#hes gotten more mature & hes not stressing himself over every little opinion/thing?

[isa-ghost]

idk man i dont wanna say anything but i gotta dump these thoughts out, theyre driving me crazy

its long and rambly so idk, warning?? :/

edit: oh my god it was so much fucking longer and a bunch of stuff i said isnt there that might change how someone might want to reply to this, bc apparently theres a fucking tag limit tumblr didnt notify me of when i reached it i want to CHUG CLOROX FUCKING CHRIST

and i said not to reblog, PLEASE instead send asks or reply to the post at the end so guess i gotta say that here now thanks tumblr you fuck

[chillwithaster]

SUMMARY: “Wo ho ho there, Kaedehara, where do you think you’re going?” Venti and Xiao moved to grip each of his wrists. If Kazuha had not known any better, he would think they were shackles by how deathly their holds were.

Venti gave him a light smile. As if he’s going to let this bleach-streaked, toothpaste-hogger fiend anywhere close to his date to the-

“Your date?” Xiao started.

Whoops, did he say that out loud?

RELATIONSHIPS : Albedo/Kong | Aether (Genshin Impact) || Kong | Aether/Xiao | Alatus (Genshin Impact || Kong | Aether/Venti (Genshin Impact) || Kaedehara Kazuha/Kong | Aether

Please consider supporting me on Ko-fi because im kind of in a need for extra cash to help out my family during the pandemic ! every little bit helps and I'm giving out incentives for donations ! A dollar for a personalized reviewer and study guide or a genshin fanfiction of your choice !

AO3

“Well, this is most unfortunate.”

Venti could already feel the caffeine in his systems fuel his flight-or-fight response as he saw not one but two of his roommates standing outside the library.

He really needed a drink and pronto.

This was supposed to be his shining moment; the ballad to end all ballads; the righteous bard’s claim to a golden prince’s heart after their loveless rendezvous.

Venti had finally gotten the courage to ask Aether out to the Ludi Harpastum Dance – one of the most anticipated events in the entirety of their university. It was known as a Mondstadtian custom that he himself absolutely adored for its flowers, games, cuisines, and especially romantic atmosphere.

It was going to be perfect, really.

But no, Barbatos above and mighty, these – unsultry fiends decided to rain over such a wonderful parade.

“Agreed.” He shot a half-hearted glare at the white-haired male next to him, who had decided to dress-up from his usual plain tees and jeans.

Instead, Kazuha was wearing a half-buttoned black blazer (one that Venti swore was his, mind you) with black skinny jeans and a white polo-shirt. His hair was tied tighter than his usual lopsided ponytail, and Venti swore the other’s glasses had never been cleaner.

Now, though Venti was quite ecstatic to see his friend out of his usual horrendous fashion-style, he was visibly irked by the bouquet of Carnations in Kazuha’s arms.

“Move. You’re blocking the entrance.” The other two broke from their staring contest to find slitted amber hues.

For as long as Venti knew Xiao, even the Contemporary Music major knew his roommate looked good in a turtleneck.

And unfortunately for him, Xiao knew that too.  

Sporting a sleeveless dark green turtleneck and a black leather jacket fastened firmly around his waist, Xiao glared from behind the brown, large toy dragon plushie he was hugging.

“Uh excuse me.” Venti chirped, a hand to his hip to assert his dominance as their senior. “I was here first, mind you. Now buzz off.”

Xiao cocked a brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re bringing in food to a library.”

The braided boy gawked at him before guiltily looking down at the two boxes of doughnuts in his hands. Boxed in pastel green and white, his warm, delicious, better than what his other roommates could ever bake in their entire life, homemade desserts stared back in shame at the thought of being left behind.

“Of course not!”

Kazuha and Xiao did not believe him.

“Of course…” The Inazuman began before moving past Venti. “Now please excuse me, I need to speak with-“

“Wo ho ho there, Kaedehara, where do you think you’re going?” Venti and Xiao moved to grip each of his wrists. If Kazuha had not known any better, he would think they were shackles by how deathly their holds were.

Venti gave him a light smile. As if he’s going to let this bleach-streaked, toothpaste-hogger fiend anywhere close to his date to the-

“Your date?” Xiao started.

Whoops, did he say that out loud?

Venti turned to his supposed ally as he released Kazuha’s hand. However, despite his fumble, the Cheshire grin on his lips still slashed through. “Yeah. My date to the Ludi Harpastum Dance.”

If looks could kill, Venti would be six feet under.

“Isn’t it quite bold of you to assume he’d want … you?” Kazuha began, scanning him up and down.

“I am offended!” Damn, the senior could feel ten years being subtracted from his time on earth. “And yes I do! Unlike both of you, I’ve known Aether the longest. From all the way ever since he moved here, so that makes me his best friend.”

The other two were not convinced.

“Yeah. Friend.” Venti wanted to hurl something hard into Xiao’s smirk. “And aren’t you more mature than that? For such an old man, you’d think you’d be past using the length of a relationship to measure its worth.”

“I agree with Xiao.” Kazuha hissed from behind, and Venti almost held a high grin at knowing why he was so defensive. Kazuha only had a month in his little pool of Aether interactions, so he knew he stood no chance if that was the criterion. “One’s closeness mustn’t be measured by how much – but rather how well – that time spent together was.”

Venti rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever.”

Honestly, he had not expected this. Especially not from these two.

Venti had always assumed that Xiao wanted nothing to do with relationships, especially since Xiao had made it quite crystal clear to anyone that had tried making moves on him that he was not interested. Same goes for Kazuha, who seemed to be more inclined to pour his focus into his studies in Literature rather than pursuing a love life.

But alas, here they are.

“Excuse me.” The three snap out of their heated staring contest to find a mop of kempt blond hair behind them.

Albedo stared at the three suspicious figures with a raised brow. As the junior librarian of the campus, it was his job to make sure students were not loitering outside to cause a mess.

“You’re keeping others from entering. If you have no business here, could you please go back to your dormitories.” His eyes shift to the pastries in Venti’s arms. “No food inside.”

Venti could just hear the snickers from behind him.

“Right, of course.” He started. “Sorry, Albedo.”

The three would have moved to allow the blond entrance had Kazuha not seen the striking figure painted diligently on the canvas in Albedo’s arm.

“Wait.” The albino held a hand to Albedo’s shoulder. “That painting…”

The bright crimson on Albedo’s cheeks was already a dead giveaway.

Venti and Xiao stopped in horror before peering over Albedo’s shoulder. Ah shit.

Drawn with the precision only the famed Kreideprinz could attain was a figure basked in golden locks. The figure’s face was turned away ever so slightly from the viewer, framed by light bangs as soft eyes gazed longingly into the sunset behind them. But even without seeing any other details, the two already knew who this was.

Suddenly, a plushie and a batch of doughnuts just felt sad.

Albedo turned to face the trio, shamefully hiding the portrait behind his figure.

“You like Aether?” Venti began.

“Yes, and what of it?” Albedo brought his jacket’s sleeve to his mouth, covering the bright blush he was harboring. “I don’t believe that I have any reason to be quite ashamed of such…and for you to be so scrutinizing…”

The three stared at him like kicked puppies.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Albedo stopped and looked at the gifts in their hands.

“Ah.”

The weight of the situation just immediately dawned on the four.

“It seems the captor of ours hearts knows no restraint.” Kazuha sighed wistfully.

Xiao said nothing, but a nod was sufficient.

“…Are you all here to also ask him to the dance?” Albedo leaned on the door.

Even without an answer, he already knew.

“We can’t just go in there.” Xiao sighed. “It’ll end in a disaster, trust me.”

“But we cannot just let such an opportunity pass.” Venti saw how Kazuha was almost ready to barge in the doors for himself.

“Right, right, calm down there, he’s not going anywhere.” Venti offered.

Albedo moved to turn around, and the three watched him peer through the library’s wooden doors.

There seated amongst several stacks of books was their culprit. Aether had a textbook over his head and a whale pillow under his folded arms. With how slow his chest was rising, the four knew he was asleep.

“I should scold him next time. The library is not his bedroom.” Albedo smiled fondly at the figure, and the other three could only stare in defeat.

There was no way they could just barge in there and disturb his peace like that. Especially not when he looks so exhausted. Aether would just be overwhelmed by all their invitations, and the last thing they wanted was to be a burden to their beloved.

“So, now what?” Venti moved out of the way, glancing in confusion at the other three.

Kazuha and Xiao shared a look, but it was Albedo that first opened his mouth.

“We should take him to a date. A proper one. One from each of us. And one where we could help him alleviate his stress and show him a good time.”

The three stopped in consideration.

Albedo continued. “Think about it. He’s quite exhausted. If our feelings for him are genuine, then we should be willing to console him when he needs us the most. And only then – perhaps -  he can decide who he wishes to take to the dance.”

