#every pissy little huff and grunt

[rr311]

·˚ ༘ 𝑰𝒏𝒇𝒐 ➪ fluff, black!reader, kissing, soft?sukuna,

₊˚ෆ 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 - you ended up getting hurt which makes sukuna having to play doctor.

ミ★ 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 I made a promise. and It’s done, we finally hit 1k followers D:!! I am SO grateful for all the love and support you all have gave me for the past year and half! I’m excited to share my excitement with you all, I love and thank EVERYONE whose engaged with my stories and still give me support even I’m though sin not as active ☹️. but again I made a promise and here Is my face. (scroll to the bottom 🫡)

sukuna story for all my sukuna girlies, a little short bit hope you enjoy :)

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

❤︎︎#— 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 whenever you would get hurt. all hell would break loose. If you weren't awake right now who knows what ryomen would've done to the place, the moment he was Informed about what happened he's been In a pissy mood. aggravated that you, his queen got hurt. his hand were fisted together as he sat there changing your bandages on your hip, you grunted slightly from the tightness but let a sigh of relief feeling him wrap It up, letting go of your shirt. you could tell he was still a little mad about what happened sighing, "ryomen, I'm ok." he looked up from your voice scoffing standing up, one of his bottom hands lifting up your arm to hear a small hiss, clearly still sore from the Impact, "you're not fine." he said back placing your arm back down gently, putting the bandage roll on the nightstand, going back to sit down next to you. you rolled your eyes, lifting the same hand to be placed on his face, "my king.." you teased rubbing your thumb across his cheek, "I'm fine. really. I'm awake aren't I?, plus the curse Is gone and done with, I took care of It." ryomen gave a small huff shaking his head. "when I can see you walk properly I’ll take your word." It was Impossible arguing with him. a stubborn man. your stubborn husband at that. you sighed deeply taking your hand off his cheek, crossing your arms. "you win then..but. doesn’t that mean you have to do what I ask?." without thinking much he nodded his head but he realized what you said giving you a glare. he knows what you’re getting at. that smirk said everything, “since I can’t walk yet, why don’t you be a dear and get me water, hm?.”

If It was anyone else who demanded something from him they would've been dead In within seconds. but since your his queen and wife..he did what you asked but not before mumbling under his breath like a child getting disciplined, hearing loud foot steps fade down the hall making his way to the kitchen to get you water. when he came back to the room he seen you had fell asleep. he raised a brow with a grumpy face, “damn women..” he mumbled, placing the cup of water down on the nightstand raising his lower hand to be placed on your forehead, It was hot. you were coming down with a fever. probably side effects from overusing your CT. you had a small scrunch face from pain he assumed, sitting on the king size bed he placed his upper hand on your forehead and lower hand on your stomach. a few seconds went by and your face changed to relief making you more comfortable than you were before. ryomen sighed heavily standing back up to take off his kimono, leaving him In his boxers going In behind you straddling your body with his. he sighed Inhaling your familiar scent sighing, rubbing his hand on your stomach to make you feel more comfortable from the pain. he wasn't usually all cuddly and stuff but he thought It would be acceptable since you're hurt and you absolutely loved when he would cuddled you, he scoffs hearing your annoying but cute voice all the time ask him every time. no matter how much complaining he did.

he would always do what his wife asks.

🫡🫡

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 2 - flinching

Read on ao3

word count: 988

TWs in tags

note: what's up. so ao3 doesn't let you schedule post fics which is why the link may or may not be working if you try to click it. I'll try to post these there on the day i post them here but we'll see how that works. soz in advance

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If you asked Shouta three years ago, if he expected his hell class to graduate, he’d probably find it unrealistic. Only one student was expelled? An entire class of kids showed potential and had the strength to complete their schooling? That green kid who kept breaking his bones becomes one of the most vital, most incredible students in his class? The pomeranian with anger issues and an inferiority complex is valedictorian?!  No, irrational. 

Yet here they are, 19 of his original students, plus Hitoshi, all dressed in their robes on the last day of their UA student career. 

Now they’ll be thrust into the world of pro-heroes, and gods willing live long enough to retire. 

But Shouta’s done all he can, now. 

Then he sees Bakugo’s mom move towards her son, arms raised to hug him, and the boy flinches.

Mmm, not quite done.

“You little weasel, don’t back away from me, this is supposed to be a celebration!” The woman grunts in his ear, unnoticing of Shouta creeping up behind them, “All of your nice little friends are here, don’t want them to see you be a weak little baby do you?”

Unfortunately, this sort of talk isn’t unusual for the woman. Aizawa has been holding himself back for the last dozen or so months since he found out she gets physical at home to pair with the venom. Bakugo had practically begged him to butt out and convinced him that he barely went home anymore with how busy UA kept him, so he was fine. 

Now Shouta knows Bakugo is going to be stuck at home for the next four weeks until his apartment lease opens. It’s going to be the most time spent at home since the dorms opened, considering he spent every single holiday there with Shouta, Mic, Eri, and Hitoshi. He was- is practically family. 

And godsdamnit Shouta can’t just let this happen. 

“Bakugo.”

They both turn to him, even Masaru, who had been blissfully ignorant of the interaction while talking to Midoriya’s mother. 

“Aizawa,” Mitsuki acknowledges, nodding her head and releasing her son’s arm from her talons. 

Right.

“Ma’am, do you mind if I speak to your son for a moment? It’s about his speech,” Shouta looks at the boy. Even though his tone promises a lecture, Katsuki looks relieved to be going with his teacher. 

Katsuki grunts, tugging his arm away, “I’ll be back, hag.”

Mitsuki reaches out and smacks the back of his head for that, earning a frown from her husband, but ultimately she gets away with it. It’s just like last time, and the time before that, and so on.

Shouta fights the urge to reprimand the woman as he leads Bakugo away.

“Look,” the kid sighs, “I’m sorry about the cussing, I know you told me not-”

“Your speech was fine.” 

Katsuki gives him a skeptical look, “But you said-”

Shouta huffs, “I wouldn’t have let you give a speech if I was going to be pissy about that. I’d be more surprised if you didn’t curse, the warning was purely cosmetic. No, I’m here to ask you about the next few weeks.” He pauses, studying the boy’s relaxed posture now that he’s alone with Shouta, and decides to bite the bullet, “Are you comfortable staying at home?”

Bakugo looks around unsurely, gaze flickering back to his mom who is laughing loudly, probably at his expense. 

“It’s not that long-”

“That’s not what I asked.” Shouta raises his hand, all too aware of how Katsuki does not flinch when he rests it on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you comfortable? Will you be safe with her?”

Bakugo shifts, shoulders slumping, “I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

Sometimes Shouta wonders how just two years of therapy could help someone so much, but he’s so grateful for it. He’s pretty sure Bakugo from three years ago would’ve punched him and cursed his bloodline for asking such a question. For insinuating he’s weak, that he can’t handle his mother’s punishments. 

He shouldn’t have to, and Shouta thinks he’s finally starting to realize that. 

“Do you want to stay with us?” He offers, sliding his hand off Bakugo’s shoulder and pulling out his phone, “I already talked to Mic about it, but if you want to hear it yourself…”

“Wha- But I don’t leave for a month, and my parents-” 

“Kid, you’re 18, you don’t have to spend another second around them if you don’t want to. Mic would love to have you, and I’m sure Hitoshi would tolerate it.” He teases. 

“Plus, we can pay you to babysit Eri if you want some extra funds before you leave. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, and if you decided to stay with them, I wouldn’t be upset. I just want you to start your career as a hero in the best possible mindset, and I’m concerned about your well-being with her.” He explains. 

Bakugo seems to consider this for a moment, rubbing the spot on his head that Mitsuki had hit. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll take you up on that. But you better be serious about that offer, gotta teach that kid something useful before she’s subjected to a life with you losers.”

Shouta narrows his eyes, “If you teach my daughter any sort of inappropriate language-”

Bakugo waves his hand, grinning, “Tch, as if mindfuck hasn’t bought her silence before. She’s gonna have a mouth when she’s older.”

Shouta sighs heavily, “That’s what I’m worried about.”

He pulls out his eyedrops, squinting over at a blob of color that belongs to Bakugo’s group of hooligans, “Go hang out with your friends, we’ll discuss logistics later. Enjoy your day.”

Bakugo sneers, mumbling a terse ‘they’re not my friends’ as he obeys anyway. 

Shouta smiles fondly as they attack him with affection when he arrives, teasing and playing with him while he shouts. 

Still, some things never change. 

[cinnamon-grump]

Idk how to explain to someone who seemingly only pretends to have empathy, that like.. sitting down to eat or read in otherwise complete silence in the kitchen/livingroom FEELS Like you’re IN my room

because this wall isn’t a real wall and my “door” is just a curtain closed with a chip clip and I HAVE NO FUCKING PRIVACY OR SPACE and holy fuck just go somewhere else please before i scream!!!

[btsqualityy]

Heaven Sent; Part 10

Jin x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings: None to note.

Author’s Note: This is the last part of this series! Thank you so much to everyone for all of the love you guys have given me, I appreciate it more than you know!! I hope you guys enjoy this final part!!

Two Years Later

“Yoon Aera!” You shouted, sighing heavily as you took in the sight of your eight year old’s destroyed bedroom. You could hear running footsteps, which only further annoyed you because you couldn’t remember how many times you had told this child to stop running in the house. 

“Yes Mommy?” She answered as she stood next to you, and you looked down at her with an arched brow. 

“I thought you said that you could handle packing up your room by yourself,” you said.

“I did, and I can!” Aera shot back. 

“And this is your version of packing your room up?” You questioned as you used your arm to motion into her bedroom, where books littered the floor, clothes were all over her bed, and none of the large boxes that you had set in her room where being used. 

“I pulled everything out though, like you told me to,” she pouted. 

“Love, we’re moving tomorrow and you’re literally not even halfway done,” you pointed out. “Not only that, but you promised Jin that you would have it done by the time that he came home from work.”

“Sorry Mommy,” she muttered. “I’ll start now.”

“Alright, you better get to it because Jin should be off of work by now,” you told her and that made her jump into high gear, and she rushed into her room and pulled out one of the boxes. You just smiled at her and shook your head before walking out of her bedroom and down the stairs. Just as you made it off the last step, the door knob jiggled and suddenly, the door opened and Jin stepped inside. 

“Hey,” you smiled, pacing over to him and placing your hands on his cheeks before pulling him down for a kiss. 

“Hi yourself,” he grinned, giving you two more quick pecks before pulling away to take off his jacket and shoes. 

“How was your day?” You asked and he just sighed before shrugging.

“Work was work,” he replied lamely. “How was packing?”

“It was fine, except Aera hasn’t finished packing her stuff,” you told him. “I really wish you would’ve just let me do it for her.”

“That probably would’ve been easier, but we have to let her be independent,” he pointed out. “She’s been acting so much like Hae lately, we have to give her some freedom or she’ll feel stifled.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” you grumbled, not exactly thrilled with the idea of your baby growing up. Jin just chuckled and leaned forward, kissing your lips softly. 

“Come on, I’ll help you finish packing up the bedroom,” he offered, stretching his hand out to you and you didn’t hesitate to take it before allowing him to lead you back up the stairs. When the both of you walked into the room, Jin let out a low whistle from how much you had managed to do in the seven hours that he had been gone for work. 

“Damn, maybe you don’t need my help after all,” he chucked, making you nudge his ribs. 

“There’s some shoes and stuff still in the wardrobe, plus your clothes that have built up from your staying the night over the years,” you said. “So feel free to tackle those. I have to finish up in the bathroom.”

“Alright,” he nodded and the two of you went your separate ways, you stepping into the en suite while Jin grabbed a box and walked over to the wardrobe. After kneeling down in front of it, he opened it up and let out a soft gasp at how empty it was. 

“Hey babe?” He called out and he heard you hum in response. “Where did Hae’s clothes go?”

“Oh, I packed them up and his mom came to get them,” you explained as you leaned against the doorway of the bathroom. “I knew that I didn’t want to keep them and it didn’t feel right to just stuff them in the garage of the new house or to give them away so I called his parents and asked if they wanted to take them.”

“Oof, how’d his mom react to...that?” Jin asked, motioning towards your left ring finger, where the engagement ring that Jin had given you two months prior sat. 

“Jin-joo didn’t outright say anything about it, but I know she saw it,” you shrugged. “She suddenly started acting all pissy and she made an excuse to hurry up and leave once she had the clothes.”

“I hate how she acts about you just wanting to be happy,” Jin muttered, beginning to grab some of the shoes that sat at the bottom of the wardrobe and putting into the box. You couldn’t help but to smile, because Jin had felt some type of way towards Jin-joo every since you had explained to him that the conversation you had with her over two years ago was the reason why you had avoided him for almost two months.

“Eh, I’m over it,” you sighed. “I only want to keep things civil for Aera but other than that, I could care less.”

“It’s still annoying,” he replied. “But you’re right, Aera’s more important than my dislike for her.”

“That would be mutual dislike,” you pointed out with a smile, which made Jin chuckle. Just then, Aera walked into the room.

“Mommy,” she whined but she stopped when she saw Jin kneeling on the ground. “Jinnie!”

“Hi Little Heart,” Jin smiled, opening his arms and letting out a huff of air when Aera ran into his chest. Aera had long since stopped referring to Jin as her “uncle”, but it made you happy that their relationship hadn’t changed at all.

“How’s packing going?” Jin asked her and she pouted.

“Slow,” she huffed, making Jin chuckle while she turned to you. “Mommy, I don’t know what to do with my jewelry box.” You gasped softly as you walked over to her, gently taking it from her hands. The jewelry box was made of maple wood, the finish soft to the touch. 

“I don’t want it to get broken when we’re moving,” Aera whispered and you smiled because you knew why it was so important to her. 

“How about if we wrap it up with extra bubble wrap, and we can put it into one of the boxes that’s going to be in the car with us?” You suggested.

“And it’ll be ok?” Aera wondered and you nodded your head.

“Promise,” you smiled, handing the jewelry box back off to her before she bounded out of the bedroom. 

“What was that about?” Jin asked.

“Hae gave her that jewelry box,” you explained. “He actually bought it for her once I found out that I was having a girl.”

“That’s cute,” Jin smiled. “You know, are you sure that you’re ready to move out of this house? I mean, I know it’s the house that you and Hae bought together and the house that you brought Aera home to.”

“That’s true, it is but I’m ready,” you said as you walked over to him, kneeling down next to him. “This house was where we started our lives together but it’s also the house where our life together ended. It’s you, me, and Aera now so we should have a place where we can have a fresh start, you know?”

“I get it,” he nodded. “I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you if I thought I would,” you pointed out with a smile. “Now, come on. The movers will be here at 9am tomorrow and it’s gonna take you at least two hours to pack all of your clothes alone.”

“I feel judged,” he pouted, making you laugh before you leaned over and kissed him firmly. 

..................................

The next day was a complete chaotic mess, with movers everywhere, an overexcited 8 year old who was happy to be moving but also sad at the same time, and your and Jin’s friends who insisted on coming over to “help” you guys unpack.

“Why do you have so much shit Y/N-ah?” Jungkook grunted as he picked up a box to carry into the living room. 

“No cursing around the baby,” you and Jin both reminded him at the same time, referring to Aera.

“And it’s not my fault,” you laughed. “When you live in the same place for 10 years, you have a tendency to let stuff accumulate.”

“And now we’re here, stuck unloading all of this...crap,” Yoongi corrected himself at the last minute after receiving a warning eyebrow from you, since you knew that he was about to curse. 

“I think it’s cool,” Jimin spoke up with a smile. “It’s like seeing years of your life right in front of you.”

“You’re so cute when you fawn over things,” Taehyung cooed, which made Jimin blush harshly.

“Ok, don’t make this weird with your awkward mutual pining, you two,” Hobi muttered as he worked on setting Jin’s book on the shelves of the large bookcase that was placed against one wall of the living room. 

“We’re not!” They both replied at the same time.

“You definitely are,” Namjoon chuckled. 

“It’s not pining if they’ve done something about it,” Yoongi pointed out and everyone’s head whipped towards him. 

“Really?” You gasped. “But you and Tae...”

“He didn’t say that he wasn’t in on it,” Taehyung supplied and everyone’s eyes widened.

“So, throuple?” Jin guessed.

“Throuple,” Jimin nodded in confirmation. 

“Weirder things have happened,” Jungkook shrugged and everyone murmured in agreement before going back to their separate tasks. 

Later that night, after all of your friends had left, you and Jin managed to put Aera down for bed before walking into your new shared bedroom. 

“It feels so good to finally be moved,” you giggled as you threw yourself onto the bed, Jin’s body following close behind and landing right next to yours. 

“It’s nice to know that this house is ours, together,” he nodded. “No more debating about where to spend the night, no more having Aera’s stuff split up between two houses.”

“Ugh, it’s amazing,” you laughed. 

“All that’s left now is for us to get married,” Jin smiled as he turned onto his back then, extending his arm and you didn’t hesitate to move over and snuggle into the side of his body. 

“And after that?” you wondered.

“You want more?” Jin teased. “Me giving myself to you in holy matrimony isn’t good enough?”

“Shut up,” you scoffed playfully, smacking his chest lightly. “I meant as in, what you want life to look like for us after that.”

“Well, I guess I’d like for us to just settle in together as a family more,” he started. “Hopefully, I’ll be in a place soon where I won’t be working as much anymore and I can spend more time with you and Little Heart.”

“And what about...babies?” You questioned quietly as you looked up at him. 

“Babies?” He repeated with a soft smile. “You want a baby?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted Aera to have siblings,” you shrugged sheepishly. “And you’re so great with Aera, it would kind of be a crime to not add another baby to this.”

“Plus my good looks combined with yours would make a gorgeous baby, right?” Jin added, making you laugh as you nodded your head.

“That too,” you agreed. biting your lip afterwards. “So what do you think?”

“I think that I would very much like to have babies with you,”  he smiled knowingly. 

“Really?” 

“Really. In fact,” he smirked, pausing his words to wrap his arms around you and roll over so that your body was trapped underneath yours. “I think maybe we should start practicing now, just so that we know what to do when we do decide to have a baby.”

“You’re very annoying,” you whispered, your smile wide as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Someone that I love very much, yes,” Jin nodded. 

“I love you too,” you replied before leaning up and pressing your lips against his. Jin’s hands moved down to rest on your waist while you wrapped your legs around his waist. Just as Jin allowed himself to rut against you, there was a tiny knock on your bedroom door. 

“Damn it,” you whispered in defeat, removing your lips from Jin’s and letting your head fall back against the pillow as Jin moved to lay next to you again. 

“Come in Little Heart,” Jin granted her permission and the door opened then, Aera’s little head poking into the room. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared,” she whispered and you couldn’t help but to smile softly. “Can I sleep in here?”

“Sure Love, come on,” you nodded and it didn’t take her long at all to rush over to the bed, hauling herself up onto it and crawling over your body in order to settle down in between you and Jin. 

“Your new room is still a little too new, huh?” Jin guessed and Aera nodded. “Well, we can just have a little movie night in here until you fall asleep. That alright Y/N-ah?”

“Fine with me,” you responded, watching as Jin allowed Aera to snuggle into his side as he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV that was hung on the opposite side of the wall from where the bed sat. 

As you watched them, you couldn’t believe just how far you had come in the three years since Hae-il died. Of course, you had your days where you’d see or hear something that reminded you of him, or Aera would say something that sounded just like her father and it would make you break down into tears. One thing that you learned was that the grief you felt from loosing him would never go away, it would just change and evolve over time. 

However, you had done your best to keep true to your promise that you made to Hae-il, about doing your best to be happy, and you were more confident than ever that Jin was exactly what you needed to be happy again. Jin was a man that loved you, loved your daughter, and the respected the place that Hae-il still held in both of your lives. He never tried to overstep boundaries, or create new ones; he simply loved you and Aera the way that the two of you were, and that was more than enough for you.

Looking back on everything, you never thought that you would lose your husband in the first place. Even more, you never thought that Kim Seokjin would be the one to make you whole again. As more and more time passed, you were convinced that he was truly Heaven Sent.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Top 5 Characters in ANF Who Would’ve Made Better Love Interests Than Kate

There are a lot of mixed opinions on TWDG: A New Frontier. Some people like it, some don’t, and some people hate it so much that they refuse to accept as canon in the series. Extreme? Yeah, but hey, to each their own. 

One thing that always bothers me when I do my replay of the series and this game is how much Kate is forced on us and even kinda punishes us for not romancing her. Like, no offense, but I’m not really interested in dating my sister-in-law, especially when her husband is actually alive, and even if she wasn’t my brother’s wife, she’s still not a character I have chemistry with, y’know? 

And every time I play, I can’t help but think that almost anyone else in ANF would’ve been a better romantic interest for Javi over Kate, so I decided to make that the list for this week. 

I would’ve loved more choices and for the game to actually show Javi’s canon bisexuality outside of a flirty line with Jesus that most players didn’t even pick. Just sayin’.

I do want to note that if you enjoy the romance with Kate and the relationship between her and Javi, that’s totally cool. Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean you can’t ship them, y’know? I’m not here to try to change your mind or tell you you’re bad for shipping something I don’t because I’m not a dingus. You do what makes you happy, friend. :)

Besides, going off the stats, a majority of players romanced her so if anything, I’m the weirdo. This list is just for fun! 

Before we start, just wanna say a big thank you to @pi-creates​ for helping out with this one! Really appreciate it! Now, here are my top 5 characters who, in my opinion, would’ve made better love interests for Javier than Kate.

5. Jane if the writers didn’t turn her into a dead potato

Oh man, you should see your face right now. 

Wait, wait, stop! Before you click outta here in a huff with your “Kenny good Jane bad” grunts and come yell at me, just hear me out-- this entry is mostly a joke and the other four on this list are serious, okay? 

I needed someone to put at #5 and after talking over some options and going back and forth.... Jane came up as a joke and then kind of made the list. Because really, I thought about it. I was like, “Would I really rather have dingdong “whatever happens stay out of it” potato face Jane as a love interest over Kate? Do I dislike Kate as an option that much?” and Pi and I talked about this for a while and yeah.... yeah I would actually. 

When I said anyone but Kate, I guess I really meant anyone. 

Trust me, I know, I’m just as surprised. I guess this really says a lot about my feelings for Kate. I didn’t know I disliked her this much either.

But for fun, let’s entertain this idea of the writers NOT pulling the ol’ character assassination on Jane and she made it to Richmond with Clementine and AJ because--

Jane: "One time I ate glass because I was drunk and thought it was sugar."

Javier: "I gambled on my own baseball matches and disgraced myself for money."

Jane: “Well, I dragged my little sister around with me after everything went to shit until I finally gave her what she wanted and left her to die.”

Javier: “I wasn’t there when my dad was fighting cancer and when I finally showed up, I was too late and he was already dead, then he turned and I bashed his skull in with a piece of wood.” 

Jane: “I shot a dude’s dick off once.”

Javier: “Oof. I insulted an old lady’s cake and then shot her eye out.”

Jane: “I screwed a guy when I was supposed to be securing a place for some lady to have her baby and it resulted in the death of a teenage girl.”

Javier: “I screwed my brother’s wife.” 

Jane: “...”

Javier: “In my defense, I thought he was dead.” 

Jane: “That’s fair.”

Clementine, exasperated and emo: “Oh my god.” 

....I mean... we might be onto something here, c’mon--

Okay, now onto the more legit entries. 

4. Conrad

Now listen... I know, okay? I know. I know this one can be seen as a bit problematic considering the fact that Conrad, in his grief and anger over Francine’s death, held a gun to Gabe’s head and threatened Javi and Clementine.... plus Javi can literally murder him.

...and if you don’t do anything, Conrad with murder both Gabe and Javi and you’ll get a “YOU ARE DEAD” screen...

But we don’t talk about that because it’s not canon.

I know, but listen... I’m allowed to have ships that are difficult, as are you, and this is my list so... there.

If Conrad was a love interest that’s the route I’d take because I love him and I think a relationship between him and Javi could’ve been so damn good if properly done.

I just find Conrad to be an interesting character with a great arc that you only get to see if you don’t shoot him... which is what most people did, so they missed out. And like, I get it, I get why y’all shot him but maybe next time you play, you could consider not doing that?

