#I’m freakishly good at impressions of the last two

[myname-isnia]

For once the fact that I, aged 11 through 15, spent most of my free time locking myself in the bathroom to mouth along to songs while practising expressions in the mirror was actually useful

[prairiesongserial]

24.11

Kaoru drummed his fingers over his camera case as he slowly passed through Car 7 on the way to the bathroom. The man in the blue suit was alone, humming under his breath as he stared out the window. The briefcases were right there in the overhead rack.

Kaoru grit his teeth and kept walking. It was just his luck that there was hardly anyone seated in Car 7. Whatever distraction he settled on, it would have to be big.

Kaoru made his way into the next car. The distraction would have to last long enough for Kaoru to take both briefcases with him to the bathroom, photograph the contents, and return them. Kaoru didn’t think he could do it as long as either of the two men remained in their seats.

Oikawa had told him to be subtle. No one should know the briefcase was ever touched, let alone opened. So, Kaoru needed a subtle, big distraction. Kaoru scanned Car 8 for inspiration, but came up with nothing. Families, children, couples, skis. A kid eating a sandwich. A woman knitting.

Maybe Kaoru could make a molotov cocktail. This train served alcohol, didn’t it? That was subtle.

Kaoru sensed he was possibly losing his cool. 

Kaoru bumped directly into a freakishly tall man in the doorway between Cars 8 and 9. A hand wrapped around his wrist, saving him from falling back onto a pair of Swedish lovebirds.

“Ah,” the man said. He paused for a long moment, not moving out of Kaoru’s way. “A sister. Are you well?”

Kaoru stared up at him. His lip twitched.

The man was speaking in Latin. Kaoru could speak three languages and get by in five, and this man was speaking Latin? Not even the nuns spoke Latin. They stuck to German and expected Kaoru to keep up. Kaoru himself hadn’t studied Latin since high school, and he’d only taken it in order to make the romance languages go down easier. Kaoru had understood the man well enough–soror, bene, he got the gist–but it wasn’t like he could put together a competent reply.

“Sorry,” the man said, this time in German. “No German.”

Latin it was. Fucker.

“Myself, well,” Kaoru said, blushing in a great impression of a shy nun or humiliated world languages student. “Permit, I go.”

The man moved out of the way. Kaoru moved into the vestibule between train cars and closed the door behind him. This one had a telephone and a bathroom. Kaoru needed a minute. He tried the bathroom door, but it was locked.

Kaoru leaned back against the door into Car 8. Oikawa would not like it if Kaoru set off a molotov cocktail, he was pretty sure. So, what? Spill something on the man in the blue suit on the way back to his seat? That might work, but the man also might take the briefcase with him to go clean himself up. Kaoru needed chaos. Specifically, chaos that wouldn’t come back on him. Someone else had to throw the molotov cocktail. So to speak.

The door opened behind Kaoru, and he lost his balance. He took a step back, colliding with the door frame just as the train bumped. 

Kaoru hissed as he banged his head, barely remembering in time that he should swear in German, politely. At that point, it almost wasn’t worth it.

“I’m so sorry,” the tall man said–this time in English. Then: “Ah–mea culpa.”

“English? You speak English?” Kaoru said. He glared up at the tall man and rubbed the back of his head. “Why didn’t you try that first?”

“Sorry, hardly any of the Germans I’ve met could speak it. Though, those were mostly kids…” The man was flushed and awkward. “I saw that you were a sister and I thought you might–do they not teach Latin anymore?”

“They do, I’m just awful at it,” Kaoru said, feeling especially annoyed now. His face was red under the makeup, he knew it. The man laughed.

“I was never any good, either. I’m better reading it than speaking. I don’t think I could do a Latin mass. But who needs to?” Kaoru must have given him a look, because the man quickly corrected: “I used to be a priest. Sorry, let me start over. Valerie Lecter. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Grace,” Kaoru said. He took a breath. Kaoru could use an ex-priest. He had an idea, and it wasn't going to be subtle. He concentrated on the pain in his head and the ambient stress of his first field mission, and managed to force a tear out of the corner of his eye. “Oh,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Excuse me.”

Kaoru searched his pockets for a handkerchief he knew he wouldn’t find, blinking another tear away, and sure enough, Valerie beat him to it. Kaoru carefully dabbed at his eye.

“You hit your head pretty hard,” Valerie said, hesitant.

Kaoru shook his head, burying his face in the handkerchief and breathing deeply.

“I saw something,” Kaoru said. “And I–my German isn’t great. And I can’t find a stewardess. I think there’s something really wrong on this train.”

Valerie pulled the door closed, closing the two of them off in the vestibule. There was muttering in the bathroom, but the sound was dulled by the heavy beat of the train over the tracks. This would be awkward when whoever it was came out of the bathroom.

“What’s going on?” Valerie asked. He had big Moto Hagio eyes. He was like a little lamb. Kaoru bit his lip to curb the manic smile that wanted to force its way out.

“There are men with guns on the train,” Kaoru whimpered. “I don’t know what to think. They’re going to hijack it, or murder–” He shook his head. He hid his mouth behind the handkerchief. “--I think we have to stop the train, don’t we?”

Kaoru stared up into Valerie’s eyes, waiting for him to leap into action. Kaoru wanted a train-wide panic. He wanted grandmothers shoving babies out of their way. Valerie was the start. If Kaoru had read this bumbling ex-priest correctly, Valerie would absolutely start quietly spreading the news that everyone was in danger.

“It's all right,” Valerie said, his voice suddenly firm and low. “Don’t panic. Let's go together to find a stewardess. Where did you see the men? How many were there?”

Kaoru sucked in a breath.

“On the upper deck. I got halfway up the stairs before I realized. They were laughing loudly, so I don't think they noticed me.” Kaoru balled up the handkerchief in front of his face. “Um, I think there were five or six.”

“The stairs by Car 6?” Valerie asked. Kaoru nodded. “Alright,” Valerie said. He leaned forward, well inside Kaoru’s personal space, as the sound of a tap turning on inside the bathroom reminded both of them they weren't alone. He lowered his voice even further. “I doubt they’ll come toward the back of the train if they’re hijackers, so let's move in that direction. We’ll find a stewardess. She'll know how to call up to the conductor without alerting anyone there's trouble.”

Kaoru’s lip twitched. Well, great.

The door to the bathroom opened. The man in the white suit and red shoes stepped out, coming up short when he saw Valerie in such close quarters with one of the nuns. He raised his eyebrows at them both, delicately adjusting his watch until Valerie moved to the other side of the vestibule, clearing a path down the middle. The door closed behind him.

This plan had better fucking work. Kaoru would get this man to start a riot on the Gottingen to Milan Economy Line if Kaoru had to throttle him.

“Alright, Sister Grace?”

Kaoru nodded. He gave Valerie a tentative smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don't know what I would have done without you.”

Too saccharine?

“Nihil est,” Valerie said, returning the smile.

Ughhhhh. Kaoru followed him into the next car, grabbing hold of the man’s sleeve for good measure.

24.10 || 24.12

[darthkruge]

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Help

Summary: The five times the Senator!Reader needs Anakin’s help but refuses to ask for it and the one time they do

Warnings: Language, reader is afraid of vulnerability, reader is going through it, angst, violence, fluff (it ends on a positive note, I promise)

Words: 4k

A/N: This idea has kinda been bouncing around my head for a hot minute and I finally decided to just go ahead and write it. And somehow it became the longest fic I’ve ever written! Is this self-indulgent? Who’s to say?!

(not my gif)

I.

Okay, so a right, then a left, then another left, then-

You groaned. You’d been going over the cryptic instructions Padme gave you back at the temple but they were, unfortunately, not helping. It was your first time alone in Coruscant and you were completely lost in the painfully literal sense. You had just been given your first actual mission with the Council as a senator, something you’d worked your entire career for. As an added bonus, you were on the same planet as your boyfriend, Anakin Skywalker. 

You’d gotten close over the last year and were elated when he asked you on a date the last time you were in the same place. This was the first time you were together in the two weeks it had been since then. 

Anyway, you were currently wandering around the bustling Coruscant streets, looking for the market. Well, you were looking for the market. Now, you realized you would probably never find it and were just trying to make your way back. 

You debated calling Anakin. You could. He would be able to guide you home easily, you rationalized. But it’s Coruscant! How difficult could it be? If people came here for missions all the time and didn’t get hopelessly lost, so could you! And Anakin was probably busy anyway, you didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, the relationship was so new! You didn’t want to annoy him. After weighing the odds, you pushed down the urge to reach out and decided to just find your own way.

This logic was ridiculous, you realized far too late. Fuck. There was no way around it, you were going to be late. Or at the very least, cut it exceptionally close. You started running, heart racing. It would be so stupid to be late to your first actual Council meeting because you got lost. You wanted them to take you seriously and think of you as a professional. Tardiness as a first impression went against all of that!

After sprinting and taking several aimless turns, by some stroke of magic you found your way to the Temple. You checked the time and realized you had two minutes to make it to up several flights of stairs.

Fuck it. You decided, taking off in a run. You took the stairs two at a time, stumbling occasionally before unceremoniously bursting through the doors to the meeting.

You gulped in air quickly, chest heaving while you desperately tried to calm your heart. You inelegantly brushed a hand through your hair and gave an awkward smile. 

“Hi, uh, everyone! Hi! I’m,” You took a quick break to breathe in some more oxygen as your gaze shifted to Anakin. He looked amused and concerned as he took you in. He gave you a discreet and supportive smile and head nod. You gave your own in return. He believes in me. “I’m Senator Y/N L/N” 

II.

Honestly, you didn’t know how your speeder had broken. You’d been flying them for years and, despite being a senator, you were pretty damn good at it. It was something that gave you solace as a kid, those little moments of freedom. Even then, though, you were a decently cautious person and didn’t break many of them.

Thus, you ended up in your current predicament. Staring at the fried wires under the hood of your speeder, trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong. You knew Anakin was freakishly talented at fixing basically everything. He could probably look at the speeder for 10 minutes, know what’s wrong with it, and get it back to you in perfect shape.

You think this is why you don’t want to tell him. What if he thought you were stupid? Shouldn’t you be able to figure this out yourself? You fought with your instincts, feeling the conflict build inside you.

You knew he wouldn’t judge you. You knew he’d be glad you came to him for help. Even so, you felt physically incapable of moving to call or find him. 

Frustrated, you turned back to your work. You decided to pull this one gear, thinking it might do something. Well, you were right about that. A stream of oil sprayed out of the speeder, coating you in its thick, black paint. You stood there frozen for a second, trying to mentally comprehend that you had just been sprayed with oil because you were too afraid to talk to the man you were in a literal relationship with!!

You groaned, wiping your hands on your pants before grabbing a towel to wipe some of the grease off your face. You walked back into your apartment quickly, praying to the Maker that no one would see you like this. Honestly, they’d probably smell you first and run the other way.

You finally got back without problems and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom. Pulling off your clothes and turning on the hot shower, you sighed as you finally felt the oil washed off your skin. You spent about twenty minutes in there, scrubbing furiously to ensure you didn’t smell like a fucking garage. 

Finally, you went out and saw Anakin sitting on your bed, messing with a piece of wiring. 

“Hey, Y/N! Did you know your speeder was broken? It looks like you blew a cable, easy fix, don’t worry. I’ll have it ready for you by tonight.”

He looked up and saw your exhausted state and the clump of dirty, grease ridden clothes you were holding. 

His brow furrowed, trying to piece it together. “Maker, what happened to you?”

“I had a fight with the speeder. And lost”

Anakin bit back a laugh before his confusion compounded. “Wait, you know I can fix this, right? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t want you to think I was an idiot. I mean, I did something and broke an entire speeder and somehow didn’t even know what I broke! It’s humiliating!”

“Cables are hard, it’s not your fault you didn’t know what to do, love.”

“Really?” You asked, unconvinced. 

“Really. Come on, let’s go throw those clothes in the wash and I’ll get back to fixing this.”

“Oh, no, Ani you don’t have to-”

Anakin cut you off with a kiss, distracting you enough to quickly take the clothes from your hands.

“I’ll have it ready within the hour, my love.”

III.

Who the fuck decided to put the plates that high up?!

You jumped again and again, arm outstretched as far as possible. Once again, you didn’t even get close. Sighing, you looked around the apartment and noticed a ladder. It looked a bit unsteady but you would be fine, right? You were a whole ass senator, you were sure you could handle an old ladder. 

Pulling it over to you, you climbed up and reached out. Much closer this time, but you still couldn’t reach them. You went on your tiptoes, eyebrows furrowed and lip bit in concentration. You angled your body just a little further, a little further-

The ladder was suddenly ripped out from under you and you desperately shot your arms out, hands clawing to try and stop your imminent fall onto the hard kitchen tiles. Bracing yourself for the inevitable pain, you squeezed your eyes closed. 

“Y/N!!” You heard as your fall suddenly stopped. You opened your eyes and noticed you were barely floating above the floor. Anakin ran toward you and noticed the ladder strewn on the floor beside you. 

“What the hell were you doing?” He said, offering you his hand and pulling you up.

“I was just-” You gesture lamely to the plates, realizing how ridiculous you must look.

“Y/N, no one can reach those! Next time, just call me, I’ll get them for you!”

“But-” You sigh, hating this. “I wanted to be able to do this, I don’t want to rely on you and your Jedi powers all the time”

Anakin’s gaze softened. He knew you had trouble relying on others. Even so, he couldn’t even start to think of what would have happened if he’d arrived home even 10 seconds later.

“I know, baby, I know. But, please, try. You’d have to rely on me a lot more if you break your legs falling off a ladder.” 

“I know” You reply softly, giving him a shy smile. “I’m working on it, I promise”

IV.

You’d been up all night working on a new presentation for the Council. You’d spent hours going over it, the facts, the plans, the details. Everything was set. Well, everything except one little piece. To make your point stronger, you needed the statistics from the latest Jedi missions. 

The only people with access to those were Anakin and Obi-Wan. You knew, logically, that if you asked Anakin he’d give them to you without hesitation. He supported you always and knew that you only used your power as a senator to improve lives. 

Even so, there was that part of your brain that told you he wouldn’t give them to you. He would think you’re just trying to use him for his connections as a Jedi. Or perhaps he simply wouldn’t care enough to search through the reports to find the information.

All of this was, of course, completely inaccurate. But you’d never had someone who actually wanted to help you. It's always been “okay I’ll do this for you but only if you do this for me, too.” No one ever looked out for you and you’d grown accustomed to it. It’d become almost comforting, in a way. At least you knew what to expect. 

This was how you ended up seeing your beautiful boyfriend across the halls of the Jedi temple and walking another way. Your heart tugged painfully and your brain screamed at you. Why don’t you allow yourself to trust him? Why would you assume the worst? Why can’t you fight these thoughts? 

You took one more look back at him. You didn’t want to be closed off by any stretch of the imagination. You wished you could turn off the thoughts and the doubt. You knew Ani didn’t deserve it. You sighed. There he was, training by himself in the courtyard. You looked away and took a moment to compose yourself before your legs carried you away and toward your good friend.

“Hey, Obi-Wan, could you help me with something for the next Council meeting?”

V.

You were running. You were running and as fast as you moved, you never got closer to him. You were never safe. A masked figure was chasing you and you just couldn’t get away. Your legs burned with the effort, your lungs straining to grasp oxygen. You were exhausted to your core, your sheer panic the only thing keeping you awake. 

You looked back and saw the man gaining on you. Tears started streaming down your cheeks. You knew what he was capable of and had no doubt he would kill you if he caught you. You didn’t want to die, not like this. You didn’t want him to beat you. You were so, so scared. You screamed as he caught up to you, your body no longer moving. You pleaded with your legs to work, reasoned with the heavens, did anything you could, and yet you wouldn’t budge. 

The stranger’s claw of a hand twisted around your neck, squeezing. You fought. It was pointless. You began to black out, feeling the life slip out of your body. Dark spots appeared in the corners of your vision and you tried once again to kick your way out of his grasp-

You bolted awake, eyes shooting open. Your chest was heaving and tear stains marked your cheeks. You placed your hands on the bed sheets, bunching them up and trying to feel the texture to remind yourself that you were safe. You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself but nothing was working. 

You got up, pacing quietly. Out of all the nights to have a nightmare, it had to be today. The one night you and Anakin weren’t together. Since you had to hide the relationship, you couldn’t technically share an apartment. This didn’t stop you from spending basically every night together, though. His chambers became yours after the first month or so of dating, neither of you wanting to spend time apart. 

But, unfortunately, the Council seemed more cautious as of late and you didn’t want to risk it. Thus, you decided to spend tonight apart. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now.  You grabbed one of his Jedi robes, pulling the black fabric around your body. You were immediately calmed by his scent and wrapped it closer around you. You started to make your way down the hall. You knew it was risky but after that nightmare, you just needed him. 

You made it to his apartment, went to knock on the door, and abruptly stopped. What are you doing? You can’t just go to him! He’s exhausted, he’s been working all week! He finally got home from a mission and you want to wake him up in the middle of the night because you had a nightmare? It wasn’t even real! Maker, get a hold of yourself, Y/N! 

Your hand hovered over the door. You wanted him, you did. But those lingering thoughts, those lingering emotions remained. A childhood of neglect, of constant feelings of unimportance left scars you couldn’t avoid. You hated that your parent’s inability to show you affection or care manifested in your inability to be vulnerable. Despite this, you somehow understood. You’d spent years letting them in and only getting invalidated in return. Like all patterns, this one wouldn’t go away just because you wanted it to. 

Now, every time you tried to let Anakin in, it’s like an alarm was tripped in your brain. Every part of you that wanted to allow him to know you was combated with the overwhelming fear that, if you did, if you went to him for comfort or help, he would think of you as a burden. He’d leave, just like the rest of them did. So you pushed the urge for comfort aside, dropped your hand, and made the lonely walk back to your room. 

You got back to your room, mentally beating yourself up. You wished your brain worked differently. You wished you would allow yourself to be loved. You wished you could trust, fully and completely. You sighed. Knowing you wouldn’t be getting any sleep, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on your cough, the room solely illuminated by the moonlight. You kept Anakin’s robes around you, wishing it was his arms. You sat like that until morning, sipping the drink on and off until it grew cold. You were zoned out, staring out the window at the Coruscant traffic. Your thoughts either drifted to him or your past trauma. Maker, you wished you could change it. 

I.

Fuck. You’d been driving around on your speeder, zipping in and out of alleys, for the last twenty minutes. There was a bounty hunter after you. A damn good bounty hunter, at that. Being a high profile senator, it made sense you’d run into the occasional person trying to kidnap you. Or kill you. 

Damn, this bitch is good. You kept trying to lose them but you couldn’t shake them. You didn’t even  know who they were but it didn’t matter, you supposed. At the end of the day, regardless of who was in that speeder, they wanted you dead. And if you didn’t figure out how to get out of this mess, you would be. 

They’d been shooting at you for a while now but you’d been able to avoid the blasts. Whether it was skill, luck, or a combination of both, you weren’t sure. Even so, you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shoot back at them, as you stupidly forgot your blaster. Who could blame you, though? All you wanted to do was go for a ride to clear your head, you didn’t expect to be fucking shot at!

You continued like this for a while. All you had to do was get back to the Temple. You were probably about 10 minutes away if you continued at this pace, 7 if you really pushed it. You looked ahead and saw the walls of it come into view and suddenly safety didn’t feel so far away. Despite the circumstances, a smile graced your face. You could do this. 

Or maybe not. As you tried to swerve between more buildings, they hit you. You felt your speeder plummet 10 feet instantly and screamed. Your engine sputtered and your heart dropped. Mind racing, you tried to drive but came to the chilling realization that there was no way you’d make it back. Your engine was done for, it wouldn’t make it 3 minutes, yet alone all the way back. 

Your mind went to him. Anakin. Fuck, you loved him. You let out a humorless laugh. Since you started dating, you almost never asked him for help. You couldn’t let him in. Something in your brain stopped you every single time. And yet, now, all of that felt stupid. It felt juvenile. When you looked at your speeder, slowly but surely stalling and the bounty hunter approaching, you felt this overwhelming sense of clarity.

You were going to die. This person, they would get to your speeder and shoot you. You didn’t have a single weapon. It was inevitable. Your mind, however, wouldn’t relent. It was stuck on him. In this moment, you pressed the comm button in your speeder, hoping beyond hope that it would still work. 

“Y/N?” Anakin’s staticky voice cut through the speeder and went straight to your heart. 

“Hey, Ani” You said, your voice broken up with unshed tears.

“Y/N? Where are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m- Anakin, I’m in trouble. A bounty hunter is after me, my speeder is hit and going to stop working probably within the next 20 seconds. I don’t have any weapons to defend myself. I, I, uh, I need your help”

“I’m coming to get you, stay where you are.” His voice was firm, his need to protect you overruling everything else in his body. 

“I’m just a few-”

“I’ve got you, love. I can sense you in the Force. I know where you are”

Of course he could. You took a few deep breaths and you speeder sputtered out, stopping in a deserted alleyway. You looked around and saw the bounty hunter, now obviously male, stepping out and making his way towards you. 

“He’s here, Anakin” Your voice was tight, anxious. You were quiet, paralyzed by fear. 

“Please, Y/N, fuck! Hold on, I’m almost there”

“Ani, Anakin I’m scared! Ani! Ani!” You were hysterical now, screaming and sobbing his name as the man punched the top of your speeder, fracturing the glass. He pulled you out of it by the hair and threw you harshly onto the concrete. 

