writers room. 
“of course, i’m happy to help. you did decide to base a character off of me, it’s the least i can do.” she nods, the thought in her mind made her feel slightly awkward, but grateful nonetheless. 
“yes, the cast is so excited to meet you by the way. we all were. it’s not everyday you get to meet a real life genius.” he chuckles. 
“technically, passing the IQ test only determines that you have a certain IQ. a large portion of those with higher IQ’s aren’t all that smart. high IQ’s couldn’t determine your true intelligence, never mind a genius.” she shrugs, silently reveling in the fact that yet another person had called her a genius. 
she secretly hated the term genius. as complimenting as it was, the word had hung over her head her entire life. she herself never believe she was a genius, and the word alone made her feel as though she had to meet a certain quota. the idea of being a genius held her to a standard that she felt she couldn’t meet. 
“right...well i mean, you do have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory. so...you’re the most genius non-genius i’ve ever met.” jeff shrugged, stopping in front of the white door. 
“yeah...” the girl trails off, stopping beside him. 
“well this is the writer’s room, and this is our cast. everyone, meet agent- sorry, dr. y/n y/l/n. doctor, i give you the criminal minds cast.” jeff smiles as he opens the door, leading the girl into the room. 
she rocked awkwardly on her sneakers, waving timidly. 
“oh you’re so cute!” kirsten squeals, wrapping her arms around the girl, making her jump back. 
“sorry. ah. i’m sorry. i just uhh...germ thing.” she chuckles, making kirsten blush. 
“oh. oh i’m so sorry. i’m just a hugger.”
“that’s okay. you know our tendency to engage in physical touch is often a product of our upbringing. those of us who’s parents weren’t as physically demonstrative tend to disengage from activities like hugging, or even something as simple as a pat on the back.” the girl rambles nervously, making everyone in the room pause. 
“although, some children tend to have the exact opposite effect, leading to a starvation for human physical interaction, which in turn actually turns them into huggers.” matthew smiles widely at the girl. 
she blushes, and a nervous chuckle escapes her lips.
“you must be dr. spencer reid, nice to meet you.” she smiles, nodding her head at the man. 
“my name is matthew. matthew gray gubler. and it’s nice to meet you too, doctor.” he smirks, looking the girl up at down. 
shemar raises his eyebrow at him, an impressed smirk growing onto his face. 
“right, well, y/n here has graciously taken the day off to help assist in our terminology and making this show as realistic as possible. so, let’s get started.” jeff smiles, closing the door behind him. 
the room buzzes with light chatter as everyone begins taking their seats. y/n stood awkwardly off to the side, unsure of where she would be going. matthew takes note of this, and smiles softly, standing from his chair and walking over to her. 
“you can come sit next to me.” he smiles. 
“o-okay.” she nods, clutching the strap of her bag tightly and following beside him. 
the cast all exchange knowing looks as they looked from each other to the pair off in their own little world. 
“so, tell me, is working in the fbi as hectic as we’re making it seem?” matthew asks, leaning his head on his hands. 
“yes and no. we’re more of a sub-unit within the national center for the analysis of violent crimes. there are a total of six different behavioral analysis units, each of us working for a different type of crime.” she explains as the writers scribbled across their notepads feverishly. 
“and which one are you on?” thomas asks, and she smiles as she looks at the man. 
“i work in analysis unit 4, which is crimes against adults and we also work hand in hand with the violent criminal apprehension program, also known as ViCap.”
“is it true you graduated high school at twelve? or did jeff just make that up?” kirsten asks, her eyes wide and curious. 
“thirteen. not twelve. and after high school, i attended Stanford, Cal Tech, and then Harvard where i was immediately recruited by the US government. i’m not supposed to tell you this, but it’s true what they say about those who take math 55.”
“how many PhD’s do you have?” aj asks as she leans onto the table.
“two. chemistry and clinical psychology. and i also have a master’s degree in neurobiology.”