So here’s the thing, Javi and Conrad share something-- they both lost loved ones because of shithead Badger. Javi is heartbroken after Mariana’s death, Conrad is devastated after Francine’s death, and they both handle that in different ways. Conrad becomes so focused on revenge and getting into Richmond, that he’s willing to threaten two kids in order to get what he wants but the thing is... that’s not him.

He even says so himself when you keep him alive-- he genuinely apologizes for what happened and will end up coming back to save Javi’s life in ep4. The potential for this to work as a relationship? It’s there... the only problem is that my confidence in the writers handling something like this is low, but let’s pretend they used their time and brains wisely-- ya got yourself a classic slow-burn friends to enemies to friends again to lovers romance and I’m here for it. 

3. Paul “Jesus” Monroe

A lot of people really like the idea of Javi and Jesus and wanted him to be a romantic option, and I don’t blame them. They have chemistry in the scenes they share, and Javi can straight up flirt with him at the end of the season, and it’s super cute... of course, I wish we had more but Telltale was too scared to actually show Javi’s bisexuality outside of that one line, I guess.

But, anyway, this ship has a lot of sweet fanart that we love to see.

The only real reason he isn’t higher on the list is that Jesus is apparently already in a relationship at this point? I guess? From what I’ve been told? Listen, I don’t read the comics, I don’t watch the show, I just go off what y’all tell me. Plus, I believe Kent joked about Jesus having someone in each community during the commentaries so like... that’s a thing?

But let’s pretend that we throw that all out and Jesus is single and ready to be in a committed relationship with our boy Javier here. Like I mentioned above, these characters have a believable chemistry from the moment they meet and I think that has a lot to do with how charming they are by themselves. Those different charms work well together.

I also enjoy how much of a badass Jesus is when it comes to fighting off walkers. Javi has a lot of force that you feel with each hit, while Jesus almost has a lighter but just as impactful hit? I dunno if I’m explaining that well-- basically, Javi strong but Jesus can bounce off walls and do cool shit with weapons that feels effortless.

It’s a combo of fighting styles that I love, so these two fighting together? *chef kiss*

There’s also Jesus’ morality and how he wants to see Javier make “good” decisions, y’know? Sure, he gets pissy if you murder the shit outta Badger, which is mostly just Telltale showing you consequences, but I get it. He sees a lot of potential in Javi, more than Javi himself sees. And unlike certain characters, Jesus doesn’t completely hate you for doing something he doesn’t agree with to a frustrating degree.

If the game gave us the option to pursue Jesus as a love interest, he and Javier would’ve been such a badass couple with a sweet romance.

2. Eleanor

This one might come as a surprise to those of you who know my feelings about Eleanor... as in, I don’t like her. I never forgave her for the shit she pulled in ep4/ep5, and now every time I replay ANF and she shows up? Well, all I really hear is the hissing of a snake.

But, putting those feelings aside and looking at her from a different perspective, I do believe that she would’ve made for a better love interest than Kate assuming that if you romanced her, she wouldn’t rat everyone out to Joan, y’know?

Hell, most people believed that Eleanor was going to be the second option with Kate back when the episodes were coming out, and for good reason. The chemistry is there in the flirting, and their relationship could’ve been super cute.

Of course, Eleanor being a love interest also comes with things becoming awkward with Tripp, but c’mon-- as awkward as pursuing a relationship with your sister-in-law and never telling your brother after finding out he’s alive? Nah, I don’t think so.

Plus, for the first three episodes, Eleanor’s not a bad character. In fact, she’s pretty damn likable, she deeply cares for the group and wants to use her medical skills for good.

And you can tell through the dialogue that she and Javi are fond of one another... well, I guess until they shove the Kate thing in our faces and suddenly Eleanor’s like “oh, I thought you two were a thing??” like... Eleanor, we were flirting and I totally rejected all of Kate’s advances last episode I mean??

If she were a love interest, instead of turning on us, she would... y’know, not do that and instead help us out. We have a couple cute moments like back in ep1 where she’s patching Javi up but this time with a smooch? Super cute.

1. Tripp

Okay but seriously, why wasn’t Tripp a love interest? 

He’s the perfect option. I just-- uuuughhhhh. 

They already have a great believable bromance, so why not take it a step further and make it an official romance? Oh wait, that’s right, ya gotta kill off 95% of your determinant characters, I forgot. Sorry Tripp. 

Well, fuck that. Out of all the other adult characters, Javi has the most chemistry with this man. I believe them more than I believe him and Kate. Sure, they got off to a rocky start the progression of their relationship felt natural with every episode. 

That scene where Tripp is confiding in Javi about his feelings for Eleanor? And in turn, Javi can confide in him about Kate? One of my favorite scenes. I only wish there was an option to tell Tripp he can do much better and set the path for the romance. 

Seriously, I’d probably feel more okay about the romance with Kate if Tripp were the second option. That way, Kate wouldn’t be so forced onto the player, the writers confirming Javi’s bisexuality on Twitter or whatever wouldn’t feel like they were trying to earn points without actually showing representation, and we would’ve gotten the beauty that is Javier and Tripp. 

Also, then Tripp could make it to the end without dying that dumb death of his that no one likes. 

And if I haven’t convinced you yet, then look at these swaps Pi did--

--and tell me they aren’t fucking perfect?? You can’t, because look at them. 

Where’s my Tripp route, Telltale??

---

Honorable Mentions

-If I wasn’t sticking to just ANF characters, Luke probably would’ve made the list because that’s apparently a popular combo and I dig it.  -Pudding... because Javi fucking loves pudding.  -Honestly Max probably would’ve been a better love interest than Kate oof--

---

So, whattya think? Do you agree with this top 5 or nah? Do you have a favorite Javi ship? Let me know, I’d love to hear from you. :D

Next week’s T5F Top 5 Times Lee was the Absolute Best

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

oh my god they were drift compatible

ao3

Beckett likes fighting.

She likes the rhythm, the burn of the bo staff in her palms, the sound of wind rushing in her ears. Every thrust, every block; her heart rate climbs imperceptibly until it’s pounding in her skull. A pulse of blood drowning out everything but the sound of her own heavy breathing and her opponent’s gasps.

Beckett loves fighting. But this isn’t supposed to be a fight.

Ransom grunts as his back hits the floor. The fall is softer than it would have been in an actual situation—broken by the practice mats and Beckett catching his head with her ankle right before it impacts with the ground. He blinks up at her, heaving slightly, sweat soaking his brow and the front of his gray shirt.

“Four points to three,” Bradward Boimler’s monotone voice rises across the loud applause. She risks a glance at him. His eyebrows are pulled together slightly, lips puckered into something like disappointment.

With a scowl, Beckett stomps toward where he’s standing, just slightly behind her mother, staring impassively down at his clipboard. He looks the picture of a perfect officer: uniform neatly pressed, back straight, shoulders back, expression unreadable. Even his hair still somehow manages to be professional despite his obnoxious color and the way it’s swept to the side, revealing the undercut beneath.

The only thing that gives him away is the slight uptick in his voice.

“What the fuck?” Beckett slams the butt of her staff into the ground and leans on it with both hands. Boimler flinches slightly at the sound, shoulders coming up to his ears.

Marshal Freeman’s face is impassive, but Beckett can tell she’s inwardly smirking.

“Is there a problem?” Boimler finally asks, when he realizes his Marshal isn’t going to.

“If you don’t think Ransom is a good fit for me, why did you personally select him?” she demands, trying to keep from snarling at him.

Boimler’s lips thin.

“I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about,” he replies, measuredly. He risks a glance at Freeman, whose face is as immobile as concrete.

“Every time I get him on his back—”

Ransom makes a choking noise in tandem with Brad’s face turning red.

“—you get pissy,” she says. “Like we’re not doing good enough or some shit.”

“ He’s doing fine,” his voice raises a couple of notches—probably out of nervousness. A couple of oohs come from the crowd at that. “My problem is with you.”

Beckett lets out a surprised snort, leaning back on her heels. “Me?”

Boimler risks one more glance at Freeman. She’s still standing, feet two shoulder widths apart, hands clasped behind her back. Utterly impassive and watching Beckett with a hawk-like gaze. If Brad hadn’t already pissed her off, that would have done it. Beckett is reminded of a thousand moments in her childhood where she wasn’t good enough to be privy to what was going on in her own mother’s head.

So she turns her ire on Boimler, who has finally come to the realization that Freeman was just going to let this happen. He takes a step out of the woman’s shadow, hands gripping his clipboard tightly.

“You’re good,” he says, voice reluctant. “You could’ve had him incapacitated two moves ago, but you waited until the last one.”

“So? I still won.”

“That’s the problem. Compatibility isn’t supposed to be about a fight.”

Beckett smiles. “You know how to use one of these?” she asks, throwing the bo staff up in the air slightly and catching it.

Something in Boimler’s expression stiffens. “I’m not—”

“Come on, Bradward,” she cajoles. “Just one fight.”

He glares. “It’s not a fight .”

Beckett switches her gaze toward her mother, who has finally let the corners of her mouth twitch into something of a smile. “Officer Boimler, if you would indulge Ranger Mariner,” she says. It’s not a suggestion.

With something of a sigh, Boimler allows his superior to take his clipboard and begins to strip down to his undershirt and pants. She eyes him up as he unties his boots, setting them just off the mats. He’s lanky and quite a bit skinnier than she is. That’s not to say that he hasn’t built on some muscle—you really can’t be in this business without undergoing some form of physical activity—but it’s tightly packed and in only a few places.

In other words, he’s not a hunk like Ransom.

He picks a black bo staff, leaning against the wall, and cautiously steps onto the mats.

Beckett cracks her neck and walks toward him slowly, but assuredly. “Alright, Officer Doucherocket,” she says. “If it’s not a fight, then what is it?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Aren’t you the jaeger pilot?” He does something clever with his fingers that spins the bo staff in his hands in tandem with the fighting stance he drops into. That tight feeling in Beckett’s chest that had squeezed tightly when she first saw Boimler standing there, in the rain, skyrockets at that. “You tell me.”

The first hit is expected and she blocks it with a quick tap, sliding to the side so that she can get her own jab in at his side. Surprisingly, he seems to have accounted for that. He spins, managing to catch her staff before she can land it.

Ten seconds in and they’re both zero to zero.

Beckett draws back, breath already a little too fast for how early the match is. “Alright,” she says, circling him slowly. He stays grounded, moving just enough to accommodate her movements. “Not bad, for a farm boy.”

One eyebrow ticks upward. “Not bad for an army brat,” he tosses back.

Beckett has a reply for that and it involves poking him in the ribs. He lets out huff as she cheekily says, “One to zero.”

Boimler’s eyes narrow.

It’s on.

Boimler goes for the ankles, ensuring that Beckett won’t be able to attack while defending. She manages to hop over the swipe, but isn’t fast enough to block when he brings up his staff to tap her on the shoulder.

One to one .

Beckett goes for a couple of cross strikes and pokes in rapid enough succession that all Boimler can do is block. He moves backwards with each move, quickly losing ground as she lays into him a barrage of swift techniques. She finally manages to strike faster than he can parry, getting a faux blow to the head.

“Two to one,” she sing-songs. She twirls her staff in one hand, backing up a bit. Maybe she’s going a little too hard on him.

Brad flips his staff so that the short end of it is pointed toward her with the long length of it against his side. “You’re still thinking wrong” he says, before diving back in.

An upward strike and a few spin-assisted moves has her giving up ground to accommodate the sudden onslaught. He manages to tap her knee, much to her annoyance. Two-to-fucking-two. He doesn’t give up ground like they’ve been doing after getting a point in. He stays still, waiting for her next moves.

“And you still haven’t explained what you mean by that,” she snaps, right before she engages in a swarmer style. It involves throwing in so many moves—no matter how badly executed or landed—that your opponent has no choice but to concede.

Concede Boimler does, allowing himself to be backed up so far that when she finally delivers the finishing move—hooking an ankle behind his and delivering an elbow to his bicep—he almost falls off the mats when he rolls on his shoulder back into an upright position. As cool as the move is, she still gets a point when she tips the side of his head gently with her staff.

There’s a smattering of applause that is drowned out by the sound of her heart pounding in her ears when Boimler suddenly sweeps his staff in a wide motion that would have hit her head had she not quickly ducked. She blocks the move, side-stepping as to get in a strike of her own that is blocked just as quickly. Boimler spins on the balls of his feet, almost getting in a strike to her ribs that she parries with a downward block. This, unfortunately puts her in a precarious position with his staff under hers that allows her zero leverage when he twists own staff just so, making her flip onto her back.

She makes impact, air rushing out of her lungs, but rolls back onto her feet before he can get a point in.

“It’s a conversation,” Boimler says, as she slides from a graceful half split into a fighting stance. “But you know that already.”

The sound of the bo staff cutting through the air reminds Beckett of how it sounds to fly-the rushing of wind in her ears, the loud sound drowning out her thoughts. She catches Boimler’s strike and throws in a few of her own, delighted at how gracefully he parries them.

“Drift compatibility-” he says, between interchanging blocks, parries and strikes, “-is about connection.”

She spins, almost getting a strike to the collarbone in. “If you fight the person-”

“You fight the connection,” Boimler finishes, parrying a strike to the groin with a rueful grin. “It’s about trust.”

He pulls back out of hitting range, signaling a reprieve. “So, why aren’t you trusting your partner?” His eyes shift over her shoulder, most likely finding Ransom’s in the crowd.

She takes in a few breaths, trying not to heave. Sweat runs down her back and thighs and palms, making her skin burn with discomfort. Brad stands a few feet away, looking equally sweaty and exhausted. His eyes find hers again, questioningly.

“Maybe you’re shit a judging compatibility,” she says breathily, tilting her head. “You really found the first hunk with daddy issues and a savior complex and thought yeah nothing will ever go wrong with this -”

“Hey!” Ransom’s voice is easily ignorable, so she does just that.

“-and called it a fucking day?” She snorts, shaking her head. “Do you think I’m really that predictable? Tell me,” she jerks her chin toward her mother, toward that damn clipboard with all of Boimler’s stupid notes, “what’s your professional analysis on me, Officer Boimler.”

“Marin-”

She takes a step forward, well within range for him to take a point. “What has you so tied up in knots that you can’t even do your goddamn job and correctly pair-”

“You’re reckless ,” he hisses, getting up in her face. They’re almost the same height, but she still has to tilt her head upwards to maintain eye contact. “You put others in danger out in the field and you wait too long to finish the fight you could have ended three moves ago and there’s absolutely no way to find a compatible partner for you because no one is!”

His breath mingles with hers as they both heave. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and there’s a flush-from the heat and the anger—crawling up his neck and into his face—that stupid face that she wants to punch or slap or ki-

“That’s enough.” Her mother’s voice rings out through the silent room.

Boimler blinks in surprise, as if only just realizing that there are other people in the room. People that include an entire crowd of spectators and his commanding officer, who have been watching this strange back-and-forth the entire time.

He takes a step back, face going from a light pink flush to a deep red one, and runs a hand through his hair. “Marshal Freeman?” His posture has stiffened.

Beckett turns to face her mother, reluctance and exhaustion vying for dominance. “Ransom is a fine officer and a decent sparring partner, but if you’re going to pair me with him than you can forget it. I’m not even asking for vulnerability, but if my partner can’t drop the cocky attitude, there’s no way this is going to work.”

Freeman raises her eyebrows. “Vulnerability? I wasn’t aware that was a requirement for drifting.”

“Drifting is about connection,” Beckett says, tossing Boimler a smug look. “I can’t trust someone unwilling to be honest with me. I would rather someone look me in the eye and tell me what they think of me than put up a cocky front and a flirty attitude.”

Something in Freeman’s face sharpens. It’s an expression that Beckett knows well—that pleased feeling of having won. “Well then,” she says. “If that is the case. Officer Boimler, Ranger Beckett, you’re both expected to report to at 0500 to prep for the maiden flight of Cerritos -”

“Wait what—”

“Marshal you have to be joking—”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Freeman snaps. “We are on a time limit here. Every moment spent wasting time is another potential loss for millions and I cannot afford my team messing around.” She moves forward, coming to a stop just in front of the practice mats. “Ransom is a fine officer,” she nods at him respectfully, “but you’re right. He’s not a good fit. You need someone who challenges you, yes, but you also need someone who’s going to ground you.”

“And you think that—that he is going to-” Beckett sputters, waving a hand in Boimler’s direction.

“Usually I would be offended by that, but I’m on her side,” Boimler blurts out. Beckett gives him an almost grateful nod. “Marshal, you cannot be serious about-”

She cuts them both off with a glare. “This isn’t up for discussion. Billups, get them together before tomorrow, Shaxs I want Cerritos ready for launch in six hours, and you two-” she points at the two gaping new drift partners. “Take a shower, you both stink.”

As she power walks away, crowd dispersing in her wake and officers rushing off to comply with orders, Beckett turns back to Boimler.

He’s still staring after her mom, face ashen.

“Well don’t look too excited.”

He shifts his gaze toward her. “What.”

“Nevermind. Shit.” She drops her staff pressing her palms into her eyes. “I really have to drift with a bonehead farm boy.”

The noise Boimler makes in the back of his throat is unintelligible. “How do you think I feel? I have to drift with a cocky egomaniac who just tried to prove a point through the power of violence.”

Beckett can’t help it. She grins, dropping her hands. “Could be worse.” She picks up the staff and grabs Boimler’s out of his hand, walking them back to their resting place. “You could be drifting with Ransom.”

“Ugh.”

“See,” she points at him, scowling. “My exact point. Why the fuck would anyone want to be his copilot? I don’t want that man in my head.”

“You don’t want me in your head either,” Boimler points out.

“You're a damn sight better than him,” she grudgingly admits. “Even if you are scrawny as shit.”

His mouth twists into something between a smile and a grimace. “I’m not sure whether or not that was supposed to be a compliment, but I’ll take it.”

There’s a pause. A little awkward, although Boimler is still smiling at her. Something behind his eyes is searching, curious. As if he has a million questions that he’s not allowed to ask or that she won’t answer.

If the drift goes well, there’ll be no need for curiosity or questions.

“So,” Beckett sighs, resigning herself to the fact that this dweeb is going to fucking mind meld with her at 5 fucking am tomorrow. “Showers?”

His face turns red—again—and it’s almost endearing. “I-”

“Separate showers,” she clarifies, although for some stupid reason the back of her neck is heating up. “Duh.”

“Right. Right, separate-right.” He’s back to being flustered again, which is cute but-

Wait. Cute?

Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh sweet mother of aliens that rose from the ocean and ate San Francisco, Beckett Mariner thinks this lanky, purple haired, nerd is cute.

This cannot be happening.

“Shower!” she squeaks out, backing up as quickly toward the exit that she can while being exhausted as shit . “I’m just gonna-yeah. Shower. Bye.” She all but runs from the room, face steadily going warmer and warmer, heart pounding like she’s about to have a fucking attack or something.

Brad Boimler is about to be in her head and she thinks he’s cute.

She slides to a stop, back resting against the wall as she heaves in gasping breaths.

“Fuck.”

[musingmycelium]

and three makes (entertaining) company

[astarion/wyll/mc threesome] [ao3]

Astarion flops on the bed with a huff. It’s the first time the three of them have had a proper bed and what do they do? Leave him behind in the inn while they run errands just because Marsaili said something about a surprise to which Wyll had agreed with a long look in his direction, a look which had done absolutely nothing to quell his desire to drag them both back to their room.

 Every candle in the room is lit, if the innkeeper wanted to be stingy Astarion would use every damn candle until it burned to nothing more than a nub. Though if he’s honest they’re not doing much. Just throwing weak flickering light about the place and he sneers halfheartedly at the ceiling.

 If he’s more honest Astarion knows he wouldn’t be this pissy if he had company.

 But Astarion is not in the business of being honest, much less with himself. Flat on his back, kicking his legs back and forth off the edge, what do they expect him to do? It’s boring by himself. Counting whirls in the wooden rafters above him loses his interest instantly, he determined the poor quality of the sheets the moment he had landed on them, and the idea of unpacking his supplies to go through them is. Eugh, no.

Turning his head to the side he can make out his pile stacked haphazardly next to Wyll’s and Marsaili’s much neater arrangements. Sighs heavily with his cheek squished into the bed sheets. This is ridiculous. Musing over himself, until, in the candlelight, something glints in his open satchel and Astarion blinks slowly. Grin sliding across his face.

Why didn’t he think of that sooner? Those two aren’t the only ones who get to go shopping for surprises. If they’re going to leave him alone he can make sure they don’t want to do it again soon.

Standing slowly Astarion makes his way over to his pile and rummages around for a brief moment before pulling a deep black corset out. Delicate silver clasps drip down the down the main body of the corset ready to hold the crimson stockings folded under it. Somewhere in the mess of clothes in there should be the matching short chemise and it takes him quite a bit longer to find it stuffed alongside his other clothes but with a triumphant grunt Astarion yanks it out too.

It’s slightly wrinkly but that’s fine, it’s going under the corset anyway. Astarion stands and tosses the shirt over to the bed, walking over with the corset and stockings in hand. Placing them gently on the bed sheets before he starts undressing. Without anyone to watch he doesn’t really feel like putting much effort into it so he quickly sheds his clothes and throws them back towards his rucksack, they mostly make it. Not his current problem.

Under his bare feet the floorboards are rough, loose ends and splinters in the cheap wood and he just bought these stockings there’s not a chance he’s going to risk snagging them on the first night he gets to wear them. Astarion climbs back on the bed and grabs the stockings first, pauses.

And starts pulling them on slowly. Thin crimson whispers over his leg smoothly, his knuckles grazing his skin momentarily. He’s alone, no rush in getting dressed, thoughts wandering to what his lovers would have to say if they could see him. What will they say when they do return.

His chemise is next. The same deep red as his stockings but no longer transparent, it falls to the tops of his thighs and no further. Nowhere to hide exactly how badly he wants them both to come walking through that door just to see him. Because they’re going to have to apologize before they can touch him. Astarion grins wickedly in the candlelight, smooths his hands over the chemise before trailing his hands down his thighs.

Oh he is going to make them beg his forgiveness.

Unfastening the front of the corset Astarion checks the back to make sure it’s loose before he wraps it around himself. Dark black silk and silver embroidery spun like spider webs across the whole body, it’s perfect. Buttons hidden in the embroidery but Astarion makes quick work of them down his front before turning his attention to the lacing. It has been a very long time since he’s had to put on a corset by himself.

Arms behind his back, counting the rows of lace thread to find the middle and tugging gently. Takes a breath and tugs a little harder and the threads pull tighter until the corset is comfortably snug around him. A sly smile slips across his face as he ties the loops of lace together and he’s nearly done. Little silver clasps opening greedily for the tops of his stockings, clicking shut with soft sighs.

There isn’t a mirror in the inn, hells Astarion would be surprised if there was a mirror within fifty miles of this flea ridden dump, but. It isn’t like he’d be able to see himself in one anyways. Besides. He stretches, bending at the waist to grasp his ankles only to run his hands up his stocking covered legs, fingertips lingering over the clasps connecting them to his corset. Brushes the bottom of his chemise where it peeks out below his corset and cups his hands around his waist.

Lifts his hands slowly up his torso, palms on his collarbone and neck.

His smile grows, he doesn’t need a mirror to know exactly how fucking good he looks right now.

Good enough to eat. But when his lovers come back he’s not going to let them. Oh no, not until they repent on their knees for him. Whatever “surprise” they have in store Astarion’s will come first. They won’t be able to do anything except look at him, beg him to let them touch him.

Closing his eyes he can see it, the door opening and the pair of them walking in to find him spread out on their bed. Dressed up for them. How their eyes would light up, Wyll’s softly and Marsaili’s hungrily. Get close enough to touch only for him to tell them no.

Astarion swallows a rough noise, tension beginning to burn in his gut. He turns over on his stomach, presses himself into the bed sheets and keeps his eyes shut.

Would they beg for him quickly, falling to the floor with pleas. No, no they absolutely would not but Astarion hasn’t ever let little things like reality get in the way of his fantasy before. Marsaili on their knees, Wyll kneeling beside them. The bed sheets don’t have enough friction and Astarion rolls back over, wrapping a hand around himself wishing it was one of theirs.