You yelped in pain as he kicked you directly in the ribs. He backhanded you across the face, the power from his hit making blood pool in your mouth. Harshly you spit it onto the ground, looking up at him with pure hate. 

He placed the blaster to your head, right on your forehead. You let your eyes flutter closed. Your knees were scraped, legs bruised. You were sure at least one of your ribs was broken. You could feel blood running from your temple. Your arm was radiating pain from landing on it. Despite all this, the only thing you thought of was Anakin. Funny, you thought, how the brain chooses what to focus on in its last moments. All you hoped was that he didn’t feel responsible for your death. All you hoped was that he knew you loved him. 

“You’re finished, Senator”

“I don’t think so” Anakin’s smooth voice, tight with anger, cut through the air. His lightsaber unsheathed, he swung it directly into the man. You gasped, everything happening so quickly. As soon as the blaster was gone from your forehead, you scrambled back. 

Anakin walked up to you but, from the shock, you pulled back even further. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s Anakin, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you”

You whimpered, looking at him and placing a hand on his jacket before harshly jumping into his arms. He gripped you to him, both of you sighing in relief. 

“You came for me” 

He looked at you like you were insane. “Of course I did! You needed me, you called! I’m always going to be there for you, Y/N. I am always going to show up”

“Thank you” You said, voice muffled against his chest. His hands raked through your hair while you just breathed him in. His scent comforted you, his strong chest and large arms grounding you after a day so intense and horrifying that nothing felt real. 

You were still trembling, the aftershocks quite apparent. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re safe, he’s dead, he’s gone. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again, I promise.” Anakin whispered these affirmations into your hair, holding you until the shaking ceased. 

“Thank you for calling me, Y/N. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“It wasn’t that hard, to be honest, I- wait? What do you mean, you know it couldn’t have been easy for me?!”

Anakin looked at your sheepishly. “You honestly think I haven’t noticed your problems with asking for help? We’ve been together for almost a year and, contrary to popular belief, I can be quite perceptive. I didn’t want to call you out on it, I assumed you’d be embarrassed. But I’m glad that when it actually came down to life or death, you called me.”

“I’ve always known I could call you, Anakin. Please, I don’t want you to ever think my inability to be vulnerable is rooted to anything you do. You’re, fuck, you’re perfect. You’re kind and compassionate and caring and you’re always looking out for me. Look, I know I haven’t been too open about my past and I still struggle with that. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve never had someone who actually wanted to be there for me. This thing where you care and want me to come to you when I’m hurting or simply just want affection or company or help with the little things, it’s foreign to me.”

Ani’s heart broke at your words. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you back then, Y/N. I hate that this” He said, gesturing between you both “is unique to you. But, seriously, anytime you need anything I’m someone you can come to. I honestly want you to come to me. Regardless of if you think it’s something small or this life-altering favor, ask me. I doubt I’d turn you away and, on the off chance I do, I’m not gonna hold that against you.”

“You won’t leave? Even if I show you all of me? Even if I rely on you?”

“I won’t leave you, beautiful. So long as you allow me to show you all of me, too. And you let me rely on you, too.”

Your eyes widened at his words. “Of course! Of course, Ani! I’m here for you, I got you, too, always.”

“I know you do” His flesh hand went up, cupping your cheek. 

“I know you do, too.” You sighed into his touch. You were exhausted beyond belief, your body and mind pretty much shutting down from the stress of it all. Even so, you relaxed further into his body. Yeah, this was new. Yes, it was scary. But you were going to try. Even though it terrified you, you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be loved by him.

--

tagging julia bc she asked when i was textpost-complaining about having to edit this <3

@anakinswhore 

[lucidtobio]

falling for you !

who knew falling a million times on ice would bring two people together?

[ fluff , gn!reader ]

class 1-A had planned a whole-class get together on the weekend. it was planned to be a relaxing change from the field trips that always ended up in villain attacks. while everyone had a wide range of suggestions, it was ultimately decided to listen to ochako and go ice skating.

at around 4:37 pm, the last pair of people finally showed up at the rink; even though it was over 30 minutes past the agreed meeting time. (cough kaminari and mineta cough)

"alright, let's get this party started!" mina cheered, sero and kaminari joining in her glee.

the skate rental counter was surrounded by the various students, all eagerly waiting to start standing on blades instead of their feet. you lingered towards the back of the crowd, not wanting to push and shove for a pair of skates.

"hey."

you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of a rumbling voice by your ear. turning around quickly, you saw kirishima grinning sheepishly at you. the tips of your ears turned red at the proximity between you two. hell, even him talking to you so suddenly added to your flustered state.

"don't scare me like that, kiri. i died for a second there," you teased while letting out an exaggerated breath. the boy laughed, his shark teeth staying visible for a while longer. your heart swelled at the noise like it did everytime you heard it.

fiddling with your fingers, your mind raced with something to ask kirishima to fill the small silence. luckily, he got there first. "are you any good at ice skating?" he asked while tilting his head slightly. pursing your lips, you tried to think of the last time you skated.

"i would like to think so, but probably not as well as you or aoyama," you offered. eijirou's chest fluttered at the subtle compliment from you. he quickly internally kicked himself for allowing a crush on an amazing person like you flourish. kirishima genuinely believed you were way too good for him.

the line in front of you had dwindled in the short time you were talking with kirishima. finally reaching the counter, you requested your size skate while kirishima got his as well. taking the shoes to the provided benches to put them on, you marveled at the size difference between yours and kirishima's.

"how are your feet so freakishly large?" you questioned, amusement lacing your tone. kirishima let out a small gasp of mock offense. "me? have big feet? i don't know what you're talking about, (y/n)."

narrowing your eyes at him, you lined up your foot next to his. "see! it's like, twice the size of mine," you exclaimed triumphantly. kirishima rolled his eyes with a smile dancing on his lips.

"let me see your hand," he insisted, raising his own. lifting your hand up, your palm pressed against his. you swore you felt sparks at the contact, but brushed it off to poke fun at the boy more.

eijirou couldn't deny it. your hand was way smaller than his. your smooth, slender fingers against his rougher ones felt calming. kirishima was 0.2 seconds away from intertwining his fingers with yours until you spoke up.

"whatever, titan hands."

the playful banter continued as you laced up the faux leather skates. jirou and kaminari looked on, seeing you two wrapped up in your own world. "how much you wanna bet they're going to be dating by the time we leave?" kaminari snickered, nudging jirou's side.

"nah, (y/n) won't do it," she concluded after a moment of thought. kaminari's eyebrows raised as they shook hands, sealing the bet.

once you had your skates secured on your feet, mina was pulling you up by your elbow. "come on (y/n)! i want you to go with me," she beamed, starting to move towards the entrance. you didn't really want to leave kirishima behind, but you knew mina would be upset if you ditched her.

"if you drag me down with you, we're not friends anymore," you giggled, linking elbows with her and waddling towards the entrance. looking over your shoulder one last time, you sent kirishima a faint smile and wave. his cheeks tinged pink as he weakly raised his hand to wave back, but you had already turned around.

after falling multiple times with mina, you had started to get the hang of ice skating. looking ahead you could see kirishima skating side by side with bakugou. unsurprisingly, bakugou was a natural while kirishima was struggling.

"i'm going to go by kiri for a second, okay?" you informed ashido. mina nodded at you in confirmation as her skates swerved right into midoriya's back. stifling laughter, you glided next to the red haired boy.

"oh, hey (y/n)! did you leave mina by herself?" eijirou asked, eyebrows furrowing slightly. you nodded in confirmation, eyeing kirishima’s death grip on bakugou’s arm.

“you good over there?” you asked, motioning toward where they were connected. bakugou rolled his eyes in annoyance. “tch, as if. shitty hair can’t ice skate for his life,” bakugou mumbled. at the same time, eijirou’s balance faltered and he started to fall before clinging onto the blonde.

“dumbass-!” bakugou shouted before they both ended up succumbing to gravity and falling to the ice. your hand flew to your mouth as laughter escaped your lips.

bending down, you reached out your hand to kirishima first and helped him up. once he was upright you moved to help bakugou, only to be met by his scowling expression and hand batting yours away. "i don't need your help, damn extra."

you and kirishima exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. bakugou quickly righted himself and skated away, mumbling curses under his breath.

starting to move away from that spot, you swiveled around when you realised that kirishima wasn't next to you. the red head was still in the same position, staring after you. when eijirou saw he got caught, his face turned the same shade as his hair

"sorry for staring (y/n)! i just, um, spaced out for a second," kirishima exclaimed, covering his face with his hands. a grin spread across your lips as you moved closer to him. gently prying off his hands from his face, you started to pull him forward while you skated backwards. (silently praying that you didn't fall on your butt-)

ochako and asui passed you at the same moment. "aww, tsu look how cute they are!" ochako cooed, trying to be quiet. asui nodded in agreement while saying you did make a cute couple. embarrassment flooded over you, your flustered state causing you to fall yet again. but this time, kirishima fell with you.

to be more precise, on top of you.

his weight pressed you further into the ice, making you wince. eijirou's hands were still loosely wrapped around your wrists which gave the impression to onlookers that he was pinning you down. one of kirishima's legs was between yours, causing more trouble while getting up.

scrambling apart, you finally seperated from the red head. you both sported flushed cheeks as you stood up again. "how unmanly," eijirou mumbled under his breath.

"maybe this time i'll just hold your hand," you huffed, reaching for kirishima's hand. there were no complaints from the boy in question. fingers tightly intertwined, you started skating forward again.

"maybe next time we do this, it'll be a bit more romantic," kirishima said, turning to you with a smile. who were you to turn down a date with him?

the ice was cold, but with kirishima by your side, you had never felt warmer.

a/n: part 187 of mars doesn't know how to end their writing

⤿ written 4.12.2021

⤿ masterlist

[wandering-travesty]

Call Me By Your Name

    You weren’t sleezy. That was just a word idiots used to try and pull you down to their level. Yes, your hair was slicked back. Yes, your eyeshadow was dark as the night. Yes, your suit jacket barely covered your chest. Yes, your nails were painted black and sharp as daggers. But, no, you weren’t sleezy. You were dressed for your job. What was your job? Well, that was a bit more complicated….

 “I need you to get close to him.” Erwin said coolly, stubble covered chin resting on his strong hands.

 “I’m sorry?” You asked, genuinely hoping you had too much wax lodged in your ear canals.

 “You heard him.” You met the glare of the midget standing behind your boss.

 “Okay, smartass, I did. But you can’t be serious, boss! He’s beyond dangerous. Shouldn’t someone like,” you gestured in Levi’s direction, “one of the Ackermans take care of this? I’m not discounting myself or anything, but fucking with a Yeager is basically a suicide mission.” You were actually shocked Erwin asked you to do something so important. More so, dangerous. You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was a death sentence. You’d lost enough comrades to know that.

 “Listen, he’s the key to taking down the Marlian Syndicate.” You knew that, but still, this seemed out of left field. “The Ackermans are strong, yes, but they lack a certain…”

 “They’re not ready to whore themselves out. Just say that, Smith.” You understood now. The Ackermans were cold blooded killers ready to strike at any moment. However, they were awkward and completely inept at things like lust and heated and frankly revolting rendezvous. That was how he wanted you to get information for him.

 Erwin wanted you to fuck the leader of the Marlian Syndicate.

 “I wouldn’t use that wording exactly, but your assumption is correct.” Levi couldn’t seem to meet your gaze, but Erwin continued to stare straight into your soul. He was the leader of La Peste Eldienne (The Eldian Plague) for a reason. Strong, debonair, charming, and slightly insane. He could down a beer in one swig, sip a martini all night long, or abstain from alcohol completely. Whatever he needed to do, he did. He murdered, sent the idiotic young and the hopeless old to their deaths just the same, and could absolutely wine and dine a stranger until their clothes practically flew off their body if it was for the cause. You needed to be like that. Especially at a time like this.

 “I’ll do it. And I’ll do it well.” You assured your boss and his partner. Yeah, this would be easy. You could go low as the scum you were about to completely fuck over. You had been climbing up the ranks as of late, so this would be easy as pie.

Before going on your little date: you made a mental note of the main players you would have to deal with. The list you had went something like this:

Porco Galliard: Complete idiot. All brawn, no brain. Basically a bouncer with a fancier jacket and a higher salary. No worries about him doing anything funny.

Pieck Finger: The sweet little thing they kept around for good reason. Part of you wished you had to deal with her instead. She was witty and had a surprising amount of control over the shipments of cocaine and ammunition that went on about the city. Her pretty face and calm demeanor hid her true genius. She was one of the more concerning figures at tonight’s gig, but also one of the one’s more willing to hear you out before killing you.

Colt Grice: Basically a smarter but weaker version of Galliard. He was really only part of the Syndicate to learn from the best and become a great mafioso one day. You had high hopes for him, despite yourself.

Bertholdt Hoover: A freakishly tall mix of the last three members of the gang. So sweaty and shaky he wasn’t allowed to handle guns under any circumstance. That told you all you needed to know about his threat level.

Annie Leonhardt: Tiny, quiet ball of rage and skill. Could murder you in an instant, but would only do so if ordered. Not a concern unless someone else found you out, or you didn’t like being glared at all night.

Reiner Braun: His personality changed with the passing minutes. Could be calm and almost kind, or could snap your neck like a twig in his giant ass hand. He was a wildcard, and a dangerous one. Though he was obsessed with following orders and being the perfect little soldier boy, so you didn’t need to worry about him if no one told him to start shooting.

Yelena: Even more freakishly tall than Hoover. Also freakishly obsessed with the gang leader and his “master plan”, whatever the hell that was. Maybe you would find out tonight. Anyways, she would only do anything if you threatened the boss in any way. If you did your job right, that wouldn’t be an issue.

Eren Yeager: Easily the most brash and idiotic member of the gang. His problem was that he was trigger happy. In this business, trigger happy meant dozens of dead innocents piled up on the club floor in an instant. You had to be careful around him. Unlike most of the others, he would kill you without thinking.

And the top dog. The man of the hour. The man you had to seduce:

Zeke Yeager: Think Erwin but with more wit and charm. Not to mention more of a sadistic mindset. His favorite game was cat and mouse, seeing how long it took before he had a good excuse to have someone drawn and quartered. His expertise was slow torture that the victim didn’t even really know was happening before the barrel of the gun was already pointed to their temple. And you had to fuck him so stupid he leaked confidential information.

 The only other issue with Zeke was his habit of sleeping around. Yes, he was a tramp by most standards. A harlot with exotic tastes. You had heard stories of him seducing women and men alike, and god only knew what they did once he succeeded. What that meant for you was he would be hard to impress.

 So, you were here to beat him at his own game. And if you were found out, his younger brother would most likely shoot you on the spot. That was, if one of the others did it first. Or even worse, Zeke decided to be a tried and true asshole and torture you to death. The options were endless, and you hated them all.

 So there you sat, ass perched on a bar stool, sipping on a gin rickey and waiting for your opportunity. The room smelled strongly of tobacco, rum, and cinnamon. At least you would die surrounded by what you loved, you thought, laughing grimly to yourself. Men and women danced to slow songs you faintly recognized. The air buzzed with haughty laughter and upper class small talk. You barely had any idea how to interact with high society shitheads as high and mighty as the ones Yeager surrounded himself with. You weren’t often sent out to jobs like this. You were like Levi, born in the slums and never taught how to properly behave. You knew what you had to, much like your knowledge of the goings on of La Peste Eldienne. You knew your gang traded drugs, ammunition, and whatever else was a hot commodity at the time, but nothing other than that. You were actually quite glad to know nothing, since that made you a pretty unimportant person to rival gangs. Not as many death threats and kidnapping attempts came your way, unlike the ones Erwin, Hange, and Levi got every day. You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts on the gang hierarchy.

 “Excuse me, miss. The boss wants to chat with ya’ real quick.” A man with greasy hair and green, catlike eyes softly gripped your shoulder. Considering what you knew of Galliard, you figured that grip wouldn’t be soft for much longer if you didn’t do as he suggested.

 “Oh, alright. Did he happen to mention why?” You were genuinely curious. Porco didn’t offer you any solid answer, but there was a reasonable explanation.

 Zeke wanted to get his rocks off. Parties could be interesting, with the right people, of course. The right people hadn’t happened to show up that night. You, on the other hand, seemed interesting. To be frank, you were gorgeous. Even from a distance, he could tell there was something behind your eyes that spelled trouble. He loved people like you. Vicious, cunning, witty, all hidden behind an uninterested and bored demeanor. Those were the people he wanted around him. The best examples were Pieck, and surprisingly, Levi. They seemed to be completely different people than the ones hiding behind their eyes, and Zeke loved to see how long it took to break them down. Well, he was a bit kinder to Pieck, but you and Ackerman got the rough treatment.

 “Zeke, what the hell’re you doin’?” Eren pulled him out of his rather disgusting thoughts of…things better left unsaid.

 “I’m going to talk to a woman, Eren. What does it seem like I’m doing?” Zeke had a sharp tongue and quick wit, which he didn’t spare even his brother from.

 “I get that, but why that one? She seems…shady t’me. I wouldn’t let ‘er get too close, y’know?”

 “Eren, please be rational.” Zeke held a palm out in front of Eren, as if to physically stop his train of thought. “You and Yelena will shoot at the first sign of danger, so inviting this lovely woman to join us for a harmless chat isn’t a danger in the slightest.” Zeke reassured his brother, neglecting to tell him his true intentions. He was sure that would just make him more upset and skittish, which was dangerous for everyone there.

 “’Kay, boss. Got the dame ya’ asked for.” Porco trudged to the brothers’ secluded table with you in tow. He had kept one hand on your shoulder and the other right above your ass. The two main reasons being: one, he didn’t want someone so seemingly important to escape his grip, and two, you had a nice ass.

 “Ah, thank you Galliard…you can let her go now.” He gave Porco a knowing smirk. He let you go immediately and walked away, cheeks slightly reddened. Zeke didn’t want someone else touching his new toy.

 “I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but did you need something from me? That man made me leave my gin at the bar and I would like to finish it at some point.” Oh, Zeke was going to love you. You weren’t flighty or scared in the slightest. He knew you had seen some serious shit. Not to mention how you cared more about your alcohol than a dangerous mafia boss and his younger brother ordering you over to their table. You were attractive and relatable. What a catch.

 “My apologies, Galliard tends to be a bit, how do you say, brutish. Feel free to order something new and sit down with us.” He gave you a smile that told you it wasn’t a suggestion. This guy was already just as bad as everyone had told you. He hailed a waiter over to the table. You knew that wasn’t some kind gesture, rather a show of how much power he had over everyone there. His long, thick fingers and suave smile also showed you how easily swayed you could be by dashing looks and raw power.

 He held himself like a king but talked like a philosopher. At the same time, he was down to earth yet still slightly condescending. You never knew where you stood with him, and he liked it that way. His flaxen hair was parted down the middle, and unlike most of the men there along with yourself with their hair hardened with pomade, it was fluffy and moved as he gestured wildly when he spoke. He tended to talk with his hands, once again drawing attention to just how attractive they were. His face was indescribably beautiful. His eyes were like stormy oceans cascading with passion and intrigue. His lips looked soft and plush with a wonderful roseate hue. His beard was well groomed and framed his sharp jaw perfectly. His gold rimmed glasses had a habit of hiding his eyes when thrown into direct light, which often happened with how he talked with his whole body. The way he constantly made direct eye contact with you had you lost in a daze of desire and fear. Was this all some sick ploy to get you to slip up and get everyone you loved killed along with yourself? Or was he seriously that interested in you?

 Eren was quiet most of the time, unless Zeke spoke to him. He didn’t like you. You were too similar to Zeke for his tastes.

 “Say, Eren, could you pass me a smoke?”

 “Oh, so you do have vices. See, you never ordered a drink for yourself, so I assumed you were a man above pleasures of the flesh.” You flashed a toothy grin at him, signaling that it was just playful banter. You two were both rather good at that.

 “My dear, the more you get to know me, the better you will understand just how enthralled with earthly pleasures I am.” He winked, and it sent you to the moon with want. How could a man be so gorgeous, charming, dangerous, and sadistic all at the same time? And why did you have to deal with it? You needed him out of his right mind, but it seemed like that could never happen. Whether it came from alcohol, drugs, or sex. You planned to use a mixture of all three. As you continued your playful jabs and taunts at each other, you found your opportunity to seal the deal. One sniff of the white stuff and he was putty in your hands.

 “Now you know, Mr. Yeager, gin isn’t my only vice.” You kept your usual sly tone.

 “Oh really? That is quite the interesting thing to say.” He matched your energy perfectly. This was too good.

 “Have you ever happened to try, well, what do they call it these days? Well, I tend to call it blow. Snow, stardust, snort, sugar, crack, whichever you prefer, I suppose.” Oh, how brave of you to mention your own trade to your top competitor.

 “Why, yes, I have indeed partook in snorting blow. Is there any reason as to why you’re asking me that right now, darling?” You wished he would stop with the pet names. Or rather, you wished you would stop loving them so much. It felt dirty to enjoy your enemy’s company to this extent.

 “Well, I was wondering if you might like to sneak off and try some of my personal mix.” You leaned in close, covering the side of you mouth with your hand. Eren wasn’t a bad kid or anything, but he’d mess with your plan, and you couldn’t have that. Especially not with his slippery ass trigger finger.