Venti had wished his first date with Aether were under different circumstances.

But at the same time…he isn’t against the thought of spoiling Aether silly. Even if it is shared sentimentally with three other people.

After a moment, it was Kazuha that gave an opinion. “But we should set ground rules. If the purpose of this date to help Aether unwind, it is imperative that none of us ask him to the dance.”

“Why?” Xiao crossed his arms. “Then wouldn’t that just render our dates pointless?”

“Not quite.” Kazuha offered a smile. “Aether’s happiness should come first.”

Xiao agreed in a heartbeat.

“Okay, let’s go with that.” Venti smiled at the prospect.

Yeah, Aether’s happiness is the topmost priority. And if none of them could provide that for Aether, then Venti thinks that none of them (himself included) are worthy of Aether’s kindness!

“But…” His thoughts blank. “Can I go last?”

“Why?” Albedo raised a brow.

“My paycheck doesn’t come until next Thursday.”

If his peers had one thing in common, it was how stupid they could make someone feel just by staring.

“I had to cut back time for my classes, okay? Sheesh!” Venti argued.

“Then that’s settled.” Albedo sighed.

“May I go first?” Kazuha offered, and though none of the other males seemed to object, Xiao was quick to reply with a sharp ‘why’. The albino bashfully chuckled. “There is a musical I have been meaning to bring him to that is in three days. It would be a shame to miss it.”

There were no objections.

Albedo raised an open palm, only to be met with several blank stares.

“A form of contract. May the best man win.”

The blonds lips were quirked upward slightly, and though apprehensive, Venti shook his hand.

Venti wasn’t the smartest person, but he wasn’t dumb either.

He may not know a lot when it comes to studies, but he knows one thing.

When these three wanted something, they would break the earth just to get their way.

“Indeed! May the winds guide you in your endeavor.”

But it also takes one to know one.

[nepenthendline]

Heyyy, could you do a headcannon post for tsukki, kenma, suga, Kageyama, and kurro, and how they would go about proposing to their s/o. I love your writing btw!!! 💜

proposal hcs make me so sOFT, and thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺 It means a lot! I’m going to bury myself in these hcs to get rid of the stress my uni are giving me rn also kageyama’s is so long omg i got a little carried away

slight timeskip spoilers (kenma, sugawara, kageyama, kuroo)

Requests are open!

Proposal Headcanons - Tsukishima, Kenma, Sugawara, Kageyama and Kuroo

Tsukishima:

Tsukishima wasn’t one for extravagant publics displays of love and affection, so his proposal wouldn’t be either

he wanted it to be natural, not some crazy, over-the-top event that had everyone in the neighbourhood witnessing

it would be around 5-10 years (depending on how old you were when you started dating) of being together when Tsukishima decided he wanted to marry you, it’s not that he never thought about it, he just wanted to be sure this was the right decision for both of you

he had mentioned marriage to you one night a few months before proposing to test the waters and see your opinion so that he could gauge whether you would say yes or not

he took Yamaguchi with him to pick out a ring, he was great friends with you too so he knew your style and preferences well to help out Tsukishima

the proposal itself what somewhat planned, he knew the day he was going to do it but, other than that, he left it open to change

the two of you had gone for an evening walk across a pathway that overlooked the town, something you two do often to wind down

you two hadn’t spoke much, a comfortable, warm silence surrounding you besides pointing out the odd squirrel or brief check-ups on each others day

both of you had stopped at a railing on your walk, leaning against it to watch the sun set over the tall buildings

his hand was in yours, brushing his thumb over the back of it as he looked out to the view

“I love you (Y/N),” his voice was quiet but it seemed certain

he wasn’t the kind of man that told you he loved you multiple times a day, it was reserved for special moments and the times where he couldn’t get how lucky he was to have you out of his mind

“I love you too Kei,” you didn’t need to be loud, or shout your confession to the world to know that you both meant it deeply

“Marry me,” it sounded more like a instruction than a question and his gaze hadn’t left the sky

“W-what?” had you heard him wrong? was this a joke?

he turned his eyes to you, locking them with yours - this was the most serious and sincere you had ever seen him

“Marry me,” he repeated

you stood with your mouth slightly open, eyes wide as he pulled out a box from his pocket, opening it to display a simple, yet stunning ring

“I always thought that if you went for what you truly wanted, it would just end in pain and disappointment, that all the effort and sentiment would be for nothing, but with you it’s so easy. I might never be, but I want to become the best man for you, that you deserve, so marry me.”

Kenma:

gets married for tax purposes

marriage was not something Kenma had ever though about in his life growing up

he never thought he would get married or find someone he had a connection with and, honestly, he was fine with that

he didn’t really see the appeal of it in the first place

it wasn’t until many years down the line of being with you and his friends around him getting into relationships when he started to consider the possibility

the first time it came into his head was at Kuroo’s wedding

he spent most of the time wishing he could go home and get out of this uncomfortable suit, but there were times when he say Kuroo’s beaming smile that he was glad he came

some of the ex-nekoma team members had poked at him with questions of when he was going to get ‘hitched’, which he responded to with a sigh

he certainly wasn’t going to propose because others told him he needed to

the next time it crossed his mind was when he started a new game that his fans had recommended he play

it was a romance game which wasn’t his usual go-to genre, but it had incredible reviews and created a storm in the gaming world so he thought he might as well check it out

through the game he got to witness an endearing story of a couple that went at odds to be together

the story delved into their married life and all the little things they enjoyed together through the years

he didn’t really want to admit it, but it did make him feel a little emotional

he saw himself and you in the characters, as if he was watching his own life play out on his screen

every now and then you and Kenma played some games together so you could spend time with him and he could show you want had been interesting him lately, so he decided to show you this game

you thought it was adorable, so heartwarming yet a little sad at points, but you had always been a little more outwardly emotional then Kenma

“imagine if we got married haha, how cute would that be!” you gushed out in the moment without thinking as you played

“eh...I guess” it wasn’t really the answer you were hoping for, but at least he didn’t sound utterly disgusted by the thought

you continued to play with him for a while, tucked into his side and making comments every now and then

a particular endearing part was plating on the screen and your eyes shone as they fixated on the characters

he could tell by the glassy look that you were getting a little affected by the story, but you looked so cute

the way your lip pouted ever so slightly, and how you gripped at his hoodie, as if to steady yourself

he had a sudden rush of adoration for you, he really did love you and the last couple years of you living together had been wonderful, how he got to wake up beside you, do daily chores with you, how you supported him in his many careers

“Maybe we should get married,” he blurted out, you whipped your head towards him so fast you almost got whiplash

“Are you...proposing?” you questioned, with somewhat of a laugh in your voice

“huh...looks like I am.”

Sugawara:

Sugawara was sensible, mature, a little bit of a tease and sometimes chaotic if Daichi wasn’t watching but also traditional

he had often thought about what it would be like to grow up, get married and have a family

it wouldn’t take long before he knew he wanted to marry you, even throughout the 3 years you had already been together he had daydreamed about marrying you more times than he could count

from all the memories you had together, all the times you helped enough other in rough patches and the learning the two of you wanted to continue in the future had him certain that he wanted you beside him forever

so he set out his plan

he took his old teammates, Daichi and Asahi with him on a hunt to find the perfect ring

Daichi was there to keep him in check and calm his nerves, although Asahi was probably the most nervous and Asahi had a great eye for stylish, beautiful pieces due to his designing career

now it was time to plan

he didn’t want it to be crazy, but he wanted it to be something, a whole event in itself

so he scheduled a meal for the two of you and some of your friends

it was at quite a fancy restaurant in the evening and your group had its own secluded table at the back, surrounded with dividers from the rest of the restaurant

all of you spent the meal catching up and laughing, but Sugawara seemed a little quieter than usual

you had asked him if he was ok, but he just replied with an ‘of course!’ and a smile, so you let it be

Asahi was shaking but you put that off to general anxiety

you guys had ordered desserts and everyone had gotten theirs first

as the waiter brought yours over, the table went silent

the waiter came from your left, Sugawara on your right, so you had looked over as he came

as he set the plate down, you noticed the words spelled out in chocolate sauce 

“Will you marry me?” 

you gasped and turned towards Sugawara, who was now on one knee next to you, holding out an open ring box

“I have known for so long that I wanted to marry you. You’re beautiful, smart, courageous and so loving, and I want to have you by my side forever. I promise I will continue to grow as your partner and take care of you every step of the way, so, will you marry me?”