Loose touches just barely what he wants. If he can dream about them begging so soon he can dream about their touch on his overheated skin. Stroking himself slowly, imagined teasing caresses, behind his eyelids Marsaili twists their fingers in his chemise and Wyll’s hand wraps around his thigh.

Faster only slightly, biting his lips to keep his restraint.

Astarion opens his eyes and glances at the door. They’ve been gone an awfully long time, who could blame him if he didn’t keep it all the way. No one’s here to stop him from having fun all by himself now are they.

Dropping his gaze from the door to their piled belongings, one of Wyll’s bags is on top and Astarion smirks. It’s a little more difficult to concentrate than usual but he conjures up his mage hand and rifles through the bag. Doesn’t even have to step across the room, not with these stockings on, even if he’s going more by feel this far away.

Clicking his tongue Astarion keeps rifling, he shouldn’t have expected to find a slim vial easily in there. Marsaili tends to hoard useless junk and stick it in their bags when theirs gets full and it seems Wyll’s bag is an easier target. Breathing erratically, his hand stuttering. Come on, it’s got to be in there somewhere.

Invisible fingers wrap around glass, there it is. Perfect. Astarion has the hand bring it over and dissipates the spell, pulls the stopper out of the glass and breathes it in. Oh, this isn’t Wyll’s oil, it’s Marsaili’s. The thick smell of the woods envelops him like moss around the bottom of a tree. Shivering Astarion spills a few drops on his hand and returns it around his cock. Corks the oil and lets it fall out of his grasp.

No teeth hold his groan back this time. Not enough to be slick only enough to be felt, the oil lights every sensation on fire. Astarion bucks his hips into his hand and burns. Long moments in the candlelight, losing himself in fantasy.

Cracks open his eyes with a gasp. The bottom of his chemise whispers against his skin as he tips his head back. Where did he put the vial, dropped it into the sheets around here just a moment ago. Scrambling around with his free hand to find it, slowing with his other. Fingertips brush against glass again and Astarion seizes it.

Unstops the vial and the woods envelop him and Astarion drips more oil but onto his other hand this time. Shifts up on unsteady spread legs, kneeling in the middle of the bed. Thumbs the cork back in the vial and sets on top of the sheets where he can see it. His chest rises and falls rapidly under the tight grasp of his corset and Astarion knows the heat spreading from his cheeks to his toes is visible under his skin.

 Not that anyone is here to see it. Yet.

Astarion reaches around to press an oiled finger inside himself and his eyes fall shut one more time. Twisting his wrist on his cock, picturing Marsaili’s smooth grip around his flushed skin. If only his finger were wider the illusion of it being Wyll’s would be easier to pass off. His own touch is a poor substitute even when he sinks a second finger in beside the first and stretches himself on them. Curls his toes into the candlelit air. Heat pools in his gut and Astarion can hardly breathe in the scent of cedar and the flickering light beyond his eyelids isn’t enough to replace the vision of his lovers.

Their murmurs in his ear, their fingers on his skin. Every inch where they could touch him, tease him, work him up into such a mess  he’d beg for them without hesitation. Astarion knows pleasure would come from his pleas. Trusts them to deliver what they promise.

Whines just thinking about it, low and needy and loud and -

Someone knocks on the door.

 “Astarion? We’re back.” Marsaili’s voice is smug through the door and Astarion catches his breath after getting it knocked out of him.

There isn’t time for him to get presentable, not by a long shot, but he drops his touch and wipes the excess oil on the edge of the sheets and falls sideways. Propping one leg up when the door opens and Wyll walks in first. He blinks in the relative darkness, a handful of packages stuffed under his arms which he takes over to their pile of supplies. That absolutely won’t do.

Astarion hums pleasantly, only a touch breathlessly, “Certainly took the pair of you long enough.” Watches Wyll stack the packages neatly before he turns around and finally, finally after full seconds, looks at him. Takes him in slowly, Astarion in his spiderweb corset and red stockings and candlelight waiting with a smirk, it’s exactly the picture he wanted to paint when he picked them out.

Watches his head shake slightly and his eyes widen and Astarion lets him walk forward until he’s close enough to reach out and “You don’t get to touch me until you apologize.”

They’re only words and they’re enough to stop Wyll’s hand in the air entirely. It’s intoxicating what trust can do to a person. Melt them without a single touch. Astarion watches him again, would watch him forever, as Wyll licks his lips and asks, “Apologize for what?”

Pouting for full effect, “For leaving me all by myself.” Astarion draws his eyes up and rolls a shoulder back and pleads playfully, “I was so bored without anyone else here.” He flicks his eyes from Wyll to Marsaili standing by their supplies fiddling with yet another package. What in the hells did they pick up.

Whatever, he turns his full attention back to Wyll and bats his eyelashes at him because really why not.

“I’m sorry we left you so alone,” Wyll’s smile is half mischief, leaning closer to whisper near Astarion’s ear, “but if you’re going to dress like this when we do I don’t think I can promise not to do it again.” The heat scarcely cooled under Astarion’s skin flares back to life and for a heart stopping moment he forgets how to breathe. “May I”

Astarion doesn’t care about what he’s about to ask. Touch him, look at him, fuck him senseless he doesn’t care one whit. “Please.”

Softly Wyll’s hand cups his cheek to tilt his head up and Astarion sighs shakily into his kiss. Tension curls through his veins in flashes of fire shooting sparks in his blood. Digs his canines into Wyll’s bottom lip to slip inside with his gasp, shapes his name on Wyll’s tongue. He could kiss him a thousand times and still be surprised by how sweetly it tastes.

Warm fingers splay across his corset and Wyll drags his hand from Astarion’s cheek down his neck to the top of his chemise. Plays with the edge, dipping touches under and curling fingers around the cloth. Astarion moves where his hands lead him, shifting up so he’s kneeling on the bed where he had been minutes before by himself. Wyll pulls back from the kiss, the bed creaking under his weight as he sits behind Astarion. Rearranges them, his hands on Astarion’s waist tugging him back until he’s flush against Wyll’s chest and his legs are spread around his thighs.

Wyll’s lips brush his ear, his hands wandering down to play with the fastenings holding his stockings in place. Teasing the inside of his thighs, “Looks like you were able to entertain yourself just fine without us.” Callused fingers circle his cock and stroke him slowly and Astarion nearly chokes on a surprised groan.

He tips his head back and rolls his hips, “Of course I did, I’m very good at it.” Losing himself a little in the sensations, cool air and candle light and Wyll’s touch on his skin. Eyes open and unfocused.

Laughing lowly Wyll twists his wrist. Pulls at one of the fastenings with his free hand and lets it snap against Astarion’s skin. “Marsaili, what do you think about showing Astarion the surprise we got for him?”

Goosebumps rise across his skin and Astarion blinks rapidly to pull himself back. A hand rests itself by his knee, when did they get so close, not touching him for a moment. A moment suspended in breathless anticipation. Marsaili leans over him,“I, too, am sorry we left you alone.” Soft in the room, smug whispers in the dark. Words close enough Astarion could kiss them off their lips. “But only because if we’d brought you we could have had you that much sooner.”

Twitching under Wyll’s hand, hips jerking at their words, soothed by Wyll’s touch.

“Wyll asked what I think, well, I’ve been thinking that delicate little ass of yours deserves a good fuck.” Marsaili’s fingers wrap under his jaw, forcing him to tilt his head back and meet their gaze. Oh but the heat he finds there could set even his dead heart racing. Certainly more than enough to send flames licking down his spine. Nails scrape across his skin and Astarion bites back another groan. “What do you think?”

It’s a question but it isn’t for him. Opening his mouth to answer anyway only gets Marsaili’s thumb on his lips. “It does leave the problem of his mouth.” Sly smile growing wicked, eyes flicking to the left.

Shivering, Astarion rolls his hips again, Wyll’s hand squeezes his hips once before he lets go of the straps on his corset. Hears the grin in his voice, “I can take care of that.” Delicately his hand wraps around Astarion’s neck and Astarion’s eyes flutter shut.

Kneeling between the two of them, legs spread around Wyll’s thighs with nothing to hide how hard he aches under Wyll’s touch. The fabric of Wyll’s shirt drags against Astarion’s bare skin in a promise he can almost taste. Not yet, but soon.

“And he did work so hard dressing himself up,” Marsaili’s fingers drag down jaw hungrily and meet Wyll’s hand around his throat. “It would be a shame to take him out of it.” Lips ghosting over his cheek in a breath warm enough to send sparks rushing across his skin.

Their nails dig into the skin at the base of his neck, little red lines disappearing down under his chemise as their touch trails lower. Pressing against his corset Marsaili’s hand rises with each shuddering breath Astarion manages to take. His fantasies never have the same heat in them, the realities of their hands on him isn’t something he can replicate, Wyll twists his wrist again and Astarion groans outright.

“Go ahead and come up here Marsaili,” Wyll’s voice is low in his ear, tight and soft and Astarion wants to unravel it completely. “I think he missed the show you gave putting it on.”

Astarion blinks, he missed what exactly? But Wyll’s fingers tighten around his throat and his hand stokes against his heated skin and whatever he missed doesn’t matter anymore. Especially as the bed dips once more and Marsaili joins the pair of them already on the bed. And.

 Oh That’s what he missed.

Swallowing hard Astarion tips his head back onto Wyll’s chest with a jerk of his hips, it is a surprise he could forgive them for. Thin leather straps wrap around Marsaili’s waist and hold a thick glass cock close to their hips. Marsaili’s smile is sharp to match the press of their nails returning to his jaw, fingertips on his lips. Leaning forward and Astarion’s heart would stop dead in his chest if it still beat.

But instead of him Marsaili kisses Wyll. Their hand grips him tightly and Wyll’s touch stutters under Marsaili’s attention and it’s a kiss of gasps and edges and want. A night of patient desire being fulfilled. Astarion’s stomach flips, he’s been told the stories about butterflies but it can’t be so gentle, not for him, even if it feels like it could be.

It doesn’t take them long to shift positions. Turning Astarion to his knees between them with Marsaili to his back and Wyll in front of him. Making good on his promise Wyll’s hand on his throat guides Astarion lower and he follows easily, sighs as Wyll frees himself to Astarion’s attention, while Marsaili laughs when they ask where the oil is. Their hands slide up his thighs, brushing his chemise up past his ass, the pop of the cork from the vial fills the air around them with the scent of the woods once more and holy darkness Astarion aches.

Wants. With Marsaili’s hands squeezing his ass Astarion laps at Wyll’s already hard cock, salt beading under his tongue. Strong hands on his shoulders, the first time they did this they made the mistake of letting Wyll grab Astarion’s hair and Astarion still shudders at the memory of those memories returning. It only took the one time to learn, one night ending in a different sort of intimacy, a sharing of fear instead of pleasure. So Wyll’s fingers dig into his shoulder blades instead of his scalp and Astarion trusts him.

But that’s a little too honest, a little too open. And there’s a perfectly good distraction in front of him. Mouthing at the tip of Wyll’s cock teasingly Astarion circles his hand around the base before sinking down as far as he can manage tucking his fangs carefully behind his lips. Flicks his gaze back up to Wyll and swirls his tongue.

And behind him Marsaili proves themselves ample distraction with an oil slick finger. He groans around Wyll’s cock but doesn’t stop his attention. Humming delightedly Marsaili easily presses a second finger inside and scissors them apart, “You certainly did entertain yourself while we were out didn’t you.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to answer because it isn’t a question. Quiet laughter follows a second pop and Astarion bobs his head on Wyll’s cock hungrily. Strokes his hand over what little he can’t fit in his mouth. Wyll’s fingers grasp tightly at the hem of his chemise in time with the restrained jerks of his hips into Astarion’s mouth. Little gasps in the night.

Moans outright as the blunt tip of Marsaili’s glass cock enters him. His voice mixes with Wyll’s and Astarion shudders back trying to press himself flush with Marsaili’s hips. Slides his tongue flat against Wyll’s cock and turns his attention back to the tip.

Heady salt and heavy pressure, hot pleasure building under his skin and Astarion burns under their touch. Marsaili’s hand wraps around his own cock in a perfectly loose grip, stroking him off in time with their deep thrusts. It’s entirely too much all at once. He doesn’t hold back the noises Marsaili draws out of him in the slightest, no, oh no he lets them sound around Wyll’s cock and sinks down lower. Lavishes Wyll with the same care Marsaili gives him.

Wyll’s controlled voice unravels slowly but the press of his nails into Astarion’s back above his corset is hard to match the short jerks of his hips. Choked little noises he could coax from him over and over and over again and he would never get enough of them. But. Astarion smirks around his cock and sucks hard. Nothing matches Wyll’s broken moan as he comes down the back of Astarion’s throat.

And if the sharp stutter of Marsaili’s hips is anything to go by he’s not the only one appreciative of Wyll’s noises.

Their hand twists around his cock as he swallows greedily, changing the angle on their thrusts to hit the one spot that makes him see stars every time. Full of sensation, warmth crawling under his skin in flowing tendrils of pleasure. Balling up tightly in his gut. Wyll’s hand strokes his bare shoulders and it’s enough, his touch is always enough. Astarion cries out in the candlelit dark under his lover’s hands.

Out of focus and fuzzy a flickering haze over his vision. Nothing but touch and murmurs and tingling washed out heat. What an honest thing to trust. To linger in the golden glow.

Marsaili pulls out gently with a word in Wyll’s direction but Astarion isn’t exactly paying them any mind. Far too blissed out to care about what they’re talking about, even when they softly unbutton his corset and unfasten his stockings. He knows they’ll take care of them, of him.

Besides, cleaning up isn’t often his job anyways.

Though he must have said it aloud because Wyll laughs before kissing his cheek, “Not tonight it isn’t.” Still fully dressed with not a hair out of place. Unbelievable.

“Go-” Astarion gives him a weak wave before he realizes he really doesn’t have any particular end to his command, “Go undress or something why don’t you. Suddenly I think I’ll be going to bed early.”

Snorting from across the room Marsaili makes a comment Astarion can only halfway hear but understands perfectly. He sniffs, “If you don’t want to join me Marsaili I hear Shadowheart’s room is still open.”

They shake their head, “Move over you’re going to hog all the blankets again.” Head tilted, night shift half on, Marsaili glows in the candlelight and Astarion can’t quite look at them without smiling.

He does as he asked, makes room for both of them on the bed and this time between them Astarion’s dead heart hopes to beat for an entirely different reason.

[foxymoxynoona]

Amended Ch. 2

Read Chapter 1 here

SUMMARY: Getting into a bar fight is the least surprising part of Isabella's return home. She sure doesn't expect to run into her childhood friend turned high school enemy, now not just surprisingly a law-abiding citizen but a police officer. Things seem to be going great for him, but Isabella is struggling with more than a bar fight. A single mom with a sick grandmother, an alcoholic mother, an abusive ex, and a short fuse herself, matters are not helped that Jungkook seems to be everywhere. All the time. Especially every time Isabella messes up. Can she really believe him when he says he just wants to help?

Police officer! Jungkook x Single Mom Childhood Friend Named OC

CW: abusive parents, alcoholism, abusive exes, descriptions of childhood abuse, domestic violence, sexual abuse, illegal acts, side character death, discussions/references to underage sexual activity/alcohol use/drug use, teen pregnancy, explicit sexual content

Also hosted on AO3 under foxymoxy. Not sure if I’ll keep posting on tumblr or not, but I thought I’d try it out!

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The morning had not been going well. At all.

The kids had overslept. 

Ok, maybe Isabella had overslept too.

Grandma had not overslept but had been in a bit of a mental fog, so Isabella had plied her with bananas and water as suggested by the nurses, while running around frantically to get the kids’ things pulled together. While they dawdled, of course, as if they had nowhere in the world to be. They couldn’t find their socks. They didn’t want frozen waffles for breakfast. They didn’t want to go to their first days of school, they wanted to just watch cartoons while Isabella struggled to be a morning person like most days.

But she’d done it, she got them dressed and fed and out the door, only having to double back for forgotten bags once. And while it was a whirlwind drop off at two different schools, she made it, and made it home just as Grandma was finishing her morning coffee and ready for a lift to her bible study, and just in time to shower to get dressed for her first day of work.

Except she’d underestimated how far the bible study was, and realized as soon as Grandma was shuffled inside that she was going to be late. For her first day of work. So she booked it into high gear…

And it landed her here. Pulled over to the side of the road with the cop car lights flashing through the back windshield. She let out an angry groan and let her head rest against the steering wheel. Now she would definitely be late.

A knock on her window got her to look up, only to huff, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” She cranked her window down, actions snappish and pissy, as Jungkook waited with raised eyebrows and a narrow stare.

“Isabella.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she sighed again, in case he hadn’t heard her earlier.

“That’s my question,” he said. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going, ma’am?”

“Thirty.”

“Bullshit,” he snorted.

“Do you know how fast I was going?”

He glared and answered, “Fifty-four in a thirty.”

“Not me, officer.”

“Isabella--”

“I’d like to see your radar gun readout and a clear photo of--”

“Isabella,” he sighed and made an exasperated noise. 

“There was another car going much faster than me, probably you picked that one up.”

“Used to arguing your way out of tickets, huh?”

“I doubt the other way out of tickets would work with you.”

“Oh? And what would that be? Maybe… not speeding and earning them in the first place?” he suggested. And he just looked so fucking smug. 

She gave him an equally smug grin and prompted, “Radar read out and dashboard cam, please.”

“License and registration, please.”

“Jungkook,” she grunted. “I’m late for work. It’s my first day.”

“Work, huh? Where’s that.”

“Target. Ever been? There’s a pharmacy, they have vaseline that could help you get that stick out of your--”

He sighed and rested his hands on the window frame, “Isabella. Why are you antagonizing me? I’m a cop. You’re speeding.”

“You are a cop, but I was not speeding.”

“Goddamn you are as infuriating as you were in high school.”

“Look,” she sighed, deciding to try a different tactic. “Fine, you want to try the other way? There’s a gas station up ahead, behind the dumpster there aren’t cameras. My backseat has a kid booster but you can probably turn your car cam off, right?”

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, pushing away from her car and scratching at his hair. “Can you stop trying to bribe your way out of a ticket?!”

“Oh. So you admit that sounds like an appealing bribe? I just meant it as a friendly offer but--”

“Ok, look. I’m going to let you off with a warning this one time. Do you hear me?” 

Isabella bit her tongue so as not to point out that she vaguely thought she recalled him telling her the other night it was her one warning. Instead she made her eyes very big and nodded.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Officer, sir.”

“Just because if I give you a ticket I have to stand here and deal with you for fifteen more minutes.”

“I am so grateful--”

“But look, slow down, ok? You’re going to hit someone and this tin can you’re driving isn’t going to protect you. You can’t show up here and just break the law when you feel like it.” 

She bit her tongue so hard it hurt. That was rich, real rich coming from a delinquent she’d covered for plenty of times. Probably he knew that, because he arched his eyebrow and waited, as if to see if she could resist. She lifted her chin and set her jaw and held it in. He watched her a moment longer.

“Have a nice day, ma’am. Take it easy.” He patted the roof of her car like a true and genuine police asshole, and sauntered back to his vehicle. Isabella cranked up her window.

“You fucker, you definitely didn’t actually have me on radar and how dare you preach at me about--”

The siren blipped once, cutting off her monologue. She glared at him through the rearview mirror and quickly pulled away, waiting until she’d lost him behind a turn to take off again, in an attempt to make up for lost time and not lose her job on the first fucking day.

It wasn’t until she parked she realized she’d forgotten to take her wallet out of one of the kids’ backpacks before dropping them off.

---------------------

Isabella’s legs hurt. Her back hurt. Her head hurt. She was too tired for this. She kept glancing at the clock, but there were hours left in her shift still. Ezra and Lily would have arrived at afterschool care by now. The nurse would have picked up Grandma from bible study long ago. Everyone was fine. But she was tired and desperate for coffee and didn’t have a break coming up any time soon.

She plastered on a smile, ringing up the woman in her line, but the woman was on her phone and not paying attention anyway so she let it slide away. The woman bought razors, deodorant, several bottles of wine, a carton of Goldfish, and a box of tampons. Isabella rang everything up, turned the bags on the carousel so the woman could loop them over the hand holding her car keys, and held the receipt out. 

“Have a nice day,” she said.

“Uh huh,” the woman nodded and walked away, flicking her hand a little like Isabella was a gnat. 

She hadn’t looked at the next person in line yet, just reached for the bag of shrimp chips and then immediately froze.

“Are you fucking--” She looked up as she spoke, knowing instinctively it was Jungkook, but trailed off upon finding him holding a little girl. He raised his eyes and gave her a crooked grin.

“What was that?” he asked. The little girl stared at her with similar wide eyes.

“Uh… are you following me?” she asked, deciding to ignore his look. “I told you where I work. Are you checking up on me?!”

He gave her a teasing glare, “Are you always this paranoid?” She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t card that woman.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me right now? She was clearly over 21.”

“I don’t know,” he tsked, looking after the woman. “White people, it’s hard to tell your ages.”

Isabella licked her lips in annoyance to keep from saying worse, and then smiled at the little girl, “Your dad is a real charmer, huh?”

The girl’s face instantly screwed up and she argued, “He’s not my dad, he’s my uncle!”

“Ah. Oh!” Before she could even ask, Jungkook’s older sister set one final thing on the belt, then did a double take.

“Isabella!” she greeted. “Hello!”

“Um, hi Youngsoon.” Isabella immediately blushed. Youngsoon was even more beautiful than she’d been as a young adult. Youngsoon had always been so beautiful and cool. Isabella had spent a lot of years lamenting she couldn’t be a beautiful Korean woman like her, certain Jungkook’s older sister belonged in the movies. Embarrassed, she quickly began scanning items.

“Jungkook didn’t mention you were back in town. How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answered reflexively, only glancing up. She did not appreciate the smug grin Jungkook still had. What did he have to be smug about? She glared at him.

“She thought Uncle Gukka was my dad,” the little girl giggled, flinging her arms around Uncle Gukka’s neck. 

“Yuck,” Jungkook teased, scrunching her face up at her. To be fair, the little girl was clearly a Jeon. But it made sense that she was a baby Youngsoon; she was beautiful, just like her mother, not goobery like Jungkook… well, like he had been when they were younger, anyway...

“Sora, this woman is an old friend of Uncle Gukka’s,” Youngsoon said with a smile. “She was Uncle Gukka’s very first friend in America.”

“Your first friend was a girl?” Sora asked with surprise.

Jungkook gave her a serious look and said, “I didn’t know it at the time.”

“Hey,” Isabella glared. But she didn’t stop scanning items, in a hurry to finish up so they could go away. She was very nervous now having Jungkook and Youngsoon both here. Jungkook she didn’t mind aggravating but seeing Youngsoon left her feeling… insignificant.

But Youngsoon, perfectly at ease chatting, continued, “Have you moved back permanently?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’re here with my grandmother right now. I just-- it was easy to transfer to the store since I already work at Target, so I’m just picking up some shifts…” God, it was mortifying. Mortifying. Not only was she standing there scanning their items in her stupid khakis and red polo shirt, but talking about picking up shifts… Youngsoon had been in medical school back then. And now Jungkook was a cop. 

“We?”

“Oh, um… me and my children.”

“Oh! How old are you children?” Youngsoon continued. “I have two --Sora here is--”

“I’m five,” Sora announced.

“Five,” Youngsoon finished with a fond smile. “And I have a two year old boy.” The last item had been rung up and placed in the bag and Isabella had succeeded in not looking at Jungkook for several minutes now; even when Sora had spoken and she’d reflexively look at the little girl, she’d managed to blur his face from view. Gukka’s very first friend in America. What a silly thing to mention. Pokemon. They’d bonded over fucking Pokemon.

But Youngsoon looked at her expectantly and Isabella had always admired her so much and found herself admitting, “I have two. Eight and four.”

“Oh, are they in school? Or will you not be here that long?”

“Yeah, I-- they started school today actually. Since I don’t know how long we’ll be here, I didn’t want them to miss out.”

“Is your younger one in kindergarten?”

“No, Pre-K still but through public school.”

“It was their first day today?” Jungkook asked, tricking her into looking at him. She gave a nod and turned to push the button on the screen as Youngsoon pulled out her wallet to pay. She tried not to sulk but thought that might be why he snorted and then sighed, “You shouldn’t have been speeding.”