 “Your own personal mix, eh? Don’t tell me you’re involved in the trade, now.” He leaned in just shy of touching your lips. “That wouldn’t be very good for either of us, sweetheart.” That’s it, you were fucking this man if it was part of your plan or not. The entire thing could go south, and you’d still want this man’s dick in your mouth. You didn’t really care anymore. He was too hot to handle, and you were this close to cracking under the pressure. Zeke was right, you were fun to play with.

 “Not at all, I just happen to know the right people.” You grinned at him, knowing you technically weren’t lying. It was your own little inside joke, or so you thought.

 The next thing you knew you were in Zeke’s penthouse, smashed up against the wall with a hand around your neck. By all accounts, this is what you wanted, but it was also quite the opposite.

 “Dearest, I find it insulting that you think I would fall for that pitiful act.” He had you figured out from the moment you walked in. Zeke Yeager never forgot a pretty face. He’d wanted to have you naked in his bed for months, and here you were, all helpless and needy. You were adorable, thinking you could get whatever you wanted from him.

 “Smith was a fool to send anyone, let alone a little minx like you.” You hated how good being insulted by this bitch felt. How did he make it so that your panties got wetter every time he called you a different synonym for whore? It was so awful and so amazing.

 “I’m the slut, yet you’re the one actively trying to fuck me? Do I have that right?” You quipped the best you could from under the pressure of his strong hand.

 “Alright then, we’re both sluts. But the difference between us is that I admit it, yet you pretend to be this perfect little princess in order to fuck powerful men like me.” His grip on your neck tightened as if to add injury to insult.

 “Don’t insult me,” you had to catch your breath between each word, “I fuck men ten times more powerful than you.” But, god was it worth it. You figured he might slap you or otherwise reprimand you, but no, the bastard just smiled wide. What a fucking asshole.

 “Maybe to you.” He widened his cheshire grin. “Maybe you think Erwin’s more powerful. That he has a bigger cock and sucking it will get you further in life.” He pushed you further into the wall. “Or maybe letting Ackerman smack your ass will earn you some cash. Or having Zacharius sniff around your cunt instead of your neck will rise you up the ranks, hmm?” You just grimaced at him, knowing none of it was true. “Or maybe,” he let out a chuckle, “letting Zoe do whatever the hell they’re into will get you more coke and gin.” He was mocking you, ruthlessly, with no signs of stopping, and without letting you get a word in. You were starting to see black spots in your line of vision.

 “Well, fucking with me will get you much more, angel.” He finally let your neck go, letting you fall to the ground, left to look up at the devil in front of you.

 “You fucking suck.” You glared at him, not necessarily trying to hide how much you were enjoying this. As it happened, you weren’t some innocent angel. No, you weren’t a sadistic maniac like Zeke, but you knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t necessarily vanilla. As if reading your earlier thoughts, he bent down to your place on the floor.

 He slapped you, and it wasn’t gentle.

 “You’re a sloppy whore on your best days, now get up and strip.” Well if worst came to worst, you could say that you got him where you wanted him…just not exactly how you wanted him, or with a guarantee you would get what you wanted out of him. Honestly, you felt kind of flattered by his attention and apparent need to fuck you.

 “God, do I have to do everything for you, sweetheart?” Apparently you had been standing around catching your breath too long for his liking. He had made quick work of his own jacket, shirt, and dress pants, leaving him in a black pair of boxers. You hated admitting how magnificent he looked. He was muscular, but not in the same way someone like Reiner or Erwin was. Every single limb on him was lengthy and wiry, thus the bruise marks forming on your neck. While on the subject of length, from what you could see, it applied to his cock as much as it did his other appendages. If it looked that good through the black fabric, you couldn’t even dream of what it would look like out in the open, slapping against his defined v-line and abs.

 You hadn’t even noticed him getting closer to you, completely forgetting about his earlier demand turned complaint.

 “Not only are you a harlot, you’re a useless one, as well.” He came close enough for you to smell the hints of smoke, pine, and black tea that wafted off of him. He started playing with the collar of your shirt. “But damn if you aren’t a pretty one…” He said that more to himself than you, clearly not being comfortable complimenting you. He saw you as a toy, a pawn in his game of chess he was playing with the rest of the world.

 You decided that would be your last deep thought as he began to undress you. Nimbly moving his fingers down each button of your dress shirt, until it came completely undone and bore your chest to him. You were by no means flat, which seemed to entertain the man in front of you.

 “I knew you’d be the perfect slut for me.” He groped your breasts through your bra, hands greedy with the clear goal of making you yearn for him. “Perfect tits, soft skin, pretty face, nice ass, strong will. Yeah, you’ll be fun to break.” He gave you one of his signature smirks, making you want to crush his windpipe and deepthroat his dick at the same time.

 You shrugged your top off your shoulders and let him snake his arms around your chest to undo your bra and expose your tits to the cool air of the room. He didn’t waste time kissing your filthy mouth, and instead skipped straight to your sensitive neck. He slowly dragged his soft lips down your throat, kissing his way over to both sides and under your jaw. He licked and sucked at any area that made you gasp or let out some embarrassing little noise you tried to desperately to hide. He hated how you hid, he needed you to need him, to want him at a level beyond human comprehension. He wanted to destroy you, do break you down to your most animalistic and pitiful form. You were strong, that was for damn sure, but he wanted to fix that.

 He took all this into account as he began nipping at the tops of your breasts. He moved from one to the other with no clear pattern. He dragged his tongue down to your right nipple, only touching the tip of his tongue to it, making you shiver in anticipation and let out a small whine. Yes, that was the progress he wanted to see from you. He swirled his tongue around it, slowly making his way to the center, harshly sucking it into his mouth. He pulled his sinful mouth away from you, leaving a trail of saliva connecting him to you. He quickly made his way to your other nipple, doing the same and driving you just as wild.

 “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to make more noise, darling.” He teased, sounding genuinely annoyed with you.

 “Well, maybe if you did a better job, I would be louder.” You had discovered your talent of keeping up with his smart mouth, and you used it to your advantage. You wanted to rile him up; to get a rise out of him. As previously stated, you didn’t want a vanilla little love making session, you wanted to fuck.

 “Alright then, if you’re so keen on keeping quiet,” he put his rough hands on your bare shoulders, pushing you back onto the ground, this time on your knees, “how about I stuff that mouth?” You hated how good he was at turning you on.

 He pulled his dick out right in front of your face, letting it lay on his toned abs, just as you had envisioned it. It was easily 10 inches long, 5 inches thick, with a slight upturn that could drive you insane if it hit the right spots, which it would. It was flushed pink and dripping pre-cum; it was pretty.

 “Well, are you just going to gawk at it or are you going to make yourself useful, slut?” The sweet pet names were out the window, swiftly replaced with the most debasing insults he could think of. To avoid any more of his smart ass remarks, you took his thick cock in your hands. You slowly stroked it, taking in exactly how big it was. You moved your plush lips closer, giving it a few small kitten licks to test the waters. You kissed the head and gave longer licks up the side, earning a grunt or two from the man above you. As you began to swirl your tongue around his tip, his strong hand came down and pushed on the back of your head. It wasn’t gentle, forcing you to take him down your throat. Considering his size, it was no shock that you choked on it at first, but he kept his hand on your hair, forcing you to stay on him.

 “That’s it, sweetheart, keep that dirty mouth on fat cock.” Tears starting pooling in your eyes as you struggled to breath around his length. “Aww, are you actually crying?” He cooed, taking sick pleasure in mocking you. “How pathetic of you, darling.” His words send shockwaves of shame and pleasure down to your core. You abhorred how badly you needed him inside of you. As he let out a low moan, he pulled you off his cock, tugging your hair just enough to make you even wetter.

 “Alright, angel. I’m not a big fan of blowjobs, so we’ll leave it at that.” You coughed a little as he bent down to your heaving form.

 “Really? That’s a shock.” That was your genuine reaction. You were far too fucked out to be a smart ass at this point.

 “Yeah, you’re not the first to make that observation.” Much to your surprise, he picked you up bridal style, barely breaking a sweat in the process of getting you to his bedroom. Though the lights were on, you couldn’t take in many details, your cock drunk state making it difficult to process anything other than the warm, bare skin of the monster you tried so hard to vanquish.

 “Now, lets get these cute little panties off, hmm?” You had forgotten him taking off your pants in the heat of the moment. His menacing figure loomed overtop of you, slowly sinking down to your thighs. He placed licks and kisses all over them, leaving a few bite marks along with them. You moaned louder than before, feeling too blissed out to care about your pride. You felt large, tepid fingers hooking themselves between your legs and into your panties. He pulled them to the side, wanting to really take you in. Despite his lust for power and dominance, he much preferred giving head to receiving it, especially when it came to women and their soft, tender pussies. You were no exception to this rule.

 “Goddamn you’re fucking wet.” You looked up at you, making you lean your head back to avoid his gaze. “You must like me more than you care to admit, sweetie.” Just after saying this, he ran one long finger up your dripping slit, coating his fingertip in your slick. He looked at it shimmering in the low light of the room, grinning before taking it into his mouth and tasting what your cunt had to offer.

 “You taste like heaven. Surprising, considering what a nasty girl you are.” Unlike you, he could keep that smartass act up for hours on end, no matter how lost in your sex he was. He landed a chaste kiss to your throbbing heat before flattening his tongue to lick a fat stripe up the middle. He began to devour you, making the lewdest noises you had ever heard in the process. You felt amazing, and disgusting, and just about every other emotion you had ever felt in your life. He was a god at eating your pussy, feeling no remorse in having his lips and beard dripping with your juices. To hell with the burn marks he left on your thighs and the burning sense of guilt you had for moaning so loud and creaming all over the face of your greatest enemy. Shame and guilt were for foolish children with no place in the world, Zeke wanted to enjoy every last second of destroying you.

 As he continued to lick and suck at your most sensitive spots, you began to feel your stomach tighten, signaling your closeness. Zeke noticed as well, taking note of your erupting moans and groans and tugs at his silky hair. He moaned on your clit, the vibrations sending you over the edge. You came all over his face, arching your back of the soft sheets and making you scream his name. He kept his lips attached to your clit as you came down from your high, keeping you ensnared in his trap of bliss.

 “God, you moan like a fucking whore, you know that?” The way he insulted you felt disgustingly good, especially coming from such a obnoxiously handsome man.

 “And you eat pussy like a god.” The veil of hatred came off in one foul swoop. You couldn’t hold back how you truly felt about Zeke Yeager. You were in love with the way he treated you, and spoke to you, and ate you, and soon enough, fucked you. He was so damn good, and you just hated to love and loved to hate him.

 “Oh, do I now?” He let out a low chuckle, taking pride in how helpless and stupid he had made you. “Does that make me your god, pet?” It wasn’t a real question. He knew the answer, and he loved that answer: yes.

 “Now, how about I partake in some earthly pleasures and fuck your brains out, sweetheart?” He questioned, moving his arms up to rest on both sides of your head. His face was right above yours, lips hovering over your breathless, panting ones.

 “Yes, please.” Your eyebrows scrunched together as you grew impatient and needy as all hell. Zeke had a sinister idea. God was a nice term, but he could think of a better one.

 “How about you beg daddy for it?” He was such a disgusting pervert, and he relished in it. You mustered all the strength you could in order to speak.

 “Please fuck my pussy, daddy.” That was all he needed to push himself inside your tight heat. Your walls clenched as he thrusted balls deep inside of you, not caring if you needed to adjust or not. Luckily, you didn’t, despite his size.

 “Fuck yes, angel. You’re so goddamn tight.” He thrusted into you with reckless abandon, using you more than making love to you, which is exactly what you both wanted. Your walls clenched and throbbed as he brought you to orgasm once again.

 “Cumming all over my cock, sweetheart? Such a dirty whore.” He teased, continuing his motions, hitting your g-spot over and over again without much issue. His dick was perfect, reaching every inch of you that made you scream out in pleasure and overstimulated bliss. All of this for a few bags of cocaine and bullets. You weren’t even thinking of that as he pounded into you, getting rougher and sloppier than before. He was getting close to his own high just as you were about to reach your third. No one had ever made you feel like this. You never wanted to let him go. Fuck everyone you cared about, this was too damn good to throw away.

 “Where do you want my cum, slut?” He asked seconds before climaxing.

 “Wherever you want it, daddy.” That was exactly what he wanted to hear. You had been molded into the perfect toy for him, even if it was just for the moment. He had debased and perverted you, like putty in his hands. You thought you could just waltz in there and take what you wanted from him. But no, instead you were writhing around on his bed with his fat cock filling up your pussy while you screamed for your daddy. You were filthy, slutty perfection. He quickly pulled out of you and shot his cum on your stomach and chest. Noticing you were still squirming around, he pushed his thumb to your clit and rubbed circles as two of his fingers entered you and hit your sweet spot.

 “Come on, slutty girl, cum for daddy.” This time felt different than the others. You were completely out of your mind with pleasure and lust, and he was hitting just the right spots. You came around his fingers, squirting your juices and ruining his sheets. As if he could sense it, he had moved his face down just in time for it to reach his mouth, coating yet another layer of your cum on his beard. He licked his lips, savoring you taste and the blissed out, fuck drunk look on your face. He wished he could keep you like this forever. No, he would make sure to keep you like this forever. You were going to be his for the rest of time, no matter what it took. Even if he had to play the long game and pretend you had a choice in the matter.

 “Well, sweetheart, I’m afraid you have to go home empty handed. I’m sure those tarts will just pat you on the head and congratulate you for trying your best. That’s why they’ll never surpass me, and that’s why you will come crawling back to me.” You couldn’t respond, too disappointed and drained to say a word.

 “I have a shower that I recommend you use.” He looked down at you, your eyes hazy and barely focused on him. You were completely exposed to him. You looked beautiful. “In an act of civility, I’ll let you sleep here tonight. On a different bed, of course, considering the damage you’ve done.” You laughed at that, and he followed suite.

 “You know Zeke, for a monster, you’re not too bad.” You looked at him, admiration clear in your eyes.

 “You’re not too unbearable either.”

[welllpthisishappening]

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible. 

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims. 

Whatever, really. 

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies. 

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though. 

She’s positive about that, at least. 

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie. 

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect. 

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers. 

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the  oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate. 

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why. 

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does. 

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too. 

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really. 

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so. 

She’s happy for Scarlet, really. 

They won the game. 

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks. 

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier. 

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse. 

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times. 

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers. 

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five. 

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold. 

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day. 

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face. 

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go. 

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously. 

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person. 

And yet. 

He sticks his hand out. 

It’s disarmingly earnest. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date. 

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind. 

She takes his hand. 

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later. 

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work. 

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably. 

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason. 

When the Yankees make the postseason. 

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face. 

Much like the goddamn fireworks. 

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault. 

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either. 

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened. 

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions. 

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off. 

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them. 

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand. 

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information. 

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that. 

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter. 

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart. 

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least. 

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs. 

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted.  An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open. 

They both jump.

So, that’s something. 

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume. 

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there. 

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works. 

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of. 

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being. 

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her. 

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be. 

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby. 

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected. 

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed. 

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead. 

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together. 

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first. 

She does her very best to memorize the movement. 

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable. 

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself. 

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division. 

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate. 

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him. 

Emma included. Emma, especially. 

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins. 

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then. 

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now. 

Got drafted, technically. 

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back. 

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.  

[theweirdymcweirderson]

Snacks & surprises - James B. Barnes

Author: theweirdymcweirderson

Characters: Reader, James B. Barnes, Steve Rogers (for a bit)

Relationships: Bucky Barnes×Reader

Word count: 972

Summary: Bucky finds out the secret the Reader hs been keeping from him.

Warnings: Pet names, Boyfriend!Bucky, fluff, Soft!Bucky, snack stealing, some news, some secrets. That’s it I think, let me know if you fiind more. 

Notes: ‘*Name’ stand for (Y/n), sorry, I’m lazy :) 

You’re tiptoeing your way across the common room, snack bag in hand as you try to silently make your way to your bedroom without being caught. This is the third time you’ve stolen Sam’s snacks in the last week.

“Did you tell him about the baby?”

Steve is leaning back against the wall by the door, and he seems extremely pleased to have caught you on your little snack raid. You glare at him, turning around to check that no one else is in the room with you. 

“No, I didn't. And there’s no reason for him to find out just yet.”

Your eyes narrow to two thin slits as you challenge Steve. Out of all the people who could’ve found out, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes is the absolute worst.

He doesn’t budge, completely unimpressed by your intimidation tactic and you curse your choice to refuse Natasha’s offer to train with Wanda in the matter; you’ll have to grovel to get her to let you join now. His arms raise to fold across his stupidly built chest, and you scoff.

‘Who the hell does he think he’ll impress that way, anyway?’

“*Name, you have to tell him.”

“And I will. Just give me some time to find, you know, the right time.”

Captain America sighs and you know that you have him. He’s relenting and you have to play it right if you want to win this round.

“Please, Stevie, I just wanna test the waters first; try and ease him into it?”

He nods and you mentally fist bump yourself and smile sweetly at him, clutching the snack bag a little tighter as you jog to your room, not wanting to give him enough time to rethink his concession.

You make your way in, humming contentedly to yourself even though you hate the song stuck in your head; Tony is going to pay for playing it 24/7. Opening the bag, you turn the corner to your room and freeze in your spot when you find Bucky waiting for you.

“Hey there, doll.”

You grin, hoping to look innocently unassuming, but the raise of his eyebrows and the slow, deliberate, smile inform you that you’ve failed. Royally.

“Hi! What- what are you doing here?”

“Last time I checked this is our room, love.”

Of course, you know that. What you don’t know is why he is currently sitting on the bed when he is supposed to be in the lab with Bruce. He’s eyeing you knowingly and if you hadn’t just seen Steve, you would bet your ass that his best friend had spilled the beans.

“Something you wanna tell me, *Name?”

“Uh…nope. Nothing. Got nothing to tell, just you know… nothing. You?”                  

He gets up and starts making his way towards you, and you have to force yourself not to focus on how imposing he is.

‘Fuck him and his stupid serum. And Steve, yeah, fuck him too, cau- Oh no, he’s smiling the smile.’

Ever so gently, he takes hold of your hips, his humongous hands resting comfortably on your sides as he grins down at you. It’s unfair that a wall of a man gets to look so freakishly adorable, who gave him the right? You smile back at him, taking a step closer drawn in by the scent of his aftershave.

“Nothing, huh?”

You nod, shrugging one shoulder while hoping to be a little more convincing; you are most definitely asking for Nat’s advice. Bucky hums, lips pressing together as he holds back his laughter, tongue poking his cheek when your shoulders sag in defeat. You rest the snacks on the desk next to you; the right time seems to have found you after all.

“That’s good, so…care to explain that?”

His hands move from your sides and in a heartbeat, you find yourself span around, your back to his chest as he perches his chin on your shoulder. The metal arm is holding you close to him, curled around your waist while his flesh hand is still resting on your side, fingers spreading to hover over your stomach.

There, in the corner formed by the armrest and the back of the couch is Alpine, napping peacefully as if there weren’t tiny teeth and prickly claws trying to catch his tail. You groan your failure, letting your head lull back to rest on Bucky’s shoulder; face turning to the side to catch his eyes.

“That’s a tiny, itsy-bitsy ball of fluff?”

“Oh, I can see that. What’s she doing here, doll?”

“I… couldn’t help myself?”

He shakes his head, turning back to watch the two cats as Alpine, eyes still closed, paws at the newcomer. The smile is still stretching his lips, and you hold in your breath waiting for his answer. When his teeth sink in his bottom lip and a chuckle rumbles against your back, you know you have won.

“What’s her name?”

You grab at his hand excitedly, pulling him with you towards the couch as you grin.

“I suck at names. Thought we could choose it together?”

You pick the tiny fluffball, turning to face Bucky as you scratch behind its ears. You watch in complete adoration as he brings his hand to play with her and she immediately traps his forefinger between her paws and proceeds to nip at the tip.

“She a feisty one, ain’t she?”

“Yep, knew she’d steal your heart.”

His blue eyes find yours for a fraction and you can read just how elated he is.

‘Oh yeah, fuck Steve and his “Another cat is an important addition. Are you ready for the responsibility?” ass.’

“How about Spunky?”

“Spunky?”

As you try the word on your tongue, the kitten stops her attack on Bucky’s finger and perks up, eliciting a chuckle from the both of you.

“I think she approves.” 

Find more stuff here

[cobaltusami]

Tropical Vacation pt. 2

Hey hi hello! This Is the last part for the day, I felt bad since the first one was so short and uneventful.

This one was funny to write, I liked writing Monokuma and Monomi's 'fight' scene xD

Characters In this part: Lee!Gundham, Lee!Kazuichi, Lee!Nagito, Ler!Nekomaru, Ler!Chiaki, Hajime, Fuyuhiko, Mahiru, Sonia, Hiyoko, Akane, Mikan, Peko

Words: 3,083

PT 1: [Click here], PT 2: [You are here.]

“KAZUICHI, I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU!” Gundham yelled after his friend, chasing him down the beach in a full on sprint. The chase didn’t last very long though before Nekomaru quickly got In the middle of the two and held the breeder back.

“Easy Tanaka!” He barked. “What the hell Is going on?!”

“Yeah, Why are you so worked up? You guys sparrin’?” Akane asked..

“He’s trying to kill me!” Soda accused, pointing his finger at the angry boy in front of him.