Kageyama:

the only thing in this boy’s brain is you and volleyball, its all his one braincell can cope with

that being said, he has never once thought about marriage

his whole life he has spend all his energy and focus on becoming a better player, the best setter he possibly can and standing on the court longer

but you were the first person to get him, to understand him and accept him as is while helping him improve and grow

you helped him to open up and communicate with people better

you helped him whenever he was frustrated with volleyball and a certain play he was working tirelessly on

you never once turned your back on him when he struggled or lost his temper

you were his partner, but it was different from a volleyball partner

he cared for you, every part of you, and always wanted to know if you were ok or spend time with you

you made him genuinely smile everyday and he knew that he wanted to be your partner for life

it came about when he was hanging out with Hinata on one of their rare days off to catch up

he had been talking about you constantly, expressing how much he loved you and adored you

“Why don’t you just marry them?” Hinata questioned with his held tilted, as if it was obvious

“w-what? Hinata boke!” he shouted as his face grew red and pushed Hinata aside

the two talked about it and Kageyama decided, very bashfully, that yeah, he should just marry you

but how does he ask you that?

he knew nothing about marriage or proposals, so he spend the next few weeks asking his friends, teammates, even his coach on how to propose to you

“Take them to an expensive restaurant!”

“Wouldn’t it be cute to propose in Disneyland??”

“Well, I proposed to my partner by sending them on a scavenger hunt”

he was bombarded with ideas, but none of them seemed right

none of them seemed like him

he was getting frustrated with the pressure of coming up with a good way to ask you to be his forever, it had to be perfect, it had to be special and it had to fit with your relationship

you noticed he was getting agitated a lot more recently, he was quieter and snapped more often, he stayed back later at the gym to train and he rarely ate dinner with you anymore

whenever you asked what the problem was, he replied with an ‘it’s nothing’ and stormed off

his teammates had noticed too and were less than pleased with his attitude as it affected their gameplay

one of his teammates had begged you to come to the gym and talk some sense into him when he started continuously overworking himself

it was 7pm when you set off from your house to the gym where he was still training

as you entered, you noticed that he was the only one here, hitting serve after serve that never seemed to land right

“Tobio,” you called out

“Baby,” you tried again but you couldn’t catch his attention from his deep focus on the ball

you walked over to him and lightly grabbed his arm, stopping him from serving the ball again

“Tobio, what’s wrong? Everyone is worried about you. Are you having trouble with a play? Because we can sort that out with your coach-”

he cut you off by mumbling something under his breath, much too quiet for you to hear

“What was that?” 

“I want to ask you to marry me and I don’t know how,” he said louder this time, his eyes staring at the ball in his hand as he gripped it tightly

“O-oh, right...” you were stunned, speechless, this wasn’t something you thought you would hear from him

“Everyone’s been telling me how to do it, but none of them seem right,” his voice was low and his gaze still hadn’t let the ball

you put a finger under his chin and lifted his face towards you

“It doesn’t need to be what everyone else tells you, we can do things our own way,” you tried to comfort him with a smile and he simply stared back at you

“So go on then,” you were beaming at him by now, yet his face got even tighter with confusion

“Go on, ask me to marry you.”

his jaw hung wide open, his eyes seemed to be staring into your skull like he had seen a ghost, this is certainly not what he expected

he tried to speak a couple times, stumbling on his words as they got caught in his throat

“It’s ok, take your time,” you brushed your thumb over the back of his hand as you held it, encouraging him to continue

“w-will you....will...willyoumarryme?”

BONUS: you two picked out a ring together afterwards, this boy has no sense of style, don’t trust him by himself

Kuroo:

Kuroo had jokingly asked you to marry time multiple times throughout your relationship

the first couple times ended with you being a blushing mess while he teased you

but by now you just tell him to shut up go off sis

marrying you had always been part of the plan for him, just a natural progression of your relationship

while Kuroo can be quite the tease, he was extremely serious of his relationship with you and your future

he started off his plan by asking your dad if he would like to spend the day together, you know, father-son-in-law bonding time

what your dad wasn’t prepared for was Kuroo to turn up in a shirt, suit trousers and confess how he wanted to marry you

he had a whole speech prepared about how he would be the best husband for you, how he would be sure to take good care of you and, possibly, be the best father in the future if you planned to have children

you dad had to eventually shut him up as Kuroo kept going, saying how he would be delighted to have you marry the man

step one: check

now he needed to find the right ring

he had a look around at multiple stores but he couldn’t find anything that was unique enough to be called yours and that captured you or your relationship

since Kuroo had quite the high-paying job plus a little backing from a certain famous youtuber so the cost wasn’t an issue and he wanted to spoil you

so he got one custom made

he sat with a designer for hours creating the most stunning, distinctive ring that he knew you would love

step two: check

over the next couple days he planned a meet-up evening with your family and his where he would pop the question

you both had spent the day cooking and preparing for the evening before they all come to your house

you had all finished dinner and moved over to the living room to chat

Amidst all the chatter, Kuroo stood up and cleared his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention

“I have something I’d like to say,” he said with confidence, then turning to you with a grin

“The last few years with you have been perfect. We’ve had some ups and downs, but we have made so many amazing memories together. You really are my other half and I think everyday about how truly lucky I am to call you mine. You know me better than anyone else. I know I’ve asked you this a couple times in the past when we’re laughing together, but this time I’m serious,”

he got down on one knee, holding one of your hands while presenting the custom ring in the other

“will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

and the crowd goes wild

Tagging @togasknifes so she can read Kageyama ty ly

[aikrus]

Little Looks

Fandom: Bnha / Mha

Pairings: Todoroki x Reader, Bakugo x Reader  Warnings: Takes place in season 4, references Child abuse, nods to scarring from parental figures, and breakups Words: 7,106 Requested by: No one, but feel free to request!!  Request/Summary: Everyone has things to deal with, just as everyone has different ways to cope. Some push away those they love, others cry themselves to sleep. There are also the few who throw themselves into helping others. No matter how you cope with the struggles you face, a helping hand rarely hurts.

      The walls between the dorms were a little too thin. Everything could be heard across the shallow space that separated the students, it was hard to hide anything. Whether it be their taste in music, friends, or tv shows, your dorm-neighbor knew everything about them.

In Y/n’s case, her unfortunate neighbor had to hear her talking to Shoto late into the night. Ever time he walked her to her room, every time he spent the night- they heard every goodbye and I love you, but now...

Bakugo didn’t like to bother himself with class drama. He never cared about who was dating who or people’s preferences- it held no effect on him so why would he? That was... until he met her.

Y/n was this spunky girl who always had an opinion but never bothered to share it. She always had something to say, but the words never passed her lips. He always wondered what she was thinking about, why she wouldn’t say it. But then he found out.

Y/n held onto all her words, every opinion she had everything she would have said. She kept them to herself- until she could spill every word in her heart to Half-n-Half. 

It hurt, but he got it. That bastard was her boyfriend- it only made sense that she would tell him more than anyone else. Doesn’t mean it hurts less. It fucking sucked.

Lying in bed- long after he usually fell asleep, Katsuki had to hear her squeal into the phone, hear her laugh and joke, he had to hear her fall in love. With every passing second, it hurt more and more, and the pillow he clutched onto over his head did nothing to muffle her voice. Bakugo was curled into a ball, tears streaming down his face while he cried- silent sobs shaking his body and making him feel like there was a hole in his chest. Maybe there was.

She was perfect, the only person he could stand in this god-awful world. It was hard to pinpoint when he first fell in love with her, with the loud girl who said nothing. 

Perhaps it was the entrance exams- despite being in his arena she came out on top. Sacrificing moments for others yet still getting a few good points herself. Besides, seeing a cute girl take down a huge robot for no reason other than she wanted to (the person she was saving didn’t matter) was really hot. 

But maybe it was the first day when she came second in the class ranking for the stupid tests Aizawa Sensai made them do. Competing against her made him feel challenged- but it was in a different way than he felt with Deku or Half-N-Half- it was a good way. 

It also could have been during the break-in at the natural disaster center. Watching her fight her way back to the entrance and seeing her run in front of others to defend her classmates definitely made him respect Y/n more than he had before- more than he respected everyone else.

He couldn’t forget about the Sports Festival. Seeing her fight her way to the top, Y/n was always kind until it was time she wasn’t. The intensity she fought with proved that she was there for a purpose. Sure she was a little messy, but she got herself first place. Watching her fight against Todoroki was amazing, she used everything she had, and there were so many new tricks that no one had seen before, it was amazing. 

Bakugo had to have fallen in love with her by the time internships rolled around. She had convinced Aizawa-Sensai to take her on for an internship (something that hasn’t happened for years), and he watched her change into a different person, seeing her mature and think through every possibility was breath-taking, and he loved her, even more, every time she predicted someone’s next move. 

And even if he didn’t love her by then, he adored her by the time camp rolled around. She owned the forest with how she used her quirk and the way she pushed herself further than anyone else was amazing. He also enjoyed seeing that there was someone there other than him who could function in a kitchen. Seeing her cook for her classmates proved how much she cared for everyone, even though she wasn’t particularly close with most of them.