“It’s my first day of work too and I was going maybe three over--”

“Twenty-four over,” he clarified. 

“Show me the radar receipt.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, “I let you off with a warning, didn’t I?”

“Yeah because I said--”

“Not because of anything you said,” he corrected instantly, giving her a wide-eyed and pointed stare. 

“--you wanted me to shut up,” she grinned cheekily, grabbing the receipt as it printed out. 

Youngsoon gave her a gentle smile though, because she’d always been kind, and assured her, “Mornings are hard. Sorry it sounds like a tough one.” She took the receipt. “I’m really glad to run into you though. We should get our kids together for a play date! Sora and your youngest are so close in age.”

“Oh. Um…” She hadn’t expected that. Why would she suggest that? She’d hurried so Youngsoon could finish being polite and leave.

“Let me give you my number,” she said instead, digging around in her wallet and then pulling out a business card. “You can text or call my cell that’s listed there.”

“Ok. Um, thanks, sure. Things are a little busy right now but--”

Jungkook snickered and made a face at his sister, “Soona, she doesn’t want to bring her kids around.”

“My kids are wonderful,” Isabella defended hotly, feeling anger charge through her body. Her cheeks flushed with it. It surprised him, he didn’t hide that from his face.

“Uh, I-- I didn’t mean it like that,” he assured her. He shifted Sora to his other arm and scratched his cheek. 

Sora seemed oblivious to the awkward exchange as she asked Isabella, “Do you have a boy or a girl?”

“I have one of each. My daughter is the one close to your age.”

“Does she like princesses or cars or both?” Sora asked. Youngsoon laughed gently and pressed her hand to Jungkook’s arm to nudge them along, but motioned to the business card in Isabella’s hand.

“Do call or text.”

“Ok. Yeah. I will.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything more, even goodbye. He’d picked up both bags though after dumping Sora to the ground; she took her mother’s hand and waved to Isabella as the three of them left the store.

Isabella’s cheeks blazed as she turned her attention to the next customer, an older woman who looked vaguely familiar but didn’t seem to recognize Isabella. That was good. She hadn’t thought about how many people she’d see at Target, she’d just been thinking about the ease of picking up shifts and making money because she needed to. 

Embarrassed, she tossed the business card in the trash under her till.

-----------------------

Isabella stretched out on the couch next to Grandma once the kids were in bed a half hour later than she had wanted. That wasn’t too bad. The house felt strangely silent without their voices and pounding footsteps rattling the walls, but it was nice to be able to let out her breath and relax and not try to look like a Responsible Adult. 

Grandma hummed happily and laced her fingers into Isabella’s hair, holding her tea mug in the other hand.

“That better be decaf,” Isabella warned.

“My, you’re a bossy little thing,” Grandma chuckled. 

“I just don’t want you having caffeine nightmares, and you’re barely sleeping as it is--”

“Yes, yes, I know. Nothing but sleepy herbs in this. Would you like some?”

“I’m so wiped, I won’t need any help falling asleep.”

“Go to bed now.”

“Nah, I’ll sit up with you a little longer,” Isabella insisted and sat up, certain the way her grandmother stroked her hair would put her to sleep otherwise. She’d gone so many years without getting to sit with her grandma like this, she wouldn’t trade it for a little extra sleep now that she could.

“Well I heard all about the first day of school from the children at dinner, but how was your first day of work?”

Isabella shrugged, “It’s just Target. It’s the same everywhere you go-- hey, you know who I keep running into?”

“Who?”

“Jungkook. Do you remember him?”

“Of course I remember him.”

“Did you know he’s a cop now?”

“Yes, I knew,” her grandmother confirmed, smiling and nodding. “Why is that so surprising? He’s a sweet boy.”

“Uh, he was sweet when we were eleven. Then he became a raging asshole…”

“Bella,” Grandma scolded, giving her a look about her language.

“Grandma, he was a troublemaker in high school. What the hell made him become a cop? He hated cops! He never showed the slightest interest in becoming a cop and now suddenly he’s lecturing me about…” She trailed off, not wanting to admit to her grandmother about what she’d been up to and realizing she almost had.

Grandma gave her a coyly arched eyebrow and pressed, “About what, my darling granddaughter?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe the fight you had last Thursday--”

“Grandmaaa,” Isabella sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sure you don’t! But I know what a hangover is, my dear, and I don’t think you were using make up to cover bites from an amorous lover--”

“Grandma!” This time she broke off with a laugh and gave her grandmother a gentle, playful shove. “What do you know about amorous bites?”

“Oh, to be young and think you know everything--”

“I’m not young, I’m old,” Isabella sighed and let her head drop to her grandmother’s shoulder. “I stopped being young when I was fourteen. I just have a hard time believing Jungkook grew up enough to be a cop. He still seems like a smarmy asssss...” She’d tried to change the word to something else and couldn’t think of anything on the spot, just dragged the s out awkwardly long.

“Nonsense. Being a cop doesn’t mean you grew up, it just means you passed some tests and they gave you a badge and a gun.”

“Oof. Careful, Grandma! That sounds remarkably progressive. What will the old ladies in your bible study group say? How dare you flaunt authority?”

Grandma laughed and admitted, “Perhaps it is a little tough when you find yourself so much older than authority.”

“I bet he can’t even grow a beard yet.”

“He tried, briefly, a few years ago,” Grandma admitted, grinning when Isabella giggled. “You’re still very young too, sweetheart, you just grew up fast. But someday you’ll look back in disbelief of how young you still were right now, thinking like that.”

“Don’t talk cryptically, Grandma. You’ll make me panic.”

“No, no, I won’t die on you tonight,” the older woman teased, earning a glare from Isabella. “I just find your disbelief he grew up and started a career is amusing. You grew up and got a career and have two children!”

“I hardly think working at Target counts as a career. I’m not even a manager.”

“You could be!”

“No,” Isabella sighed. “I can’t be. I take too many sick days. I mean honestly I was probably about to get fired at my store in New York. It’s a blessing you wanted me to come home. Don’t think for a second I did it for you.”

Grandma grinned, “Oh yes, of course. My selfish granddaughter, only ever doing things for herself.”

Isabella sighed. She knew her grandmother was teasing her. But she did feel selfish. All the time. Every part of her life felt like jumping from one selfish decision to the next, hurting everyone within reach. That was her legacy, wasn’t it? Even her two children, who she would have moved heaven and earth for, suffered because she just couldn’t quite get her shit together. And why couldn’t she get her shit together? Because she kept making bad decisions. Even now, she really had uprooted her children to move home because selfishly she wanted whatever time she had left with her grandmother, even if it meant dividing what little energy and attention she had for her children even further. And selfishly, too, it was a break on rent, which she’d been struggling to make before.

“I didn’t mean that,” her grandmother whispered. “I’m teasing you, Isabella. You’re a good girl with a big heart. Be kind to yourself. I’m glad you’re home, I’m just sad a mini seizure is what brought you home.”

“It wasn’t mini, Grandma.”

“And don’t be too hard on Jungkook. I think he’s made a sincere effort to leave his high school behavior in high school.”

“It would be easier not to be hard on him if he would stop following me everywhere. I swear, he’s like a plague. A shadow!”

Grandma grinned, “Then it’s just like when you were twelve again.”

“God, I hope not. Twelve is the worst age when you’re a girl.”

“It’s not too kind to boys either.”

“Jungkook came out on the right side of it.”

“Oh, do you think he’s handsome now?” her grandmother asked, and Isabella felt the snicker against her scalp.

“No. I meant after puberty, the girls in high school did! He’s ugly now.”

“Isabella.”

“So ugly. Stupid face.”

“Isabella,” her grandmother laughed.

“What! He was probably thinking the same things when he saw me. Wow, she got ugly and old and fat--”

“Ok, missy, I’m cutting you off,” her grandmother said, nudging her to get her to sit up. “Go to bed.”

“What! Cutting me off from what, I’m not drinking anything.”

“From thoughts like that. You are beautiful and hard-working and you have two perfect children.”

“I know, I know.”

“You are kicking ass.”

“Grandmaaa,” Isabelle laughed. 

“I’m eighty-six, I can say ass for once.”

“That’s twice!”

“Ah, better call Officer Jeon to arrest me--”

Isabella pretended to vomit, “Never call him Officer Jeon again. He’s an idiot. He’s so… smug. He thinks he’s better than me--”

“Bella, honey.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not sixteen anymore and neither is he. Let it rest.”

Isabella didn’t quite know what her grandmother meant by that. There was plenty she could imply. But while she had no problem assuming intent on Jungkook’s part because he’d been such an absolute asshole in high school, she didn’t want to read anything in what her grandmother said now that could either defend Jungkook or embarrass herself. 

“Fine,” Isabella conceded. “Anyway, I probably won’t see him again. Unless he really is stalking me and then I’ll get a restraining order.”

“That’s my girl,” Grandma laughed and kissed her forehead. “Now to bed. We have to do this all again tomorrow.”

“Wait, the kids have to go to school again?”

It made Grandma laugh, and Isabella was glad to see that. Honestly maybe it was all a little hammed up, even talking about Jungkook, because her grandmother was in constant pain at this point, and any little smile she could get from her was a victory. 

“Ok, let me help you up to bed, Grandma. Tomorrow is another day. I’m sure it’ll be better.”

“So, guess who’s back in town?” Youngsoon brought up at dinner. Jungkook groaned and threw his napkin at her before she said anything further, earning a pinch on the arm from his mom. It wasn’t even weekly family dinner night, so Jungkook had thought it would be safe to go to his parents’ place to mooch food, but Youngsoon had also decided to come over with her kids because her husband had a night out with the guys or whatever. 

She’d waited until they were halfway through the meal, once the kids had finished and run off to play noisily in the living room, to bring it up. As if just to lure Jungkook into the false sense of getting away with it. But at his parents’ curious prompt, Youngsoon answered,

“Isabella Desmond. She’s staying with her grandmother.”

“Isabella Desmond! How is she?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Jungkook grumbled, shoving tempura in his mouth. 

“You already knew?”

Jungkook made a face and admitted, “Yeah, I already knew… she’s… struggling, it seems.”

“Struggling how?” his mother pressed. “It must be hard with her grandmother in poor health…”

“Working at Target doesn’t mean she’s struggling,” Youngsoon countered, leveling a look at Jungkook.

“No, I think she’s struggling because-- I don’t know,” he shrugged. On second thought, he didn’t want to get into it. “Just seems like she has a lot on her plate.”

“She’s got two kids,” Youngsoon informed his parents. “Eight and four, she said. I asked her to give me a call for a playdate.”

“Ah, that’s good. It would be good to see her again. She was always such a good friend to Gukka,” his father said. Jungkook sighed and rolled his eyes, earning a swift kick from his mom beneath the table even before his father teased, “Even when Gukka was not a good friend.”

“I was always a great friend. I’m still a great friend. I let her off with warnings twice.”

“Twice? One was for a speeding ticket. What was the other one?” Youngsoon immediately caught because of course she did.

Jungkook gave her a smug grin, “Sorry, can’t disclose, official police business.”

“Well if she calls you, please invite her over to supper,” his mother suggested. “Her and the children and her grandmother. It would be good to see them all again.”

Jungkook clicked his teeth and said, “She’s not going to call you, Soona. And it’s for the best, just let her be. She’s not in a good place right now.”

“Ok.” Youngsoon gave him a serious look. “Then… help her.”

“I did. I gave her warnings twice.”

“That’s not helping, that’s enabling--”

Jungkook sighed, “She’s not my responsibility.”

“It’s not good,” his mother argued. “She was such a good friend to you when we first moved here. It felt like I didn’t even have a son anymore because you were always off in that treehouse playing together. We bought that Nintendo just to lure you both into the house.”

“Ma, we were twelve and also it was a PlayStation, you can’t just call all video game systems Nintendo. And we don’t owe each other anything because we were old Pokemon buddies. She’s not doing me any favors either.”

“What favors do you want her to do?” Youngsoon asked, bright-eyed.

“Ma, Soona’s being dirty.”

“Soona, behave.”

“I’m just--”

“Yes, I know, I know.”

“She’s pretty, mom. You should have seen Gukka’s grin when we saw her in Target--”

“Bull--- hockey,” Jungkook glared. “She’s a menace. You should have heard her talking her way out of the parking ticket. Demanding to see the radar gun…”

Jungkook’s dad grinned, “Well? Did it work?”

“Wha-- it worked because I was being nice and gave her a warning.”

“You didn’t have a radar gun,” his dad nodded.

“She was clearly speeding but… no… I didn’t…”

“Ah, she was always a clever girl,” his mother laughed. “I hope she is ok. Keep an eye out for her, Gukka. You say you don’t owe her anything? We always owe kindness to the people who were kind to us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I let her off with a warning twice… I don’t know what more you want me to do…”

“Whatever your heart says you should,” his mother beamed at him. Absolutely infuriating. 

Fortunately Soona’s kids ran shrieking into the room, bickering about who broke the TV remote, and Jungkook was saved from further interrogation.

[abalonetea]

Just Keep Breathing: Chapter Two

I was partnered with @the-dot for the @originalfictionbigbang​! Thank you for working with me, Dot!

Here is the first chapter! I’ve split the first 10k words between four chapters, and will be posting them all in a masterpost in just a moment!

Summary: It’s the height of storm season and everyone in Hi-Banks, Florida is getting ready for the bad weather. It should be a year like any other - but on the tails of a national pandemic, a new disaster strikes. More than one new disasters. So many disasters that Eddie Carver would like to put some of them back, thanks. He’s just a down on his luck guy living in the local trailer park with his boyfriend. He’s not interested in dealing with the revival of an old murder case - which he knows nothing about, thanks -, the storm season of the century, or…zombies?

Yeah. Absolutely not interested in the zombies.

This black-comedy follows the inner workings of a small town as they band together to survive, and the young man - reckless, mean, angry, written off b the big city folk come to look into a cold case - that might hold all of societies survival in his hands.

Forget about society.Eddie’s only interested in keeping his friends alive.

Chapter Two – The Hunt Shop

The Mason family has owned a bait and tackle shop out on the north edge of Hi Banks for almost a solid four generations. It’s a good twenty minute walk from the trailer park, which isn’t that bad when it’s not also pouring down rain. As it stands, they’re both soaked by the time they hit the long dirt road that winds towards it. The sides are pitted out from constant tire tracks, turned into thick puddles of standing water and mud.

The rain lets up to a light drizzle, but it’s too late for that to be helpful. Eddie makes a point of splashing his feet in as many of the puddles as he can.

Carson’s the one who calls out, “truck,” when twin headlights appear in the distance. It’s got a massive dent on the passenger side and the fender looks like it’s held on with duck tape.

Lincoln Wiltshire, the deputy, pulls over. He’s a tall, skinny man with a hooked nose and a scar on the side of his neck. Every time he’s asked, Lincoln tells a different story about how he got that scar. Eddie’s pretty sure it’s something mundane and stupid, like a fishing accident.

“You boys having trouble?” Lincoln asks, rolling down his window and half leaning out it.

“Truck still won’t run,” says Carson. “We’re stuck hoofing it everywhere.”

“And the power’s out at the trailer park,” adds Eddie.

“Shit, already? I was hoping it might stay on a while longer.” Lincoln scratches at his side burns. “Wonder if it’s out where I live, too.”

“Store had power last time I was there,” says Eddie. There’s no need to specify. Everyone just calls it The Store.

Carson asks, “you coming from Red’s?”

“Was getting some more shells.” Lincoln gestures at the brown paper bag in his passenger seat. “I wouldn’t hold my breath on anything with him today, boys. He’s in a rotten mood.”

“Eh, we’ll take the risk. I want something hot to eat tonight, you know?” Eddie says “Shit. You think he might have some of that soup still?”

“Maybe,” says Carson. And then, to Lincoln, “can you do me a favor? I was only at the docks for like an hour earlier, but Clancy didn’t show up.”

Lincoln frowns. “Now that ain’t like him.”

“No, it’s not. He’s always there, doesn’t matter the weather,” says Carson. “Figure maybe you could swing by his place, see if he’s...I dunno. Gotten into something.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll do that before I go home. Thanks for the heads up, Carson. You two stay out of trouble now, you hear me? I don’t want to get any calls out there.”

“That wasn’t our fault!”

“I don’t care who starts the fight, I’m the one that has to pull pants on to come finish it. I’m looking to not leave the house again tonight, so. Behave.” Lincoln jabs a bony finger at them.

Carson rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Eddie parrots, “yeah, man, whatever.”

“Maggots, the both of you,” huffs Lincoln, but he makes sure to pull away slowly so as not to splash them in muck.

They get about ten steps before Eddie asks, “so, uh, you worried about him?”

“I mean, yeah. Sort of.”

“Ain’t he a jerk?”

“Sure. But like, not all the time. And it’s weird. He’s always at the docks. Like, I’ve NEVER not seen him at the docks, Eddie. I dunno. I’ve just got a bad feeling about this.” Carson shrugs.

Maybe it makes Eddie a worse person, but he’s not too concerned about Clancy one way or the other.  The guy has a mean streak the size of the Grand Canyon, and a habit for acting like he’s the boss down at the docks. He’s not, clearly, but the guy has been working there forever at this point, so everyone mostly just ignores it.

Silence falls over them. The sloshing of Eddie’s boots is the only thing between them, until the shoddy looking wood building of The Hunt Shop comes into view. There’s a massive concrete raccoon statue out front. It gets decorated every time a holiday comes around. Right now, it’s got a massive yellow tarp wrapped around it in lieu of a rain coat.

The front door is propped open, the heavy twanging bass of the radio thudding out. Eddie ducks in first, glancing around.

For the most part, the hunt shop hasn’t really changed in...well, ever. There’s an old singing bass above the gun rack, and a mounted deer head on the wall just behind the front counter. Red is stretched out on a chair behind it, booted foot flung up onto the counter next to the register and an open can of beer.

“Lincoln was right,” says Eddie. “You look pissy.”

“Ey, if it ain’t my favorite scarecrow.” Red thunks his boot back down onto the floor. “Lemme guess, the power’s out.”

Eddie finger snaps at him. “Bingo!”

Carson stomps in just behind him. “Cat broke our damn window.”

“A cat?” Red snorts. “You know, I think you might have worse luck than I do.”

Eddie hops up onto the counter, next to the register. He helps himself to the open, half-warm beer. “Lincoln says you’re in a pissy mood. What’s up?”

“Ugh. This damned weather,” says Red. He uses his foot to push the wheeled chair away from the counter, and then spin around so he can slap a hand against the calendar hanging up behind him. “Look at this. I’ve got two days, and then I’m supposed to be going on my hunting trip.”

“Damn, is it that time already?” Eddie passes the mostly empty can to Carson.

Carson rolls his eyes. “Thanks.” And then, “isn’t that storm supposed to hit this weekend?”

“I’m thinking about just hunkering down out there,” says Red.

“That’s stupid,” says Eddie.

Red slaps the calendar again. “I’ve never missed a trip. I’m not gonna let it get passed over because of some rain. It’s, what, a cat two? I’ve spent worse storms out on the swamp. I figure there’s no power out there anyway, so what would I be missing?”

“The sun,” says Eddie.

At the same time, Carson says, “the hunting.”

Red scowls at them both. “Neither of you know the meaning of the word fun, you know that? I swear, I don’t know when you guys got so boring.”

“Around the same time we started dying from hunger,” quips Eddie.

“Fine, fine, we’ll go get something to eat. C’mon. I was gonna close up anyway.” Red hauls himself out of the chair and around the counter. He leads the way out of the shop – Carson closing the door behind them when he brings up the tail – and around to the back of the building where his camper’s parked.

The radio is already on inside, a woman’s voice, “and as if the predicted overly active storm season isn’t enough, we’re having more and more cases of this unknown virus showing up. We actually have managed to get an interview with Charlie Santero, the governor of Florida, where we get his personal thoughts on the situation.”

“Ugh, shut that off. I hate that guy,” says Red.

Eddie slaps the radio off. “So, food?”

“Chili,” answers Red. He grabs a bowl out of the fridge and shoves it into the microwave.

“Gross,” says Carson.

Red flips him off. “You’re the ones that came over.”

The microwave beeps. Red pulls it out and tosses it onto the little table on the other side of the kitchenette. He grabs three spoons and drops them down, too.

“Alright. Dinner’s served.”

* * *

It’s dark by the time they leave Red’s, all three of them loading up into Red’s old wood backed pickup. They roll the windows down, letting the stiff Florida air into cab.

Eddie sits on the far end, arm flung out so the mosquitoes slap into it as they rush past. “So, think we’re gonna get hit bad this summer?”

Red groans. “Do we have to talk about the storms? I’m trying to think happy thoughts about this week.”

Carson says, “I’ll check up on the shop for you.”

The tires catch in one of the ruts, splashing mud up onto Eddie’s hand. “Gross.” He pulls it in, wiping his palm off on his shorts. “I’m thinking it’s gonna be a small one. Just because it’s always small when the people on the radio talk about it. They’re always wrong and stuff.”

Red whacks the back of one hand against Carson’s shoulder. “Smack him for me, will ya? You’re gonna jinx my trip if you keep talking like that, scarecrow.”

Carson shoves at the back of Eddie’s head, pushing hair into his face. “Don’t jinx him.”

“Ow!” Eddie rubs over dramatically at the back of his head. “Fine, fine, I won’t – hey, knock it off already!”

They pull all the way through town towards the trailer park and are almost at the chain link fence around the place when the flash of red and blue lights come into view. Red cuts the engine. “Alright, nope. I’m checking out. Whatever you two did - “

“We didn’t do nothing,” says Eddie, the words a low sort of whine. “I’m telling you!”

“Looks like you did something,” says Red. “And I’m not interested in being involved. Sorry.”

Carson grunts, giving Eddie the stink eye.

Eddie shakes his head. “I didn’t. I’ve stayed outta trouble and you know it, man. I’ve got – fuck, nothing on me right now.”

“Whatever,” says Carson, slinging open the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Red doesn’t have a record, per say, but he likes to steer clear of the local officers all the same. The moment that Eddie and Carson are out of the truck, it peels into reverse and vanishes, a squeal of tires on the pitted pavement and a spray of muddy water up onto the other side of the road.

Carson says, “you’d tell me if I’m about to walk into something, right?”

“Yeah, man, I’d tell you,” says Eddie. “But I swear, this has nothing to do with me.”

“Ugh,” says Carson, and Eddie totally agrees with that. They head up into the trailer park and true to their luck, the sheriff’s car is parked right outside of their little hovel, along with a little shiny black car that doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of Hi Banks.

Sheriff Bianca is sitting on the hood of her car smoking a hand rolled cigarette, short black hair pushed away from her face, the thick scar over her cheek visible even in the wane light of the street lamp. “There you are. We were waiting for you. This is - “

“Agent Smith,” says another woman, long blonde hair pulled back away from her face and an ashy pallor to her skin. “and my partner, Agent Russo.”

“We didn’t do shit,” says Eddie, lower lip jutting out.

Carson shoves him. “Idiot. Stop running your mouth.”

The corners of Bianca’s mouth twist up at the edges, just a little bit, and then instantly take on that hard slant again. She slides off the car, putting the cigarette out on the bottom of one mud caked boot and then tucking it into the front pocket of her uniform shirt. “Boys, they’re here about the Mulborne Case.”

There’s a beat of silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

Eddie lets out a bark of laughter, just can’t help himself. “What, really?”

Smith asks, “does that mean you know the man?”

“Of course I do. Everyone knows Benny,” says Eddie, with a shrug of his sharp, bony shoulders. “Ain’t this thing solved?”

“Yes,” says Bianca, a little tersely.

“On a local level,” answers Russo. “But we’ve recently been informed of something that’s brought the case into a larger light.”

Carson squints. “You two aren’t cops.”

“We’re with the FBI,” says Smith.

Eddie snorts. “Bullshit.”

That takes Smith off guard. “Excuse me?”

“The FBI out in Hi Banks? Yeah, I don’t buy it,” says Eddie. “This town’s barely on the map. What the Hell would send you people out here, huh?”

“We’re not allowed to discuss that information while the case is still under investigation,” says Russo. “You’re - “

“Eddie, yeah, and he’s Carson, and I’m sure the sheriff’s gone over all’a this with you. You realize how late it is? Some of us actually have to work,” says Eddie.