“This fiend used some kind of powerful unseen force to send me flying into the water!” Gundham responded angrily. “You are lucky my Devas were not with me!”

Now that he mentioned It, Nekomaru did notice that Gundham was soaking wet.

“Easy dude! I was just playing around, I saw Sonia had your scarf and your zhu zhu pets!” Kazuichi retorted.

“THEY ARE NOT ZHU ZHU PETS!”

Nekomaru sighed in exasperation, why can’t It ever be something… normal with these two? “Y’know what, fine.” The larger student pushed both of them to the ground and proceeded to pin them both and tickle them. “If you’re gonna fight with each other… Then you’re gonna laugh with each other!”

Kazuichi shrieked as he felt his ribs being attacked, he cursed himself for not changing out of his swim attire back into his jumpsuit before launching Gundham into the water.

“NEHEHEHEKO NOHOHOHOHO!”

Gundham wasn’t much better off, Nekomaru was mercilessly tickling his exposed neck and collarbone. “FUAHAHAHAHAHA! F-FIEHEHEHEHEND STAHAHAHAP IHIHIT AT OHOHONCE!” He tried bringing his shoulders up to protect his neck but as soon as he would, Nekomaru would then attack his belly and hip, making his arms instinctively shoot back down to protect his body.

“Not until you two agree to stop fighting.”

“NOHOHOHO WAHAHAHAY! HEHEHE’S THE ONE WHO TRIHIHIHIED TO KILL ME!” Kazuichi cackled, flailing uselessly.

The Ultimate Team manager narrowed his eyes at the pinkette, he leaned down and blew a raspberry against his belly whilst vibrating his fingers into his ribcage.

Kazuichi exploded with screaming high pitched laughter, throwing his head back in the sand as he frantically shoved at Neko’s head and kicked at the sand.

He pulled back grinning then turned to Gundham, whose belly he was still tickling with his other hand. “Don’t think I forgot about you!” He teased, leaning down and blowing a raspberry against his neck.

Gundham burst into loud laughter, rivaling Kazuichi in volume. He tried to push Nekomaru away but this only seemed to encourage him, his other hand left Kazuichi giving him a chance to breathe and instead began poking at Gundham’s ribs and underarm teasingly.

He delivered another deadly raspberry to his sensitive neck, this time drawing a loud squeal followed by booming belly laughs. “GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Do you agree to stop fighting with Kazuichi?” Nekomaru asked, after a moment of no response he gifted him yet another raspberry.

“EEEAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUAHAHAHAHAHA!” Tears were in the Supreme Overlord’s eyes from laughing so hard already.

“I’ll ask again, Are you gonna stop fighting?” He repeated, speeding up his tickles.

This time he was met with frantic nods. Nekomaru stopped tickling Gundham and turned back to Kazuichi. “Now, Will you stop fighting with Gundham?”

“As long as he doesn’t fight with me…” Kazuichi said nervously, sitting up.

“I don’t think that’ll be an issue, If he does, He knows what will happen to him!” Nekomaru laughed in amusement.

Gundham shakily sat up. “D-Do you also… vow… not to… push me Into anymore… water?” He panted.

“I dunno man, That’s kind of a hard one. The look on your face was hilarious!” Kazuichi grinned.

Nekomaru glanced at Gundham, upon seeing the somewhat downcast expression on his face he grabbed Kazuichi and held him down.

“ACK! Hey hey hey! What are you doing?!” He panicked.

“Promise you won’t throw him In anymore water.” He ordered.

“Okayokay! Jeez! I promise I won’t throw him In the water again!”

“And apologize to him.”

“What?!”

“You hurt his feelings, apologize for pushing him in the water.”

“No way! He didn’t apologize to me for chasing me!” Kazuichi fired back.

Nekomaru sighed. These damn kids never learn do they? “Gundham, C’mere.”

Gundham shuffled closer, looking questioningly at the larger student. “Yes?”

“There’s something I want you to do.” Nekomaru replied.

“What Is It, Fiend?”

“Hey, I don’t like where this is going…” Kazuichi squinted at Nekomaru, suspicious.

“Tickle him without mercy until he says he’s sorry.” The muscular student grinned at the horrified shriek that came from Kazuichi.

The Mechanic began frantically squirming, though he wasn’t able to move very much thanks to Nekomaru being freakishly strong. “Nononononono!” He didn’t much care for the dark look in Gundham’s eyes, nor the evil smile that followed.

Meanwhile further down the beach, the rest of the students were just chilling and enjoying the day. Or trying their best to.

“Are you sure we should not go check on Kazuichi and Gundham?” Sonia asked.

“Nah, I’m sure they’re fine.” Chiaki replied, building a sandcastle version of Princess Peach’s castle.

“Or one of them has finally killed the other and we’re going to have our first trial.” Hiyoko smirked. “I’m betting on Kazuichi being the dead person.”

Sonia looked horrified.

“Hiyoko!” Chiaki and Hajime chastised.

Mahiru approached the mischievous girl. “Okay, That’s a timeout.”

“What? But I--”

“Go sit on the steps!” she pointed to the steps leading to the beach, Hiyoko pouted and complied silently, crossing her arms as she sat down.

“Listen, I’m sure those two dumbasses are fine, Hiyoko’s just a bitch.” Hiko tried to reassure the blonde, Hajime tried not to laugh at that, but a chuckle slipped out. Mahiru wasn’t as amused.

“Hiko!”

“Where’s the lie?” Hajime whispered under his breath.

“Both of you get a timeout too.” Chiaki said as she stood up, she pointed to a second set of stairs. “Go sit until you can be nice.”

“Why? It’s--”

“I’m not going in fucking timeou--”

Chiaki squeezed Hajime’s side and poked at Fuyuhiko’s ribs, making them both immediately shut up. “Steps.”

They both complied, muttering under their breath as they sat down on the steps next to each other.

“You guys worried about Kazuichi and Gundham?” Akane asked, coming from the direction of said two students. “‘Cause they’re fine, Coach Nekomaru Is helpin’ them.”

Sonia let out a sigh of relief, her hand resting over her heart. “That Is good to hear, Gundham was quite mad when--”

She was cut off by a blood curdling scream that sounded vaguely like Kazuichi coming from the other side of the beach, followed by laughter. Sonia giggled. “I think I will go check on them anyway.” She said as she stood and walked off.

“Nekomaru Is wrecking them, Isn’t he?” Nagito asked amusedly.

“Oh totally.” Akane grinned. “I kinda forgot how vicious of a tickler he is, kind of makes me wanna challenge him to a tickle fight.”

“I think you’d lose.” Mahiru smiled in exasperation.

“For some reason, I get the impression that’s what she wants.” Hajime chuckled.

“Goodness! Whatever was that horrible scream?” Usami asked, appearing out of seemingly nowhere.

“Oh hey Usami.” Chiaki greeted the pink and white rabbit with a small smile. “It was the sound of Kazuichi getting tickled.”

Usami let out a small sigh of relief, then giggled. “Oh, That’s a relief. I am glad It was the sound of friendship, I thought for a moment that Monokuma had reappeared.”

“You rang?” Monokuma asked, suddenly next to her.

“Uwaaah! Where did you come from!?” Usami cried out in surprise.

“We could ask you the same thing…” Hajime said quietly.

“Wha? Has no one ever explained the bears and the bees to you?” Monokuma asked, tilting his head. “Alright I guess. Well, when two bears love each other very much--”

“Nooo! That is too mature for this audience!” Usami protested, putting her little hands on Monokuma to stop him.

“She does realize we’re not kids… Right?” Nagito whispered to Chiaki.

“For some reason, I don’t think she’s talking about us…” She whispered back.

Monokuma growled, his red eye flashing briefly before he shifted and threw all of his weight into his shoulder, promptly sending Usami flying from the force. “Keep your dirty pure hands to yourself, Monomi!”

“Uwaahh! It really hurts when you shoulder tackle me!” she cried, hitting the ground next to Chiaki.

“Anyways! I have an announcement for you Goody goody losers!” Monokuma said loudly as Nekomaru, Gundham, Kazuichi and Sonia all rejoined the group.

“Oh great, I get back just In time to listen to the homicidal tanuki.” Kazuichi frowned.

“For the last time, I am not a tanuki!” Monokuma snapped, raising his hand to threateningly show off his claws.

“He Is right, Children! Monokuma Is a bear, and--” Usami was cut off by Monokuma stomping over to kick her In the head.

“I don’t need your help!”

“Oogh! It hurts when you punt me too!” she sobbed, curling up in the sand. Chiaki got down on the ground next to her to comfort her.

Monokuma cleared his throat. “Now that Monomi Is done interrupting me, I have an announcement. As you know, I am the headmaster of Hope’s peak. That school, just like this island, Is currently full of students!”

“What?! There’s more than just us trapped by you?!” Kazuichi asked, shocked.

“Why are you telling us this?” Peko asked, crossing her arms.

“I’m glad you asked!” Monokuma bellowed. “Because, I think my students are starting to get depressed… So I think they might benefit from a change In scenery!”

“You don’t mean…” Hajime trailed off, nervous as to where this was going.

“Are you going to let those students out of the school??” Usami asked, surprised.

“Yup! Only for a while though, I wouldn’t want you all conspiring against me once you get acquainted with each other! I just hope those cold blooded killers can behave themselves for a few minutes...” Monokuma replied. “Puhuhu, Oops, did I say that out loud?”

“Acquainted with each other…?” Mahiru repeated. “You mean you’re…”

“You’re going to let them loose, Here!?” Kazuichi finished for her.

“You guessed It! Sharkboy Is today’s winner! Tell him what he’s won, Monomi!”

“W-What? What are you talking about n--”

Monokuma jumped into the air and elbow dropped the rabbit. “Nevermind! My joke Is ruined now, you’re so useless!”

“Uwah! It hurts when you elbow drop me!”

Hajime sighed at the scene before him. Is anything ever normal with these two?

After that, Monokuma left saying he had other business to attend to, After Usami had calmed down from getting a third strike from Monokuma she stood up and dusted herself off.

“What was he talking about? There aren’t really other students… Are there?” Mahiru asked apprehensively.

“No way, He’s clearly lying to us!” Kazuichi answered.

“There’s one way to find out…” Chiaki mumbled, looking at Usami. “Usami?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Was he telling the truth? Are there really more like us?” The pink haired girl asked softly.

Usami nervously looked away, stammering as she spoke. “W-Well, I don’t… i’m not…”

Chiaki frowned. “So It’s true. Is what he said about them true too?”

“N-No! I don’t… Think so…” Usami sighed softly, sitting on a beach towel. “Yes there Is more like you. I didn’t want to leave them, Please believe me! But I didn’t have time to grab any more of you before Monokuma showed up again.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?!” Hajime snapped.

“Uwah!” Usami jumped In surprise, her ears drooping sadly. “I-I couldn’t! I felt too guilty and horrible for having to leave them behind! I can only imagine the horrors they’ve had to endure because of Monokuma.”

Chiaki gently petted the rabbit’s head. “It’s okay, It’s not your fault. It’s Monokuma’s fault.”

Usami sniffled, her ears perking back up. “Th-Thank you.” she cried. “But, I am at fault too. I should have fought him at that point, But I was scared and worried about what would happen to you all if I were to lose… I guess In the end It didn’t matter anyway.”

“So just to confirm, there’s a whole other group of students about to be released onto the island and we have no idea if they’re participating in the killing game or not...?” Mahiru asked quietly, fear prominent in her eyes.

Hiyoko got up and went over to her girlfriend, wrapping her arms around her to comfort her. “It’s okay, Mahiru! I won’t let them hurt you!”

Mahiru blushed. “I-I wasn’t scared!”

“I am afraid so.” Usami confirmed grimly, though the next moment… “However! This could be a very good thing too, Perhaps they are like you and refuse to play his game!” She suggested brightly.

Hajime felt a pit In his stomach, It took him a while to warm up to and trust the students trapped with him... he was definitely nervous and untrusting of this.

“Usami Is right!” Nagito spoke up. “We have to stay *Hopeful!”

Oh here we go…

“They are Hope’s peak academy students, after all! I’m sure they’re as reserved and strong willed as all of you Ultimate’s!” Nagito smiled, getting that look In his eyes again.

“Nagito…” Hajime said warningly, not wanting to listen to his speech again. “Remember what happened last time you droned on about Hope and Ultimates?”

“Oh, Right! Sorry, I guess even trash can be forgetful too, I’ll try to stop.” He smiled sympathetically at the Tsundere student.

“Stop calling yourself trash.” Chiaki frowned.

“But…” He stopped himself as Hajime and Chiaki both folded their arms and glared at him warningly. “O-Okay… Even though I am…--”

“Say It, and you’ll be sorry.” Chiaki puffed her cheeks in annoyance.

Nagito blinked, weighing his options. “Why are you so upset about me calling myself trash? I am trash. Do you get mad at everyone for speaking the truth?”

Unfortunately as he usually does, He chose incorrectly. Chiaki threw herself at the taller student, knocking him over into the sand. She then began squeezing his sides in rapid succession, avoiding his attempts to dislodge her hands quite easily.

“W-Wahahahahait! Chihihiaki!” Nagito squealed, trying to protect his sensitive sides from her merciless wrath.

“I warned you.” She deadpanned.

“Usami, Do you think we should be worried about these students?” Nekomaru asked over Nagito’s laughter.

“I don’t think so, I think we should welcome them with open arms! Who knows what horrors they’ve seen? We should treat them with kindness and love!” She answered.

“Then that’s good enough for me!” Neko grinned.

“Yes, I think It will be nice to make some new friends!” Sonia beamed, her eyes glittering happily.

“And who knows? Maybe there’ll be some cute girls In the class…” Teruteru said slyly.

“If you make any unsavory advancements towards the new mortals, I will put a curse so vile on you that even your future spawn will be cursed!” Gundham threatened, making Teruteru immediately shut up and shrink back with fear.

“I guess It doesn’t hurt to have some new friends…” Kazuichi reluctantly agreed with Sonia, no one was surprised.

“Ibuki thinks It’s a great idea! Maybe Ibuki will meet a musician to rock out with!” Ibuki’s eyes became starry at the prospect.

“Hey guys…?” Hajime spoke up hesitantly.

“Maybe there’ll be a gamer I can play with…” Chiaki smiled, still mercilessly tickling Nagito. “Or y’know… A therapist for Nagito…”

“Whyhyhy would a-ahahaha therapist wahahahaste their tihihime on sohohomeone lihihike mehehe?” Nagito laughed.

Chiaki narrowed her eyes at the Lucky student, attacking his belly with clawed hands. “You’re just asking for It, Aren’t you? Do you enjoy being tickled, Nagi?”

“NOHOHOHO!” he squealed, trying to curl In on himself.

“M-Maybe I-It won’t be s-so bad.” Mikan said hopefully. “I’m sure they a-are nice!”

Mahiru glared at Hiyoko, sensing she was about to say something unpleasant, The blonde girl immediately shut her mouth and snuggled more into Mahiru.

“Perhaps there will be someone who is knowledgeable with swords…” Wow, even Peko seemed enthusiastic about this-- well, as enthusiastic as Peko can be.

“Ooh! Maybe there’s someone strong I can fight with!” Akane’s face lit up excitedly.

“Guys? Aren’t you the least bit worried? What If they’re just like Monokuma said…?” Hajime asked.

“What’s to be worried about? If they step outta line, We can just beat ‘em up.” Akane grinned.

“We are NOT going to beat them up!” Nekomaru argued. “There are other ways of dealing with violent students than fighting!”

Akane put her hands on her hips and looked questioningly at Neko. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Nekomaru glanced at Kazuichi and Gundham, who both seemed to blush at his gaze. “Things…” was his vague answer.

“I’m with Hajime on this one.” Fuyuhiko spoke up, standing up. “The thought of people we can’t trust coming on to the island makes me… kind of nervous.” he admitted.

Mahiru nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I agree too.”

“I’m kind of indifferent.” Hiyoko shrugged. “Maybe they won’t be as lame as you guys… but on the other hand, I don’t want Mahiru to be afraid.”

“I-I told you I’m not afraid!” The tsundere girl stuttered.

“It’ll be okay, guys.” Chiaki said softly, her tone contradicting her ruthless tickling. “As long as we stick together, We’ll be fine.”

“YEHEHEHEAH! WHAHAT SHE SAHAHAHAID!” Nagito cackled as she squeezed his hips. “YOUHUHU GUYS ARE ULTIMAHAHATES, THERE’S NOHOHOHOTHING YOU CAHAHAN’T HANDLE!”

“You’re an Ultimate too.” Chiaki reminded, pausing her ticklish attack. “And you’re valuable. Not trash.”

Nagito giggled tiredly as he caught his breath. “But compared to you guys… I’m not all that special…”

“Neko, He still hasn’t learned.” Chiaki called over her shoulder. Nekomaru sat down next to them and cracked his knuckles.

“I got this!” He chuckled, The next moment the air was filled with Nagito’s shrieking laughter as Chiaki and Neko proceeded to destroy the man with low self esteem.

Hajime was silent as he thought about the possibilities, It just wasn’t sitting right with him. But If Chiaki could look on the bright side… Maybe he was overreacting…?

He felt a hand rest on his back, looking to his left he saw Fuyu offer a brief reassuring smile, showing that he was just as nervous as Hajime but more worried about comforting him. Hajime faintly smiled back and put his arm around Fuyu’s shoulders, pulling the Yakuza into his side.

Mahiru gently punched Hajime’s shoulder affectionately. “It’ll be okay… We just gotta stick together like Chiaki said…”

Hajime sincerely hoped she was right about this…

[sleepylixie]

What are friends for?

College! Han Jisung X fem! Roommate reader

Imperium Universe || Jisung || Seungmin || Chan

1.5k words, Fluffy Fluff fluff,College!AU, Roommate!AU

Beware of: None other than teeth-rotting fluff and a teeny bit of swearing. Seungmin is chaotic evil incarnate but we been knew already 😂😂

A/N: the soft feels for Han Jisung hit hard 24/7, you guys. I MEAN LOOK ST THIS CUTIE BABIE I AM SIMPING. i have nothing more to say for myself. Please enjoy my offerings 🥺❤️❤️

Requests are open for SKZ and BTS! || Masterlist

//

Han Jisung wasn’t used to roommates. Him and his law major friend Seungmin had neglected to apply for on-campus housing until the last minute. A freak administrative error had the both of them assigned to a certain Y/N’s room and... safe to say, the two of them had had a bit of a surprise in store for them when they met you.  

It was disconcerting for Jisung at first- to see his first impression of your appearance as a possibly reserved, introverted character dissolve into chaos the second you opened your mouth. You were a force of nature dressed in pastel skirts, a lavender-scented hurricane that had no control over her tongue or hair. You smiled like a fox- sweet and unassuming on the surface, but sharp-witted and deceptive underneath.

Jisung knew instantly that Seungmin would click with your personality. The both of you were freakishly similar, with your innocent appearance melting into sheer devilry whenever the two of you wished so. Of course, he was right.  Seungmin took to you with great interest-the two of you clicked like kindred souls, or possibly reunited twins who were separated at birth. Jisung, on the other hand... 

He was intimidated by you, and that made it slightly difficult for him to settle down around you. While you never treated him with anything beyond familiarity and the niceties of acquaintances, he could never allow himself the same sense of familiarity that Seungmin allowed himself with you. 

He wished so dearly that he could behave otherwise, for he would be lying if he said he hadn’t found you just a little attractive (just a smidgen) from the second he met you. Jisung wanted to be close to you, gain your trust and friendship, but for some reason(him scared of looking like an idiot and possibly having you judge him for the rest of his life) he could never bring himself to do it.

//

The three of you had been living together for a good year and a half, well into your third semester and you’d all figured out how to live with each other. For example, Seungmin would only cook if there was DAY6 music playing in the kitchen. The way you entered the house was a clear indication of your mood that day- and today, it was a loud, resounding slam followed by strings of cursing.

“This is a fucking scam. This entire university is a cesspool of money mongering bastards and greedy professors who don’t deserve a shred of anybody’s fucking respect-

“Woah, slow down there, tiger, what’s got your tail on fire?” Jisung asked you, jumping upright from where he was lounging on the couch. Your eyes flashed with annoyance as you threw yourself onto the side of the couch Jisung had just vacated.

He couldn’t help but let his eyes rove your body as unnoticeably as he could manage. Your hair looked windswept from your walk back to the apartment, one of the guys’ hoodies and jeans covering your frame. How you could look so devastatingly adorable despite having steam pouring out of your ears was absolutely beyond him.

“What happened, is my fucking creative lit professor refused to grade me up for the mid-term assignment, even though I know my piece was one of the best.” You were fuming, stark raving mad, literally one second away from shooting sparks out of your ears as your hands twisted together on your lap.

“He told me that if I worked harder at trying to become a better writer, I wouldn’t have to be begging for a better grade. AND HE SAID THAT I SHOULD TRY NEW METHODS OF BEGGING IF I WANTED IT THAT BADLY.”

Jisung’s eyes narrowed as he took in the words that were spewing out of your mouth. “Did he really-” “YES HE DID I CAN’T WITH THIS UNIVERSITY-” You burst out, letting an angry yell punctuate your sentence. 

“Do you want to go to the Dean? I’m sure they’ll be able to do something about it.” 

At that, you smiled at Jisung, the same foxy smile that had him shrinking a little into himself every time he saw it- it was a thing of rather savage beauty, very out-of-place on a face as endearing as yours.