Seeing the look of pain on her face when he was taken from the camp hurt him more than anything the villains did to him. They had never actually talked much at that point, but he knew she cared for him by the pain in her eyes. She was all he thought about when he was being held, and when she reached out to him during the rescue it felt like everything was right with the world.

And now he had to watch her seem to fall into a depression. While he was making up for failing the license exam she was doing her work study, and she was doing it all with stupid Deku. 

The first day they sat at lunch, she sat in her usual seat with Yaoyarozu. After that, she and Deku ended up sitting next to each other- both with painful looks in their eyes. Bakugo couldn’t look at her, she had so much sorrow in those y/e/c eyes of hers, he was thrown back to when he was kidnapped- and he couldn’t handle that again.

Ever since she joined Deku and the weirdo from the big-three, she was crying. Every night, right after silence had taken over the building, he would hear these soft, gasping cries from her room. It hurt to hear them, it always sounded so painful.

Y/n had always been used to crying herself to sleep, self-soothing was a given ability when a person has a quirk people feared. She was used to the pain, the abuse, she could take it. 

She could handle the lying in bed for hours awake, silently crying herself to sleep. She was used to the teary eyes and the burning in her throat from wanting to scream but knowing that making a sound wasn’t an option. She knew what it was like to not be able to breathe, to have to hold on to her stomach from the wrenching pain and keep a hand on the top of her head from the migraine that would form. 

In time though, she had gotten sloppy. Having a laughing, caring personality ruined her stone-wall approach to problems like these, and she was louder than she was at home- Y/n blamed this on the dorms. It made her soft. 

Of course she was crying about Eri, if she had just gone with her instinct- every fiber in her being was telling her to get the girl as far away from Overhaul as possible. She should have done what she believed in- Mirio had stopped her. Y/n understood where he was coming from, but he should have followed her on this. Midoriya was being over-emotional if he hadn’t been so abrasive with the pair then maybe...

No! She couldn’t blame anyone else, this was her fault. The girl was in her arms, she was holding onto her, and Y/n let her go. She ran back to him; because he was going to get violent. She saw it in his eyes, and she was willing to take the blow so that Y/n and her friends wouldn’t get hurt. What a brave little girl.

And sure, the whole Todoroki situation wasn’t making her feel any better. He had pulled Y/n aside earlier that day. She assumed he would talk to her about her sudden mood change, but that wasn’t what happened. He told her that he didn’t want to break up, but he needed a break to focus on catching up with everyone else.

Since then, he hasn't said a word to her. He avoided his girlfriend at all costs, and it really hurt. He told her that they weren’t over, was that because he still wanted to be with her but was overwhelmed, or because he wanted to be done with her but wanted to keep her there if he ever felt like coming back? Was he busy, or did he just not love her anymore?

Her quirk did her no favors, Override was constantly giving her anxiety, and the effect it had on others only hurt more. Sure she could have read his thoughts, but was Y/n ready to hear that answer? Was this her destiny? To fuck everything up and cry herself to sleep?

The gasps were sharper now, they cut through her chest like a dagger and echoed in her room. She wanted sleep, Y/n had been fighting off insomnia for the majority of her life, but it always worsened with stress.

At times like these, she would usually turn to Shinso, a fellow student who ended up in the General Studies course despite having a similar quirk to her. He approached her after the festival to ask about her quirk, and once they saw how similar they were, they learned to latch on to each other.

It was rare to connect with someone with a similar quirk outside of one’s own family, but Shinso and Y/n was a blessing in disguise. They connected with each other over people's fear of them, telling them they would be better as villains. Trust came hard for them, people always assumed they would manipulate their way to the top. 

Both having the ability to dictate other's actions was a unique coincidence, and surprisingly Shinso wasn’t overly-jealous of Y/n’s other abilities. Having someone able to read his mind was a nice way to keep him in check, plus they could communicate without others over-hearing what he was saying.

Sure knowing that she also had the power to use a shimmery, translucent, deep red, aura-like stream of fog to manipulate and move objects was a little bothersome, but that just meant he didn’t have to get up and grab his own tray at lunch. 

Sadly, Y/n remembered that Shinso had been pulling all-nighters to train on his own, so it was a safe assumption that he would be asleep by now- exhausted by his training. Shoto was also out of the question, he wanted nothing to do with her.

Her other friends wouldn’t be able to talk with her about what was going on, they were sworn to secrecy, and she wasn’t close to anyone else that was doing hero-work with her. Deku was nice and all, but he was too high-strung. He also wouldn’t understand why it was bothering her so much. No one would understand, except for Shoto.

The small gasps still echoed throughout the room, and she rotated her pillow every few minutes to get away from the water. It was so cold, it was so quiet. All alone, she had no one- no one was there, no one cared about here, they would be fine without her- she was always gonna be alone-

Short shallow knocks rasped at her door, snapping Y/n out of the hyperventilating breaths she had fallen into. 

“You okay in there?” A gruff voice asked, stained with sleep and lack of usage.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” she called out, not entirely sure of who she was talking to. 

“Okay,” the voice said. It was awkward waiting for a response, but neither wanted to talk before the other.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, almost unsure of whether Y/n would hear him or not, and he almost hoped she didn’t, but the shallow ‘night’ that echoed back to him proved she had better ears than he thought she did.  

-------

That morning she woke up to a cheery song being played through her wall. Normally waking up to someone blaring music would have pissed her off, but Kelly Clarkson's What Doesn’t Kill You was echoing through her floor, and it almost felt like it was being played for her- as ridiculous as it sounded. 

It was a stupid song, but she would invite Momo over for a hag-out / sleep-over after a stressful lesson or exam, and they would scream the words to the classic song. 

After getting into her school uniform, Y/n slowly made her way to breakfast. The smell of pancakes made their way into the halls, but she stopped by the room next to hers. She had never been in there, but seeing it in the light reminded her of who resigned in it. 

Bakugo Katsuki. The fiery blond that seemed to have a problem with everyone. The sparky guy who was always willing to fight for the smallest of reasons. The stranger that talked to her last night.

It was hard to imagine it. He had always been so aggressive, so hostile, the small voice that checked in on her last night just didn’t fit him, but still it made so much sense in a way that she couldn’t explain. 

---------

The rest of the day was weird to say the least. Y/n and the other work study students were put on standby while they waited for news on the operation, but that was only one of the things that were out of place.

Ever now and then, Y/n would sneak a look at Bakugo. Had he even known it was her? Did is matter to him? Why had he reached out to her? Was there a reason? It was a difficult situation, but she’s faced worse scenarios before. 

For now, Y/n relished in the moments where she would catch him looking at her. The blush that would light up his face before he turned away from her, the way he would abruptly stop talking if they made eye contact, it made little butterflies scatter in her stomach, the kind of feeling where staying still isn’t an option, and the heat in her chest isn’t stemming from pain. The kind of feeling where what ifs and maybes flash in her vision.

She could see it, if they were together. She could see coffee dates, she could practically feel his hand holding hers. The walks after curfew, the shushing each other when they stay up late laughing. Maybe they could cuddle and watch movies, go on dates to paint the town red. He could be her prince, as long as he never hid her away in a tower.

Though Bakugo was never one to spend time on damsels in distress, at least not for a partner. He would want someone to ride along side him, someone to keep up and help him if he needed it. He wouldn’t want a fragile flower, and he would never treat her like she was. He wan’t an equal, not a follower.

---------

Bakugo couldn’t think straight all day. She was everywhere he looked, always smiling, always doing something. She wouldn’t get out of his head, maybe that’s why he kept looking over at her. She was just so sad, it only makes sense that, as her classmate, he would worry about her. What if she brought down the class average? That wouldn’t be good.

And yes, he was playing a cheesy girl empowerment song, and no he wasn’t embarrassed. I mean sure, he was, but the smile on her face that morning definitely helped ease the pain.

He hadn’t told anyone about his feelings, why would he? And even if there was a reason, who would he tell? Sero’s a dumb ass, Mina would gossip to the entire school, Denki would do something stupid, and Kirishima would never shut up about it. It made sense to just, keep it to himself. For now.

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

That night, laughter was heard from Y/n’s room for the first time in a while. And who could blame her? Even with all the pain she was facing right now, it was easy to laugh at Bakugo’s dumb jokes. The dad puns were so out of character for him, it was just the thing she needed. The best feeling though, was when they laughed together. 

His voice was slightly higher when he laughed. He was one of the people who laughed inwards- choking on the air he was trying to breath. It was a contagious kind of laugh that made those around him happier. It was so rare and beautiful, and it was so perfectly him. 