Smith gives him a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry about the time. We got a little turned around on the way out here.”

“Not my problem,” says Eddie.

Russo says, “it might be. It’s been brought to our attention that you had contact with the men who were murdered.”

“They went missing,” corrects Bianca. “There was no proof of foul play.”

Eddie juts out his lower lip. “Yeah, sure. I fixed up their van when they came through, big fucking whoop. How about I just make this real easy and tell you exactly what I told her?” He jerks a thumb at Bianca, who rolls her eyes. “Their van was trashed. I fixed it. That’s my job, okay? That’s it. They paid in cash, big bills, and then they left and I never saw them again. End of story.”

Carson says, “you should try and find someone smarter to ask about it.” He slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and hauls the other man up against his side. “Eddie’s got a brick for brains. Even if something weird was going on, there’s no way he would’ve noticed it.”

“Bitch,” mutters Eddie, but he doesn’t protest. Easy out’s, right?

A phone goes off, some lame shrill tone. Russo excuses himself and steps away from the group and Bianca asks, “did you figure out where the machinery went?”

Carson grunts. “Probably Milo hawked it. Pretty sure his ma’s rent was due this month. We didn’t really look that hard.”

Smith questions, “machinery?”

“Carson works at the docks,” says Bianca. “A few parts went missing earlier this week.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” says Carson, gruffly. “Look, no offense but we’ve already done this once. We don’t know anything else about it, and I’ve got work tomorrow. Can we wrap this up?”

A car door clicks open behind them. Russo, still on the phone, waves Smith over. Smith nods and then excuses herself, all polite, “thank you for your time. I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” before heading over. They climb in their little black car and leave.

Carson scowls at Bianca. “Seriously?”

“Trust me,” says Bianca, dryly. “It’s not my idea of a good time, either. I thought that we were done with this.”

Eddie snorts, already heading towards their trailer. “Yeah, fuck off about that. I am done with it.”

He’s pretty pleased when Carson just goes on and follows him, not so much as a goodbye tossed Bianca’s way.

[yeetingmyfeeling]

Run, Run, Run!

Chapter Five

Everyone had begun eating, and loud chatter filled the room. It was comforting, in a sense. Though the blanket was going to break soon enough.

“These meatballs are so good!” Jarren mumbled through a mouthful of food. He was sat directly across from Brian, John on his left. On his right was Ryan and Luke.

John rolled his eyes at the pale boy. “Eat with your mouth closed,” Jarren swallowed his food and stuck his tongue out. The elder went to stab it with his fork, making the younger squeal.

“You know Evan, instead of doing whatever you were going to do,” Anthony pointed at Evan with his fork, then at John and Jarren. “Remember you have two literal children already,” The two shouted their protests, making the table laugh. 

“No wonder I’m already getting wrinkles,” Jon sighed over dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I’ve been babying two overgrown men.”

“There there dear,” Evan patted Jon’s thigh. “There’s ointment for that.”

“You’re supposed to say I don’t have wrinkles, dickhead!” Jon swatted Evan’s chest. “You bet I’m killing you soon, old man. For your fucking money.”

“I always knew Jon was a gold digger,” Marcel chuckled. “Scott, cough up the tenner.”

“Eat my ass Marcel,” Scotty shoved spaghetti into his mouth. 

“Take me on a date first,” Marcel rolled his eyes jokingly.

“I wouldn’t take your bitchy ass on a date,” Scotty swallowed the spaghetti in his mouth, coughing slightly. Marcel asked who he would on the table. Scotty looked around. “Brian.”

“Me?” Brian tilted his head, and a light blush coated his cheeks. He knew this was just a stupid joke, but the sentiment was nice. No one ever really wants to take him out on a date

“Oh so, you’ll take Brian but not me?” David was offended. “We’re the same! Both irish, and cute.”

“You’re not cute,” Tyler snorted, now a part of this conversation. It seemed everyone was watching this interaction now. “Brian is cute though, and his accent just sounds better. At least it sounds like he’s speaking mostly english.”

David scoffs loudly. He looks at Brian, who was sitting awkwardly next to him. Both because nerves, and the two mens long legs squished his own. “Brian,” Brian looked at David in question. “Do you think I’m cute?”

Brian stuttered for a second. “I- um, yeah,” Was what he managed to get it out. “You’re very cute David!”

David grinned, feeling something swirl in his chest. He went to say something, but Scotty interrupted him. “Yeah yeah, whatever. Brian, since you’re the cutest out of everyone here. Come on a date with me?” John, Ryan and Luke knew what he was doing. Brian had a hunch. 

Brian was stuttering again, but David spoke first. “Sorry, he’s busy going on a date with me,” He stated firmly.

Brian heard a growl to his left, and he was sure the only other person who heard that was Anthony, on Tyler’s other side. “Who says he has time to go on a date with you? Our date takes up a lot of time, so he’ll be with me.”

Brain could feel his face burning. He did not want to be a part of this conversation! So he just busied himself with his food. 

People moved on from that conversation, and were now talking in their own little groups. Brian was the only person sitting there quietly. He silently ate his food, admiring how good it actually tasted. Brian had cooked a few times, but not many.

He lifted his head up to look around the room. He felt like this was his new family. Although he felt some major attractiction from the two men currently squishing his legs, everyone else felt like brothers.

John and Jarren were in a heated conversation with David, something about realistic food. Brian didn’t understand it. Luke and Ryan were talking to Marcel and Scorry. Luke had an arm over Ryan’s shoulders, eating with only one hand. Tyler was talking to Anthony, and Brock was talking with Evan and Jon.

Brian still felt out of place a little bit. He wasn’t here as long as the rest of them, and he came from another pack. On those really bad nights, Brian swore he could still smell the old pack on him. This made him shiver.

He finished off his beer, noticing he finished it off quickly from his nerves. It made him feel warm, but he was nowhere near drunk. Maybe another night.

He heard the conversation to his right, and noticed David was now eating his food. John and Jarren talking to each other. Brian smiled, he could tell they had a thing for one another. Brian turned to David and poked his foot with his own.

David lifted his head, spaghetti dangling from his lip. Brian laughed and David quickly slurped it up with a blush. He wiped his chin and chewed at the food. “What’s up?” He asked after he swallowed the food.

“I was wondering if you could help teach me how to cook? Since you’re the big cook of the house,” Brian asked. “I sort of know how to cook, but nothing like.. This.”

“I don’t usually cook at home, maybe once every two weeks,” David stabbed at a meatball. “But I can help teach you. Actually,” He quickly ate the meatball then turned to Brian. “Did you want to go on a date? We can go to this cafe. The restaurant I work at partners with them, and we get bread for them. So it’s more like a bakery. It’s really good though, it would be nice,” David kept going on a tangent, nervous. 

Brian’s face was warm, but he had a giddy smile threatening to break. “That sounds good David,” Brian finally spoke. “I’d like that,” He mumbled. David smiled. 

David would have said something else, only he was interrupted once again. By Tyler. “A date?” He asked, and it sounded quite angry. He huffed loudly. Brian heard Anthony say something, making Tyler wave him off. “Bri, wanna go to the bar with me Friday night? I can get Anthony to give us a secluded table.”

Brian flushed even more. “Wha- I-,” That giddy grin was starting to come out. “I’d love to go to the bar with you.”

“So on Sunday, you’ll come to the cafe with me?” David asked, bringing Brian’s attention back to him. “They close at two, so maybe we could do brunch?”

Brian nodded quickly. “Brunch sounds nice, I’ll have to set lots of alarms,” He laughed, making David laugh as well.

“I’ll work on Friday, but we can still get there before it gets too busy,” Brian turned back to Tyler. “I get off early anyway on Friday’s.”

“That’s handy,” Brian grinned. “Maybe around six thirty we could get there?” Tyler seemed to agree with him.

Brian heard a huff next to him, and saw David shoving another meatball in his mouth. Looking at Tyler, he was smirking as he finished off his bear. Oh boy, what did Brian just get himself into. He looked up, and John winked at him. Ryan made the sex movements with his hands, and Luke pushed his mates hands down.

Brian’s face turned even more red, if that was even possible. He was sure he looked like a tomato at this point. 

“So Brian,” Brian knew from Scotty’s tone, he was about to start something ugly. “I think you’re the cutest at the table, and you said David is cute. But who do you really think is the cutest?”

All eyes were on him again, and he could have let out a whimper. He suppressed that classic omega noise and stared at his plate. He did not want to make accidental eye contact with someone. 

He would say Jon, but Evan would get pissy. Maybe Brock? He has been one of the nicest thus far. Brian really knew who was the cutest, but didn’t know if that answer was allowed.

“Am I allowed to say two people?” Scotty shook his head. Brain frowned, seriously considering his options. He sighed. “Brock is the cutest.”

“Yes! I knew the charm would work!” Brock joked and everyone laughed. Except for a certain beta, and a certain alpha. Brock noticed this and his lips quirked up in a smirk. Aside from the couples, who does everyone else think is the cutest?” John and Jarren said each other's name. “You two are basically a couple, hush.”

Anthony answered Brock. Marcel answered Scotty, Scotty kept with his answer of Brian. Brock said Marcel. David and Tyler were quiet. Brain felt the tension, and went to joke about how Brock didn’t think he was cute back when Tyler spoke up.

His voice was thick and heavy, and it sent a shiver down Brian’s back. “I think Bri is the cutest,” He answered. “Especially with those diamond eyes.”

Brian heard a grunt from the beta. “Bri is the cutest, he beats all your asses,” David tried to match Tyler’s voice, so his accent was thick. “He’s cute in every way. Look at him blush.”

Everyone could feel the tension seeping from the beta and alpha that sat beside the nervous omega. Brian looked at the people across from him with pleading eyes, but they just shook their head. They were trying not to laugh. 

Tyler wrapped an arm around Brian’s shoulder, and the omega immediately tensed up. He wasn’t prepared for the sudden contact. David noticed first.

“Hey, get your hand off him,” David pushed Tyler’s arm off Brian’s shoulder. “He was clearly uncomfortable with that.”

Tyler scoffed, shaking out his arm. “Were you uncomfortable Bri?” Brian shook his head slowly, looking down at his lap. “See, dude, it was fine.”

“Brian you’re allowed to speak up,” David placed a gentle hand over Brian’s that rested on the table. “Just because he’s an alpha, doesn’t mean you have to put up with him being a bitch.”

Brian blushed, his arm twitching from the touch. That’s when Tyler leaned over, harshly grabbing David’s hand and pushing him away. He nearly fell out of the chair. “Uncomfortable, remember,” Tyler mocked.

“Tyler! You act like such a child!” David groaned. “Stop being petty.”

“I am not being petty, alphas don’t get petty.”

“Alphas are some of the most petty people I know. Maybe you’re upset because I got to Brian first, but maybe if you weren’t such a dick at the beginning.”

“Not upset. You haven’t even gotten to him yet, you asked him on a date, that hasn’t happened!”

“You are upset! And at least I asked first, I was also kinder, not a cunt.”

“I’ll show you a cunt.”

Tyler stood up quickly, the chair going back. David stood up as well, eyeing the slightly taller male. Brian sat in between the two, alarm bells ringing. He looked at both of them, knowing he should say something. He was too scared. He looked around the table. The two other alphas seemed ready to jump in if necessary, but otherwise, they just sat and watched.

“Tyler, you have always been such a moody bitch,” David rolled up the sleeves of his sweater. “Since day one. You use the fact you’re an alpha to scare everyone, and you don’t care when it genuinely hurts people. You’re never nice, never say thank you or sorry. You need a reality check mate.”

Tyler glared at the other. “Oh get off your high horse, you were no piece of cake either,” Tyler pulled off his flannel, laying it over the back of his chair. “I remember when you first came here and Brock tried to help you. You nearly ripped his damn eye out.”

“I was scared and angry! What the fuck did you expect me to do!?”

“Not attack him!”

“Oh I’m sorry, who’s talking again? How many fights did you get in with Evan?”

“They were reasonable.”

“Stupid alpha fights.”

“They were pretty stupid,” Evan muttered, only to be slapped over the back of his head by his mate. Evan just snickered.

“Fine, David. Have it your way.”

“My way?”

Tyler stepped forward, and his fist collided with David’s cheek. Brain yelped standing up and pushing back into the table. David stumbled back, a hand coming up to rub his jaw. He knew he wasn’t going to win this fight. Tyler was trained, and a strong alpha. David was no weak beta.

David went forward, sending his own punch into Tyler’s gut. Tyler had little to know reaction, grabbing David’s wrist and twisting. David scowled, sending a leg into Tyler’s knee. This got a reaction, and the alpha bent slightly. David brought his knee up, slamming it into Tyler’s bottom jaw. He yanked his wrist away and pushed his other fist into Tyler’s chest. This caused Tyler to stumble back.

All while, Brian was gripping to the table. His eyes were wide with fear, and his breathing had picked up, his heart hammering in his chest. His knuckles were turning white, whimpers falling from his lips without him knowing.  

Brock rushed over, standing in front of Brian. Brian couldn’t help but reach out and cling to the back of his shirt. The two were still fighting. Throw kicks, punches and insults.

Anthony stood up and stood between the two, trying to push them away. He got a kick to the hip, and a punch to the jaw. Accidentally, but he didn’t budge. Luke came over next, wrapping his arms around the betas skinny waist and lifting him up, taking a few steps back. Evan was in charge of Tyler, and simply went about grabbing the collar of his shirt and forcing him back. This caused Tyler to on to his knees. He knew his alpha was the one holding him back, so knew to stay put.

The two were breathing heavily, glaring each other down. Anthony took a step back, standing next to Brock. Brian poked his head out over Brock’s shoulder, staring at the two angry males. Evan cleared his throat, going to speak. Only his mate was the one to talk.

“What are you two ididots doing!?” Jon shouted, walking to stand between the two. “Fighting? Actually fist fighting? At the fucking dinner table! Ryan spent all this time cooking for us, and although it was mainly for Luke, he was down in the kitchen since midday trying to make this right. Now you two knobheads have to come along and completely ruin it!”

“What Jon is trying to say, is that we are disappointed,” Evan’s tone voiced how everyone felt. “We are family, and we have all gone through a lot together. You both have gone through a lot, and it’s okay to have pent up anger, but fighting is not the way to solve it.”

“It’s my fault,” Brain spoke up with a frown. “I-I’m in the way, I’m the reason they started arguing.”

“No Brian,” Brock tried to reassure the omega. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is!” Brian tried to argue, his voice cracking.

“Look what your fighting has done!” Jon yelled. “Brian is going to cry!” The two heads snap to Brian’s direction. He sunk down, hiding behind Brock again, sniffling. “Luke, Evan, please take the two to their rooms. They can stay there until they calm the fuck down.”

“Who put you as boss?” Evan asked with a smirk. Jon raised an eyebrow at him. Evan just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” He yanked at the back of Tyler’s shirt. Tyler got the idea and stood up. Evan let go, and led them out of the room. Tyler looked at Brian one last time, guilt swimming in his eyes.

After a minute or two, Luke put the lanky Irishman down. David brushed off his middle, only to be shoved by the larger. “Gonna act tough, treat you tough,” David just snorted. He gave Brian a sad smile, then the two left the room. 

“Desert anyone?” Jon asked the room. 

[mythicamagic]

Young Love - Oneshot crossover

Zutara & Sesskag

Summary: Deciding he needs to do something about his long time crush on Katara, Zuko enlists the help of self-proclaimed relationship expert and matchmaker, Kagome. With the help of her bodyguard, the busybody will stop at nothing to ensure the couple's success. AU, highschool. Tropes! Why have one otp when you can have two?

AN: This is a writing commission for the lovely @prationality​ ^^ Highschool AU has demons integrated into it. Yes it makes no sense. Just suspend your disbelief, buds.

Young Love

For the better part of a year it had been a thorn in his side. The niggling, aching, irritating feeling of complete and utter warmth flooding his chest whenever a certain person entered the room.

Zuko trudged moodily through the hallway, gaze fixed ahead. He needed to do something about Katara. Having a crush on one of your best friends was not ideal, and worse still, he couldn't talk to anyone about it.

Sokka was out. He would either immediately tattle to his sister or get protective. Aang was possibly the worst one to ask, as he'd harboured puppy love for her since kindergarten, though Katara remained willfully ignorant. Suki would tell Sokka. Toph had been a serious candidate as a confidant but he'd decided against it when she'd blabbed last week about his secret tradition of watching Love Amongst the Dragons every year at the theatre.

He'd never be able to live that down.

I could tell Uncle, Zuko briefly thought, soon shaking that idea away. He'd rather not have a lengthy anecdote about turtle ducks swimming in the pond of unrequited love.

This left confiding in an outsider. However, he couldn't tell just anyone or it would become the gossip of the whole school.

Knocking on a classroom door, he waited.

"Come in!" Came a hearty chirp.

Wincing, Zuko pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him. The empty pottery classroom felt perfect for a secret meeting since the department had suffered cutbacks. Including the teacher. And the pottery classes themselves.

A young woman leaned against a desk, dark hair cascading around her shoulders. Glittering blue eyes danced with mild amusement, causing Zuko to become instantly wary. Maybe this had been a mistake.

"Glad you could make it!" Kagome Higurashi grinned, gesturing to a seat. "Come sit down, silly. I don't bite."

Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, Zuko leaned against a desk as well. "I'll stand, thanks."

She let out a huff, shrugging and relenting. "So, let's cut to the chase; as you know, I'm the best matchmaker in this school."

Zuko was pretty sure she was the only matchmaker in the school.

"Anything you say will be kept totally confidential. I can't guarantee you'll get the partner you want but my track record speaks for itself," Kagome beamed.

"I'm going to stop you right there," Zuko sighed. "I don't...want to trick her into anything. I just-"

"It wouldn't be tricking," she looked affronted. "You seriously think Kouga and Ayame or Sokka and Suki would last if the foundation of their relationships had been built on lies? No, no. I'm just going to help you put your best foot forward."

Dragging a hand down the scarred side of his face, the teen grunted. "Maybe I just want to talk about it."

Kagome blinked, spreading her arms wide. "Well go ahead. No one's stopping you, Zuko."

Gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to sigh again, his lips pressed into a thin line, suddenly reluctant.

Tilting her head, the busybody took him by surprise. "This is about Katara, isn't it?"

He jolted violently. "H-how did you know?" He croaked. Shit. Did Katara know? Was it that obvious?

Kagome smiled while flipping dark hair dramatically over one shoulder, idly brushing down her green skirt. "Hey give me a little credit. I did say I was pretty good at this gig."

A quiet noise, like a snort, sounded out behind Zuko to his left. He turned sharply, startled to find another student leaning against the wall. If Zuko remembered right, the imposing young man was an upperclassman. "The hell- I thought we were alone."

"Don't mind Sesshoumaru. I hired him a long while ago to watch over these types of meetings," Kagome waved it off. "I've had clients get pissy before."

Sesshoumaru stared at him, unblinking. Pale white hair was tied back into a low pony tail, features fairly delicate and regal, clashing with the heavy energy rolling off him in waves.

Zuko felt a shiver run down his spine and faced forward. If she needed a demon bodyguard of such high calibre within a school with relatively low level onis, he wondered what kind of clients she'd dealt with in the past.

"So, Katara?" The matchmaker prompted.

"Yeah well...I like her," he said lamely. "I mean I...she's…"

The young woman peered at him curiously, causing Zuko to grit his teeth. "I don't know! Gn...maybe this was a mistake."

Kagome pushed off the desk to approach and gently touched his arm. Her expression no longer looked amused or playful, now very earnest. "Hey, it's okay. These kinds of feelings can be really complicated, especially when they're for a friend. It makes you worry that you'll cause a fissure in your friendship group."

Golden brown eyes widened a touch, throat becoming dry with mild fear. He could only nod mutely. Perhaps she did have somewhat of a talent for reading people.

She gave a smile, "look I completely understand if you want to keep your silence around her and just vent to me. That's fine, buddy. But I really, really think you should go for it and let me help you guys get together."

"Aang and Sokka-"

"Don't rule Katara's love life," Kagome cut in, voice firm. "Besides, if she does go out with you, Sokka will probably just give the protective brother speech and threaten to harvest your organs if you hurt his sister-"

"That's fair, I'd deserve it if I hurt her," Zuko mumbled soberly.

Kagome winced and patted his shoulder. "As for Aang, he'll come around. From what I've seen he might get upset but Toph will straighten him out. What do you say?"

The moody teenager stared down at his calloused hands. Exhaling hard through his nostrils, Zuko clenched his jaw. "Do you think I have a good shot?" He grumbled, glancing at her.

Kagome grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "With me by your side, you've got the best shot."

---

Overlooking the martial arts group as a type of mole for Kagome felt incredibly easy, considering Sesshoumaru was well versed in many of them.

At the moment, Katara stood a little ways away on a tatami mat, practising her Tai Chi form. He'd never had much cause to speak with the girl beyond small talk. Still, Kagome had nudged at him to try and glean more of her personality.

Walking over and stretching his arms, Sesshoumaru grunted. "Your right heel kick should be higher."

Her gaze flattened, becoming defensive. "Did that old goat Pakku tell you to say that?"

"No, this one is telling you."

Katara hummed, going back a form and trying again, kicking higher so that her leg pointed out straight. Sesshoumaru nodded, chancing more conversation. "You are a female."

"Astute observation. Where are you going with this?" She raised a brow, smoothly moving her body into another form.

"This one seeks advice. Be grateful you are the one I have chosen for council."

Katara released a long breath, straightening out of her form and minding her long braid aside. "Arrogance isn't a good method if you're wanting my help but go ahead. I'm used to the tough guy act from pre-Suki Sokka."

Sesshoumaru did not need her permission but spoke. "How does one secure the attentions of a human female?"

"Are you asking me dating advice?"

"Hn."

Katara eyed the demon, raising her arms and turning on one heel to move into another stance. "I can't speak for most girls because my family has its own traditions to follow, but a necklace wouldn't hurt."

"A necklace?"

She nodded, holding her posture. "Something personal, though. I'm sure you demons have traditions to follow too, don't you? Maybe include one."

Sesshoumaru mulled this over, inclining his head, expression wiped of emotion as per usual. Kagome didn't need to know what exactly he'd asked Katara, that was his business. "Hn, you were mildly useful."

Huffing, she kicked her left foot up near his enigmatic face. "You're welcome. Was that form good enough?"

"You wobbled on your right heel. Again."

Katara grumbled under her breath.

---

Sitting quite contentedly in a cafe a few days later, Sesshoumaru sipped some tea. The atmosphere around him lulled into contentment. Despite the hustle and bustle of the patrons, he didn't feel particularly uncomfortable or annoyed. This sense of peace was abruptly broken as the scent of citrus and summer brushed into his nose.

"Hi!"

Kagome set her bags down in the opposite seat, sliding into the booth beside him and accidentally bumping his shoulder. The tea sloshed in his cup. "Okay, so their class had a project to complete and were separated into partners. Katara was originally paired with Haru, but!" She grinned, holding up a finger. "I pulled some strings and managed to switch him with Zuko. Isn't that perfect?"

Sesshoumaru blinked slowly. "How is it perfect?" He uttered, though she'd tell him anyway even if he didn't ask.

"Well this way, they get to spend quality time together totally alone!" Kagome gushed, opening a menu. "They'll be here any second. I reserved a booth for them just over there. You picked the perfect spot for spying."

"I did not know you would be here," he said flatly.

Tugging up her bag and rifling through it, Kagome produced a wig. Tying her hair back, she put a hairnet on, smoothing the blonde wig atop her head. Sesshoumaru felt used to her antics by now, watching while she took out a headset with a microphone and earpiece.

Kagome remained immensely serious about her unofficial job. Near everyone knew who she was in school, therefore a disguise became necessary when snooping. If Katara noticed her, she'd get suspicious about her presence.

"Is it still alright for me to babysit Rin later?" She asked casually.

He hummed, sipping the cooling tea. That was their exchange. Sesshoumaru remained a bodyguard of sorts while Kagome repaid him for his time by looking after his adopted sister when he needed to work after school.

They'd entered into their strange agreement six months ago. He could still hear the raised voices coming from the classroom. The abrupt slam of a desk hitting a wall and scent of salt in the air. How Kagome's wide, terrified eyes swung to him once he entered the room, her struggling form pinned beneath an incensed human student. An unhappy customer who hadn't taken too kindly to her failure.