“Not really, I handled it myself.”

Jisung stared at you, his internal discomposure melting into curiosity. “What the fuck did you do Y/N, I swear if you got one of the varsity jocks to beat him up or something-”

“I’m glad you think I’m capable of that, honestly.” You giggled, anger temporarily forgotten, swatting at Jisung’s thigh. Were those butterflies in his stomach? Gods, he would eat a knife if it got them to stop fluttering-

//

“She had the Dean on call when she spoke to that sleazeball of a professor,” Jisung exclaimed, amidst assorted gasps and cheers from his audience, laughing a little himself as he sipped his beer. “guess who got a new creative lit professor and full marks for the assignment.”

You laughed as everybody around you let out peals of laughter, thumping you on the back in appreciation.

Your roommates had a gang of 6 other boisterous boys from all over the campus, united by a string of unsavory events and narrowly avoided expulsion. You should probably be concerned, sure, but the vibe the 8 of them had with each other was way too nice for you to not be roped in; now you were part of all their weekly parties at Chris and Hyunjin’s frat house. 

You were situated on the armrests of one of the couches in said frat house, red cup supplied with your kind of poison- Whiskey and soda. All of the boys were gathered around the common room, laughing and talking amongst each other when Jisung took it upon himself to recount the story of your creative lit professor’s unfortunate dismissal. 

It was a rather embarrassing pastime of yours, to watch Han Jisung. He was a strange one, alright. Out in the world, he was a loud, boisterous guy with a penchant for words, knowing exactly what to say at any point of time. It earned him his reputation of being a cheeky mood maker in any setting, the kind of guy who had friends all over the campus and beyond. 

In truth, however, the Han Jisung you came to know was reserved, a little more hesitant with his words, the kind who’d allow his friends to speak up for him unless he absolutely had to. He wasn’t a pushover by any means, no. He was just a little more picky with his words when they were meant for the people he was comfortable with.

For some reason, it warmed your heart when he behaved that way around you too- it felt like he’d accepted you into his inner circle. For some reason, your heart honest to god skips a beat when he smiles, this fucking adorable smile every time you and Seungmin tease him around at the apartment because fuck, he doesn’t always smile like that, does he? For some reason, you end up noticing his eyes when he smiled like that, the way his cheeks lifted up in this devastating manner, the way he’d laugh out loud with his whole body, so at odds with his reserved personality-

Yeah, no you definitely had a thing for him. You thought you were being glaringly obvious with it too, with the unabashed way you’d notice and steal glances at him every time he walked into the room. 

Not that you’d ever tell him any of this though, you were fairly sure you’d sent him an impression of mild intimidation with your rather...loud personality.

It was probably for the best if you admired Han Jisung from afar, hoping that your fancy for him doesn’t take the reins on your behavior.

Jisung might not have noticed, but another certain somebody definitely did. Somebody who’s brain was already thinking, well-oiled cogs being put to use.

\\

“Jisung, you should probably know that Y/N has a thing for you,”

“Seungmin what the fu-” you spluttered, neck already burning. This was not fucking happening.

“Is this what the roommate convention was for, you sneaky lil rat?” you exclaimed, doing everything you could to not lock eyes with the third roommate who was seated on your bed with the other two of you, now gawking between you and Seungmin with a rose blush scattered across his nose. 

Seungmin, to his credit, wasn’t fazed for a single second by the way the energy in the room changed, choosing to smile devilishly before continuing with his next sentence. 

“Y/N, you should probably know that Jisung has a thing for you too,”

What the fiddlesticks-

“And now, for my final trick, I shall excuse myself from this room. Roommate convention adjourned.”

Seungmin walked out of your room with a literal skip in his step. You would deal with your snake of a best friend after you were done with.. oh.

Your eyes finally met Jisung’s- warm amber eyes still looking at with a mixture of curiosity, surprise and affection that just knocked the words out of you. “Was Seungmin pranking me again?” He asked quietly, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. You sighed, trying to expel the nervousness. What the hell, might as well say the truth. 

“Not really,” the back of you neck felt like literal lava at this point- “I do like you.”

You were going to kill Seungmin.

“Good to know,” Jisung sighed in relief, his fingers twisting together on his lap. “Because uh.. He wasn’t pranking you either.” The next words seemed to take effort for him to get out, because his blush spread from his nose to his cheeks. “I like you too.”

You were going to thank Seungmin.

And then you were going to toss him into a dark room with Lee Minho and his boxing gloves, but that’s for later. 

[soulmate-game]

Part 1 … Part 2

“So, How was your first day of school in America?” Lois asked as her small family all sat around the table eating dinner. It was almost painfully ordinary, traditional. A married couple and two kids eating a normal dinner and talking about their day.

All of them appreciated that one piece of normalcy in their worlds of superheroes and villains and PTSD.

Marinette snorted, almost choking on her forkful of food. After managing to somehow swallow without causing herself discomfort, she smiled at her mother figure.

“Honestly? I know Jon could fly and I could teleport to school in practically no time at all, but somehow Damian still manages to seem more impressive.”

“Right?!” Jon agreed emphatically, leaning over the table towards her and almost getting his whole plate of food smashed against his chest. “Probably because helicopters are huge and look awesome, but we’re still just us when we use our powers.”

Marinette nodded sagely at that reasoning as if it was something actually serious. Tikki, who was sitting next to her plate with a half-eaten cookie, giggled.

“That makes sense. But be careful Kaalki doesn’t hear you referring to them as ‘not impressive—‘“ Marinette was cut off before she could even finish her sentence.

“Too late, I already heard that blasphemy,” the other Kwami’s voice carried down from upstairs, making Lois and Clark’s lips twitch up in amusement. “I’m a god, dear, I have even better hearing than Kal-El,” for some reason the little horse god always referred to the boys by their kryptonian names, but they didn’t seem to mind much. “Not as impressive as a helicopter, hah! See if I let you use my fabulous powers anytime soon, Guardian or no Guardian.”

Marinette just rolled her eyes. Technically she could just command Kaalki, but that was against her morals and the horse god would never keep her from responding to an Akuma attack anyway. This was just harmless teasing.

And it was really nice in contrast to everything they were used to dealing with.

“Okay, but besides the helicopter,” Clark pressed gently after everyone’s chuckles quieted down. His face was open with genuine curiosity, and a little bit of worry that Marinette caught onto instantly. “I know Damian isn’t always the easiest person to get along with or understand. Did the rest of the day go by alright?”

Marinette actually set her fork down on her plate, her smile turning a little gentle. “Actually? Yeah. When we first spoke I thought he was a stuck-up jerk like some of my ex-friends and a bully of mine from Paris. But he’s just not good with people,” Marinette’s smile turned even softer as she gazed down at the table, at some memory nobody else could see. “It reminds me of my friend Kagami, from Paris. She acts pretty similar. Really impersonal and prickly on the outside, but once you get to know her she’s the most loyal friend you’ll have. Her mom is really strict though, and Kagami never got to interact with a lot of kids her own age, so she still has issues figuring out how to behave around others sometimes,” Marinette actually ended up laughing a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “We uh, we actually had a crush on the same person back when we first met and it sparked a pretty rough rivalry for a while. Once we got past that though, we ended up being best friends.”

Jon snickered, trading knowing glances with their parents. They had already agreed that, unless Damian or Bruce told her themselves, Marinette would have to figure out the Bat’s identities on her own.

“That sounds very familiar,” Jon stated with a little nod. “Me and Damian fought when we first met, too. Legend has it that Dad and Bruce, Damian’s dad, didn’t get along right away either.”

It was Clark’s turn to snort. “I think it’s just a Wayne thing,” the man agreed, amused. “They don’t like getting close to anyone right off the bat,” Lois kicked his leg under the table for that pun, but Clark cheerfully ignored it. “It is pretty funny that you have a similar experience with someone completely unrelated, though. Maybe we should invite her over sometime? Do you know when her school’s next break is?”

Marinette sat up straight in her chair, her smirk wide and almost blinding at the prospect of seeing one of her closest friends in person again. They video chatted and called often enough, but it wasn’t the same. “Actually! Kagami told me that she’s going to Gotham next month for a fencing competition. She’s an Olympic hopeful, you know. She has to make a good enough impression in different national and international competitions to be selected,” Marinette was almost bouncing in her seat, looking like a female version of Jon for a moment with her vibrant blue eyes shining with rare unhindered excitement and her body unable to stay still from the energy.

“I heard that Gotham was holding the World fencing finals this year,” Lois remarked, but kept eye contact with Clark for a moment as the two communicated silently in a way even telepaths couldn’t copy. Marinette recognized the hesitance in their faces, and her bouncing stopped immediately. She knew why they would be reluctant to let her go.

“I know Gotham is dangerous and I still have attacks pretty often,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, but firm in a way that the rest of their little family hadn’t heard from her much at all. It made Clark and Lois look at her, waiting for her to finish making her point patiently. “But self defense isn’t really an issue. Even without any powers, without transforming, I…” Marinette took a breath to steel herself before continuing. “I learned martial arts from Maman. And I’ve used the Miraculous so long that all the combat experience of the previous Ladybugs is mostly muscle memory by now. And Kagami is more than just a fencer, her mom’s trained her in all sorts of sword fighting her whole life. Trust me, nobody messes with Kagami and gets away with it easily,” Marinette actually looked down at her hands, watching as she essentially had a thumb war with herself to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I don’t think physical attacks are what we’re worried about,” Lois admitted slowly, frowning. “I mean, yes, it’s a concern. But if I remember the dates for the competition correctly, I’ll be out of town for my first long distance job since you came to live with us. Clark will be at work during the day on the weekend, though maybe he can get a day or two off,” Lois gently worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a second. “I suppose, if Jon wants to go with you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem if something happens…”

Oh. They weren’t worried about people attacking her. They were worried about her own mind. Which, after the last few months? Was perfectly fair.

“I don’t mind if—“

But, as life usually ended up, they were interrupted from their peace. Everyone jolted in their seats as the door was unceremoniously kicked down, and a man in his early twenties walked in carrying a mountain of boxes in his arms. Marinette blinked, no longer on guard since the rest of her new family immediately relaxed. But still, she was confused. Nobody said anything about having a visitor today.

“I know, I know. I haven’t been in touch for way too long, give us a little forewarning, blah blah blah. I brought presents this time though,” the man said, cheerful and casual and blasé. With the boxes on the center of the dining table, Marinette could finally get a good look at him.

He was probably about twenty four or twenty five, if Marinette’s ever-sharp eyes were correct (they hardly ever weren’t), and his hair was spiked up with a bit of gel, but not too much. Just enough to give it kind of a tousled-rebel look, and it was cropped close to his head on the sides. He had on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and slightly down the arms, with slightly baggy black jeans and a plain, worn red shirt. Dark black sunglasses rested on the top of his head, even though the sun had been down for a while.

He did not meet the usual Kent aesthetic of a charming, traditional nuclear family. He was more of an… oddly joyful punk. It actually gave her slight Luka and Jagged vibes, and made her relax a bit into her chair. Contrary to what most might think, Marinette had a bit of a soft spot for the punk rocker look. Most people, that she had met at least, who wore it on a regular basis were amazing people with great senses of humor and large personalities.

“Old man, I got you socks,” he called out with a lazy smirk, chucking the first small box over at Clark. The man caught it with a fond eye roll.

“You always get me socks.”

“Maybe if you stopped being boring, I’d get you something better,” the stranger mocked with good humor. “Lois, jewelry that you’ll never wear,” he handed the box over to the woman with significantly more care, before sliding over one of the bigger boxes to her as well. “And a new camera that you will actually use.”

“Hey, Wait a second, you know you don’t have to—“

“And for the squirt,” the man interrupted without letting Lois finish saying that there was no need to spend so much money. He tossed the last big boxes over to Jon one at a time carelessly, smirking the whole time that Jon playfully scrambled for them. “Video games, geeky shirts, and inside jokes,” he stated happily.

With the table now clear of boxes, he finally noticed the extra body. He blinked, making silent eye contact with Marinette for a tense moment.

“Okay, she’s too old to be a secret child. Did someone make another clone? Did Jon get a girlfriend that looks freakishly like a long lost Asian family member? What did I miss?” He asked, never taking his eyes off Marinette. Clark grimaced.

“If you didn’t break your phone so often, maybe we would have been able to tell you sooner,” the man said slowly, cautiously, with his eyes never straying from the stranger. “This is Marinette. Marinette, this is Connor. He’s… Jon’s brother,” the pause there was a bit odd, and Marinette frowned at the look on Clark’s face. It was like he didn’t know what to say at all, or how to say it. “Marinette is living with us for the foreseeable future. If we get the chance we might officially adopt her, so she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Woah woah woah, what?” Marinette’s voice came out a lot squeakier than intended, the girl thoroughly whiplashed by this situation. It was hard to think straight. “I— we never talked about adoption.” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, not in as many words,” he conceded slowly. “It would be incredibly hard, and we wanted to give you time to settle in before asking. But… well, you’re officially an American citizen and we all feel like you’re family already. So…”

“You wouldn’t have to change your name,” Lois was quick to interject, watching Marinette’s face worriedly. “And you can say no. You’re already a Kent. We would just like to make it official legally, if and when you’re ready.”

“Okay, stop making the poor girl freak out,” Connor interrupted, eyes also on Marinette and gentle in their concern. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Ignore them. Clark never had great timing that wasn’t related to legitimate danger. So, sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he leaned back casually, thumbs hooked on his jacket pockets lazily. “Didn’t expect I’d have a new sister when I came back to visit.”

Marinette calmed down a little, but emotions still overflowed in her head, her chest still tight and the air feeling too thin. She offered Connor a shaky smile before standing up, looking over to Clark and Lois. “Um, I— can I— I’m tired.”

Clark sighed, nodding even as his face fell at Marinette’s state. “Yeah. We’ll talk about the competition some more in the morning, get some rest.”

The girl only nodded before making a hasty retreat up to her room, even forgetting to take care of her only half-empty plate. Tikki did her best to calm her bolder down from her place hidden in the girl’s hair, but it wasn’t doing much good. She just needed space, and time to try and process everything.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Aren’t you cold?” Connor’s voice made Marinette jolt, looking over at him with wide eyes. Nobody had ever followed her on her post-nightmare trips before. She wasn’t even transformed. She just sat, in her pajamas, on the empty terrace of her old home. It hadn’t been sold yet so she wasn’t worried about scaring anybody.

“I… should have expected you to be the other Superboy, honestly,” Marinette deflected with a weak smile before turning to look over the city again. She licked her lips, trying to calm herself down. “And yeah, I’m a little cold, but it’s no big deal. I’ll just go back home before it gets too bad.”

“You’re trembling,” he pointed out casually. And she was, her whole body was practically vibrating against the terrace railing. Marinette only gave out a pitiful laugh.

“That’s not from the cold.”

Connor only sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind them. Gave the girl a little space.

“What did… What did Clark and Lois tell you? About me?” Marinette decided to ask tentatively. Connor raised one brow, honestly a little surprised that she didn’t also have super hearing to go with her powers. It was slowly becoming more and more obvious that Marinette was not exactly like the other Kents, and Connor only liked the jumpy little girl more for it.

“As much as they could without feeling like they were crossing a line,” Connor admitted. “That they took you in after an accident during a metropolis attack a few months ago, when you had nobody else reliable enough to take care of you. That you’re not Kryptonian, but still special and knew about all of our identities already. But strangely enough they didn’t mention teleportation or the fact that you were a Parisian superhero, not that I’m really all that surprised.”

Marinette smiled, snickering a bit at that last part before sobering again. “Is it… weird?”

Connor silently examined the girl for a moment, she probably expected him to ask what she meant. And maybe if he was anybody else, he would have.

“To suddenly come home to a new person that I’m suddenly supposed to accept as a part of the family? Not really. In fact, you’re probably the most normal surprise I’ve dealt with in years.”

“But,” Marinette looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed and blue eyes swimming with uncertainty. “But I just show up out of nowhere, and you really just accept me? Just like that? I mean, you’ve known me less than a day and you just saw me teleport to Paris in the middle of the night— you aren’t worried at all? Or suspicious, or— you really just accept me just like that?”

Connor couldn’t help but chuckle, pushing himself off the wall to lean over the terrace railing with her. “You know, technically I’m only eight years old.”

Marinette flinched with surprise at the subject change, eyes wide. “Huh?”

Connor laughed at her confusion, rustling her hair a bit. “I’m a clone. I was made with Superman’s DNA, and that of another asshole we won’t mention. Don’t tell Lois I swore. Anyway, I was ‘born’ as a teenager,” he used finger quotations to show that he wasn’t exactly born normally. “With all the mental development and knowledge of a sixteen year old. Pretty much, anyway, but I was still a newborn,” he shrugged. “Clark wasn’t exactly thrilled. Jon was eight at the time, which is why Clark can never decide if I’m the older or younger brother, and he wasn’t exactly planning on another kid back then. Not to mention the whole ‘created in order to kill Superman if he ever went bad,’ and ‘might be a spy because I was made by his arch nemesis’ thing,” Connor waved his hand as if this blasé info dump didn’t actually matter. Marinette just gaped at him, which made it hard for the guy not to smirk. “Point is, Clark was suspicious. Didn’t exactly want anything to do with me. Can’t say I completely forgive him, but it’s mostly water under the bridge nowadays. Especially when we found out that I did have trigger words, and I was unknowingly dangerous. Don’t worry, those trigger words were erased ages ago. Anyway, Clark eventually got his act together. Gave me the Kryptonian name Kon-el, had me live with him for a little bit. We worked it all out,” Connor turned back to Marinette, taking his sunglasses off so he could look her in the eye properly. “I really don’t think a Ladybug is exactly threatening in comparison.”

Marinette was silent for a moment.

“You know I could throw you off this balcony, right?”

“Eh, I can fly.”

Another moment passed before Marinette couldn’t help it, and started giggling. Those giggles turned to laughs, which quickly turned into joyful bellows. Connor joined in, smiling as he laughed alongside her.

“But… you like it with them, right?” Connor suddenly asked, looking over at her. “I know Jon can be a bit overexcitable, and Clark is an annoying boy scout.”

Marinette just shrugged. “Well, it’s not too bad,” she said softly. “I mean, at least neither of them can die by getting crushed by falling debris. So that’s an improvement at least.” Marinette instantly went pale at her own words, slapping a hand over her mouth. Connor snorted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s the exhaustion talking. C’mon, let’s get you back in bed before Clark accuses me of corrupting you.”

Marinette just nodded, doing the world’s quietest transformation before opening a portal back to her room. She was already detransformed, Connor having one hand on her doorknob, when she spoke up again.

“Uh, Kon?” She fidgeted, not able to look up at him. “Thanks.”

The man just smirked, shrugging his leather-clad shoulders. “That’s what family’s for, right?”

Marinette smiled, huffing out a tired laugh. “By the way? I’m glad at least one of you Supers has a sense of fashion.”

“We heard that!”

Connor and Marinette broke back out into guffaws, and the girl couldn’t help but think that she was really grateful for her new family. Maybe she wouldn’t call Clark dad or Lois mom anytime soon, those wounds were still too raw, but maybe eventually. And she’d never had brothers before.

Yeah. This was nice.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 4

I don’t think this ended up as good as the others..? But this is the best way I could write this part. Why is this story turning out longer than expected? Geez I need to learn self control. At least this one was actually kinda fluffy.

@fantasiame @thestressmademedoit @amayakans @resignedcatservant @too0bsessedformyowngood @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @bigpicklebananatree @thezestywalru @bugaboosandbees @ironspiderstark @mikantsume @marinettepotterandplagg

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part One

Link to Masterpost

This was supposed to be a drabble, but there will be at least two more parts because the two other drabble prompts I’ve received so far all fit perfectly into the same theme as this one!

The prompt:

“I really would’ve liked it if you told me your parents were coming to town.” / “I really would’ve liked it if you put underwear on before coming into the kitchen.” 

I did tweak the precise wording as even in an AU I couldn’t picture a world where Rowan or Aelin’s parents were still alive into their adulthood, but I hope this meets the spirit of what my anonymous prompter was looking for!

If y’all have any more prompts or suggestions you would like to throw my way for things you would like to see as this relationship develops, my ask box is always open! But without further ado...

~*~*~

Aelin stretched her arms over her head with a yawn as she finally gave up on sleeping in. Her shift at the bar had run long, even more so than usual, and yet it seemed she still couldn’t sleep past ten in the morning no matter what she did. Perhaps it was time to invest in blackout curtains, after all.

Thankfully, even managing to sleep this late meant that she wouldn’t have to deal with her roommate as she started her day, so she slipped out of her bedroom and into the bathroom wearing nothing but an oversized shirt a former boyfriend had left behind when he left her. The guy had been an ass, but the shirt was the most comfortable thing she had ever slept in, and so she had long since decided it would be fine to keep.

As she glanced at the wreck that was her hair in the mirror and decided to leave it until she was more awake, she gave quiet thanks once more that Rowan would be off to his corporate job at wherever-it-was and not around to critique her messy hair and her messy life. They had been living together for about three months now, ever since her cousin Aedion had left his house behind for another deployment and Rowan had suddenly relocated from Doranelle. In theory it was meant to be a temporary arrangement, Aedion doing a favor for a friend since he wasn’t around to live in his own room, but if Rowan had actually made plans to move out yet he hadn’t informed Aelin.