----

The jokes late at night morphed into a good morning and goodnight whispered through the drywall, which eventually became conversations while they got ready for bed or to face the school day.

After that, they would stop by each others room. It started with Y/n needed a towel (her’s were slowly stolen by the girls of 1-A), and Bakugo always had a few spare. 

This morphed into waiting for each other to walk together, which then became study sessions. After that, late night studying became hangouts. Whether it be a ridiculously sized puzzle or a horror movie, a cheesy chick-flick or slapstick comedy, they had movie nights more than they didn’t.

And then, it was more likely for them to be in the others room instead of their own. He would sit next to her, wrapped in a giant blanket watching hundreds of horror movies- but it was always followed by something stupid (fifty first dates became a staple). Maybe the jokes weren’t very funny, but it was enough to make Y/n laugh, so it was enought to make Bakugo laugh in return. And as she his behind her hair, she could see a little look her sent her way, his eyes twinkled and it almost felt like this was it- he was her soulmate. 

 And one night, after studying for an upcoming test, Bakugo fell asleep on her bed. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, but he usually would wake up from his naps hours ago- but Y/n guessed he would just spend the night.

But then, her phone rang. She darted out of her room to met with the other work-study students. They would leave to get Eri in the morning, but for now they needed sleep.

---------

The mission was a success. Eri was saved, but nothings all sunshine and rainbows. There were many injuries. Luckily, Deku remained mostly healthy. That couldn’t be said for everyone thought. Mirio’s quirk was gone, and that was a harsh blow for him to take. The loss of Sir Nighteye devastated him and Y/n, who had grown close to the jokester during her short time with him.

However, that wasn’t the only thing weighting on Y/n. In the heat of the battle, one Mirio was taken out, Y/n was the only one able to protect Eri for around twenty minutes. All of the work was placed onto her. 

Override was an extraordinarily powerful quirk, and it has taken her years to gain control over it. It was often bigger than herself, responding to her emotions more often than her orders. The fight was fresh in her mind, the fear running through her, the adrenaline that kept her going. The pain in her body was everywhere, but it wasn’t about her. It was about the little girl who had felt too much and seen to little. 

She couldn’t give up, Eri had to be saved. Manipulating the large debris scattered around the room was the easy part. Throwing them at Overhaul and protecting Eri was second nature. It was too easy to put distance between them. It was Mirio that challenged her strength.

The anguish he was is seeped into her mind, Y/n’’s aura was easily tainted by the stress of others. Eri was small and had a heart of gold, Y/n knew she had full trust in the female would-be hero. It was Mirio that had his doubts. 

His fear attacked her, and his pain tangled her mind into knots with no walls to protect it. He made it hard to focus, and the pain was unbelievable- but she pushed through. Constantly rebuilding the barrier around Eri, moving Overhaul back further and further, until he was pinned.

It was then Y/n changed her focus. The strain Mirio put on her made the manipulation of the objects too difficult to maintain, so instead she focused on pinning Overhaul. She had to focus, one wrong move and he would be dead- Y/n couldn’t handle another persons blood on her hands.

The red aura that was an extension of herself enveloped his body. Working its way through his ears, in his mouth and noes, it slowly made its way to his brain. She wrapped around it, slowly encasing it wit her aura, until he had gone limp and completely immobile. 

She saw every thought in his head, the memories, his hopes, dreams, his greatest accomplishments and worse fears. She saw his neglection, how he was tossed aside. She witnessed his plan, how he was ignored by his father, and the awful things he did behind closed doors. What he said to the league, and the pain he was in right now.

The pain was triggering memories to come rushing up. UA was a great school, but Shoto was everywhere- scattered in her brain. He left, alone. He doesn’t love her anymore, he never did. The classroom was just a place where he fooled her tricked her. He abandoned her. He was like Overhaul’s mentor. The betrayal, the hurt.  She felt it from him, it seeped into her mind, twisting her reality. What he felt what he thought, they became a part of her. They mixed with her own emotions, her memories warped around his pain. 

Y/n was well aware of how this hurt him, and it hurt her when she did it. All the pain he was in was shared to her, straining and causing tears to form in her eyes. She could take it- the pain was nothing. Eri was all that mattered, she could hold on until help arrived. He couldn’t escape, she couldn’t let him. If she was going to be trash for the rest of her life,  if what they told her was right. If she was a villain, if she could never accomplish anything, if she would be no better than they said she was, at least she could do this. 

No one had come to save her, she had to save herself. There was not a chance in hell Y/n would let this poor little girl face the same pain she did, all the trauma and the hurt, it ruined her. It broke her, and Eri deserves more than what Y/n had. She can be free, she can be saved by someone other than herself.

Though Y/n and Overhaul were trapped in time, the outside world was still moving. Mirio was losing consciousness, and Eri was confused. All the noises had stopped, nothing was happening. Was it over? 

She crawled out of the rock pillar that had formed around her, and what she saw was terrifying. Ruble was everywhere, no where was like how it used to be. And there she was, the girl with the same look in her eyes, the one with the same marks on her body, the bigger version of herself. 

Why was there so much red in her air? Why wasn’t she moving? Where was everyone?

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

Most of the students had been cleared to go back to school. Eri was placed into isolation, and Mirio had a few more days left. Y/n was supposed to stay for a few more weeks. The duration that she used Override for was more than her mind could take, and her arms had several fractures from debris flying off when she was fighting. Her mind was put under such enormous amount of strain, it had put up amnesia walls to cope.

This has blocked many of the details of the passed few days linked to the significant trauma. While the school was aware of this as a possible drawback from her quirk, they had not made the preparations needed if this ever happened. As a result, she was not cleared to go until they had safely learned what she had blocked from her memory. 

News of this had spread faster than the teachers predicted, by the following day the entire school knew of Y/n’s condition. She herself was unaware of the barriers- the entire reason the amnesia walls exist is to prevent her from knowing. Because of this, Y/n only knew that she had injuries and was taken to the hospital.

Aizawa had stayed stayed at the hospital, looking in through her window from time to time to check in on her. He had been the one who knew the most about the girl. He had gone to her home with Allmight when they were getting parents permission for the students to move into the new campus. 

---

“Who’s next?” Aizawa asked, cramped next to the man who’s simply too big for this worlds current accommodations.

“Y/l/n Y/n, do you think her parents will be hard to convince?” Allmight asked, looking up from the girls file.

“Not a clue. She’s a sweet girl, but she has her moments where she shuts down. I suppose if her parents are a reflection of her personality, they would understand where we are coming from, but they might take a little convincing. Y/n’s a stubborn girl, I can only assume she gets that from her parents,”

“So who’s gonna take the lead?” All might said, awaiting a response from the sudden silence in the air.

The hero pair hadn’t notice when the driver took a turn down a rode leading to the darker side of town. The hero’s patrolled these streets more often than not- it was hard to assume any of there students, let alone one as bright as Y/n, was a part of this neighborhood. It’s rude to make assumptions, but the stereotypes surrounded these streets more than anywhere else. 

They pulled up to an apartment building. She lived on one of the highest floors, apartment 7D. The entrance to the building had no security nor doorman waiting for guests. No one greeted them, the base floor was abandoned. 

Ignoring the minor inconvenience of the broken elevator, the pair made there way up six flights of stairs with no complaints, only wondering how long the elevator had been broken for.

The lights in the halls flickered, and loud music carried through the thick doors. People were yelling in adjacent rooms, and a dog was barking somewhere. Then they approached the last, and only silent, door.

Aizawa knocked loudly, hoping Y/n’s parents could hear it over the noise of their neighbors. To their limited surprise, Y/n’s voice called out to them. 

“Who’s there?” Her cheerful voice was so out of place in this floor of people. She looked through the peep-hole, and was taken aback to see her teachers outside her door.

She unlocked the four locks she installed on her door, and greeted them. “Hello Sensai’s! I wasn’t expecting a visit,” she told them, opening her door. 

“Hello, young Y/l/n, are your parents home?” Allmight asked, smiling at the girl.

“Uhh, why don’t you both come inside? My neighbors can be noisy if they don’t know I have company over. I would have talked to them if you gave me a heads up,” she explained, opening her door all the way. 

The two cautiously entered her home, they made an effort not to be rude. Her apartment was small, if it could even be called that. She had a living room to the right of the door, and a small open kitchen to the left. A short hallway branched out in between, most likely holding a bedroom and bathroom. It was a petite apartment, one that they couldn’t believe could house multiple people.

“Don’t mind the bags on the counter, I just got home from grocery shopping. I was making myself a cup of tea, could I offer either of you something? I have tea, water, juice, I still have a hot pot of coffee if you would like,” she said, making her way to the kitchen to take the kettle of the eye.

“Some tea would be nice, if you wouldn’t mind,” Aizawa said, carefully eyeing the apartment before fallowing All might's lead and sitting on the couch.