In contrast to this grim memory, Kagome happily fussed with her equipment, stilling when a pale hand reached out to touch a dark strand of hair that escaped her wig. Lithe fingers tucked it back into hiding, sharp nails lightly skimming her cheek.

Kagome glanced up at him, blushing slightly. "Uh...thanks," she murmured.

Sesshoumaru stared, voice a soft rumble. "Hn."

Noticing something out of the corner of her eye, she gasped and shook his shoulder. "They're here!"

---

Sitting down across from Katara, Zuko took a breath, glancing around. It didn't take long to locate Sesshoumaru. Next to him sat a smaller blonde woman who gave a cheerful thumbs up. Zuko's gaze flattened. This was going to be a disaster, he could tell.

"Are you alright? You seem troubled about something."

Zuko jumped, looking at Katara as she set up her laptop and took out a binder. She was incredibly organised already despite the project just starting. It was just a little thing, but he liked it about her. She'd even arranged the papers by subject matter alphabetically.

"I'm fine," he said in a dusty voice.

Katara frowned slightly, the waitress interrupting them to ask what drinks they wanted to order.

Swallowing stifling nerves, Zuko did what he always did and ploughed on through uncertainty. Opening the envelope Kagome had given him, he slipped the earpiece in while Katara was mulling over the orders.

"Hey~ can you hear me?" Came Kagome's amiable voice. "Just nod if yes."

Zuko nodded. Katara ordered a Darjeeling tea, while he stiffly asked for a coffee.

"Okay, just talk about the project with her for now."

Katara was already a few steps ahead, talking while the waitress left. "I think we should start with the community centre."

"Huh?"

She tilted her head, hair loopies brushing the sides of her face, brunette hair falling in waves down her back.

Zuko's throat became dry, clasping shaking hands and resting them on the table. "Right. The project. Yeah, the community centre could definitely use some improvements."

Blue eyes blinked, the light from the window beside them bathing her dark skin in a soft glow. "How do you know that?"

An automatic sneer graced his features, glaring hard at the napkins. "My father poured money into building it just to secure a business deal by looking like a humanitarian. However, the second he got what he wanted he pulled the funding for resources."

A gentle touch startled him out of that particular tangent.

Katara gave an encouraging smile, "that's fine. Because you know what?"

Her smile was infectious and he gave a reluctant one in return. "What?" He grumbled.

"We're going to get the funding for even better resources and more involved staff, all without his input. You're going to do that. And it'll be great, Zuko."

Zuko swallowed, skin pricking with the sensation of her hand on his. She knew. She knew everything about his history with his tyrant of a father. How he'd given up the position that would've allowed him to succeed his father. Now he lived in a humble apartment with his Uncle.

Ozai had been responsible for evicting a large portion of Katara's neighbourhood from their houses through some legal jargon many years ago. After some arguments and fights in school, the two old enemies now sat in amiable silence. She could look at him with such soft eyes. Her forgiveness had soothed so much hurt between them.

The waitress returned, breaking the spell between them. Letting out a heavy breath, Zuko stiffened when a young man stepped around the waitress to address his friend.

"You're miss Katara, correct?"

She straightened, raising a brow questioningly. "Yes. Can I help you?"

The young man produced a bouquet of radiant flowers from behind his back. Fire lilies. Katara's mouth promptly fell open, the orange flowers placed in her frozen hands.

"Looks as though you have an admirer," the stranger winked, turning away.

Katara rose from her seat slightly, blushing. "Wait! Who are these from?"

"No idea, miss," he said over his shoulder, glancing at Kagome and smiling slightly. She gave a quick wave, grinning as Miroku left.

Zuko remained frozen in place. Fire lilies were almost too obvious! They were a type of flower well known in the city as one his family had produced. Hell, they were part of the logo on their company. He winced a little, thinking they might cause offence-

"They're beautiful," Katara inhaled the scent, blushing slightly. "They smell kind of like cinnamon," she mused, glancing up. "Do you...know who they might be from?"

"No idea," he mumbled, hearing Kagome's groan through his earpiece.

"Damn it, Zuko. Wait for me to give you some guidance. You could've said something much smoother!"

He touched his ear and turned his head slightly into his collar. "I'm not smooth! She'd know I was being weird if I fed her a line!" He hissed.

"Are you talking to yourself?" Katara bit her lip, fighting a smile.

From across the room, Kagome hit her forehead. She could only afford so much tech and had given him an earpiece. She couldn't hear his ramblings personally, it was only because of Sesshoumaru's excellent hearing and relaying of information that she knew what was going on. Zuko was right, he wasn't smooth at all.

Flustered, Zuko turned back to Katara a little too quick- knocking over the coffee cup with his arm and making a noise when the contents spilt onto the table.

Katara gasped and scrambled to place the lilies down, lifting her laptop away. The spillage headed towards her pristine, organised notes that had been set out to discuss. Zuko yanked his red jacket off his shoulders and pressed it down onto the table. The material quickly soaked up the coffee greedily.

Katara stared.

Kagome gawked, grasping Sesshoumaru's arm and shaking it slightly. "Wow. I didn't think things would escalate so quickly! This is perfect."

"Hn."

Lifting his gaze awkwardly, Zuko met smiling blue eyes. "You didn't have to do that," Katara said quietly, minding the papers away. "Thanks, Zuko. Would take forever if I had to print those out all over again."

Ah, of course she'd have backup copies. Duh. "Y-yeah, no problem. What are friends for?"

The sound of a hand smacking a forehead graced his hearing once more through the earpiece. "Honey, you're trying to leave the friend zone, not dig deeper into it."

Zuko glared at nothing in particular.

"Try saying: I know how much your notes mean to you, and anything that's important to you is important to me too."

Sighing, he ran a hand through dark shaggy hair, parroting Kagome's words out loud.

The girl sitting across from him took hold of his jacket, looking thoughtful. "I can wash this for you," she mumbled, glancing up at him. "And about...us being friends. I uh…" she blushed slightly. "I was wondering if-"

"Are you Katara?"

They looked up with twin scowls on their faces. This time a group of young men stood around their table. Zuko's face coloured red the second they opened their mouths and started singing. Every head within the cafe turned to watch.

Belting out some romantic ballad that hurt their ears and made Zuko want to shrink in his seat, he watched as they serenaded Katara. She looked mortified.

From across the room, Kagome gave another thumbs up. Something within him snapped.

"FORGET IT!" He burst, getting to his feet and shimmying out of the booth to storm out of the cafe. Katara called out somewhere behind him but the sound of his heart pumped deafeningly loud and fast in his ears. He couldn't continue, he realised. Embarrassing Katara wasn't something he'd set out to do. She didn't deserve that.

Cool outside air fanning over flushed skin felt like a welcome respite compared with the confusion and unease within the cafe. He marched through the parking lot, hands balled into fists.

"Zuko-" he yanked the earpiece out and stuffed it in his pocket. And yet, the calling of his name continued.

His heel dragged, Zuko stopping with mild surprise when he noticed Katara jogging after him. She'd left her things behind, laptop included. Taking a breath, she brushed one of her hair loopies away from her eyes.

"What's going on with you?"

Air rushed out of his lungs. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zuko let the words quietly escape. "I...hired Kagome Higurashi."

"The matchmaker?" Katara's brow furrowed. "Why would you need to-" it clicked, and she glanced back into the windows of the cafe where the fire lilies had been abandoned. "Oh. Were...those from you?" She said slowly.

Zuko stared hard at the cement beneath his feet as though willing the ground to swallow him up. "Sort of."

She huffed, drawing closer and planting her hands on her hips. "There's no 'sort of,' Zuko. Are you interested in me or not?"

His eyes widened and slid up. Katara looked obstinate for information and oddly unoffended. He'd half expected anger or immediate dismissal. But maybe...maybe he hadn't been giving her enough credit.

Squeezing calloused hands into fists, he nodded. "Yeah, I am."

Katara's eyes widened slightly and the shock slid her hands free from her hips.

He ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time, minding the bangs from his eyes. "I like you," he muttered. "I've liked you for a long time. It's just that I didn't say anything because I didn't want to be greedy. You don't have to like me back or anything. Just don't break up the group because of me, Katara. This doesn't have to make things awkward. You all… mean a lot to me, ever since you accepted me into your group. So I don't think… I could take not seeing you," the words kept coming until Katara stepped forward, touching his hand.

"You never think things through, do you?" She murmured.

Zuko bristled. "Are you making fun of me? I'm pouring my heart out here-"

Katara giggled and suddenly grabbed him close, hugging him tightly. Zuko froze, stiffening within her arms. His breath fanned over her ear, hands settling at the perfect height on her waist, drawing her closer and revelling in the feel of her. The sensation of fingers brushing through the hair at the nape of his neck felt heavenly. "You wouldn't be kicked out of the group no matter what happened between us. You're not buying time or there by accident. Everyone wants you with us. So cut that out. As for the other thing…"

She surprised him by tilting her chin up, blue eyes connecting with golden brown. Zuko stilled, gaze flitting over her face, before giving in to the impulse to press his lips to hers.

They yielded easier than anticipated. He inhaled her scent, traitorous hands sliding up to touch the fall of soft hair. It was then that his mind caught up with his actions and Zuko broke away from her. "Ah- sorry, that was stupid. I didn't think-"

Katara made a frustrated noise before pulling him down again, cupping his face in both hands. He wondered what the scar felt like to her. Katara kissed him again, turning his brain into mush by parting her mouth and sliding a wet tongue against his lips. He granted her access, making a slight groan in the back of his throat. When her thumb brushed his ear Zuko near melted in her hands, fingers curling tight in her clothes, the material straining.

She then broke away with treacle immediacy, face flushed. She boldly took his hand, smiling. "Let's get our stuff and go for a walk together," she seemed to decide for them, a sparkle in her gaze. "There's a lot to talk about."

Zuko opened his mouth, croaking out a few nonsensical noises, before nodding astutely. "Okay."

If someone ever asked them how they'd gotten together, he honestly had no idea what to say.

----

Kagome hadn't moved an inch after watching Zuko run off. In fact, she'd seemed quite pleased with herself instead of concerned. Sesshoumaru hadn't understood why until Zuko and Katara reentered the cafe with a contented air about them, their gazes finding each other every few moments. They grabbed their bags, the flowers and the ruined jacket, leaving together without a backwards glance.

Kagome stood and removed the wig and headset, putting them away.

"You knew," he uttered.

"Hm?"

"You planned for this to happen, did you not?"

Sliding her bag over one shoulder, she shrugged. "After reviewing their profiles, I understood that Zuko has a temper and could get overwhelmed. Katara has one too and is fiercely stubborn as an ox about looking after people. I just prodded him a little and knew she'd follow him if he lost his nerve. Then there'd likely be a culmination of feelings," she turned. "My work here is done. Thanks for sharing your booth with me, I'll leave you to it," Kagome smiled and waved, walking out of the cafe with a spring in her step.

Sesshoumaru set some money down and smoothly rose, following with a blur of colour.

"Kagome," he said quietly once the doors slid shut behind him.

She blinked and looked up at him as he joined her side in the parking lot.

"This one does not need a culmination of feelings to understand what emotion I experience around you."

"What's that, irritation?" She teased.

Sesshoumaru frowned and reached into his pocket, pulling out a necklace with fangs as the charms. "We should engage in courtship," he said gravely.

Kagome's eyes widened, gaze flitting from the grim necklace and then back to his face, searching as though trying to discern his sincerity. His lips thinned, until a small smile tugged at her mouth, morphing into a gentle one.

Taking the necklace, she blushed slightly. "Is it customary for dog demons to give a tooth necklace when you want to date someone?"

"Hn, those are mine."

"YOURS?"

"They will be most useful when it is time for us to have children."

"C-children!?" Kagome looked a little unsteady. "Sesshoumaru!"

"Hn," a hand slid around her waist. "Though I'd like to have you all to myself for many years first."

"I should hope so, buster! We're in high school and I didn't even say yes yet," she huffed.

He lifted a large hand, palm up. "Then I will take the necklace back-"

"No, it's mine, no take backsies!" Kagome held it away from his grasp, soon grinning and leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw. Sesshoumaru stilled at the action, gaze flitting down to her. "I accept, silly," the young woman murmured, hand curling around his own. "Though you could've wooed me a little first. Have my clients taught you nothing?" She teased.

Sesshoumaru's lips curved, gaze becoming half-lidded. "We may go to a restaurant tomorrow evening if you wish."

"I do wish," she hummed, putting the necklace on and wincing a little at how weird it was. Still, they didn't exactly make a normal couple themselves. "Let's bring Rin, though. She hasn't been able to spend much time with you lately."

Sesshoumaru gathered her closer then, causing her heels to lift from the floor. A deep well of warmth and pride spread through his chest right down to his toes. The matchmaker was truly a perfect choice for a mate.

"Hn," Sesshoumaru rumbled, pressing smiling lips to hers.

End

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 27

It only takes a day or two for Jordan to get over what happened. It’s not even a week later, all of them sat around a table on the roof of Hoax, that Jeff tries to get him talking about it. It goes the same as just about every time Curly’s tried to do the same thing:

“You’re weirdly chill about the whole thing,” he’s saying now.

Jordan shrugs. “It’s done.”

“Like… Weirdly chill,” Dean seconds, but he’s shrugged off too.

Jeff huffs, dissatisfied. “It’s been less than a week and you’re back at work, are you dumb?”

Nothing.

“I can see the thing weeping from here.”

“Jeff,” Curly groans, but Jordan doesn’t even react, just begins to stand. “That’s fucking minging.”

“Break’s up,” Jordan grunts and, just like that, he grabs his beer and leaves the scene; back towards the bar where he’s scheduled to keep pouring drinks ‘til two.

It started with him laughing it off. Curls had driven him home, decided to stay a night or two in case he bled out or plotted to kill the bloke who stabbed him or summet equally stupid. Jordan had said “you’re mothering me,” as Curly ran about making coffee and moving pillows and replacing gauze. “I ain’t dying, Curls. Give it a fuckin’ rest,” he’d told him, and laughed as he said it. He’d winced right after, loud enough for Curly to hear it with his back to him (still working on that coffee) even after he tried to cover it with a sniff and a cough. “We’ve got bigger shit to worry about, like if I should cover it with a tattoo of your face, or Joe Strummer’s.”

Curls had snorted, shaking his head. “You aren’t funny,” he’d said. “Sit down, will you? And stop taking before you hurt yourself.”

“Nobody’s ever told me I talk too much before,” Jordan mused.

“I’m serious, Jordan. Stop acting like you’ve scraped your bloody knee and sit down.”

“Stop acting like I’m a fucking bitch,” Jordan has snapped, shutting him up.

“How’s he been?” Dean’s whispering, like Jordan could somehow hear them from all the way over there. He leans over the table, engaged, and it gives Curly a better view of the man in question, working way over Dean’s shoulder. “Normal?”

“Arsey,” Curls tells him in a grunt. “Just wanted to laugh it off at first, then he started playing it down. Now he’s always in a mood and rips my head off every time I mention it. I just feel so fucking guilty, and I know I should. The bloke was trying to buy from me, but. God, I wish he’d make it a bit easier on me.”

Jeff shrugs to Curly’s right and leans over the small circular table in a similar way to Dean. “He’s not mad at you. Probably embarrassed,” he suggests. “You know what he’s like: stubborn as fuck. Probably plotting how to fuck the guy up.”

“That’s not funny,” Dean scolds.

“I’m not kidding.” The man lifts his drink to take a short sip. “He’s as prideful as he is angry, you’ve seen it yourself.”

This has Curly’s attention returning from Jordan at the bar, to Jeff at the table. “What do you mean?”

“Well done,” Dean huffs. “Get him freaked out about one more thing, why don’t you, Jeff?”

Truthfully, he could have guessed that Jordan has a taste for revenge. He remembers how Jordan had told him in a round-about way that some of his past rivals were still in the picture. Curly has never dared ask any more about it. All he knows is that Jordan’s a product of his past and he’s not the type to let shit slide because of it. Just a week ago they spotted Jules in the bottom bar and Curly had to talk J down for forty minutes before they could get on with their night – and that only worked out because Jules had left by then. All that over a slur – go knows how far he’d go to get back at the asshole that sent him to the ER.

“I know he has history,” Curly confirms. “He told me about the gang shit-" Sort of. “-but he left it all in New York. Isn’t that proof that he knows how to leave shit in the past? That was ages ago – before you pair even knew him.” His friends exchange a look. “What?”

“You’ve only seen his best side, buddy,” Dean says.

“I’ve seen him stab a bloke.”

“Protecting you,” Jeff corrects. “He’s done the same thing for less.”

He gets a hard shove from Dean then. “Alright, that’s enough, Jeff,” he says with a glance towards Curly. “Ignore him. J’s not half as pissy as he used to be. He’s probably just trying to move on.”

Curly’s scowling though, looking between the pair as he asks, “what do you mean ‘same for less?’ In Brockton, you mean?” Maybe it was naive to think his boyfriend stabbing a bloke was a one-off.

Just as Dean exclaims, “no!” Jeff insists, “Of course,” before he adds, “stop sheltering him, Dean, he’s not a kid and he’s fuckin’ dating the guy,” with a roll of his eyes before he turns slightly to give Curly his full focus.

Dean seems to back down, slouching back in his chair and Jeff continues; “Listen, I don’t need to tell you that Jord’s a damn fucking good guy. He’s one of my best friends and if I thought there was a secret of his worth keeping, I’d do it – even from you. But it’s no secret that he acts on anger. He was protecting you when he hurt that guy and you know he’d do it again to any motherfucker that laid a bad hand on you.” He doesn’t continue until Curly nods and he’s confident that he’s being understood. “-But he was also settling a score. They didn’t come out of nowhere. There’s this guy--”

“Nick,” Curly recalls. Tell Nick that if I see any of you again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. He remembers how Jordan’s face had changed into something terrifying when he spat that out. How he wiped the knife clean on his pants like it was nothing. “I knew that already.”

“Did you know he’s dead?”

He forgets to respond. Curly’s stomach suddenly feels heavy; his head light, as the implications in Dean’s question ring clear. He didn’t know that. He attempts to remain passive, leaning back into his seat again and reaching with a shaky hand for his drink. Curly takes a long sip whilst he waits for Jeff to go on, but he doesn’t. He’s glancing at Dean now like he’s only just realising that maybe it wasn’t his place after all.

“Well done,” Dean says again, quieter than he had last time. “I asked him about it, Curly,” he tells him, now that their friend’s gone quiet. Jeff doesn’t look remorseful – he looks satisfied if anything, as he sits back and watches Dean speak. “He damn near ripped my head off. It killed him to hear that we thought even for a second that he could kill somebody. I believe him.”

“Dead since when?” He forgets to sound passive this time.

Dean shrugs. “Since... Brandon was here – that’s when he told us, anyway.”

“Look,” Jeff cuts in. “I’m not saying it was him. I’m just saying that he knew how and when it happened.”

“Fucking hell, Jeff, you’re not very bloody convincing,” Curly points.

“Fucking right he isn’t,” Dean confirms. “Curly, listen. Jordan knows a lot of people. That’s all. He doesn’t know how to let shit go. He gets the wrong people involved with his shit. You think we’d have sat there with him just now, thinking he’d m—” he drops to a hissed whisper. “—Thinking he’d murdered someone? We’re fucking clean. You know we’re not like that. And I know you know he isn’t either.”

“All I was tryna say is that he acts before he thinks,” Dean reason. “He’s got beef with a dead guy in a gang – do you get that? That shit follows you.”

“Bit of feedback mate,” Curly begins, hissing back. “Maybe next time, open with summet like ‘Jordan’s never killed anyone but..’ yeah? Put me at ease a bit.”

By this point, all three of them are leant in, talking snappily – not that any of them notice until Jordan’s voice is pulling them out of the tight triangle.

“Fuck’s up with you guys?”

They all jump back, reaching for their drinks at the same time as they mumble “nothing” and “nowt” like it isn’t too late to act casual. His neck feels hot, worked up from the conversation and anxious from having been caught.

“… Right,” Jordan nods slowly, rounding the table to stand at Curly’s side, where he leans a hand on the back of his chair. “These assholes grillin’ you?”

Curly scoffs, neck arched to look up towards the man. “You’ve got no idea,” he tells him, trying his best to stay loose as he smiles up at the man.

J mustn’t notice, because he gives a small smile in return. “Well you’re in luck; I’m here to save you.” Curly frowns. “Apparently I’ve gotta go home,” he then tells him, rolling his eyes, and Curly’s on his feet so quick that the blood heating his neck shoots right to his brain.

“Why, what happened?” his eyes dart to the bandage on the side of J’s neck, and it’s funny how quickly your mind can just drift from your boyfriend’s possible murderous past when his own welfare is in question. It looks clean though, despite Jeff’s earlier joke.

“Nothing.” Jordan huffs, taking a second to glance between the other two men as he confirms, “I’m fucking fine. We’re quiet. We have four managers in. They don’t need me.”

“Hey, Charlie,” Jeff calls to a woman clearing glasses off the table beside their own. “Is he ‘fine’ or is he talkin’ shit?”

“He’s talking shit,” she responds without a second thought, then points towards Curly. “Get the boy home,” she demands.

Curly gives Jordan a look, raising a brow as the man continues to look irritated. “I’m knackered anyway,” he lies. “And these pair are doing my head in. Let’s go.”

“Asshole,” Dean mutters, but Curly’s already ushering Jordan away from the table.

***

“Are you alright?”

Curly must have been doing a good job of faking sleep because Jordan jolts a little when he speaks, eyes leaving the ceiling. He’s been like that since they got into bed; just lying there on his back, breathing heavily as he stares up at the ceiling. Curly wonders what’s got his breath so erratic and his brows furrowing like he’s having a row in his head.

The man opens his mouth to respond, but Curly cuts him off before he can. “I know you are,” he amends. “I know you don’t need me to take care of you, but. Are you alright?” He reaches out to touch the man’s face, fingers sliding over his cheek when Jordan finally turns his head to look at him.

“You always seem so… Angry,” he explains, his voice dropping to a whisper as he asks, “are you angry?”

Jordan takes a deep breath before he rolls onto his side, a hand landing on Curly’s waist to pull him a little closer. Curly ends up on the edge of his pillow, but he doesn’t mind. Jordan just nods.

“At me?” Curly doesn’t mean to sound so woe. He almost hopes he says yes – better to be angry at Curly than the guy who hurt him, if his conversation with Jeff and Dean is anything to go by. “Because he thought I was dealing?” He’s almost coaxing.

“No,” Jordan mumbles. “Not you.”

He slides in a little closer, from the edge of his pillow to the edge of Jordan’s, who tickles his back with the tips of his fingers beneath the covers. It’s the most tender moment they’ve had in a week. “At that bloke? Rory?”

The man shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.” His brows furrow like they had been as he stared up at the ceiling. “I keep replaying it in my head. I get so—” He shrugs again, his eyes cast somewhere over Curly’s shoulder, distracted by the thought.

“Tell me,” he whispers – wants to say help me understand, but he’s not sure Jordan even understands it himself.

“It was a cheap shot,” he says. “A dumb fight at a house party. He didn’t have to…” He shakes his head as he trails off.

It feels harsh, but Curly thinks maybe he might put things into perspective by saying, “isn’t it just the same as when you did it? To that guy in the street?” He gets no response. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” Jordan says quickly, the volume of his voice rising just a little with the speed of his reply. “That was different.”

“Because of Nick?” He hadn’t planned to bring him up – really, and when Jordan’s eyes return to him, it’s Curly’s turn to look off into the darkness beyond the bed. “Because of revenge?”

Jordan goes quiet again and rolls back onto his back where his breaths pick up again, just slightly. Curly’s not sure he’d have even noticed if he wasn’t listening out for it.

“I’m not trying to quiz you,” he tells him honestly, his knuckles sliding over the man’s jaw in an attempt to soothe him. “I want to understand.”

“So do I,” Jordan agrees, then goes back to gritting his teeth at the ceiling.

“Don’t try to get back at Rory.” The words tumble right out. “Please. He’s not worth it.”

Slowly, Jordan reaches up and takes Curly’s wrist in his hand. He brings his hand a little further up, to his lips where Curly thinks he will kiss him, but he instead just holds his hand there against his mouth, before he guides it away from him completely. Jordan drags his own palms over his face then, taking two long, deep before he crosses his arms over his stomach and asks point-blank, “when did you find out about Nick?”