Not that Aelin was doing much better in that regard. She had spent a year and a half now living in her cousin’s spare bedroom and working dead-end jobs. She felt she had a better excuse, though, since she was actually related to Aedion and was still trying to get her bearings after everything that had caused her to leave Rifthold.

Shaking her head in an attempt to dislodge that line of thinking, Aelin instead bent over the sink and hastily washed her face clean of the remnants of makeup that had lingered from the night before. She had crept back into the house sometime after three in the morning, and it had been late enough that her usual shower had been absolutely out of the question, so instead she had made do with sleepily swiping a washcloth over her face before dragging herself to bed. If her reflection was any indication, the effort had failed miserably.

Once she deemed her face to be clean enough for now, Aelin padded down the stairs with another yawn, intent on making coffee. After the late night she had had, she would absolutely need it if she had any hope of getting through her day.

Keeping her eyes on the floor in front of her to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally trip on something in her exhausted shuffle to the kitchen, she passed through the living room and successfully resisted the temptation to curl up on the couch for another nap. Instead, she finally reached the coffee machine that was sitting on the counter and began looking for wherever the hell Rowan had stored the coffee beans in his latest reorganization of the kitchen. Grumbling about men who were entirely too interested in organizing cabinets, she flung doors open at random until she saw the container resting on the very top shelf.

Damn Rowan and his freakishly tall self, he had hidden the coffee away where she could barely reach it. She was too exhausted still to find wherever he had tucked her stepstool away, though, so instead she sighed and reached for it. She let out a quiet noise of triumph as her fingertips brushed the container, edging it closer and closer to tipping off the shelf until she could grasp it more fully. Beans obtained, she set the container on the counter beside the coffee maker and froze when she heard a throat clearing behind her.

Fuck. In her exhausted daze, she had forgotten that it was Saturday and that Rowan wouldn’t be at his corporate job. Aelin took a deep breath to help steady her nerves and turned to meet his furious pine-green eyes.

She had not been expecting to also see a pair of dark eyes glimmering with amusement, but when she did it took everything she had not to immediately flee the kitchen.

The dark eyes belonged to a woman with equally dark hair and pale skin, lips painted red and curled in a smirk that immediately set Aelin on edge. “Why, Rowan,” she purred, sultry voice curling around the same accent that Rowan spoke with, “I wasn’t aware you had… company.”

“I don’t,” Rowan replied, voice clipped with barely-restrained irritation. “Aunt Maeve, this is my roommate. Aelin.”

“Um. Hi,” she managed as she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. They barely spoke, but she had overheard Rowan talking about his aunt before. The woman had raised him, as his own parents had died when he was young just as Aelin’s had. It appeared they were still close enough for her to come all the way from Doranelle to Orynth just to visit.

And Aelin had just met her wearing nothing but an oversized shirt, with her hair tangled in a wild halo around her face. There was no way for her to salvage this first impression, not now.

Suddenly her humiliation flared into anger. Why should she make a good first impression? This wasn’t any relation of hers, and Rowan hadn’t even bothered to tell her he’d have a guest over. It went completely against the house rules he’d been so insistent on having, and she couldn’t possibly be held responsible for what had just happened.

Her anger only sparked further as Maeve laughed, the humor in her voice not reaching those dark eyes. “It’s a pleasure, I’m sure,” the woman replied.

Before either of them could say anything else, Rowan stood. “Aelin. A word?”

She nodded quietly and one of his hands closed around her upper arm as he pulled her into the living room. Once they got there, he turned to face her, eyebrows drawn together in anger and one hand carding through his platinum hair. “You couldn’t get dressed before leaving your room just one morning?” he hissed.

“I thought you wouldn’t be here,” she replied hotly, struggling to keep her voice to a whisper as well. “Besides, if you were going to be like this about it I really would’ve liked it if you told me the woman who raised you was coming to town!”

“Yeah, well, I really would’ve liked it if you put underwear on before coming into the kitchen, and yet here. We. Are.” As he bit out the last words he grabbed her arm again, tugging her closer as he towered over her.

Aelin froze again, just as she had when he had alerted her to their presence. “How did you—?”

“You’re wearing a shirt and nothing else, Aelin. Did you really think it would cover everything when you were stretching your arms over your head?”

Fuck. So not only had she made an absolute fool of herself, she had exposed herself to a woman she hadn’t even met and to Rowan as well. And to think she had thought her morning couldn’t get any worse.

Finally, Rowan sighed. “Look, just… go upstairs and put some clothes on. Real clothes. I’ll start the coffee for you and deal with my aunt. Deal?”

Aelin nodded and darted up the stairs, not stopping to try to hear how Rowan was going to try to explain this to the woman in their kitchen.

By the time she had dressed and tamed her golden waves, Maeve had left and Rowan was sitting on the living room couch, two mugs of coffee steaming on the table in front of him. She swiped the one that was clearly meant for her, choosing for once to ignore the fact that he had to have touched her favorite mug in order to prepare it for her and instead inhaling the scent of the coffee. It had already been sweetened judging by the smell, and she blinked at her roommate over the rim of her mug.

“What?” he asked.

“You put sugar in this,” she accused.

Rowan snorted in reply. “Of course I did. I learned in three days you take your coffee as sweet as you can make it.”

It was completely true, of course, but Aelin wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of saying as much out loud. Instead she took a small sip of her coffee, moaning softly at the taste. It was perfect, of course, and it was infuriating how he had picked up on such a small detail of her morning routine when they barely interacted.

After a moment of silence, Rowan continued. “My aunt won’t be coming back,” he revealed. “I may have yelled at her for showing up unannounced and uninvited before you woke up, and you showing up as you did only solidified my argument for why that was a terrible idea.”

Aelin laughed. “So I actually did you a favor?”

“Don’t press your luck,” he retorted, but she took satisfaction in the almost-concealed smile that she barely saw cross his face. “I’m still annoyed with you.”

“Oh, come on,” she grinned. “You learned how I like my coffee, I saved you from overbearing parental figures. Maybe we can even figure out how to be friends.”

“What did I just say about pressing your luck?”

“Please, I press my luck every single day. I make a point of it, in fact. It usually works out.”

Aelin drained her coffee mug and set it back on the table before glancing over at Rowan. As she watched, he slowly shook his head. “You are absolutely unbelievable. You know that, right?”

Aelin laughed. “Of course I do. It’s all part of my charm.”

“I’m sure it is,” Rowan replied, obviously skeptical.

“What? It is! Two days ago you wouldn’t even talk to me, and look at us having coffee together like roommates who actually like each other.”

Rowan glanced at his own mug of coffee and smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she grinned. “Who knows, maybe we can actually learn to like each other. We’ll find the way together.”

Rowan sighed. “As long as it doesn’t involve you escalating from flashing my aunt to stripping for my coworkers.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Aelin mused.

As Rowan’s eyes widened in fear, Aelin doubled over laughing. “Gods help me, you actually thought I would do it!”

Rowan slowly shook his head. “At this point? I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire

[pride-moth]

Don't hold your head so low that you can't see the sky [Stolitz Week Day 2 - Stargazing]

Ao3 Link

Event Info Link

Stolas can clear the sky with just a motion of his hand. He can make the clouds give way to the clearest night sky you’ve ever seen, the stars twinkling up above as if they exist only to please. As if they don’t house their own little systems of life and death. As if their only purpose is to make anyone happy who looks at them.

Blitz can’t stand it, not really, the way these magnificent things are reduced to mere overhead decoration in the view of the rich and powerful, how Stolas tries to impress him by showing him the stars and talking about how he even witnessed and participated in some of their creations. For Blitz they’re other worlds, but also merely tiny specs in the night sky that he rarely even has the time to look at.

But Stolas sits right next to him, one arm draped around him and Blitz is too tired to pretend it doesn’t feel at least a little bit good. He’s too tired to pretend he doesn’t want Stolas to touch him, hold him, just be around him while they cool down from one of their sessions that have long stopped only happening on the full moon.

“This is weird,” he comments, with no idea where he wants to go with that thought. It’s true, though, in his mind, that this is a weird situation they’re in. An imp and a Prince, stargazing.

“What do you mean, love?”

Love. Stolas calls him that. As if it doesn’t mean anything, as if that’s just a thing you can call people casually and not have it have consequences. As if that’s a thing you can just call someone and not have their heart skip a beat despite their every effort to stop that from happening.

“I just… Isn’t it weird? You can sit there and look at the stars and you’ve been part of creating them and I sit here and I don’t even know what these fuckers are called?”

“Well, that’s not a problem at all, I can tell you-”

“That’s not what I mean. What I mean is… You were born into all this power and I? I had to work at the circus with my siblings to keep my family afloat. I’ve never even really had time to look at the stars. It’s weird.”

“I suppose you could say that…” Stolas says and ponders it for a moment before snapping back into a smile, “But why does it matter? No matter where you come from and what your circumstances are, the stars shine down upon you in all their beauty all the same.”

Blitz scoffs. “They don’t, though. Most people can’t just make the clouds and the smog go away to look at the stars. Actually, down in Imp City, you can’t even see the stars at all.”

“Take me.”

“Stolas, we just finished, you can’t possibly be horny again.”

Stolas shakes his head quickly, “No, no, no. I mean… Take me down to Imp City. I want to see your night sky.”

Blitz ignores the little flip in his chest to focus on the flaws of the plan. “We can’t do that. You’re seen there and before you’ve taken two steps forward, you’ll either meet a paparazzi or a guillotine.”

“Don’t worry, love, I can disguise myself.” Stolas snaps his fingers and in the blink of an eye he is not the freakishly tall owl demon anymore, he’s red and white and has little curled black-and-white horns between fuzzy white hair. He’s still tall, but for the first time ever he’s not taller than Blitz, just about the same height.

Blitz looks him up and down, takes notice of a little heart-shaped dot under his left eye and can’t help but smile ever so slightly. It takes a few moments for him to regain some of his sarcastic energy. “Okay, fine, that works.” He pauses. “No tricks, though, the clouds stay exactly where they are.”

“Deal,” Stolas says, his voice the only indication that it’s even him in that imp body.

Blitz nods and then drags him out of the palace and onto the streets, to the train station and into a train that Stolas evidently has never seen from the inside.

“Why are we on a train?”

“Because if you’re going to come to Imp City, you should get the full experience. Full streets and smelly trains that are never on time and the simply unreasonable amounts of sweat developed in a train that is just slightly too hot for comfort.”

“You’re too hot for comfort.”

“Focus.”

They ride the train all the way to Imp City, of course delayed by a damaged bit of railway and some idiots blocking the door, but they get there eventually with Stolas moaning and complaining about it the entire way. Blitz doesn’t complain, mostly to save face, though, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten used to the comforts of simply using Stolas’ book for most of his travels.

Finally, the train comes to its last stop and Blitz nearly pushes Stolas out of the train. They’re in the buzzing middle of Imp City, amid stores and homeless people in equal proportion, voices layered on top of voices on top of traffic sounds and sirens and incomprehensibly awful street music. It feels like home every time.

Stolas looks out at the city for a moment. “It’s…” he starts but stops talking.

Blitz braces himself for another complaint, a screed about the royal palace is much more beautiful, more refined, more comfortable.

“It’s beautiful!” Stolas exclaims finally, his eyes sparkling with glee.

“What?”

Stolas gestures vaguely. “It’s so… You, Blitzy!”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s scrappy and dirty and crude and kind of mean-looking, but yet it exists so effortlessly! It stands proudly above all adversity! It might seem superficially ugly, but you look for just a moment, just a little deeper and it’s just beautiful! A thing to behold, truly!”

“That’s-”

“Oh, and the sky, it’s so tranquil. It’s smokey and dark but if you look long enough, you see a star shine through.”

“No, you can’t!” Blitz protests.

“Yes, look!” Stolas points up in the sky. Blitz follows his direction and looks into the sky, but he can’t see shit and the smog that hangs in the air burns in his eyes.

“I don’t see anything.”

“You have to look gently. Take a deep breath. Don’t look for the stars, let them show themselves for you.”

Blitz frowns and keeps staring at the sky, but it’s no use. “Probably just one of your royal superpowers again, seeing stars through clouds and smog and-”

Stolas interrupts him by simply taking his hand. “Trust me.”

“I always trust you,” Blitz says before he can stop himself.

“Then trust me again,” Stolas says, letting go of Blitz’ hand and instead wraps his arm around his waist.

Blitz isn’t used to having Stolas arm there, being that much shorter than him normally. The arm should feel foreign, especially considering it isn’t really Stolas’ arm, but it simply feels warm and comforting.

Stolas puts his lips - that he suddenly has in this form - to Blitz’ ear - and whispers: “Just take a deep breath and look. Calmly. Don’t force it. Just… Look into the world ready to see the stars shine down on you.”

The hot breath against his ear makes Blitz’ heart nearly jump out of his throat but he nods and does what Stolas says.

It takes a moment, but as his heartbeat slows down amidst slow, calm breaths, it feels like the sky opens up above him, despite it being just as filled with smog and clouds as before. He looks and looks, not to find anything but simply to look and then, there it is. A faint twinkle in the night sky.

A star.

Blitz simply looks at it in awe. There it is, a star, twinkling in the night sky through all the clouds, the smog, the light pollution of the big city. Undeterred, defiant. Shining even though it shouldn’t. Unbothered by how its sheer visibility should be impossible.

“I think I love you.” Blitz can’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth, he’s too weak, too small to stop them between the awe-inspiring impossibility of spotting a star in the Imp City night sky and Stolas’ arm around his waist, sheer joy emanating from deep within him.

“Really?” Stolas asks, hesitantly.

Blitz sighs. “Yes. It’s stupid and it’s weird and probably unhealthy considering our social standings, but yes, I think I love you.”

“You’re probably right about it being weird… But I know I love you too. And I want to hold you like this whenever I can. And I want you to do unspeakable things to me not because you get anything out of it, but because you want to. And I-”

“Stolas.”

“No, let me finish.” Stolas breathes in shakily. “I need you to know that I’m not going to hold it against you if you don’t want to be with me. If it’s too weird, if you feel uncomfortable with my status. If you want to stay away from me, forget about me, if you don’t want to deal with the complicated mess that a relationship between us would bring about… I understand. Nothing would break my heart more than you feeling like you’re forced to do… Anything.”

Blitz nods. Then, he thinks for a moment. About the implications, the complications, all the problems it all would bring… Everything between them, it could all turn into disaster in the blink of an eye. But then there’s that single star in the night sky that shouldn’t be visible, but yet it is, as long as you’re willing to look, ready to allow it to be seen. Maybe that’s all love is.

“Yeah, it’s… weird,” he says, but he takes Stolas’ hand, rubs it gently, touches him more gently than perhaps ever before. “But what if we just… This feels stupid, but… What if we just take a deep breath and look into the world ready to see the stars shine down on us?”

Stolas hesitates. “And what if it doesn’t bring joy? What if it all goes wrong?”

“Then we stop and we say goodbye. Maybe that’s what every relationship is. You go into it ready for a spark and if there’s none to be found, you leave. But sometimes… Sometimes there is a spark, even if it shouldn’t be there. Even if it’s...weird.”

Stolas pulls Blitz a bit closer. “That works for me.”

“I love you,” Blitz says, a bit awkwardly, but he feels, deep down, that it’s true.

“I love you, too,” Stolas replies, unwavering.

It’s a beautiful night, even if no one else might see it.

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Two

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Two

They didn’t talk more about it later. Jace barely saw Simon at all over the following couple weeks, in fact. It’s not that he was intentionally avoiding Simon, but they both had final exams to study for, and Simon was wrapped up in guitar ensemble rehearsals for the winter concert on top of that. If Jace had spent a little more of his study time in the library than was strictly necessary and that just happened to prevent any further discussions of dispays of physical affection and practice dates, that was entirely beside the point.

What Jace hadn’t counted on was how unprepared he’d feel pulling up outside the Queen Anne style townhouse he’d called home for most of his childhood. He suddenly wished he’d let Simon talk him into driving together and using the drive as a last minute planning session, even if it meant they’d need to coordinate their trip back to Boston. As much as he’d been avoiding talking about their plan, it really only occurred to Jace on the drive how much he wished they actually had, you know, a plan.

“Wow,” Simon said, hopping out of the hand-painted van he’d parked right behind Jace’s car. “Is that an actual turret?”

“Yup, gotta love those late 19th century architectural fads,” Jace answered as he pulled his suitcase out of the trunk. “The house belonged to Maryse’s grandparents, and I’ve never been able to tell how much she actually likes the style and how much is just childhood nostalgia, but she hasn’t even changed much of the interior except for renovations and repairs.”

“I have a hard time imagining growing up in a place like this,” Simon said as he joined Jace with his own suitcase in hand. “And it’s not like my mom’s house is tiny or anything, but this is just...” He waved a hand vaguely at the house. “A lot.”

He didn’t ask why Jace was sharing a tiny apartment furnished entirely secondhand if his family lived in a house like this, and Jace didn’t offer an explanation.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Jace said, even though there was plenty to be nervous about. “I promise the house doesn’t bite.”

“Yeah, less worried about the house than the people in it,” Simon told him.

“I thought you were, like, the parent whisperer,” Jace teased. “Isn’t that why you offered to come with me? Because you make a great boyfriend? Trust me, as long as Alec and Izzy think you make me happy, they’ll love you, and you know more about comics than anyone I’ve ever met, so Max will love you regardless.”

“Okay,” Simon said, releasing a heavy breath. “Okay, thanks. You’re right, I just got a little intimidated by the house, but this is all going to be fine.”

“Maryse is probably going to hate you, though,” Jace continued, keeping his face carefully deadpan. “She hates everyone we bring home. It’s like a rite of passage. But you’re great with parents, so I’m sure you’ll at least avoid intentional food poisoning.”

Simon stared at him in horror, and Jace couldn’t keep a hit of a smile from breaking through.

“I hate you,” Simon told him.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jace said, “I’m pretty sure the food poisoning wasn’t actually intentional.”

“Wait, there was actual food poisoning?”

“Come on,” Jace said, heading toward the door. “I want to get inside before we freeze to death.”

“You are such a dick sometimes,” Simon muttered, catching up to him.

Then, he slipped his free hand into Jace’s like it was a totally normal thing to do, and Jace had to catch himself from tripping over the steps.

“Careful,” Simon said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m not going to make a very good impression on your family if you fall and break your neck before we even get inside.”

And there was just nothing to say to that, to how uncomfortable it wasn’t to have Simon’s hand in his like this, to the way it made him want. So Jace simply rolled his eyes and pushed open the front door, letting the scent of home wrap around him like a warm blanket.

“Okay,” Simon said quietly as he surveyed the entryway, complete with antique chandelier. “Feeling a little intimidated again.” And it was so easy for Jace to just give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, you made it,” a warm voice greeted them. “With as bad as traffic has been, we thought you’d be another hour at least.”

“Hey, man,” Jace said, dropping Simon’s hand so he could pull his brother into a hug. “People must be staying home for the holidays this year, because we barely hit any traffic at all.” He glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

“Iz should be here any minute, Max is holed up in his room playing video games with his friends, and Magnus is helping Mom with some last-minute grocery shopping for dinner tomorrow.” Alec held out a hand to Simon. “I’m Alec, since Jace apparently can’t be bothered to make introductions like a civilized person.”

“It’s okay,” Simon said, giving his hand a quick shake, “I gave up on the idea of Jace being civilized the first time I saw him eat pizza that had been sitting out on the counter for three days.”

“That was your pizza,” Jace pointed out.

“Yeah,” Simon said, “which I was going to throw away because I forgot about it for three days.”

“On the subject of uncivilized,” Jace said, turning back to Alec, who was looking just a little too pleased, “you really sent Magnus shopping with Maryse? Buddy, if you decided you don’t want to marry the guy, just break it off with him. You don’t have to throw him to the wolves like that.”

Alec’s tiny smile became a little less tiny and a whole lot softer. “Magnus and Mom have actually been getting along lately. She wanted his opinion on wine pairings, so they went to the store and left me here so I can pull the bread out of the oven when it’s done. It’s very weird, but also nice.”

“That does sound very weird,” Jace told him, “but I’m glad things are working out and Maryse has found some level of chill somewhere.”

“Hopefully that means I won’t get poisoned,” Simon said.

Alec snorted. “If you want to avoid it, you should probably avoid mentioning you know about that. Or any other embarrassing family stories Jace might have shared with you.”

“And don’t eat anything Izzy hands you,” Jace added. “Anything she cooks probably won’t kill you, but the taste will make you wish you were dead.”

“So, I should just fast while I’m here,” Simon said. “Good to know.”

Jace led Simon upstairs to drop off their bags while Alec checked on the bread.

“Just toss your bag anywhere,” Jace said, opening the door to his old room. “We can argue over who gets which side of the dresser later.”

“Sure,” Simon said cheerfully, “as long as we can be civil deciding who gets which side of the bed.” He stopped just inside the doorway. “Wow, okay. The apparently very small bed.”

And this really was something that should have occurred to him, Jace realized. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered that he’d be sharing a bed with Simon. They’d even talked about it, briefly, and agreed it was no big deal. But Jace hadn’t considered exactly how much smaller his childhood bed was than the generous queen he slept in back home. It was technically large enough to fit two grown men, but only technically.

“Don’t worry,” Jace said, falling back on his trademark bravado, “I won’t get mad if you cuddle me in your sleep. I know you can’t help it if your subconscious recognizes that I’m irresistible.”