“Of course, Allmight?”

“I wouldn’t mind some tea, thank you,” he said, his voice slowly getting lower.

The same thoughts were running through both of their heads. Everything was falling together. The walls had no family photos, just some of her with children they didn’t recognize, and a few with some of her classmates. A couple school awards were up on the walls, and the house had a few scattered decorations, such as small plants and white rugs, along with cream colored half-knitted blanket on a one-seater facing across the couch. This was the home of someone who preferred activities and socialization. There was no tv in sight. 

“Here you go, careful- they’re still hot,” Y/n said, giving them both their cups of tea. All of the mugs had either quotes from tv shows or beautiful designs, they all fit so perfectly with Y/n’s personality.

“So, Y/n,” Aizawa said, trying to figure out a way to phrase his words.

“I guess I should explain, huh?” She sighed and took a seat across from them, placing her mug on the coffee table and grabbing her knitting supplies. “I was emancipated a few weeks after my fourteenth birthday. Because I’m technically a minor, the government sealed away that information from all my school records, they worried about people having easy access to my information. I’ve lived in this apartment for around two years now. I have full legal control over my education and health, as well as my housing,”

“Well, we’re here to gather permission to move all of the students into dorms at the school. I’m not sure of your financial situation, but-”

“The government pays for my housing as long as it stays beneath 9,500 yen,”

“Then all we need is your signature to confirm that you have no objections to moving into the dorms, understanding that this is for your protection, and it will become our legal duty to keep you and the other students safe,”

---------

Now, only three members of the school faculty knew of Y/n’s full situation, Allmight, himself, and principal Nezu. It was a tricky situation to be in. Y/n had full legal control over her medical care, but she was unaware of the situation. Typically, a person has an emergency contact that they are willing to give control to if they are ever deemed unable to make a fully informed decision for themselves. 

However, this person was not allowed to be a minor- and they haven’t found Y/n’s legal documentation of who this was. Because of all that, the doctors haven’t been able to preform any more tests or procedures on her. It was a risk, but Aizawa figured it was necessary.

“Y/n?” He called, after knocking on her hospital door.

“Eraserhead! I wasn’t expecting a visit, come in,” she said, smiling while she sat up. Her arm was in a sling, and her head was wrapped with gauze. 

“Y/n, I want to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind,” he said, sitting in the chair next to her. He had been with her or near her for the entire day leading up to the raid, so he knows the majority of what she did that day.

“Of course, go ahead!” She smiled, glad to finally have company. They had kept her in isolation to prevent ant triggers- but they didn’t tell her that people were forbidden from visiting. 

“I wanted to start by asking you a simple one. What is the last thing you remember happening?”

It took Y/n a few minutes to find an answer, but she settled on, “I remember Bakugo?”

Aizawa drew his eyebrows and took a deep breath in, “What do you mean exactly?”

“I don’t.. I don’t really know? The last thing I did before waking up here was with Bakugo,” the redness of her face and the fighting of her fingers were clear signs that she was becoming uncomfortable with the conversation- Aizawa knew that. But he couldn’t stop know, he had to know. This couldn’t be for nothing, he had to get something from this conversation. 

“Do you know what you two were doing? Where were you two?”

“We,” her breathing became shallow and broken, “Can we do this later?”

“I know this is hard, but I really need to know what you can remember before you were in the hospital,” he pushed harder, sitting up in his chair.

“I said I don’t remember,” Y/n said, pushing back in her bed and sitting up against the headrest.

“You don’t remember anything? You remember me,” Aizawa said, egging her to say more. 

“Or course, you’re my,”

A heavy silence filled the room. One filled with uncertainty and fear. It was a word on the top of her tongue, something so close yet in a wall of haze.

“Y/n?” He asked, slowly grabbing a hold of the girls hand once a look of terror came over her face. 

“You’re my...”

“You can do it Y/n,” he said, pushing her further, “Just think.”

“You... are my mentor. The internships, yeah! That’s how I know you,” She said, relaxing and sighing heavily.

“Y/n, where do you go to school?”

“I uhh.... I’m sorry. It’s right there,” she said, deeply exhaling. 

“That’s okay. You should get some sleep, I’ll come back later,” with a deep sigh he left the room. He didn’t dare look back at the girl sitting in the hospital bed. If he did, he would have saw it. The look of pain, of confusion that she had. It would be too much for him, it would break him. 

“Where the hell is she?” A booming voice echoed through the hospital, alerting most of the staff and all of the waiting visitors. 

“Sir, sir you need to calm down. She is in an isolation period right now-” 

“You think I give a fuck about isolation periods? You’ll tell me where she is, or i’ll go door to door looking for her myself!”

Aizawa didn’t have to walk far before he saw his student causing trouble for the poor nurse across the desk. It was embarrassing to everyone but the blonde pain in the neck.

“Bakugo, lower your voice,” he said, his voice not hiding the lack of sleep he’s gotten since the operation.

“Mr. Aizawa, do you know where Y/n is?” He said, his eyes still holding a hard edge to them.

“Bakugo,” he guided him to a sitting area where they could talk, “Y/l/n is currently suffering from one of the drawbacks from her quirk, it causes-”

“Amnesia walls, I know. She told me all about them, which is why I need to see her,” he said, forgetting who he was talking to exactly.

“Because of these walls,” he rolled his eyes, “the staff can’t be sure exactly what she remembers and what her mind blocked from her. We can’t risk negatively triggering her. We are all trying desperately to find a way to safely give her her memories back, but until then we only want to expose her to things she knows,” he did his best to explain the situation to his troublesome student, but he knew he would most likely fail.

---------

Bakugo sat next to Y/n on her hospital bed, watching her read from a red leather-bound book. He was weary to let him do what he was, but it was legally the best thing to do. 

Bakugo had explained that Y/n confided many things to him- one of which was her intense fear of forgetting things after using her quirk. So much so, that she wrote everything that happened to her in a book as soon as she could get back to her dorm. While it wouldn’t have the most recent memories- including those of the actual mission- it would get her brain used to exposing itself to memories it blocked out.

Watching the situation from outside was peculiar. Reading her expressions had never been easier- her usually guarded expression became an open book. From her drawn together eyebrows and slight tears, to the squirming blush and her refusal to make eye-contact with the boy across from her, all of it made the situation seem so much more childish that it really was. 

Inside the room was weirder. The atmosphere differed paragraph to paragraph. From her blurting out the inside jokes they had made to mentioning the depressing conversations they had at two am made them laugh and cry. Once and a while she wouldn’t say anything- she was the only one out of the three to know why, but her secrets should stay with her.

Aizawa walked into the room once she had shut her journal. “That;s not everything you’ve thought and seen since the incident, the moments leading up to you using your quirk were never written down, but after a day or two of recovery some of the others present and I will do our best to fill you in on what you missed. Or, maybe you’ll remember on you own,”

“Alright, that sounds good. So, it seems I lost bits and pieces since I entered UA. Some things are still hazy, but my people’s chart is constantly update, so that helps,”

“People chart?” Bakugo asked, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, I have a chart of everyone that plays a part in my life, and I consistently update my emotions towards them. It’s helpful,” she said, blushing lightly.

“Right... I’d like to know what was in the most recent entry, just to see exactly how much you’re still missing,”

“Okay,” she said, re-opening her journal, “the last thing I wrote about was uhh...” she skipped over a few lines, “I got a phone call from Sir in the middle of the night,” she looked ahead, “Me and the other work-study students met up to talk about it. I went back to my room where- never mind. That’s the last thing!” She said, smiling and closing her book. 

“Sure,” Aizawa said, turning to walk out, “I’ll come back Morrow,” he shut the door when he left. Shacking his head lightly, he went back to check on Eri.

Y/n rapidly re-read pages of the book before looking up to Bakugo. “I have a question,”

“Well, are you gonna ask it or just sit there like an idiot,” he said, smiling and re-adjusting to a criss-cross position. 

“Are we...” she looked back to her book, “dating?”

“Huh?!”

“Well, I have a bunch of the things we did written down, but it’s all really confusing and I can’t understand most of it,” she blushed, scratching the back of her neck.

“Y/n,” he sighed, shaking his head, “We... We aren’t dating. You are dating Todoroki,” 

“But that can’t be right,” She scrunched up her noes. “I wrote down that he said he wanted a break from me, and that I was taking up too much of his time from the make-up work he was doing,”

“He what?” Bakugo shouted, not sure who he was mad at most, Todoroki for hurting her so much, Y/n for not telling him, or himself for not trying to ask Y/n out sooner.

“I mean... that’s what I wrote. Did he say anything to you?”