He hadn’t realised that his request about Rory would hold such a clear connection to Nick’s death, but the fact that it quite clearly does for Jordan has his chest tightening up and his stomach hollowing right out. 

He’s done the same thing for less.

“Tonight.” There’s no sense in lying to him. In fact, the second he responds, Curly feels lighter. He hadn’t realised how wrong it felt to have made so many assumptions about his own boyfriend behind his back.

“Dean?” Jordan asks, and Curly nods. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I know,” he tells him, taking himself off-guard because, although he means it, Curly’s not sure even he realised it until just then. “I know you didn’t.”

“Th—” Jordan’s breath hitches. It’s a sight Curly’s never seen before – imagined, even – Jordan bringing a hand back up to his face to press his hand to his mouth.

“J.” He feels pathetic as he searches for something to say, because Jordan’s—He’s crying, pulling in jagged breaths beneath his palm. Curly pushes himself up, reaches out to pull the man’s hand from his face. Jordan lets him but is following his lead and sitting up, hanging his head between his shoulders before Curly can try to catch his eye. “It’s alright, whatever it—"

“They weren’t meant to fucking kill him,” he says between heaving breaths. “F-fuck, they—Nobody—” Jordan’s holding his head in his hands, shoulders shaking but he must be holding the sobs back because he barely makes a noise. Curly doesn’t either as he tries to make sense of his words – or rather find an explanation that isn’t Jordan knowing about it all.

The tendons in the man’s neck are straining and Curly dreads to think about the state of the other side, under the bandage, or the pain it must be causing him.

“Okay.” He nods as he slides a hand up to the back of his neck and into his hair. “Do you know who it was?” It’s so fucking stupid to ask – knowing that kind of information is dangerous, Curly knows that, but, as he looks at Jordan like this, doubled over and gasping for breath as he cries into his hands, it’s hard to believe there’s no explanation that excuses his involvement and makes it all make sense. He’s left in suspense though, feeling more and more desperate as he cards his fingers through the man’s hair and waits for him to catch his breath and calm himself.

“Some guys from New York,” Jordan finally says. “I paid them to… Beat him up a little. Get him off my back – the guy’s been on me since I left the city. Seven fucking years, Curly. And if I— Boyd would have killed me that night, I swear he would have. You too.”

Curly can only assume Boyd’s the guy who got stabbed – remembers what Dean had said about how Jordan was protecting him that night, but he was also settling a score. Jordan’s words are suddenly so rushed that Curly’s taking guesses at the gaps he leaves – like exactly who Boyd even is. A connection to Nick, he’d guess.

“Why?” He feels so daft and naive by asking it, but, “what’s worth going after you for that long? What is it that’s so bad but could be fixed by killing you?”

Jordan scoffs. “Nick—” He pauses to straighten up, wiping his hands over his face and glancing briefly at Curly before he looks down at his lap. He doesn’t hide his face now though, just casts his eyes to his lap. “He used to… He and my mom were together for a while, I think.”

Curly had expected drugs or gang crimes or something of the like – not an old stepdad. “You think?” 

“He—” Jordan shakes his head, sniffs. His hysterics are fading, and it’s almost like Jordan’s accepted the rest of the story. Has disconnected himself from all the emotion attached it his past. It’s just the present that he’s having a hard time with. “It’s complicated. Nick was an asshole. I barely even remember him, ‘cause my mom’s next… Guy, Marc – he pretty much chased him off the scene. But we owed him money,” he explains, and that makes a little more sense. Curls wonders what kind of boyfriend would give a mother and her kid so much grief over money. “Nick had a lot of enemies anyway. He was a joke but Marc was the real deal and he took it personally, so we were covered. But then, when things got fucked up with Marc… Well, we didn’t have any protection anymore.”

“So you left New York to get away from Nick,” he tries to follow.

“No,” he finally looks Curly’s way, seemingly forgetting the root of the conversation as he gets lost in the story. “Marc chased us out, he—” He looks genuinely remorseful now. “It was my fault, but that’s… Somethin’ else. Difference is, Marc only wanted us gone, but Nick still wanted his money, so we left, and he didn’t bother us for a while. And then I saw these two guys at the club one night; Boyd and Rick.”

“Was that them? In the street?”

The man nods. “I paid ‘em off as much as a could, but we still owed Nick… Fuck, thousands.”

Curly wants so badly to tell Jordan that there’s no ‘we’ – that he’s got no doubt that it’s Jordan’s mother that owes the money, and that Jordan just got dragged into it all, but then the man adds, “he’d have killed me for the sake of getting my mom’s fucking attention. She don’t even know he was around – I barely know where she is half of the time, never mind them.”

“So, you paid somebody to beat him up, like a warning? Where did you get that kind of money? How much would—”

“Just—” J shakes his head again. “The point is, I didn’t fuckin’ pay to get him killed. I just—fuck.” The realisation must dawn on him again, and something tells Curly that this is the first time Jordan’s really let himself take it all in. “I haven’t heard from them since – any of them. The guys I paid, Boyd or Rick.”

“Okay, so that’s good—”

“No Curly, it’s not fucking good because they killed Nick and I paid them! I—” He stops, snaps his mouth shut and arches into himself again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I just. This shit can come back to me. So fucking easily. If they figured out who did it, they’d ask questions, it’d come right back—”

“But he has a lot of enemies,” Curls reads back. “You said that. Seven years is a long fucking time, J. I bet he’s got a lot of new enemies in New York by now.” Fuck knows if what he’s saying holds any weight, but Curly just talks and talks and hopes something sticks. “If anyone is questioning anything, I’ll bet they’re running ‘round in bloody circles. If it was them who killed him, it’s on them.” He knows rightly that Jordan has played a large part in it but— “he sounds like a fucking arsehole. He’d have killed you if you didn’t do it first. And me and your mum. You didn’t want him dead; I believe that, but he is and, love, it’s probably bloody good that he is.”

Jordan remains quiet as he lays back down. He lies on his side and Curly spots the orange-red liquid weeping through his bandage but says nothing, for now, instead lowering himself to lay beside him, pulling the sheets over them and hooking an ankle over the man’s leg.

The man nods, no longer looking away but instead directly at Curly as his fingers play with his hair. “I fucking hated him,” he tells him. “When I was a kid, he was...” Jordan huffs. “And now he’s dead, and it’s my fault, and I feel sick. I keep thinking of all the different ways I coulda fixed it instead.”

“Did he hurt you? And your mum?”

Jordan just huffs again, shifting until they’re sharing Curly’s pillow this time. “Stop tryna make me a martyr,” he tells him, hushed. “Don’t look for reasons to hate him. Let me be sorry.” Their noses touch as he closes his eyes, just a little too tight. “I am sorry.”

“I believe you,” Curly tells him.

It’s done. Jordan didn’t mean to do it. It was probably some freak accident where they guys went too hard -- if it was even them at all. J’s got a totally different life in Brockton. No visible ties at all. He pushes himself up again, eyes on the man’s neck again, too unsettled to start lying around doing nothing.

“Please let me change your bandage.”

Jordan hums as he gives a small nod. “Okay, once.”

One bloody problem at a time, he thinks.

[rueclfer]

better // bakugou katsuki

No one’s got to know what we do, hit me up when you’re bored.

Summary: When your friend across the street invites you over whenever he needs a quick fix.

TW: NSFWish

“Walk faster, shrimp.” Katsuki grunts in annoyance as he speeds up further ahead of you.

You two had been walking to school together since you first moved into the neighborhood when you started primary school, but the only thing that had stayed constant throughout the year was his ‘above all’ complex and his quick paced walking. He would often ignore you once you two had stepped foot onto campus, but you knew better. You knew you were one of his closer friends. 

“Slow down, blasty.” You huff as you quickened your pace to match his. “Would it kill you to respect my short legs every now and then?”

“Walk by yourself then.”

“Yeah? And what would Mitsuki say about that, huh? What if I get kidnapped?” You pout.

“Then oh fucking well.” He quickens his pace once you two have arrived to UA, leaving you at the entrance.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and go your own pace to your shared classroom. Katsuki had always been on and off with you. Despite the years of ‘friendship’ you two had under your belt, he had troubles opening up to you, but easy to be vulnerable to at the same time.

“Y/N! There you are!” Denki exclaims. “Sheesh for living across the street from Bakugou, you’re always so far behind him when it comes to getting to class.”

“Because the little bitch doesn’t like to wait for me.” You stick your tongue out at the inattentive boy sitting in his desk.

“She can’t keep up. Why should I wait for her?” He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry about him, Y/N. I’ll walk you to school.” Denki flirtatiously suggest.

“Come anywhere near our neighborhood and I’ll kill you, sparky.” Katsuki narrowing his eyes at the blonde boy.

“Well there you go, Y/N. He does care about you.” Denki laughs,

You chuckle nervously and eyed Katsuki at his random outburst.

“It’s not that he cares. Just territorial.”

-

Your relationship was odd. You weren’t sure if he hated you, but the marks left on your neck and shoulder, the tingling sensation he would gave you behind closed doors. and the waves of pleasure all spoke different words.

“Hey, I can’t go over until later tonight. Mom’s having friends over and I have to be there.” You say as you two started your way back home.

“That’s fine.” He shrugs.

“You’re going to make it through the night?” You teasingly nudge his shoulder. “No more whining?”

“You act like I need you, shrimp.” He huffs. “I’ll just invite the boys over and maybe we’ll go terrorize you”

“Do that and you’re dead. Even your mom’s coming over.”

“Yeah, whatever. Do what you need to do I don’t care.”

You spent the rest of the rest of that afternoon having tea with your mom and her friends. You had to admit that it was pretty uneventful several hour. However, after several hours, the afternoon tea turned into an evening glass of wine. At that point they had started talking about the neighborhood gossip and were quick to shoo you up to your room.

“Since you guys are having fun down here, I’m just going to head over to Katsukis, is that okay? He has the other guys over.” You lied.

Ever since you and Katsuki had reached the age of puberty, your mothers had been more nosy and suggestive with your relationship with Katsuki. They always adored you two together but it was never like that.

You were just friends

“That’s fine. Tell him I said hello.” Your mom waves off. "And don't be home too late either." She calls as you slip out the door

The trip to Katsuki's front door felt like a cold windstorm. Chills raced up and down you bare arms and legs, leaving you shivering once you had made you way inside.

"Katsuki, do you not know how to turn on the lights?" You call out as you put your arms out in front of you to avoid bumping into sharp corners and furniture. You hated how he practically existed in the dark despite his fiery personality and explosive temper.

You were able to find the stairs and quickly made your way up them before reaching his bedroom. The cold doorknob warned against your palm as you pushed in. In the dark room you see his black silhouette standing in front of the window. Once the door closes behind you, he finally turns to face you.

"Did you hear me? Turn on the lights ever now and then." You chuckle, reaching for the switch near the door.

He audibly scoffs and pulls you closer to him by the arm before you could successfully switch the lights on.

"Everything's more fun in the dark." You hear the smirk in his voice. You feel his hot breath against your neck as he slides his hands under your shirt and around your waist.

You had gotten used to the gentle touches coming from his rough hands, but ever movement felt so foreign at the same time. The hot kisses against your neck send shivers down your spine every time, and the way he gripped you as if you would melt from between his fingers any second.

These sporadic hook ups started earlier in the year when you two attended a large family party where you two got heavily intoxicated and suddenly forgotten about your boundaries. That night after you had sobered up, all you could do was laugh.

“Hey Kat, toss me my shirt.” You pointed to the pile cloth on the floor near his feet.

“Get it yourself, lazy ass.”

“But I’m naked.” You huff. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

You two never talked about that night. He would invite you over whenever he was home alone and lonely and it would eventually lead to a hook up. You weren’t bothered by it, but it left a gray area in your friendship. You didn’t know how to define it, but you found something thrilling about the lack of clarity.

As your back fell against the cold sheets, you could hear the low sudden footsteps coming from the first floor, moving up the stairs.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He whisper-yelled, searching around for his shirt.

“This is why you have the lights on you stupid ass bitch.” You scold, trying to feel around for your own shirt. Eventually, you decided to slip on a nearby hoodie laying on the bed.

“Bakugou!” You hear a familiar voice echo from behind the door before it slams open and switch the lights on. “Oh?”

“Why‘s it so dark in here? Y/N? What were you guys-” Denki started.

“God, Denki. Lean how to knock, much?” You yawn, faking your own grogginess. You rub your eyes as they adjusted to the light. You look over to see Katsuki coolly sitting at his desk, unfazed.

“Oh shit, were you asleep? My bad. Why are you taking a nap in Bakugou’s room?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Because her mom has friends over and they were being loud.” Katsuki answers before you were able to. “Why the fuck are YOU here?” 

“I left my phone, you idiot. I tried calling but you wouldn’t answer so I figured I would just come back and get it.” He walks over to the desk and grabs his phone before waving it around in the air. “See? And plus your front door was open, so I took it as a welcome.“ He smugly smile.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes to you in annoyance before turning back to Denki. “It’s fine. Whatever, just get out of here. It’s late.”

“That’s the plan.” He starts for the door. “Sorry about waking you up too, Y/N. We still on for next weekend?”

“Absolutely.” You smile, waving him off.

Once the door closes behind him, you flop down on the bed before releasing a long sigh.

“So? What what that about.” Katsuki turns to you in his chair. “What’s next weekend?”

“He asked me to get lunch with him. No biggie.” You shrug.

“So a date?”

“In mean, if you INSIST on calling it that, then sure. A date.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay? And what about...this whole thing?”

“What about it? Are you worried about getting sexually frustrated once I get in a relationship?” You tease.

Though he stayed quiet, causing you further more question the integrity of this dynamic.

“Kat, we’re friends. Close friends. Good friends. Best friends. We agreed to keep this between us and not let it affect us outside of our bedrooms.” You say sternly. “If you’re all of the sudden falling in love with me then you gotta let me know.” You teasingly toss the pillow at his head.

“Yeah whatever, just don’t break his heart.”

-

After weeks had gone by, Katsuki had not once texted you. He would ‘walk’ with you to and from school as per usual, but even then, you eventually found yourself walking by yourself.

He had been ghosting you nonstop. No matter how often you blew up his phone, thrown things at him in class, or talked to his other friends- he promptly keep his distance from you.

You initially assumed that he was starting to focus on school due to midterms coming up, but you knew he would have told you to fuck off or something of that nature instead of cutting you off cold turkey.

You spent the last couple of weeks feeling lonelier than usual. Not as sexually frustrated, but more like you’re stuck in a void.

One day you decided that you were over it. You were fed up with his immaturity and you were tired of having your calls ignored. You ran home right after school and decided to wait on his front porch for him.

He never showed up. It was dark out and you had been waiting for his arrival since school ended. You were nearly falling asleep on his doorstep as you were waiting for him.

“Y/N? What the fuck are you doing.” His booming voice snapped you out of your dozing state.

“Kat.” You say, jumping up to meet his eyes. “Why the fuck have you been avoiding me?”

“Have you been sitting here this whole time? Fucking idiot. You should have called me or something.” He scolds, pushing you to the side so he could unlock the door.

“No.” You grab his hand and stand in front of the doorway. “We are talking right now. Why are you avoiding me? What did I do wrong?” You ask, looking for any bit of emotion in his eyes.

“Can we not fucking do this out here?” He rolls his eyes.

“Was it because I went to get lunch with Denki? It wasn’t a big deal, you know. I didn’t know you would get pissy if I went out with one of OUR friends.”

He runs a hand through his hair before letting out a long sigh. 

“You say we’re just friends...but I swear when nobody’s around...” He starts. “I just don’t know. Is this was friends do? I hate the whole ‘what are we?” bullshit, but god fucking damn it, Y/N, I’m not sure if I want to be friends.”

You realize that his fists are white. You realized how he kept the lights off to avoid catching your gaze when he bore his eyes through your nude body. You realized the pangs of jealously when you talked about other guys. You realize how he always came to you when he felt vulnerable.

“Can friends do this? Can they sneak to each other’s houses to share a bottle is liquor together? Can they cry on your chest when their parents are fighting again? Can they feel jealous over the more intimate things? Can they connect through their bodies? Can they go through all of these stages of lust just to call each other friends?” He rambles on. “If that’s what friends do, how come we can’t do that outside of our own bedrooms?”

You could see your wide eyes through the gloss of his own. You could see his hurt and confusion and jealously through his pupils.

“So there’s your answer. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and I fucking hate it. I fucking hate what we created our ‘friendship’ to be. I fucking hate how I can’t handle you the way you can handle our whole dynamic. Casual. Cool. Collected. I can’t do that.”

“Katsuki..” You begin. “I don’t know what to say.”

You weren’t expecting this sort of outburst of him. You wanted him to curse you out, tell you you’ve been doing everything wrong and that you weren’t a interest of his anymore.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way. Tell me you want nothing more than my body. Tell me you don’t want anything to do with me other than the late night invitation. Tell me, and then we can go back to that. If you can’t, then we’re ending it. All of it. You can lose my number, tell your mom we had a falling out, you can ignore me in the halls, anything. I just can’t walk you to school, talk to you everyday, have you hold me in your arms, and do this all at the same time to just call you my friend.” 

You stayed silent. You couldn’t come up with of the correct string of words that could sum up the thousands thoughts running through your mind.

You saw the confirming disappointment in his face as he continues to move you away from the door to unlock it. Before he could step instead, you quickly grab his hand.

“Wait, Kat.” You say. “I don’t know what to say, but I don’t want to leave it like this.”

“Then what do you want me to do, Y/N. Tell me what the fuck you want me to do? I just poured my heart out to you and I don’t wan-” He starts before you were quick to cut him off with you own lips.

You had no idea what you were doing. The thoughts in your head didn’t halt to a stop, though you feel your hand slowly gravitate towards the nape of his neck.

You pulled away his a flushed red face and sweating hands.

“Fuck you, Katsuki. Fucking FUCK you.” You groan. into your sleeve. “I don’t know what to say I just...you know. Fuck okay. Just. Stop being like this, okay? Just. Please.”

There it was. That shit eating grin. It was almost as if he hadn’t just confessed his feelings to you a moment ago.

“How are you usually so bold in the bedroom, but when it comes to this, you’re a stuttering mess?” He inches closer to your face, cupping your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Shut up!” You cry. “I’m going home.” You turn on your heels and start walking home.

“You better be on time tomorrow morning too, unless you plan on walking to school alone again.” He calls out from behind you with the same smirk playing in his tone.

[h-e-l-l-b-r-o-k-e]

State of Mind [B.H. x you]

Request: @lemonypink​

Inspiration: Rock Me by Great White

Word Count: 2253 Warnings: profanity.

Written Date: 12/27/19-1/1/20 Posted Date: 1/1/2020

[MASTERLIST]

Dating Billy was like dating one of the many attractive rockstars plastered on the pale walls of your bedroom, except only with slightly less screeching girls and more bloody knuckles. Billy hated when other men, many who are older, would try to propose to you some sort of midnight deal involving money and their hotel rooms and you hated when girls would reach up and twirl bits of his hair or rub the lapels of his jean jacket with their fingers every time you left to get more booze or for a quick bathroom break. 

This was the Sunset Strip, Hollywood’s most popular spot for metal musicians and whores with fishnets that run up the expanse of their thighs, and it was a dangerous combo when the two of you were thrown into the mix. Yet, it was a drug that provided cheap thrills, and you and Billy were just teenagers without a whole lot of money lining your pockets. This was your amusement park. This was where parts of your D.N.A laid to rest. Billy’s too.

They say one loses fifty to about a hundred strands a day and you cannot imagine any other area in Los Angeles, other than your home, that’s collected all 54,750 of your fallen hair since the age of fifteen. No other area’s collected your fingerprints as much or your littered cigarettes. No other venue outside of the Whisky A Go-Go have you and Billy carried out most of your sloppy quickies in the public restroom—usually because Billy dragged you after a guitarist or singer couldn’t keep their eyes off you.

Billy’s jealousy has gotten you guys into more trouble than sometimes it’s worth. You’ve gotten kicked out of clubs for smashing beer bottles against the wall just centimeters away from his target, a musician’s most precious asset—his pouty face. You were surprised that you could count all scuffles Billy’s gotten himself into with band members, some from bands you actually enjoyed watching, on one hand.

You still haven’t forgiven him for banning the two of you from ever attending an L.A. Guns gig again.

“This place blows.” Billy slams his glass on the counter in a huff and the bartender gives him a pointed look before shaking his head to himself.

His attitude tonight was wearing down your placid features faster than a clock counted minutes. And, he’s hardly glanced in your direction to at least make it easier for you to hear him among all the other noise that penetrated your ear drums. 

He slid off the stool and doesn’t apologize when his shoulder shoved into your chin. Sometimes you swore you could wrap your hands around his throat and strangle him.

All the trouble with security and other patrons you both been in hadn’t just been because of his loose tongue and quick fists. No, you were pretty sure you’ve been in more altercations that involved a split lip or black eye than he had. There were too many bimbos that rubbed you the wrong way and too many guys who thought they had a free pass to grope you just because you sometimes wore mini skirts and low-cut tops.

You knew Billy’s itching mood meant you had to turn down alcohol and provide the role of babysitter because if you didn’t, he’d do something that even he’d regret. But, you’ve never been one with much patience. It’s why you hardly knew the three-year-old stranger who lived under your parents’ roof and called you “sissy” in passing. You didn’t feel all that bad for the cold shoulder she often received, your mother and step-father provided plenty of warmth. They preferred her over you anyway.

“Wait up, jerk!” You called after your boyfriend, though he didn’t slow down. You weren’t doubtful that it was due to him ignoring you over simply just not hearing you.

The effort in teasing your hair and painting your face to near perfection had gone to waste so far, but you didn’t mind. The ever prideful girl in a leather skirt and jean jacket, though that alone couldn’t define you.

The bartender’s glare was glued to you, waiting for the payment of Billy’s whiskey glasses. You searched through your pockets, only finding a couple loose bills and some change of mostly pennies you knew wasn’t not nearly enough to cover the tap. You set it on the counter and chased after Billy’s direction before you could be flagged. Luckily some drunk was hassling the bartender for another serving and you caught the wisps of Billy’s dirty-blond locks leaving through the back exit.

Barging through the door, you found Billy already sucking on a Marlboro—your Marlboro.

You marched through the dirty alley. “Hey, stupid, I could’ve gotten arrested back there! I haven’t any money on me you know!” Just inches away from him, you continued, “He knows my freakin’ face.”

“Tough luck.” The smoke harbored in his mouth was blown into your face. 

You swiped at him, knocking his, well, your cigarette on the ground. “I’m so sick of your pointless attitude, Billy. Grow up!”

With a flared nose, Billy scoffed, “Everything’s fuckin’ pointless, babe. Don’t you get it?” The point of his burning finger touched the chilled skin of your chest, pushing you. “You’re pointless.”

“No,” you shook your head, “you don’t mean that.” Focusing on the golden pendant that’s hung around his neck, you could feel the suffocating heat of his blue irises. “Two years can’t just go by and not mean anything,” you mumbled. 

“Yeah? Well, it did!” A bit of his spit landed on your cheek as he puffed a breath down your face. 

You knew this act almost too well. Billy may be the biggest asshole who ever lived, though you knew you stood in a place well below a pedestal to look down upon him, but whenever this sudden bout of anger was directed at you, you knew it was displaced. Billy had a fishermen’s nest worth of loathing in the pit of his stomach, directed at his father and things that couldn’t be undone from the past. 

You’ve spent about 730 days together so far. You weren’t just some cheap date nor an easy lay. Billy’s shown you too much—given you more—to be able to take it back straight out of the blue. Damaged goods. That’s what the two of you were, and he found comfort in the thought that he wasn’t alone.

But, even when your brain knew better, your heart found it difficult to differentiate truth from impulse. And right now, the beating beneath your breast bone was thumping a very low, and foreboding note.

You tongued at the rim of your upper back molar, a nervous habit since preschool, before stating, “I don’t believe you.” 

“Just get out of here!” Billy pointed at the dark street as if you hadn’t rode here as his passenger for the millionth time. “Find your own way home.”