“I’m more worried about your freakishly sharp elbows,” Simon muttered.

“As long as you don’t snore or steal the covers, you won’t have to worry about my elbows,” Jace told him. He was planning to keep his elbows, and the rest of him, as far away from Simon as possible. Which, given the size of the bed, was maybe three inches.

“Dude, I do not snore,” Simon protested. “You know that; we live together.”

“You absolutely snore after your fourth drink.”

“I wasn’t planning to get drunk with your family,” Simon said, tossing his bag onto the bed.

“You say that now,” Jace said, leaving his own bag next to the door. “But wait until you get the full Lightwood Christmas experience before deciding you want to spend the whole thing sober.”

“If your family drives me to drink, you don’t get to blame me for snoring,” Simon countered. Which was probably fair, but Jace was saved from having to admit that by the sound of voices coming from downstairs.

“That’d be Izzy,” Jace said, “and we’d better get down there before she accuses me of trying to hide you from her.”

“Jace,” called a singsong voice, right on cue, “quit making out with your mystery hottie and get down here so we can actually meet him.”

“You should be careful making demands like that,” Jace called back. “What if I’m not wearing any pants?”

“We’ve all seen it. Get your ass down here “

“I like your sister already,” Simon told him.

“You say that now, but wait until she decides you count as family. She won’t be any better with you.” He took Simon’s hand. Because it helped sell their relationship. Because he could. Simon laced their fingers together, and Jace tried not to feel any way about that at all as he led Simon back down the stairs.

They only made it a couple steps before Simon came to a complete stop, almost causing Jace to trip the rest of the way down the staircase. He heard Simon mutter a soft ‘oh crap’ at the same time a bright, redheaded whirlwind came rushing up the stairs at them.

“Oh my god, Simon?” Clary grabbed Simon into a giant bearhug, effectively tearing his hand out of Jace’s. “You’re Jace’s mystery boyfriend? How did I not know about this? You didn’t even tell me you were dating anyone, you jerk! What happened to best friend gossip privileges?”

Clary pulled back from the hug, and now that Jace could actually see her face, he could see the hint of concern she was trying to hide under her wide smile.

“Clary. Hi,” Simon said, eyes wide. “I was going to tell you, I swear. It’s just, this is kind of new and so...” He trailed off, looking panicked. His eyes caught Jace’s. “But, uh, yeah. This is Jace. My boyfriend. Jace, this is my best friend, Clary Fray.”

“Yeah,” Jace said, looking between the two of them and feeling more than a little out of his depth. He’d planned for things to be weird, but not this weird. “We’ve met.” He flashed Clary a smile. “Fray, huh?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t keep his name. Not after...after everything. Fray is the name Mom used before she married Luke. It’s the name I remember her having when I was little, so.” She shrugged. “I filed the paperwork to have it legally changed the day I turned eighteen.”

“It suits you,” Jace told her, and let himself be pulled into a tight hug that he suspected was as much because she needed one as that she was glad to see him. Clary had never told him much about the biological father she barely knew, but she’d told him enough to know that Clary held him responsible for her mother’s death, even if the courts had cleared him of any wrongdoing.

“Thanks,” Clary whispered, before surreptitiously drying her eyes on his shoulder and pulling back to flash a smile that was less forced than Jace expected. “So, tell me how this happened without me hearing about it.” She bumped Jace with her shoulder. “And if it’s so new, what possessed you to subject Simon to your family holidays?”

“Hey,” Izzy said, walking up behind Clary and wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. Jace had to admit, they looked...well, right together. “That’s my family, too, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Clary said, offering a soft grin over her shoulder. “And the fact that I’m here should tell you exactly how much I love you.”

“Fair,” Izzy said, then looked at Simon. “So, how’d my brother convince you to join this circus?”

“We made a trade,” Simon said, straight-faced. “I put up with his family for Christmas and he puts up with mine for my cousin Rachel’s wedding.” He leaned in and told Izzy in a stage whisper, “Also, I’m weak for his smile, but don’t tell him I said that, because he will abuse it.”

“You say that like I don’t already abuse it,” Jace said, sliding his arm around Simon’s waist in a mirror of Izzy and Clary’s pose. “And to answer your earlier question, us being officially together is new, but we’ve been sort of on the verge of dating for ages. Practically since we started sharing an apartment last year.”

Clary let out a peal of delighted laughter. “Oh, you’re the roommate. It makes sense now.” Before Jace could ask what made sense, she was pulling the both of them into a tight hug. “I’m really happy for both of you.”

“If I’d known you were going to be this excited, I definitely would have mentioned it sooner,” Simon said, pulling back from the hug.

Jace tried to catch his eye, wondering what on earth was going on. He knew both Clary and Simon well enough to know he was missing something, but he had no idea what it was. Simon ignored him, and that just made Jace more suspicious.

“Come on,” Izzy said. “You can have your hug fest later. Right now, I want to help Alec get things set up in the kitchen and maybe surprise Mom by getting dinner started before she gets back.”

Jace and Clary exchanged a panicked look, and Jace frantically searched his mind for excuses to keep Izzy busy. He didn’t actually want a repeat of the food poisoning episode, after all.

“Actually,” Simon said, turning a bright smile on Izzy. “I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to show me your Lego Star Wars collection before we get too wrapped up in family stuff. Jace mentioned you have the deluxe Imperial Star Destroyer set from the early 2000’s, and I’ve never actually seen one in person.”

“Oh,” Izzy said, looking torn. “I’m not sure—”

“We can help Alec in the kitchen,” Clary said quickly. “You two go do your nerd thing. I knew this was inevitable when I finally introduced you two anyway. And this way I get the chance to harass my bestie’s new boyfriend without him in the way trying to keep me from learning the embarrassing details.”

“You know, on second thought—” Simon began, looking slightly panicked.

“Come on,” Izzy interrupted, smiling brightly and grabbing his hand.

Simon flashed Clary a betrayed look, then looked to Jace for support. Jace simply smiled at him.

“Don’t worry, love muffin,” he said mildly. “I’d never intentionally embarrass you.”

“I want you to know that I hate both of you,” Simon said before allowing Izzy to drag him back up the stairs.

“My collection is all still in my old room,” Izzy said. “Clary and I have been looking for an apartment big enough I can actually move the rest of my stuff out of here, but so far we haven’t found anything in our price range.”

Jace turned back to Clary. “Exactly what kind of embarrassing stories were you hoping for? Because I have many.”

Clary shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got more embarrassing Simon stories than you do. I’ve got almost two decades worth. But I was actually hoping to talk to you alone anyway, and this seems like the best chance we’re going to get.”

Jace followed her down the stairs and into the study. “Sounds serious. You planning to give me a shovel talk?”

Clary laughed, shaking her head. “No, I know you, remember? I’m not worried about you hurting Simon. Well,” she amended, “not any more than I am about him hurting you.” She met his eyes with a soft smile. “You might be the only person I know with a heart as big as Simon’s, as much as you try to hide it.”

Jace looked away. It had been two years since the last time he’d seen her, and she could still see right to the heart of him. He didn’t want to know what she’d see if she kept looking. “Clary—”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she teased. “But I didn’t actually bring you out here to talk about Simon. I wanted to apologize.”

Jace frowned, looking back at her. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” He was more than a little grateful not to have Clary grilling him about his entirely fabricated relationship, but he wasn’t sure where this conversation was going.

“No, I do,” she insisted. “I promised to keep in touch when you moved away, and I didn’t.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jace said, even if maybe it had been at first. Those first few months at school had been hard. Jace always thought he was used to being alone, especially after his mother’s suicide, but he found out just how much he’d come to rely on his new family when he didn’t see them every day. They’d kept in touch, of course, but with Izzy immersed in her studies and Alec all wrapped up in his new relationship with Magnus, it wasn’t anything like what it had been when they were all under one roof.

For a while, he and Clary had been in touch nearly every day, sometimes texting multiple times a day. Jace told her about his classes and how much he liked Boston, and Clary told him all about trying to narrow down which art schools she wanted to apply to. It was almost the same sort of easy friendship they’d had before he left, after they agreed they were better off as friends.

But after a couple months, Clary’s messages came less and less often, and eventually stopped altogether. Jace tried not to let it bother him, but he started drinking a bit too much and going to a few too many parties. Which was how he’d met Maia, his attempts at flirting somehow leading to him getting his ass handed to him at beer pong, and soon he found himself with an entire group of new friends. Although Maia insisted for almost a year that she and Jace were merely antagonistic acquaintances.

Clary gave him a look that told him she knew exactly how full of it he was. “It was a shitty thing to do, and I was a shitty friend,” she told him. “Especially because I did it on purpose. Izzy and I started getting close and I started to have feelings for her, and I didn’t know what to say to you about it. I didn’t know how to even talk to you about what was going on in my life without mentioning that she was becoming such a big part of it.”

“You didn’t actually have to hide it from me, you know,” Jace said. “I was surprised when Izzy first told me, but I’m mostly just glad you’re both happy. And seeing you together, I know you both are.”

“Thanks,” Clary said. “I didn’t want to hurt you or make things weird. For a while, I thought I could just ignore what I was feeling, but Iz is just... She’s not someone you can ignore, you know?”

“Oh, I know exactly how hard my sister is to ignore, believe me.” Jace stopped, considered, then admitted something he had never said—would never say—to another person. But this was Clary, and he knew she would never repeat it. And even if she did, he could always play it off as part of the act. “She and Simon have that in common. You know, I actually thought I hated him at first? He’s so enthusiastic about everything, and so sincere, and just.” He shrugged. “Not the kind of person I thought would ever do it for me.”

“But he won you over with his boyish charm?” Clary guessed.

“Mm,” Jace agreed. And the way he loved without reserve. Not just his family and friends, but his music, his favorite films, even the crappy nachos from the 7-11 down the block from their apartment. Simon loved every part of life, and being around him, Jace could almost imagine what that felt like. “Well, that and his abs.”

“Can’t forget those,” Clary laughed.