“No I-”

“Y/n! Thank god you’re okay, I’ve been so worried ever since I heard what happened! They wouldn’t let anyone visit you,” A bi-colored haired boy said rushing into the room and pulling Y/n’s torso into a hug, knocking the air out of her lungs like a delayed punch that should have been an illegal move, but the coach wasn’t looking. 

“Todoroki?”

“Babe? Since when do you call me by my last name?” He asked, pulling back slightly and looking over at Bakugo. 

“What happened, Baby?” He asked, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two people sitting on the hospital bed.

Bakugo would have answered for her, but he seemed to have lost the ability to speak, it was like the world as punishing him with sleep paralysis, but he was awake, and their was no demon at his bed- just the cold reality of the love of his life being with another.

“My quirk made me lose some of my memories, but it’s okay. I have some things written down, and I’ll most likely regain all of them in a few weeks,”

“You have amnesia? Y/n, I saw the news, but what exactly happened?”

“News?” Y/n echoed, looking over at Bakugo who still remained still as a statue. “Katsuki, what exactly happened to me before I came here?”

“Y/n look, It’s really complicated, and-”

“Y/n? Katsuki? When exactly did you two become such close friends?”

“Oh, we have been spending a little bit of time together,” She answered, not looking away from Bakugo’s eyes.

“Seems to be a little more that a little,” Todoroki said, his eyes going back and forth between hers, searching for something he swears is there. 

“I guess not everything is what it seemed,” Bakugo snapped at him, startling what once was a peaceful conversation. 

“I guess not,” It was hard not to agree with her new friend. Even though she could have sworn that, with the little she had read and started to remember, they were together.

Or did he spend the night with all his friends? Did he bring over their favorite snacks to watch a horror movie, followed by a rom-com so they would be able to sleep. Did he tuck all of his friends into bed after they had a nightmare? She had wrote about all the little things he did, all the nights he had spent comforting her, making her laugh so she would stop crying. 

It seemed like they had been dating, or at least they were close to dating, but as Bakugo stood up and stormed out of the room it left Y/n wondering something. Was there anything behind the little looks they shared, or was it all just a fantasy made up to satiate her need for a connection?

It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? Bakugo is gone, Todoroki is back- but did he ever leave? Maybe there really was a reason her walls were so thick. Maybe Bakugo shouldn’t have been an exception, she had grown too close too quickly, and in a flash his little looks were gone. 

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xviii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xviii: even as a dream

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.4k  

Rating: Mature; nothing explicit, just mentions/references.

Warnings: almost none, though some descriptions of Elliot's recent actions, as well as some colorful threats and some poor decision making on John's behalf. This whole chapter is basically Elliot suffering and that's probably why it was so hard to write.

Notes: Hello my friends! I am once again asking for your patience as I come to you with a chapter full of emotional manipulation and almost no physical plot movement! All of this felt important to dig into and though it may not be the most fast-paced (or smutty) chapter, I hope that you still enjoy it nonetheless. Drama abound as we are slowly but surely closing in on the end.

I want to give a super special thank you to @shallow-gravy​ for listening to me whine and complain about this chapter as well as lend me their eyeballs so that I didn't go just fucking nutso trying to write this thing. As well, @lilwritingraven​ has been SO sweet, cheering me on and keeping my spirits up even when I think this was one of the harder chapters for me to get through; and everyone who comments, kudos, likes/reblogs depending on what platform you're on, thank YOU so so so much. It really keeps me going!

As always, my most beloved @starcrier​ put her eyes on this and let me feel less like I was going insane. I love you so much and thank you for loving my girl Elliot as much as I do!! God knows she DESERVES it.

“We should get our story straight.”

John’s voice wrangled Elliot out of her brain. She’d been trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever mind games were about to commence, but John stepping in front of her to block her way into the chapel and speaking was enough to yank her right out of it.

“Get what story straight?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze flickered to Boomer, waiting expectantly, and she made the quiet little motion for sit ; he did, obediently.

“Our timeline,” John clarified, “for—”

“You know, for someone who insists his brother doesn’t scare him,” Elliot interrupted, “you sure act like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar every time he wants to talk to you.”

The brunette’s mouth twisted into a grimace. His arms crossed, mirroring her own.

“I don’t ,” John said, speaking slowly, “want Joseph to get the impression that because we are romantically entangled—”

“Please stop.”

“—that it somehow compromised the work I was doing with you before,” he finished.

“But it did,” Elliot pointed out mildly. “Or did you forget telling me about how long you’ve wanted to fuck me for?”

She saw, for a brief second in time, irritation spike in John’s expression. All this time it had been Elliot smothering him, stopping him from saying the words out loud—but there was something a little liberating about doing it herself, like she had discovered something sharp that had been hidden inside of her all along. It wasn’t useful enough to be used as often as she would have liked, of course; but that didn’t stop her from getting some satisfaction in seeing John’s expression clamp down because the control freak couldn’t stand the idea of her derailing his perfect plan.

(And maybe that had been what she really liked this little game they’d played, all along—the increasing frustration in his voice every time he’d cut in to her walkie talkie, like she could tell that he was losing control thread by thread.)

“I didn’t forget.” John managed to somehow sound both incredibly frustrated and nonplussed at the same time, like ambivalence was a tone of voice rather than an opinion that he could emulate. He continued, “I just think we should be clear about the timeline with each other.”

“Nothing’s unclear,” Elliot replied. “You’ve wanted to fuck me all along—”

“Well, now—”

“—and I finally let you,” she continued.

He sounded spiteful when he said, “Twice.”

“Twice,” she acquiesced, “but do we need to include details?”

John chewed on that for a minute. “Should,” he ventured, and he was clearly trying not to sound smug. “If it’s going to happen again.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think Joseph needs to know that.” And then, light-heartedly, “But if you think he does, we should include how you said please so very nicely for me—”

“Unnecessary,” the brunette interrupted. “Fine. It happened twice, the nature of our relationship is...”

“Tenuous at best.”

“... But not without hope,” John concluded. It took every ounce of her strength not to roll her eyes so fucking hard that she passed out; because yes , she did want to say, I know John was good, sometime, somewhere inside of him, and that means maybe I can bring it back, and if he said that he’d go with me I’d let him.

“Isn’t that right, El?”

Elliot sighed. She regarded him for a moment—grinning, handsome and boyish, flashing his teeth like the cat that had caught the canary. And handsome. He’s handsome, too.

“Whatever,” she relented, at last. “Is that all? Can we go in now? There are things I want to do with the day.”

As she reached around him for the door, John said, “So what are we?” and she groaned.

“ John.”

“I just think that—”

“You are ruining,” Elliot told him, poking a finger into his chest, “the mythos of whatever this is.”

John frowned. He looked like he wanted to say something; he looked like he wanted to say it and very terribly, but like he thought she might be mad if he did. Then again, Elliot had to consider that John said plenty of things that made her angry, and he did so knowing they would make her angry, and that there was no reason that he should start now.

“It shouldn’t be a mythos,” John said after a moment. “We’re… Together, you know—”

Elliot fished the carton of cigarettes out of her back pocket and tapped one out, lighting it. John had stopped himself to watch her, his gaze sweeping over her before he grinned again, wolfish and pleased.

“Does it stress you out?” he asked.

“Baby,” Elliot deadpanned, “if stressing me out was an Olympic sport, you would be a gold medalist.”

John plucked the cigarette out of her hands after she took one drag, dropped it on the ground, and stomped it out, much to her chagrin. One wasted cigarette.

“You owe me,” she said.

“I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page when we go in there,” he reiterated. “Nothing about the nature of our relationship affected the time that you spent in my custody.”

She eyed him. Out of spite, she almost wanted to agree and then say something completely different once she was inside—just to make him squirm, and all for stamping out her cigarette. 

“Fine,” she relented, at last. “But that’s all we say about it. I don’t think anything else needs to be said, do you?”

For one second, John opened his mouth again. It was all Elliot could do not to immediately groan; stupid, pretty John, who for some reason needed to constantly be talking, the same way a shark would die if it stopped moving. 

But then he said, “Sure,” and suspicion spiked high and hot in her brain. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers; the kiss was unhurried, but short, and succeeded in frying her brain pleasantly.

“Don’t try and distract me,” she snipped half-heartedly, even when she felt the blush crawling up her cheeks. He grinned as though to feign innocence, before he turned and opened the door to the chapel; when he stepped inside, it left her alone.

One blissful, serene moment alone. It felt more and more like she was running short on those. It was probably intentional. Whatever it was happening between herself and John—whatever this mythos really was—it was harder and harder to keep straight with him around her all the time, breathing her in and exhaling her out, hands and mouth and—

And if she just got one more second —

Inside, Joseph said, “You don’t have the deputy with you?” and John made a noise like he was surprised she hadn’t followed right in. Elliot motioned for Boomer to stay before she stepped inside and closed the door behind her; the movement plunged her into the dim, cool light of the chapel, illuminated only by the cut-out of the Eden’s Gate star-symbol, slanting golden light across the floor. Everything else was dark. Like a womb, living and breathing and spitting out cultists.