“The hell I’m not,” you ground between your teeth. Your palms met his chest a couple times before he snatched your wrists. 

But, when you glanced up at him, his face was turned into the deeper end of the alleyway. It’s almost too dark to see, but when you squinted you made out the shape of a figure, presumably a guy. And upon closer inspection, you noticed he was about your age. Maybe younger if going by the pudginess of his cheeks. You’d never seen him around before.

“Hey, asshole, what are you staring at?!” Billy’s voice rang in your ear like the beating of heavy church bells, or worse, thunder.

The lone boy looked stuck in a crossfire, and immediately you knew he was in fact younger by a few years based on the softness of his eyes despite the glow of a cigarette between two fingers. Hell, even at fourteen you’d been smoking for at least a year. 

His knee jittered, ready to bounce if Billy proved too big of a menace, but he stood at a dead end. He had no where to go. 

“Billy,” you warned, but Billy had already succumbed to the role of a predator. Tense muscle pulled out of your grasp as he stalked towards the wide-eyed deer. “Billy!”

“That’s it! I’m outta here!” But, this was what he wanted. If he couldn’t shoo you away like a pigeon picking at crumbs on a sidewalk, he’d ignore you like a lone cat skittering in the neighborhood. 

Making up your mind about hailing a cab and then raiding your step-father’s study to pay for the ride, you’re about to reach the sidewalk when suddenly your blood ran cold. You could recognize the clinking of the sheathing of a pocketknife, you’ve carried the same one you found just hours before the first day of fourth grade on you since. Right now, it fit snug inside your leather boot and it bumped against your ankle with every step. 

Which meant Billy somehow hadn’t slipped your knife in his pocket. 

Yelping, Billy fell against the bricks and slid down until he reached the littered ground of smokes and shards of glass. The boy had already been running away by the time you’d turned to watch, shoving past you with sweat beads above his brow. Some of the glint of the metal in his hand was obstructed by a thick, red consistency and the steady thumping in your chest stuttered.

Running after the boy was a lost cause, especially since the streets tended to be busier at night than in the daylight. Yet, by the time you knelt beside your fallen boyfriend, his breath released in puffs and the tear of his white T-shirt across his abdomen contained stained blots. The skin beneath raw and wet, but not deep at all. 

“Oh, thank God,” the breath swooshed out of your lungs, “It’s just a nick, Billy.”

“Fuck,” he chuckled as he inspected the cut. “Way to go world, just kick me when I’m already down!” 

Your shaped eyebrows knitted together. “Jesus, have you gone mad? You just got shanked and you’re laughing?!” Your hand hovered just inches away from his wound. “What should we do?”

While you’d been too worried, the pads of his fingers grazed the slice. He winced. “Tonight, I was supposed to be some pissy prick, not escape death from the hands of some scrawny freak.” 

“Does—Does it hurt?!”

“It’s not that bad, actually.” Yet, he grunted, “Little fucker,” under his breath as he got to his feet. You followed his lead, still shaken. “It just stings mostly. I’m more worried about the questions someone might ask when they see this,” he gestured to the gash of his ruined shirt, ”but we gotta clean it, babe.” 

“We?” Arms crossed beneath your chest, you remembered the things he’d said just moments ago. “Don’t pretend you didn’t just tell me that I’m pointless! Clean it yourself.”

“Hey. Hey,” Billy reached for your arms, gently uncrossing them until your hands were enveloped in his. Somehow even when it was just above fifty degrees, Billy’s body was a furnace that radiated heat. You think it was the anger he could never quite let go of. “I didn’t mean any of it.” 

You sheepishly glanced towards the side with puckered lips before you spoke. “You sure you didn’t mean it?”

“Never mean it.” He kissed at your hairline before pulling away.

“Then, why were you being so mean?” you questioned him, still a little insulted.

He sighed and brought you into his side, almost forgetting about the tenderness of his stomach but your were mindful. You knew this trick of his, tucking your head under his chin to hide the plain emotions he failed to bar behind a careless façade.  

“Because of my dad… He—uh,“ his adam’s apple bobbed against your temple. “We’re leaving. He’s moving us to Indiana.”

Just when you thought tonight couldn’t get any worse, Billy dropped a bomb on your head. 

A/N: You wanted chaotic and I couldn’t think of a more perfect place than 80’s Sunset Strip. Sorry it’s not 100% what you wanted, the story just seemed to go in this direction.

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Max getting jealous of Billy's and El's relationship cause she got the big brothers always wanted right off the bat while max suffered with douchebag billy for years. Angst ensues, naturally.

Yes. yes. And YES. (I hope you don’t mind that I mixed these two!!)

Okay i have so many thoughts about this and w/ every little thing i write that includes Billy and El i think about what it must do to Max. bc i love Max and I wanna give her hugs and ohmygod guys MAX.

(And i should probably preface this by saying I haven’t read Runaway Max so i don’t necessarily know what’s canon but also i’ve been melting canon down to what i want it to be so i guess this won’t be very different from what I normally do, huh??)

Anyway i talked about it in the ask prior to this but I Highly Believe that Billy and Max’s relationship pre-move-out-mayhem was bitchy at most. Like I think they were snarky and a little rude to each other but they were still supportive. Bc they lived in a house w/ a man who got mad so frequently. and i don’t think Neil ever touched or ever will touch Max (i have extended thoughts on this but we don’t have to get into it here, i’ll just leave it at the gist) but Max knows something is wrong. Sees the bruises on Billy’s face and hears the yelling and the harsh sounds and harsher words. Never ever talks about it bc Billy always barks at her if she tries. But she’ll let him have the last popsicle he loves so much or she’ll let him take as much time as he wants fixing his hair in the bathroom in the morning or just any little thing that makes something even a little better. Bc she’s still a kid at this point, there’s not a lot she can do, but she can do little things like that.

And i headcanon Billy as having been a brat but still doing things for her. Like when he has to babysit her and he’ll take her down to the boardwalk and buy her an ice cream but he’s like: “Don’t get used to it.” as if he didn’t just do something super nice. He does her hair for her bc as a kid she was Helpless at putting her hair up and so he started helping her and just never stopped. Did her hair for her bc it was easier than sitting down to teach her. Cooks dinners for her or even w/ her when Neil and Susan are out to dinner or out of town or whatever. Drives her to school every day when he gets a car and they argue over music but really she kind of likes his music, even though she’d never tell him. She gets into some of the bands he likes and steals a couple of the band shirts he lifted from stores when they get too small for him. He teaches her how to skate and even gives her his board when he gets his car. She’s ecstatic about it and he brushes it off by pulling at her hair and saying: “Whatever, dipshit, now I won’t have to drive you to the candy store or wherever it is you go.”

She punches his arm.

He chuckles and kicks at her heel lightly as they walk.

They just… they’re brats but they’re SIBLINGS. And yeah they’re half siblings but Billy is adamant in S2 about the fact that they’re family. That boy loves Max and Max loves Billy bc they grew up w/ each other and faced so much shit together.

But right before the move… and during the move… and after the move…

Billy gets so rough. He’s angry all the time. Stops doing her hair and yells at her when she asks. Laughs when she tries and fails to the point where she just leaves her hair down and unbrushed bc it’s just easier. He’s on edge all the time and takes it out on her and he vaguely sees himself doing it but he’s red and angry and uncaring bc fuck this fuck all of this.

He blames everything he sees bc it’s easy and facing the reality of his whole situation is hard and he’s just tired. Wants to be given a break but he hasn’t been given a break for years now so he’s absolutely exhausted. He kicks and punches walls and he slams his door in Max’s face when she asks him a question and he shuts himself away bc it’s easier to do that than face anything and it’s bad. But Billy isn’t sure what qualifies as bad and good anymore, he just knows what hurts and what doesn’t and everything hurts but hiding almost makes it feel like it doesn’t. He used to not mind being his sister’s keeper but now he fucking has to babysit her goddamn 24/7 and he’s in a new town where he knows NOBODY and he can’t be open here bc it’s in the fucking midwest and he’s just angry and hurt and so damn fearful so he gets mad. Stressed. Takes it out on everything and everyone and Max.

So Max loses her brother.

She loses him mentally and emotionally and then she loses him physically.

Bc Hop finds out, and he adopts Billy, and then Billy’s gone. But Billy makes it very clear to her once he’s gone that “If anything and I mean absolutely anything happens with Neil, you tell me straight away. Got it? I’m living with the goddamn Chief of Police now, we’ll get that guy in jail so fast I swear.”

Max just nods.

But nothing ever happens. Neil is kind of a dick but he doesn’t get as angry. He’s strict but not physical. It makes Max angry though bc she hates the thought that it was just Billy that made him so horrible. She doesn’t wanna believe it. Sure this man gave her her brother but she hates him for pushing him away.

And Max loves El. She really does. She loves El to the moon and back, hanging out with her is an absolute blast, having a friend who’s a girl feels like a godsend sometimes bc boys are stupid and girls are soft and pretty and lovely.

And she tries real hard not to be jealous of El. She really really does. And she tries real hard not to get mad at Billy either, really. It’s just that…

It sucks. And it hurts. Bc Billy is so calm with El. He’s so brotherly and caring and good with her. He takes her to ice cream and does her hair and jokes around with her. He lets her brush his hair and he buys cookies and stuff for her and they have little inside jokes now. He’s soft and gentle with her. He shows her new music and he hugs her all the fucking time and wow it sucks.

Because Max had to deal with all of it before it became this. Saw all of Billy’s pain and felt pain in her heart over it and then saw through Billy giving her pain and felt physical pain over that and then saw him leave and now feels emotional pain over the fact that she doesn’t get him anymore.

And he still drives her to school everyday. He still drives her around when she asks, even if he bitches about it. He shows her new music and he willingly hands over his too small band shirts. He’s still a protective little shit over her. He hangs out with her and messes around w/ her when she goes over to visit El.

But the thing is… El gets to keep him… and Max has to go home to no one.

And Max likes her mom. Would never wanna leave her mom. Her mom is the one thing that keeps her grounded to her previous life- her life even before Billy. Dealing with dickish Neil is sometimes worth it bc she still has her mom.

But her mom isn’t really home all that much. And even when she is, hanging out with her isn’t as cool or fun; sometimes it’s kind of draining. She just wants her brother back.

And Max is a goddamn firecracker too. Just like her brother. She’s hotheaded and straightforward and she just gets so frustrated bc whatthefuck. But she doesn’t wanna lash out at El bc it’s not El’s fault and she doesn’t really wanna lash out at Billy bc she’s happy he’s happy now but goddamnit she had to deal with all of the trauma and now El gets him at his best without the worst and she’s just pissed.

So sometimes she’ll get fed up. She’ll come over to hang out and she hears Billy and El making their own little inside jokes and watches Billy pick El up and swing her around while El giggles and sees Billy helping El read things like titles to movies or cereal boxes or ice cream cartons and Max’s face will get red and she’ll storm out of the cabin grumbling about skating home.

And Billy doesn’t like that, doesn’t really want her skating home from here, so he follows her out, leaving El inside, shouting: “Wait up, Max, I’ll drive you.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Quit being a brat, you shouldn’t be skating that far this late.”

“Me skating home never worried you before.”

“Cut it out, I just don’t want anything happening to you-”

And Max turns, face red, hair in flames around her head as it whips around her and she yells: “You’re not my brother anymore!”

And Billy is seriously taken aback. Bc to him he never stopped being her brother but here Max is, angry and spitting in his direction with her anger, gripping her board tight and her nose crunching up in that way he almost forgot about.

Max huffs.

“Just go have fun with your new sister.”

Billy’s chest flares up.

“Fine, shitbird!”

Max gets on her board and shoots a middle finger up behind her as she skates away. Billy slams the door when he heads back inside.

And they make up real fast. A few days later El wants to see Max to go shopping and there’s no one to drive them but Billy. So they’re a little pissy with each other but Billy gets them a couple of sodas and Max hip checks him a few times so he knows they’re cool again.

But there’s still that tense feeling in her chest. That sick feeling in her throat. That pounding in her head as El tries on a bunch of shirts and Billy jokes around with El and ruffles her hair and pokes her forehead.

She watches them interact and it presses at her chest too hard so she forces herself to speak. She needs it off her chest she needs it gone.

“Billy?”

“Mm?” He grunts out.

“Do you… like El more than me?”

And god something about it cracks Billy’s heart. Bc he loves Max, he really does. He’s done so much in his life to protect her and help her and teach her. They grew up for years together. They’ve been through too much shit for him to not love her. and he’s never seen her so self conscious before.

There’s a long pause of them sitting there, Billy’s head spinning a bit, before he looks to her and takes a dramatic sigh.

“You know… to be honest… I hate all of you runts just about the same.”

He chuckles when she punches him. “I’m being serious!”

“So am I! You big group of nerds leech all my money,” Billy begins counting the list on his fingers, “make me your personal driver, keep me from fucking my boyfrie-”

“Shut up! God you’re so grody!” Max shoves at his shoulder.

“Grody? Excuse me Max, grody? Who are you?”

She shoves him again and sighs. Billy watches her.

“What’s got you so worked up, brat?”

Max grumbles, nose scrunching up before she gives an angry huff.

“I hate this. I don’t want to hate it but… you’re supposed to be my brother.” She’s angry, face turning red but there’s almost tears in her eyes and Billy hates seeing them there. “And El gets you when you’re nice.” she tilts her head back against the wall and looks up to the ceiling. “I bet she doesn’t even know how much of a dick you can be.”

Billy chuckles.

“I’d beg to differ. I’m still being a dick.”

“Doubt it.”

“Seriously, Max. You know me, I was born a jerk.”

“Were not.” she mumbles. He flicks her ear in response.

She yelps. “Hey! Jerk!”

“See?” Billy laughs and lightly shoves her shoulder. “Quit worrying about it. I’m serious. Yeah El gets me now that I’m in a good spot but you understand me, y’know? We get each other. Or whatever.”

Max rolls her eyes but seems pretty pleased with the answer. Billy gives a satisfied grin before folding his hands behind his head and leaning back.

“Besides…” he drawls. “It’s no secret that Will is my actual favorite.”

Max punches his side and Billy makes a pained noise over his chuckle.

“See? Will wouldn’t hit me!”

Max rolls her eyes again but she’s smiling. She’s glad Billy still thinks of himself as her brother bc she doesn’t want him to go away. She lost him once and doesn’t wanna lose him again. 

And yeah it still kinda sucks… but she likes the relationship she has with Billy. Plus, after their little talk Billy starts being overly nice to the point where it’s clearly a joke. He grabs the sides of her head and gives a big, dramatic kiss to the top of it. He scoops her up into bone crushing hugs. He holds doors open for her and acts real dumb about it and starts calling her things like “Sister dear” to the point where Max just says: “Cut it out you’re being annoying. Just go back to being a jerk.”

He laughs and punches her shoulder lightly.

“You got it, shitbird.”

[soybeantree]

revenant

pairing: grimreaper!do kyungsoo x cemeteryworker!(reader) genre/warning: eventual fluff  word count: 2k+ description:  the surplus of spoopy ghost dramas as of late brought this little gem around. totally normal for a paranormal story in january, right?  a/n: january installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is gone’ series. hana promises that there will be a part 2 because b if there ain’t imma flip. she loves the angsty cliff-hangers. i HATE them. - em

Your mother always said the benefits to living in a rich city were innumerable. That’s a bit strong of an adjective, but you can agree that there are many benefits. You have access to great shops and great food, top rated schools, and the city is beautiful. Every building, street, and sign look like they were plucked from some children’s book. The city officials take great pride in the city’s appearance. Too much pride though, which is why you’re waking up at 9:30 in the evening for your 10:00 shift at the cemetery. The cemetery is one of the city’s top tourist attractions. The above ground mausoleums, the grand tombstones dating back centuries, they draw in countless visitors each day. As such, the city officials expend great effort and money to maintain the grounds and keep the stone gleaming. However, since appearance is everything, the cemetery’s caretakers, aka you, your father, and your grandmother before him, must only work at night. After all, what tourist wants to see a sweaty, mud-begrimed worker pushing a cart around the cemetery?

Despite the ridiculousness of the arrangement, you enjoy working at night. Grabbing a beanie, you pull it over your ears as you head out. A thin fog is your only companion as you walk the short distance to the cemetery’s back entrance. The lack of tourist makes your work easier and more bearable. If you had to do double duty as caretaker and tour guide, many tourists would find a new home in a mausoleum. Another benefit is the hefty paycheck. The extra money though is due less to working at night and more to the fact that the cemetery is haunted. Heading towards your tool shed, which is cleverly disguised as a mausoleum, you pass several spirits. The newer ones acknowledge you with a nod while the older ones wander by lost to themselves. During your school days, your classmates gave you a wide berth. They held the ignorant opinion that spirits followed you to school. However at that point, they would have had to follow your dad home then attached themselves to you then follow you to school. None of which made any sense. Ghosts rarely travel far from their resting place. Explaining that to your schoolmates though was a waste of breath, so you stopped. The caretaker position became yours by default. You went away for a few years after college, but real world jobs are too boring. When you came back, the city council all but kissed your feet. The slew of caretakers who came in after your father retired had lasted only days at a time. The cemetery was a mess. The city council was at its wits end. You could have asked for anything. In the end, you settled for the fat paycheck and complete autonomy. Pulling out your cart, you begin your work. The fog slips through the cemetery obscuring the paths and adding to the whole eerie haunted vibe. Your feet know the pathways, and you hum to yourself as you walk. On today’s “to do” list, you have polishing the mausoleums by the eastern entrance. Some city council dweeb had complained that they looked weathered and dingy. You wish he had said it to your face rather than hide behind an email, but he was probably too chicken-livered to step foot within the cemetery. “Good evening, caretaker.” The singsong voice grates against your ears. You stop in front of the first marble facade and pull a rag and polish out of your cart. “What has fouled your mood? Receive another rejection from a suitor?” “I’d have to have a suitor to be rejected by one.” You grunt as you crouch down to start on the base of the first column. “True.” She giggles. The ghost hovers beside you, the hem of her ethereal gown brushing against your cheek. You sneeze. “What has soured your mood then?” Sighing, you stand and move to the top of the column. With a huff, she floats to your other side and folds her hands in front of her. She glances over her shoulder then back at you. “The cemetery is awful quiet tonight.” You skirt around her as you move onto the next column. Beside the few specters you passed when you arrived, you have yet to meet another of the cemetery’s occupants since beginning your work. “Have you no curiosity for the cemetery’s silence?” “I assume it’s because Mrs. King started on about her grandkids again.” “Indeed not.” She simpers, peering at you from the columns other side. You divert your attention to your task, scrubbing an obstinate stain. Clearing her throat, she continues. “Mr. Long in plot 112 has gone malevolent.” Your hand stills. In addition to the high pay and freedom from human interaction, there is a third benefit to working nights at the cemetery. Arguably the best benefit, and one of the main reasons you returned. Of all the days to roll out of bed and throw on clothes, it had to be today. Yesterday, you had showered and worn decent clothing, not the stained cargo pants and t-shirt which you pulled from your laundry basket. You groan and toss your rag into the cart, fighting the urge to kick one of the wheels. Your work boots would easily protect your toes, but you’d rather not give your companion the satisfaction of seeing how deeply her news affects you. She smiles smugly at you. “I’m sure a reaper will take care of Mr. Long. You might want to make yourself scarce. I’d hate for the reaper to see you and take you with Mr. Long.” “Surely, you know which reaper has come.” She floats through the column to hover beside you. Often during your life, you have wished for the ability to slap a ghost. Today, the wish twitches your fingers, but you keep your hand by your side. Only reapers can touch ghosts. Of course, you know which reaper has come. The cemetery has a single reaper assigned to maintain order. He was in charge even before your grandmother’s time. His name is or was Kyungsoo. All your grandmother and father would say about him was that he was the cemetery’s Reaper, and it was best to leave him to work in peace. Which would be easy, if you hadn’t developed a crush on him when you were four. “Mr. Long is the first malevolent spirit since you started, correct? Which would mean this is the first time Reaper Kyungsoo has made his appearance?” Her smile widens. “How many years have passed since last you saw him? Surely, you wish to renew your acquaintance.” “Surely, you wish to mind your own damn business.” You hiss. Of all the damn ghosts to witness the first time you met Kyungsoo, it would have to be this bitch. She chuckles, and you shake your head. Stupid. However, now there’s no point in pretending you don’t care. Leaving the cart and your responsibilities behind, you race across the cemetery to plot 112.

-

A malevolent spirit is frightening to anyone who hasn’t grown up around ghosts. The normally human-appearing spirit transforms into a towering demon. There’s a lot of ear-splitting screeching and gusts of wind which dig into the ground spraying rocks and dirt into the air, and an overwhelming sense of dread fills your chest and tugs at fear. However, growing up around ghosts, you learn when you should be afraid and when the malevolent spirit is just a pissy, windbag. Mr. Long is the later. Sitting on the tombstone of a spirit who long ago passed into the beyond, you watch the skirmish between spirit and reaper. Kyungsoo rushes forward scythe in hand. His black robes billow out behind him as he leaps forward. The scythe slices through Mr. Long as he passes him. A final screech peters to a whimper as Mr. Long returns to himself. Kyungsoo lands, spinning the moment his feet touch ground. He faces his opponent, his scythe posed behind him, ready for the next swing. Mr. Long stares forlornly at the reaper then at the mess he has made of his burial site. He whimpers again. The sound tugs at your heart strings. While you are the one who will have to put the area to rights, you sympathize for the spirit. He’s new to the cemetery, two years in the grave. You didn’t know him when he was alive, and you haven’t spent much time around him since he arrived. However, you know his grave marker cost less than two hundred and that he never has flowers placed on it. He stands beside it during the day, staring at the cemetery’s entrance. Kyungsoo relaxes his stance. His scythe disappears as he steps forward. From this distance, you fail to hear the exchange between reaper and spirit, but you can see the relief in Mr. Long’s shoulders. A reaper’s duty is to ferry the dead to their final resting place and protect the living from the dead. Kyungsoo will allow Mr. Long to remain in the world of the living and will not resort to drastic measures to protect the living. You’ve heard of reapers who decimate a malevolent spirit without a thought. Kyungsoo has never been like that. Even that first time you met him, he brought the spirit back to sanity. Back then, you had thought he was some kind of superhero. He appeared from nowhere and rescued you and the monster. The conversation ends, and Mr. Long disappears to wherever ghost go. You asked both you grandmother and father where ghosts go when they disappear from the living world. Both blustered without giving a satisfactory explanation. You assume they go rest in their graves. “You’ve returned.” The voice is soft like the footsteps which brought it near you. Glancing up, you find Kyungsoo standing a few feet from you. Your heart quickens and rises through your throat, blocking all words. So you nod. “I am happy to know your family will continue to oversee the cemetery. The caretakers after your father had no place here.” Your head bobs along as you force your heart back into your chest. “I guess not everyone is cut out to work with the dead.” He smiles, and your heart rises once again. You cough and look away. “Your father is well?” You nod, keeping your eyes on the rows of tombstones. “He retired to a beach somewhere.” In a whisper, you ask, “My grandmother?” “She passed beyond when she died. I saw her off well.” As you had thought, your grandmother wasn’t one to linger in the living world. She had done her work and been satisfied with her life. “I look forward to working with you.” His words nearly force your heart from your body. You choke on it, falling off your perch from the violence of your hacking. “Are you unwell?” He crouches before you ensuring you meet his gaze. “Fine.” You croak as you push yourself off the ground and put distance between you two. “I also look forward to working with you. Not that I hope you come a lot because malevolent spirits are bad, but also when you do come I won’t be mad.” Your words peter out, and you wish you could have choked again. Kyungsoo maintains the distance you set, his lips curving down into a pout as you rambled. “Thank you for helping Mr. Long. I’ll take extra care to check on him.” You swerve the conversation. His lips turn up into a soft smile. He glances behind him at plot 112. “He is a good man and will find peace if he allows himself.” When his attention returns to you, you can feel the charge in his eyes. A caretaker’s job is more than maintaining the cemetery’s appearance. The truest duty is held within the title. You must take care of the spirits and help them on their way. You nod. “Thank you.” He bows his head. “I must be going.” In the next instant, the space before you is empty. You remain staring at that space, a forgotten smile on your lips. “I am beginning to understand your lack of suitors.” Your smile sours. You really wish you could slap a ghost.