“did they wave you through the academy the same way they did pretty boy, here?” shemar asks, ruffling the top of matthew’s head. 
“no they did not. i actually went through the training, same as everyone else. one thing that isn’t accurate about this show, however, is that our agents are actually required to take a certain amount of personal days per month, and there’s a mandatory 12 hours of counseling with our building psychologist that we have to complete every month.” 
“how many personal days?” matthew asks, a flirtatious smile slapped on his face causing the butterflies to go into a frenzy in y/n’s stomach. 
“u-um. i have a quota of three days per month. so i usually take a long weekend at the end of every month.” she smiles, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. 
“do you carry a gun? oh! can we see your credentials?” aj gasps, almost excitedly. 
“i do. but only when i’m on the job. otherwise, i don’t like having them. and uhh..yeah sure.” y/n mumbles, rummaging through her purse and pulling out both her credentials and her identification card. 
y/n hands them to matthew and his fingers graze lightly over hers, causing a blush to form over her cheeks. he passes them along to the rest of the cast and he then looks down at the girl next to him. 
“can i draw you?”
“only if i can draw you.”
matthew chuckles, nodding his head. and the two mindlessly doodled each other as the meeting went on. y/n answered what seemed like an endless amount of questions and matthew simply stared her. her eyes, her nose, her lips. he found her absolutely beautiful, and he couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from her for longer than 2 minutes at a time. as y/n finished her one line doodle of matthew, she scribbled a quick note at the bottom of the page, and tore it out of her notebook. matthew ripped the page from his, ready to hand it to the girl when jeff interrupted them. 
“alright guys, we’ll see you tomorrow. and thank you, dr. y/l/n, for coming in. i can’t explain how informative you’ve been.”
odd choice of words, she thought. but she nodded, saying you’re welcome nonetheless. 
everyone began to exit the room and matthew called out for the doctor, stopping her in her tracks. she looks up at him only realize just how tall he really was. 
“here.” he smiled, handing over the paper. 
to: the real life spencer reid from: gatthew may bugler
she giggled as she opened the page, seeing the truly abstract drawing of herself. 
“this is actually really good.” she smiled, staring down at the page. 
“thank you. it helped to have such a beautiful model.” he says, biting his lip nervously. 
a blush covered her cheeks and her ears and she giggled nervously. 
“well umm...here.” she says, handing over her page. 
when he folds open the paper, his mouth falls open at the beautiful one-line drawing she had done of him. then, his eyes fall to the bottom of the page, and his mouth runs dry.
“umm..give me a call if you need any...character reference.” she says as she rocks back and forth on her feet. 
“can i call you even if i don’t need any character reference?”
she smiles, nodding her head. 
“would uh...would you maybe want to go grab lunch with me?” he asks, scratching nervously at the back of his neck.
she opens her mouth to say something when her phone rings out. her eyebrows furrow as she pulls her phone out of her bag, her partners name across the top. 
“sorry, this’ll just take a second- i’m on my personal time, fields.” she sighs into the phone. 
“no no i know. so am i. and i also know you’re in los angeles. wanna go check out the bureau offices?”
“sorry, i have plans.” y/n shrugs, staring up at matthew. 
“oh do you? doing what?” fields questions. 
y/n bites her lip, reaching over and grabbing matthew’s hand. 
“someone’s taking me to lunch” she smiles, pulling matthew towards the studio exit and hanging up the phone.
“so, where are we going mr. bugler?” she smiles. 
“i thought you had a germ thing.” he says, raising an eyebrow at their intertwined hands.
“i’ll make an exception for you.” she shrugs, making him smile. 
“well, how does chinese sound?”
“perfect..as long as i don’t have to use those god awful chopsticks.”
“a PhD in engineering yet you can’t use chopsticks?”
“excuse you. dr. reid is the one with the PhD in engineering. i only have PhD’s in chemistry and psychology.”