“Not with how often he eats breakfast shirtless,” Jace agreed. “Come on. If we aren’t in the kitchen by the time Izzy gets back downstairs, you know she’ll try to help Alec herself, and I was kind of hoping for dinner to be edible.”

~~~

Dinner was surprisingly painless. Maryse was more relaxed and happy than Jace had ever seen her, and he couldn’t help wondering how much of that was related to the very unsubtle smiles she kept exchanging with Clary’s stepfather. Even Max, who was deep in throes of preteen scorn, grudgingly admitted that Simon being in a band was “pretty cool” and joined in on some of Simon, Clary, and Izzy’s excited nerd talk that went entirely over Jace’s head.

After dinner, they retired to the living room for eggnog and carols. Jace limited himself to a single cup of Magnus’s infamous eggnog, knowing better than to let himself get drunk when he was putting on a show for his family. Or sharing his tiny bed with Simon.

As usual, Jace let himself get pushed over the piano to play. He felt something in him settle as soon as he rested his fingers on the keys of Maryse’s baby grand, the feel different and so much more familiar than the ancient keyboard he had back in Boston or the well-used uprights in the practice rooms at school.

When Jace had first come to live with the Lightwoods, he’d been afraid to touch the piano. His mother had put him in lessons as soon as he was old enough, but she hated to listen to him play and often chastised him for not being a better player, saying he should be better at it with how talented his father was. Now, he understood that it was just another manifestation of the combined grief and mental illness that led to Celine’s death, but at the time he’d hated how awful he was at playing, no matter how much he enjoyed doing it.

But Maryse knew he played and encouraged him to use her piano. She told him that it had been her father’s, and though she’d taken lessons herself as a child, she’d never really loved it the way he had. She said that the instrument deserved to be loved, and as long as Jace loved playing it, she didn’t care how good he was or wasn’t.

It was the first time he’d really felt like this could be his home.

“Okay,” Jace said after the third version of O Tannenbaum with ridiculous altered lyrics—this one courtesy of Simon rather than Max or Clary, about an ill-fated toad who chose the wrong moment to cross the street, “I think my fingers are done for the night.”

“Oh, come on,” Clary said. “Simon and I have at least a dozen more of these we came up with when we were kids.”

“When we were little, I only knew the lyrics to the Christmas songs they played on the radio, so Fray made up silly lyrics to the other ones and told me they were real,” Simon explained. “And it made her so happy that I went along with it even for the couple I did know.”

“There will be plenty of time for more singing tomorrow,” Maryse said. “But if I know this one,” she continued, smiling at Max, “we’re all going to be dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn for presents.”

“Mom,” Max whined, “I’m not a kid anymore. I know the presents will still be there whenever I get up.”

“I seem to remember someone who looked an awful lot like you waking us up before sunrise last year,” Magnus said with exaggerated confusion. “Perhaps you have a twin I haven’t met?”

Max fixed him with a withering look. “Last year, I was eleven. This year I’m twelve,” he said, as though that explained it.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve grown out of it,” Alec told him. “Because I intend to sleep in. And if you try to get me out of bed early, I’ll remind you of this conversation.”

“Oh, no need for that, darling,” Magnus said cheerfully. “I’ll just barricade the door before we go to sleep so he can’t get to us.”

“Brilliant,” Alec said, giving Magnus a frankly sappy smile. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

“And on that note,” Jace said, “I think I’m going to head to bed before I die of sweetness overdose.”

“Oh, please,” Magnus said, giving him an unimpressed look. “We all saw you and Simon making eyes at each other over those cookies you were frosting earlier.”

“It’s true,” Izzy said before Jace could protest. “You don’t get to tease Alec about being a sap anymore, not now that we’ve all actually seen you with someone you love.”

Jace froze, his mouth half open, then quickly snapped it shut. It made sense that Izzy would assume. He’d brought Simon home for Christmas, after all. That was the story they were selling even if they hadn’t actually discussed it, even if it wasn’t something Jace had said or even implied. And whatever he did feel for Simon, it certainly wasn’t love. It was, at best, a friendly crush. A very intense friendly crush.

Izzy seemed to realize her mistake, glancing between him and Simon with a look of dawning panic.

“No, you’re misunderstanding how this works,” Simon said easily, because of course Izzy’s words hadn’t sent him into a panic the way they had Jace. “Jace gets to tease Alec, and you, and you both get to tease him back.”

“Yep,” Clary agreed. “Those are the rules, because that means I still get to tease Simon.”

“Please,” Izzy said. “Clary and I are too sophisticated to be sappy.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard you call Clary ‘cuddle bug’ earlier,” Alec said.

“And I definitely saw you laugh at that terrible joke she told at dinner,” Jace added.

“She ate one of the cookies you made,” Max accused.

“Yeah, sorry, cutie,” Clary said. “We’re really pretty sappy.”

“Fine,” Izzy huffed. “But I just think you’re all jealous because I’ve got the cutest girlfriend.”

“Yes, Izzy,” Alec said drily. “You’ve uncovered my secret. I’m extremely jealous of your girlfriend.”

“I knew it,” Izzy said smugly, as though Alec had been perfectly sincere.

“Definitely in danger of dying of sweetness overdose,” Jace said.

That set off another round of teasing, this time with Izzy throwing in not so subtle attempts to drag Maryse and Luke into it. Jace wasn’t sure why Izzy was so determined to make the two admit there was something between them. It was obvious there was just from the way they acted around each other. Maryse would tell them when she was ready, just like she had when she and Robert filed for divorce.

It was almost another hour before Jace finally made his way up the stairs toward his room. He was surprised when Simon rose to follow him, but didn’t say anything until they were back in his room.

“I’m surprised you didn’t stay to nerd out with Clary and Iz some more.”

“I get to talk to Clary all the time,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, it’ll be easier to keep up the whole fake boyfriend thing if I don’t let her get me alone. She’d definitely figure out something’s up if I let her start grilling me about our relationship. Also, you don’t get to call me a nerd when you know just as much about Star Wars as I do.”

“It’s impossible to grow up with Izzy and not know way too much about Star Wars,” Jace said, pulling off his shirt and tossing it over a chair. “Are you still sure about doing this? Neither of us counted on Clary, and I’ll understand if you want to back out.”

“Huh?” Simon said, sounding distracted. Jace turned to look at him and thought he detected the faintest flush on Simon’s cheeks when he met his eyes. “I mean, yeah, no, I’m not backing out.” He gave an uncomfortable shrug as he pulled a set of pajamas out of his suitcase. “The last thing I want is to have to explain this whole thing to Clary.”

“Good point,” Jace agreed, turning around to put on his own pajama bottoms. It was tempting to watch Simon change, but it was also a very bad idea. “I don’t want to think about what she’d have to say to both of us if she knew.”

There was a beat of silence before Simon asked, “So, do you, um, have a preferred side of the bed?”

Jace turned to look at him, only a little disappointed to find Simon fully dressed in his pajamas. As usual when someone asked a question he didn’t want to think about, Jace flashed a smirk. “In a bed this small, I usually just take up the whole thing.”

“Well, unless you want me on top of you, you should pick a side,” Simon said, unimpressed. “Because I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“I’ll take the left,” Jace said quickly, trying and mostly failing to avoid thinking about exactly how much he did want Simon on top of him. “I’m just gonna hit the bathroom real quick.”

Which was how Jace found himself locked in the tiny guest bathroom, lip caught between his teeth as he frantically tugged at his cock. He hadn’t planned on jerking off, but he couldn’t get Simon’s words out of his head, and he sure as hell wasn’t getting into bed with Simon half-hard, which was really the only other option.

He could picture it far too easily. Simon pressing him into that ridiculously tiny bed, hands gentle but firm, mouth just a little bit desperate.

He came to the thought of rutting up against those ridiculous abs.

By the time Jace cleaned himself up and returned to his room, Simon was nestled under the covers on the right side of the bed. Seeing him like that made something in Jace’s chest clench, and he flipped the light off just so he wouldn’t have to look anymore.

“‘Night,” Simon said as Jace slid into bed, taking care to stay entirely on his side.

“Don’t even think about snoring,” Jace answered.

He lay in the dark for a long time, staring into the darkness, listening to the sounds of the city that didn’t quite drown out the soft breathing of the man beside him. He tried not to think about how easy and relaxed the night had been, how perfect it would have been if only half of it weren’t a lie.

[miqojak]

💭💭 Two Bubbles for two very special bois.

Saerno

"Freakishly tall..." This, almost to herself, before there's a slight shake of her head, "He seems to have his shit together, at first impression; he seems...like a professional, which would actually be a nice change of pace after last year - but fuck, I hope he's not stuffy and uptight. Or secretly another obsessive lunatic fuckboy of a Keeper. I wouldn't even work with a Keeper, I don't think, if it weren't literally the best option I've come across for the knowledge I want. I just hope he's capable of putting up with me long enough for me to actually learn something useful. He mentioned not actually engaging in anything illegal, though...which is, admittedly, a bit disappointing. Hopefully the fact that the knowledge I seek is intended for illegal purposes doesn't make him squeamish."

Luo

"That kid... I've seen more than a few like him come through our doors - young, naive, hopeful, optimistic - I'll spare you where they've ended up, for the most part." An ear flicks, and a gilded claw taps at the tabletop, "Not that I haven't tried to open their eyes, and I'm sure I'll get my claws in this one, too. But he's a disaster waiting to happen - too naive for his own good, I know that much already. So many of them are. I wonder - and I imagine he is - if he's the type to stubbornly cling to his optimism, even when the ugly, gritty taste of reality is still on his tongue? I hope not. Things hurt worse, that way." That tapping claw is lifted, to scratch behind an orange-stained ear rife with piercings, "Not that I care if he gets hurt. That first night, I just...maybe I was reminded of myself, maybe a bit of my brother, when we were on the streets. So thin, and hungry, barely thinking past your next meal...compassion and empathy aren't my thing, though. I'll help him adapt to a harsh world, when he's ready, however. It's not as though I wasn't once much like him, after all."

((She does want to know more about Sae, but a deep paranoia and keen awareness of the power casters have might mean she moves slow in that regard... though it's a different story for Luo - she will, no doubt, be eager to 'help' him learn and adapt to his new circumstances...))

[mariapanpan1833]

How Cyro joined Talon pt. 2

Cyro, Sombra, and Widow walked around the city of Rome, of course, with Cyro and Reno leading the way to the pound, proudly whistling a tune with her arms slung over her shoulders holding her head with Sombra and Widow trailing along.

“Sombra...” Widow growled.

Sombra looked up from her computer, “Yeah?”

Widow sighed as if it wasn’t obvious what she was going to ask, “You haven’t clarified why we’ve been following a child through the city yet...” She grimaced, Widow was known to take little to no care for these things, but something irked a nerve when she was with Sombra.

“Look I get it, but Cyro is no child, she’s a genius! She’s got connections all over the city, and her bounty hunter job is actually pretty solid,” Sombra pulled up a screen, out of earshot of Cyro, and started showing some of the details she found.

“Kid's smart, she makes it look like a wild attack other than murder. She collects detail and items, all across town, she’s got too many people scared of her.”

Widow raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused by Sombra’s amusement about the news.

“Alright, alright, check this.” She swiped through a few screens, “She was hard to find, and coming from me that’s saying something. Doesn’t stay in the same place for too long, and doesn’t keep the same phone number, let alone have much of an internet presence.”

“So how’d you find her?”

“Pfft, Nobodies that good at hiding from me plus, she isn’t that hard to recognize.” Sombra pointed to Cyro about her small stature.

“Sombra, do you know what Akande would do if we-”

“We’re here,” Cyro called out, the three of them standing in front of the pound’s fence.

The pound was small but the fact it needed any form of protection scared away most people around, alongside the loud barking from the dogs inside.

“You two wait here, this will be quick” Cyro climbed the fence, followed by Reno as he sprinted up and over the fence.

“I’m coming with you.” Widow said.

“There’s not that much security, there’s no need.”

“I’m coming to keep an eye on you.” Widow clarified, clearing the fence after.

“The more hands to help I guess, Sombra, keep a lookout here.” Cyro nodded at Sombra who nodded back in response.

Cyro led the way, her and Widow crouching over onto cover for the nearest wall for cover, they were in the back entrance, guarded with a dog and officer.

Cyro’s eyes blinked grey, “I’ve got the dog, you handle the guard.”

Widow looked confused, “How do you-”

Cyro pointed to her eyes, “Animal tamer, remember?”

Widowmaker rolled her eyes and moved over to the next cover, once she was good, she inched closer to the guard, out of sight, and once she was close enough, she used her grabbling hook and tightened it around the guard's neck, knocking him out.

Widow signaled Cyro over who jogged forward. “Nice work.” She complimented as she took the guard's keys and worked on finding which one to opened the door.

“So ‘Widowmaker’ I thought you were blue?” Cyro asked, trying to make conversation.

Widow took a mirror out of her pocket and checked over her white skin, “Makeup.” She answered plainly.

“Oh... I-I mean, yeah, that makes sense.”

Cyro continued fiddling with the keys, "So you and Sombra-"

"No." Widow shut it down before she got to finish.

"Ah, so you're free then?" Cyro flirtatiously growled Widow scoffed, not paying mind to the teen's advances.

Cyro unlocked the door and stuffed the keys into her pocket.

They walked inside with Cyro now having the guard's dog with her, checking the cameras which Sombra had already taken care of.

“You check upfront for any more guards, I'll grab the rest of the dogs,” Cyro told Widow, who walked away without a word.

-

After dealing with the last guard, Widow turned her head, Cyro had the entire pound under her control, which is shown by her grey eyes, each dog standing freakishly still.

“How do you expect us to walk into town like that?” Widow asked.

Cyro split the dogs into groups of three, lining them up like a military. “There, got a guy who can hold them for a bit, I’ll control them over to him in groups. Strays here aren’t new.”

Widow sighed, “Fine.”

Cyro sent the dogs off, it was odd to Widow how Cyro had so much power doing so little, but Sombra did say she was good.

-

Cyro and Widow walked out meeting Sombra who was waiting outside.

“Where are the dogs?” Sombra asked, sitting up from the wall.

Cyro pointed at her glowing grey eyes, “Taking them to a guy right now in sets, he’ll hold them for me.” She answered.

“Wait, you’re controlling all of those dogs at once,” Sombra asked with complete interest.

“It’s a harder job, but yeah.” Cyro stop to scan the area and Widow turned to see Sombra nearly squealing.

“What?”

“She’s controlling a shit ton of animals at once!”

“That’s only impressive to you because you can’t multitask.” Widow explained.

“You try having every person on file 24/7. If that’s all we can head back to the apartment.”

Cyro snapped her fingers in realization, “Ah yes! We have one more place to stop if I’m training these dogs, I need my equipment!”

Widow sighed, “And where is that?”

“My truck, of course, the guy who drives me, Pako, is holding it for me, you all don’t mind do you?”

Sombra perked up, “No... but how many guys do have to do you favors?” She asked.

Cyro laughed, “Let’s just say nobody here is actually scary compared to me. Let's hurry while it’s still daylight outside.”

-

Cyro walked up to Pako, a big muscular guy almost ten times her size. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, “Kept up our end of the deal, I need you to take me somewhere.”

Pako sat up from the black van he was leaning on, “You know what kid, I’ll think I’d outta hold on to this money for now...” He towered over her, his large shadow covering her entire body.

She shrugged, “Fine.” She walked away towards the back of the alley, once she was near the end, she quickly drew her knife and threw it at him, fitting itself into his leg.

He quivered in pain, wincing over himself holding his leg, just stopping himself from screaming in pain. He leaned over the closest wall and almost back up from Cyro as she approached, “Kid! Argh.... don’t go doing anything rash now, I was just about to give you the car!”

Cyro opened the back of the van, waking up the sleeping tiger in the back, “Sasha, I got you some food.” She said it so quietly, the guy felt a shiver down his spine. Cyro walked over and took her knife back out from the guy’s legs

“We can talk this out, I-I got money, you like money don’t you?! I got a place you all can stay! Some food, I got food! Cyro!”

She took the van and drove a bit down the road, the guy's screams becoming nothing but soft sounds of music as she drove down a few blocks to where Widowmaker and Sombra were waiting.

“You weren’t kidding! You actually have a truck!” Sombra nearly bounced in excitement.

“My very own brand.” Cyro added, rubbing the red decal on the side of the truck, “Reminds me, I need to get out these rugs, give me a second.” Cyro climbed into the back of the truck and shut the doors.

Widow turned to Sombra with a skeptical look on her face, all Sombra could do was shrug.

Cyro came out of the truck, wearing a velvet leather suit, the end of it hanging lower behind her, sporting a commander hat with a gold heart emblem on it, the outfit wasn’t too fancy, but was rather flashy for combat wear. She pulled out her knife from earlier, the name “Cyro” lazily carved into the side of being shown, and glided her finger across it, cleaning it from the blood it gained earlier and sliding it into its respected place at her side.

“Where’d you get the blood?” Widow asks.

“Pako came up short, so I cut my loose ends.”

“And the truck?”

Cyro rolled her eyes, “Ay, bella, do you always ask so many questions?”

Widow crossed her arms, “Only to people I don’t trust.”

“Okay then, I’ll make it up to you, trust me to go get us some good food?”

Widowmaker shrugged while making her way to the car, “As long as we’re heading back to the apartment, I don’t care what you do.”

-

They entered the empty apartment, turning on the lights while heading inside.

“Told you guys, I’d get us something good!” Cyro chirped.

“You didn’t even pay.” Widow replied.

“I forgot my wallet, but our darling Sombra did for us, and I have to say you did a marvelous job with the apartment too, very well done.”

Widowmaker scoffed, “Forgot your- You tipped the waitress!”

“I had enough to thank her for her hard work... and giving me some eye candy to have during the stay.”

Widow rolled her eyes as Cyro winked back at her.

“If that’s all, then I’ll be heading off to bed, I’ll see you two in the morning.”

With that Cyro walked off into a random room she decided would be hers for their stay.

The two adults got settled for bed, setting up their stuff in separate rooms, just as Sombra got done with her equipment Widow walked in.

“Her file.” She stated plainly.

“Why won’t you just leave the kid alone?” Sombra asked.

“She’s hardly a kid, what’s she doing out in the streets anyway? I need her file, Sombra.”

Sombra opened up a computer and began typing, “I wish you were more fun...” She mumbled.

When Widow heard her phone ring, she began to walk out, “Amélie?”

Widowmaker’s attention fastened to the use of her name, “What?”

Sombra caught herself, looking down and thinking, “It’s nothing, sorry, goodnight.”

Widow eyed Sombra, eventually stop caring about what it was she was going to say, “Goodnight.”

[mrsmaybank]

Gas Station Girl - Spencer Reid x Reader - CH 3

Spencer Reid’s first impression of the Reader is mixed. She’s “audacious, promiscuous, clever, and troubled.” and there is so many things Spencer would like to do about it.

CHAPTER ONE HERE

CHAPTER TWO HERE

A/N:I’m writing a Spencer Reid x Reader multific! The series will be intense and 18+. Age gaps, Explicit sexual content (dom/sub dynamics/kinks), angst, family issues, dark themes including: violence, suicide, murder, death, blood, and drug use and addiction. (Chapters will of course have trigger warnings depending on the content) HIGHLY recommend you listen to the playlist as you read! 

A/N2: This chapter is the most wholesome one in the whole series! Other then the kinky smut LMAO. No for real though, this is as fluffy as it gets. Next chapter gets um... well you’ll see! 

TW: Language, Age gap, use of ‘Little Girl’ as pet name, explicit sexual content (light degradation & unprotected sex), mentions of death, smoking weed, mentions of violence

Fic Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4WYosdR6Tz4y9lsmUghoMU?si=ZvyS_2oqSDW95PxULRs2fQ

The seconds of ignorant bliss after opening your eyes for the first time since a night of horrible decisions didn’t last as long for Y/N anymore. Pains and aches serving a reminder of all the apologies that were owed from her. Instant dread and distaste for confrontation swirled in her stomach. Ah but she deserved it all. The night was blurry, but from recollection, it was only Teddy. He’d dropped her off home, she remembered that. From where? Who knows, but it probably didn’t matter. Teddy’s services didn’t really warrant (nor did Teddy want) a heartfelt, apologetic phone call she decided. Instead a simple, “thx” text sufficed.

She stepped out of her room, pleased with the sight of her roommate rolling a joint on the kitchen table. “Good fucking morning.”  she meant it. The weed would ease the sting of the bruises and busted lip.  

“Morning.” Kena said, licking the joint to seal its precious contents. “What the fuck happened to you last night?” making a face of amusement.

The friends bursted out in laughter in unison.

“Got my ass beat.” Y/N started telling the story as Kena lit the j. “Remember ‘Record Shop’ Dude’?”

“Do I remember? You guys fucked for like a week straight. Thought you guys were gonna get married.” 

“Well,” she couldn’t contain her laughter anymore, “Apparently he has a girlfriend. They’ve been together for three years.” 

Kena passed her the joint laughing, “Apparently.” she watched as her friend inhaled the smoke, “I’ll never understand why you don't fight back every time. I’ve seen your left hook, it’s deathly. It’s like you like getting your ass kicked.” 

Y/N finished the joint, putting it out. “Yeah, I get off. Masochist, remember?” she said in a serious tone. Kena understood the satire of her response. 

“What’re your plans tod-” she was cut off by her phone ringing. She saw the unknown number and smiled putting it on speaker for Kena to hear. “I’m fucking broke!” she shouted as Kena laughed. “You can’t scam me! I don’t have any fucking money to steal!” 

The line went silent and they awaited the confused stutter of some telemarketing con artist. And a confused stutter came. 

“Y/N? It’s Spencer.” he paused, “Spencer Reid?” he paused again. Perhaps she’d forgotten him.  “Dr. Spencer Reid?” 

“I know who you are.”  

Kena looked at her friend in confusion, but she was busy replaying the events of the previous night. Spencer had called Teddy, from the parking lot of a shady...her memory stalled, liquor store. 

“Holy fuck I’m such a piece of garbage.” was the only thing her subconscious could render. 

“I am so fucking sorry. Holy shit. Thank you for last night, dear fuck. I’m sorry about that. And for screaming at you! I didn’t have your number saved.” 

Spencer lightly sighed. She remembered. “It’s okay. How are you feeling?” 

“Uh, great.” she stammered, “I’ve woken up a lot worse.” 

Spencer could hear the slight embarrassment in her voice. “Good, good.” he took a deep breath, “Well I was wondering if maybe I could take you out to lunch? We’ve only ever spoken in parking lots.” 

Kena opened her eyes in delight, mouthing “Yes!”

Y/N couldn’t contain her smile, “I’d like that Dr. Reid. Pick me up at three?” 

“Sure little girl. See you soon.” Spencer hung up and Y/N melted. 

Kena screamed, “You’ve been fucking a doctor?!” 

“No.”  she smiled a devilish grin, “But I’m about to.” she sang, practically skipping with joy back to her room. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer hadn’t gotten a good look at the complex in the dark, but now he could see it in its full glory. Beer bottles and cigarette buds littered everywhere, sulky characters loitering at practically every corner, and a reek of marijuana. Not his personal idea of home sweet home. 

He watched as the girl he was waiting for exited from apartment 209, looking just as wild as ever. He wondered if the disheveled look was intentional or if she always looked so crazily hot. His eyes continued to follow as she walked down the steps and into his passenger seat. 

“Hi.” she said, eyes wide and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was blushing. Y/N didn’t seem like the kind of girl to blush. 

“Hey. You look nice.” he started to pull out of the parking space. 

“You don’t have to say that you know. I don’t look nice. I never look nice.” she sighed, “Truthfully I hate the idea of looking nice.” 

Spencer was amused with her little ramble, “Why?” 

“‘Cause nice is what you look like when you’re going to church. Or brunch. And I don’t do either of those.” she said plainly.

“What’s wrong with brunch?” he questioned smiling.  

“Nothing is wrong with brunch.” she paused for a minute, deciding whether or not to tell him all the atrocious memories she had in connection to brunch. He only asked you about fucking brunch. Don’t reveal all your baggage already. Don’t be a dramatic bitch. Just say your vegan or some bullshi-

“What are you contemplating on telling me?” 

Her mouth gaped playfully. “Fucking cut the profiling! Three minutes in and you’re already doing your weird government shit.” she remarked, teasingly defensively. 

Spencer laughed, “Weird government shit? Really?”

“Yeah.” she pursed her lips, “I said what I said.” 

“It’s psychology, not weird government shit. It’s analyzing body language, and speech patterns and-”

“I get it. You’re fucking smart.” They pulled out to a red light. 

“You’re smart too.” 

“Thanks Doctor.” she smiled, it did make her happy to hear that. “So where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see.”, and see she did. As they got out of the car, Y/N couldn’t stop smiling. At first it was the way Spencer’s hand found hers, but then it was the sight. The restaurant was placed under the biggest trees she’d ever seen, with ivy hanging just a couple feet over her head. It was illuminated with lanterns and tiny hanging lights and she felt like she was in a fairy tale. It was beautiful. 

“Hey Spencer?” 

“Yes?” he said approaching the hostess, “Table for two, Spencer.” His attention shifted back down at her. “This is the prettiest place a boy has ever taken me.”

He smiled, “Yeah? You like it?” The hostess led them to their table and they sat. “A lot.” she giggled and Spencer swore his heart would explode. The sound was just too adorable. 

“So Y/N, where are you from?”

She was a little surprised at the question, almost like nobody had ever asked. Had she ever been on a date? Like a proper sit down date? 

“New York City, originally. But I uh, moved around a lot as a kid.” 

“Tell me about that.” 

“You really wanna know?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he questioned. 

“Okay, fine. I used to live in this beautiful townhouse in Manhattan. I had a pink room with a huge bed and canopy. A gorgeous chandelier, this vanity with all my tiaras, and my dolls! Oh my god, those dolls were so fucking pretty.” he listened intently, relishing in the way her eyes lit up in a way he’d never seen. 

“And then my dad died.” the glint of joy in her eyes was gone. “When I was seven. And we moved to West Virginia, living with my grandmother, until she died!” she let out a small laugh in attempts to keep the mood up. “Then we were living in this mobile park, which wasn’t so bad. Creeps and meth-heads came and went, but overall not a horrible place to grow up. It’s where I met Teddy, you know him.” 

He nodded his head, still listening to every detail of the story. 

“After my mom got remarried, him and I decided we wanted to go to California. This was supposed to just be a pitstop, get our shit together, you know? But we had a falling out, and he went without me. Came back when his brother got cancer. Then after Casey died he came back to D.C, got me to enroll in school with him And uh, now I’m here. I go to Washington Uni, by the way. Major in Journalism.” she ended shyly. 

“I’m sorry about your dad. And your grandma. That’s a story.” 

She nodded her head. “Its okay. Better place, you know?” How about you?” 

“Well, uh, I’m from Las Vegas. It’s been just me and my mom for a while.  My childhood was a little weird, graduated high school when I was twelve, then I-” 

“Hold the fuck up, twelve?” he nodded. “Holy shit. You’re one of those freakishly smart prodigy motherfuckers aren’t you?” 

He laughed, “IQ of 187, not to brag.” 

“Oh fuck you, you’re totally bragging.”

“You got into Washington, you did well in school too.” 

“Yeah uh, despite the shitty childhood school wasn’t really ever an issue. My dad was a Senator, George Y/L/N, in New York. He had a lot of random contacts. When we moved to West Virginia I got to go to some snobby private school ‘cause his friend was a board member. Saint Matilda Preparatory School. Top of my class.” she smiled, “Not to brag.” 

“You’re definitely bragging.” he teased.

Scoffing, she said, “I didn’t drop my IQ number, so you’re still the gloating one here.” 

“I didn’t think you were a high school drop-out.”                                                “Aw Spencer really?” she said sarcastically. 

There waiter came and took their order, but neither of them really cared about the food. They stayed there talking for longer then the restaurant would’ve liked, telling each other their craziest dreams, wildest experiences, bad decisions, and nothing and everything. Before they knew it, the restaurant was kicking them out. They walked back to Spencer’s car, hysterically laughing at the disdained waiter who had to so awkwardly ask them to order something else or leave, Y/N clinging to his arm. 

“Nobody’s ever done something like this for me before.” Y/N said as Spencer got into the drivers seat. 

“What do you mean?” Spencer turned to face her. 

“Picked me up, taken me to a pretty restaurant, paid, opened doors for me.” her eyes locked in his, “Listened to me talk for so long.”

“I could listen to you talk forever.” he grabbed her face and kissed her. The kiss was nothing like he’d expected. It wasn’t an aggressive make-out fired by lust, it was a kiss of passion and dear affection. 

They began to drive in silence. Not uncomfortable Awkward silence, more like enjoying each other's company silence. That is until Y/N did something Spencer should’ve seen coming as this was the same girl he’d met at the gas station. Her hands were inching their way up his leg to his crotch, teasingly slow. She scanned his eyes for some note to stop, but it never came. She palmed him gently through his pants, watching him struggle to keep his eyes on the road, as he twitched under her touch. “Fuck.” he sighed out quietly, “Stop.”

“Take your shoes off, get in the backseat.” he turned off the main road, driving down a more secluded street until he found a tiny spot almost completely hidden by trees.

“Take your clothes off.” he still hadn’t made eye contact with her since telling her she was smart. She did as she was told, taking off her top and shorts as fast as she could. Spencer got out of the driver's seat and got into the back passenger seat, only the middle seat separating them. “Come here.” obeying, she did. In only a bra and underwear, she crawled into Spencer's fully clothed lap, as he grabbed her face and kissed her. Her barely let her move, wanting to be able to explore her mouth freely, She gasped for air, whispering a small “Oh fuck.”

He tightly gripped her jaw, toying with her bottom lip as he spoke, “You have such a dirty mouth.”

She smiled more poisonously then he’d ever seen, it was mischievous and seductive, and it made him crazy. “What’re you gonna do about it sir?”

Now it was him smiling as the small girl looked up at him with big eyes, “So many things.” He started to kiss her again, this time his hands going down to tease her clothed clit. She moaned into the kiss and rocked her hips down harder into his hand. “Please?” she moaned again.

He moved her panties to the side, sliding a finger through her wetness, “You need something don’t you?” She nodded her head.

“Well, use your words.”

“Touch me.” she got closer in his ear, “Please.”

“What’s with the niceties little girl? You don’t want to be touched, no, Good girls like to be touched. You, you are a desperate little slut, hm?” His fingers dipped into her with no warning, curling immediately, “You want to be destroyed.”

Her hips bucked almost instantly as she cried out, “Yes. I do.”

“Beg for it.”

“Sir,” she opened her eyes to lock with his, “Please.” Spencer continued to curl his fingers while still rubbing her clit, and her moans and breathes got sloppier and louder.

“Please!” she whined. “Please sir.” He couldn’t contain a small laugh, “No.”  

“This is a bit pathetic even for you, no? You’re here naked in my lap begging for me to let you come.” She nodded her head. “Oh but I’m sure you’ve done worse haven’t you love?” She shook her head. As badly as he wanted to lecture her about lying, he could feel her tighten on his fingers. “Can..” she stuttered in between moans, “Can I? Please let me come?”

“Awe, good girl asking for permission.” he pulled his fingers out, “No.”

He slipped his fingers in her mouth and watched as she sucked them off. “Figures you’d be good at that.” he unbuckled his belt, pushing his pants and lied back so the door supported his back. “Come sit on it.”

Her eyes opened in delight as she crawled over and did as she was told. He watched in awe as she sunk herself down onto him, clenching as their thighs met. He let her think she had some control, eyes never leaving her as she bounced and moaned. “You’re such a good girl baby.” He could see her teetering right above the edge, and seeing as he was so close as well, he gave in. “Come for me.” and with that, she did. Practically screaming as he fucked up into her through her orgasm, pulling out and finishing himself.

He hugged her into his chest, whispering small praises and delivering soft kisses to her sweaty forehead. She made small circles with her nails on his arms, “I fucked a doctor!” She giggled. 

Spencer broke out into laughter, “I fucked YOU.” 

“We fucked each other.” They laid there for a moment, Y/N practically melting to the feeling of being in his arms. It was too comforting.  

Eventually, Spencer began driving back to her apartment, loving every moment of her outlandish singing and dancing in his passenger seat until he parked to drop her off. 

“You’re a very special girl.” Spencer said as she smiled.

She took a deep breath, “Spencer, I fucking like you. A lot. I can’t remember the last time I had a good time like this that I wasn’t fucking high or drunk or both.” she continued to ramble, “And I guess what I’m just trying to convey is-” 

She was cut off by Spencer crashing his lips to hers. “I know what you mean.”  

She smiled and gave him one last peck on the lips, “I hope I’ll see you soon Dr.” 

“You will.”

As she walked back up the stairs to her apartment, Y/N only had one thought. How am I gonna manage to fuck this up? 

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