“oh. yeah. only.”
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crystalrose555 · 3 years
Text
Don’t make me slap you! Pt. 3
Reblog if you want more!!
Leviathan released a heavy sigh as he entered the House of Lamentation. He just wanted to go back to his room and curl up in his tub, playing mobile games till his next raid but now his perfect afternoon was crumbling away with the sound of his resistant ward. He glimpsed over his shoulder as he watched Beel struggle against the slippery Mochi who thrashed back and forth vigorously in his grip. He grunted, his arms slipping against the smooth fur and his appetite rearing its head from the extra effort of the reluctant Mochi. She kept whipping around her head in an attempt to headbutt the irritated Beelzebub but he held her high enough that it was not an option. Thankfully, Lucifer clamped her muzzle shut with a quick hex to avoid any unwanted injury. Lucifer, on the other hand, had refused to release his face from his grasp until they were all in the foyer and Satan closed the front door behind them.
“Ok, Beelzebub, you can put her down now.” He groaned. With a hardy grunt, Mochi was plopped on the smooth tile where she tried to slide away from the demons. However, Beel circled around her and cut off her escape route. Asmo gasped as he looked at Beelzebub. “Oh no, Beel, you’re all scratched up.”
Beel looked nonchalantly at his forearms that were covered in scratches from her sharp claws.
“It’s fine, I had worst from practice. I’m just really hungry.” He frowned while looking at the fidgety Mochi.
“Don’t even think about it, Beel. She’s off-limits, try to eat her and Lucifer will string you up from the chandelier.” Asmo advised as he went to get bandages. Beel pouted to himself as Satan finally addressed Lucifer over their new ordeal.
“This isn’t really happening, is it?” “Unfortunately, it is. This creature is the exchange student for this year.” “Her name is Mochi.” Lucifer gave an unamused glare as Satan painted a smirk on his face. “Anyhow, this must be serious since Diavolo looked depressed when Barbatos insisted that she should stay here instead of the castle.” “Of course, if Mochi stayed there, the paperwork would be even more backed up than before. Regardless, this isn’t a major concern, we just have to prove that this is an ordinary animal.” Satan raised his eyebrow and glanced over to Mochi who was giving Beelzebub the stink eye from her balled up form. 
“Hmm, well, how do you plan on proving it? You can’t exactly give her a pencil and an IQ test.” “I’ll think of something, I’m just too tired to think of anything for now. Just toss her into Levi’s aquarium.” Levi jolted quickly in response. “You can’t put her in there, she’ll eat Henry! Put her in Asmo’s bathroom, there’s enough room in there!” Asmo rushed in with the first aid kit and a fire in his eyes. “Don’t you dare put that stinking beast in my personal haven!” Mammon chuckled underneath his hand and gave Asmo a shrewd glance. “Aww, what happened to the generous Asmodeus? And here I thought I was the selfish one~” He mocked.
Asmo shot him a glare which caused Mammon to turn his head sheepishly.
“Well we can’t put her in Beel’s room for obvious reasons or Mammon’s room since he would most likely try to sell her.” “Hey-” “And my room is out of the question since I have a bunch of valuable and dangerous books. So the only ones left are Levi, Asmo and Lucifer.” The remaining brothers look at each other in nervous anticipation, mostly because Asmo and Levi didn’t have the brass to stare down the irritated Lucifer. While Mammon and Satan snickered at the staring contest, Beel pulled his eyes away from them to see Mochi scooting away from them. He watched for a moment to see her move over to the stair railing and scratch her snout against it. Once that didn’t work, she then scratched her muzzle with her front flipper. After a few swipes, she snorted out air in frustration and looked around for something else. His expression softened before addressing Lucifer.
“Umm, Lucifer?” “Beel, I already told you, you can’t eat her.” “No not that, I think your hex is bothering her.” The quarrel ceased as all of them turned to stare at the frustrated seal. Asmo and Levi’s expressions softened while the others remained neutral.
“Aww, poor thing~” Asmo whined. “Yeah, reminds me of those videos with animals trapped by trash.” Levi frowned. “Hmph, serves her right for trying to bite me!” “Mammon, you called her a dummy after you threatened to sell her as a coat, of course, she would attack you!” “Why are you yelling at me! You also wanted her to be a coat, Asmo!” “I only said that when Beel was going to eat her.” “...You’re really ugly when you’re two-faced.”
Asmo’s horns popped out in pure anger while Mammon’s wings flared up in retaliation. Lucifer took a moment before a sly smile crawled across his face. “Maybe we should turn her into a coat.” He claimed. “Wait what? Lucifer, have you lost it!?” Levi asked. “I mean why not? If push comes to shove, we can just tell Diavolo that she had an unfortunate accident.” “Hmm, all that fat and meat might keep Beel tied over till dinner.” Satan claimed. “And I could sell the fur to Asmo at a premium rate~” Mammon gleamed. Levi and Asmo looked on horrified by the shift attitude of their brothers while Beel looked on in confusion. “Ok, I’m confused-” Beel stopped mid-sentence as he watched his breath escape his mouth in a cloudy fog. Seeing this, each of the brothers noticed their own smoky breaths as the room grew colder. While the others looked around for the source, Satan and Lucifer stared at the cause of the frigid air. Soon all of the brothers were looking at the growling Mochi who sat upon a patch of thin ice, with white puffs being snorted for her nostrils. “Well, well, I call that killing two birds with one stone.” Lucifer smirked. “Hold on, what’s happenin’?” Mammon questioned. “I had a feeling that something was amiss when Mochi slid across the floor of the summoning room. It’s polished but not the point of Beelzebub falling on his own and her speedy escape.” “Not to mention  how she reacted when you, Diavolo and Barbatos were talking about her.” Satan added. Mochi stiffened up as all the brothers’ stare intensified with the idea of being deceived. She squished herself back into a ball as she tried to bare her fangs at the demons, the ice underneath her crawling further from her body. At this point, the brothers were on their toes, their demonic forms flickering in their shadows, preparing for a possible fight. However, a chuckle from their eldest brother disrupted the cold air into a wave of uncertainty. “At ease everyone, it’s like Diavolo said, we should be gentle with our new housemate.” With a wave of his hand, a faint red aura radiated from Mochi’s muzzle and disappeared into the air. She twitched her nose as Mammon gave a look of disbelief to Lucifer. “Is your head cracked!? You just unleashed the beast!” “Don’t be daft, Mammon. It’s clear as day this seal is a familiar. The ice abilities and the ability to understand us is a dead giveaway. Now the question is, will ‘Mochi’ be willing to talk to us?” “How the hell is she suppose to talk, with growls and barking?” Lucifer ignored Mammon’s whining and looked directly to Mochi with a cold smile and even colder eyes.
“Alright, Mochi, I released my hex from you to make it a more even playing field. Answer my question or Beel is going to have a human realm delicacy. Do you understand me, one for yes, two for no.” Seconds felt like minutes as Mochi and Lucifer stared each other down. One had a smile on their face while the other squinted their eyes in disapproval. The brothers watched the two of them, waiting to see which one would break first. Unfortunately, waiting want not Mammon’s strongest skill.
“Well this was a load of bull-” Suddenly, a hard slap filled the foyer causing everyone to whip their head back to the angry seal. Lucifer’s smile grew wider as his superiority began to leak out. “I’m sorry, I need you to repeat that just to make sure that wasn’t a fluke. Answer my question, do you want to be eaten?” Two slaps. “Do you want to be made into a coat?” Two slaps. Lucifer chuckled as Mammon’s mouth hanged open. “Well, welcome to the House of Lamentation, Mochi. I hope we can get along from now on.” Lucifer smirked.
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