“I trust you’ve gotten sufficient rest?” came Joseph’s next question, and it was clearly directed at her. Elliot made her way to the front of the chapel and stifled a sigh.

“Faith said you wanted to talk with us?” she prompted, and Joseph looked like he was trying not to smile; the corners of his mouth ticked upward for a moment as he watched her. He liked to do that—let a silence linger between them, let it fester for a moment until she thought she’d rather curl up and disappear than stay there any longer.

He finally spoke and said, “It’s come to my attention, Deputy Honeysett, that your relationship with our brother John has developed.”

‘Our brother,’ he said. Joseph talking like he was the fucking Pope made her molars grind.

Before she could remark on it, Joseph continued, “It would stand to reason, then, that you are intending to enter the End with us?”

I want a home with you.

“Of course,” John said, just as Elliot said, “‘Reason’ is a funny choice of word for you,” and then their eyes met. John’s expression said we’re supposed to be on the same team, but as far as Elliot couldn’t bite back instinct so easily.

She knew John could be good. She knew it, and yet he insisted on acting otherwise, and it just made her think maybe she had been some kind of exception and he really was, all this time, just rotten.

“I know that you’ve had a lot to process these last few days,” Joseph continued lightly. “The devastating loss of Hudson, having to purge all of that old poison concerning your last boyfriend…”

Elliot felt the panic wash over her in an instant. It was the same feeling that she had gotten with Kian, but the kicker here was that she’d volunteered that information to Joseph. He’d gone digging around in her brain, but she’d given him permission to have it.

I don’t want John to know, something in her said frantically, he can’t know.

“Reconsider,” Elliot bit out venomously, “what you’re going to say next, Seed.”

A moment of silence lapsed between the three of them. John was watching her curiously, waiting, perhaps, for her to elaborate on her angry outburst. She wouldn’t. He’d be waiting until he was in his fucking grave and then some if he thought she was going to say anything about it.

“John,” Joseph said, glancing at the brunette, “I’d like a moment with our deputy.”

The brunette’s expression tightened. Something, just a tiny little something, about that statement bothered John, Elliot could tell—though he said nothing about it, and instead swallowed back whatever it was, clearing his throat.

“That’s not necessary,” she insisted, looking between the two brothers. “John, it isn’t.”

Don’t. Don’t leave me alone with him. Please. I’m so tired, I’m so tired, I don’t want to do this anymore. Not with him.

“I’ll be outside,” John said, but he said it to Elliot, not to Joseph, and it did so very little to inspire any confidence in her; that John thought he needed to explain to her that he would be close by only reminded her that there was something predatory about Joseph that John didn’t like, either. 

As he went to move past her, she grabbed his wrist out of instinct—the pads of her fingers brushed the crescent marks that she’d left on him that night in the river, and the differences in the ways that she gripped him now felt monumental.

The moment lingered, suspended, between them. John reached up with his un-gripped hand and brushed some of her hair behind her ear.

“It’s only a few minutes,” Joseph offered, as though it were supposed to comfort her. It didn’t.

She dropped her hand from his wrist, and his hand drifted from her face, and he was heading back to the door before she could figure out if she wanted to pitch more of a fit or not.

When the door closed behind them and left Joseph and herself alone, in the eerie stillness of the chapel, Elliot took in a slow breath. The last time she’d been alone with Joseph, she’d been doing what she knew he wanted her to—confessing to the things that hurt, the prickly, sharp parts of her that stung the most on their way out. She’d grappled back a thread of her control that day, but what should have been a catharsis had just felt—

Dirty.

“I know that you must be tired,” Joseph murmured, closing the distance between them. “You’ve been fighting for a long time, Elliot. Longer, I can say now with certainty, than before even us. Before this.”

Fuck you, she thought hatefully. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You took everything from me, you wretched fucking man.

“I am tired,” she relented, desperate to keep that tiny bit of Joseph’s favor if it just meant that he’d stop trying to pry her open all the time. “But that doesn’t—”

“The End is coming,” he interrupted, though with the slow, rich cadence of his voice, it often felt less like an interruption and more a gentle redirection, “whether you believe it or not. But let’s say, theoretically, that it isn’t. That I’m wrong.”

Elliot’s mouth went dry. She didn’t like hypothesizing theoretical situations, least of all with Joseph. “Okay...”

The man had closed the distance between them now; his eyes were fixed on her, the relentless, dauntless part of him that did not soften to his Fatherly persona. He lifted his hands, and it took everything in Elliot not to flinch back out of instinct—his fingers brushed where John’s had just moments ago, trailing the slope of her jaw, landing on the feverish bruise marks on her throat.

“We retrieved Kian’s body from the forest,” he murmured, his fingers not leaving her neck. He looked to be inspecting the bruises on her neck, at the corner of her mouth.

The scrutiny made her skin feel sickly-hot. “And?”

“You obliterated his face,” Joseph said plainly. “Crushed each bony structure on it, caved him in. His eyes barely stayed in his sockets by the time you were done with him.”

Do you feel guilty for what that man did to you?

Elliot felt her stomach churn, the vicious nausea rolling around inside of her head. She could still feel Kian’s bones crumbling under each impact of the shotgun cold, dark metal, taste the arterial spray in her mouth. And just like that, she could feel Joseph digging his metaphorical claws in, cracking open her rib cage so he could stick his hands right into the gore of her.

Will you feel guilty about this, too?

“It—” Elliot felt her brain swoon dizzyingly; for a second, the only thing keeping her anchored was Joseph’s feather-light touch. “It w-was—self-defense—”

“ I know that,” Joseph murmured, “and you know that, and John—even Jacob, and Faith, and the others. We all know that, Elliot. But your friends from the resistance? Mary May, Grace... Pastor Jeffries...” His voice trailed off. “Do you think they’ll understand, when they read the reports of what you did to that man? Of the trail of bodies you’ve left behind yourself?”

“H-He was going to kill me,” and the words came out barely past a whisper; anymore volume and it would have been a wail. “ They were—”

“Yes,” Joseph agreed, “and you mutilated his body well past the point of death.”

“He deserved it,” she managed out, “he deserved it, he—” He was in my home, he touched my things, he pushed his way into my head, he took my Joey from me, she was the only good thing I had left and he took her.

“I know.” Joseph’s breath fanned across her forehead. “I know, Elliot. I hope—”

He stopped himself, and then he pulled back so that their eyes could meet, his hands cradling her face. It was both an anchor and invasion, this incessant need of Joseph’s to touch her. It grounded her to reality, but it also rattled violently through her skeleton, aftershocks of an earthquake she’d been living through for the last week.

“What I mean to say is, I only hope you understand,” he continued, his voice low, “this gift that we are giving you.”

I want a home with you.

“Do you?” Joseph asked. “Understand?”

What would Pastor Jeffries think? How would Mary May look at her? Sharky, and Grace—would they still like her spark?

Or was she ruined now, too, like everything else Eden’s Gate had touched?

Are you happy, Elliot?

“Yes,” she managed out. “I do.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the chapel door opened, John had been standing around outside for about ten minutes—enough time to hate it, enough time to look at Boomer waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs and think, fucking dog has better patience than I do.

“We’re going,” Elliot said, moving down the steps. Joseph lingered in the doorway behind her.

John balked. Faith had said Joseph wanted to speak to both of them; she’d made it sound like there had been more for him to be a part of, and yet Joseph had just collected one-on-one time with Elliot for himself and that was it?

“We’re?” he asked. Her voice sounded thick. “To where? Joseph, didn’t you—”

The blonde walked past him, and with a single gesture of her hand, Boomer was trotting off after her. John watched her, and then looked back at his older brother; he was sure the confusion was written clear on his face, but true to his nature, Joseph let it linger for a moment before he said, “She requested a car to visit someplace important to her. I said it would be fine, if you went.”

“Where?”

“It didn’t feel pertinent to ask,” Joseph replied. John paused, and as soon as he turned to start walking after Elliot—and perhaps get more information than what it seemed his brother was willing to supply him with—Joseph said, “John?”

He stopped and turned to look at his brother, and said, “Yes?”

“The opportunity is slipping.” Joseph’s head cocked to the side, his gaze hardening. “Do not let your family down.”

John felt something—anxiety, perhaps, but probably more dread —creep down his spine at Joseph’s words. He swallowed and nodded once before he started heading off again, the slow IV-drip of his older brother’s casual, cloaked venom seeping straight into the marrow of his bones.

Joseph’s voice rattled in his skull. Tell me you can do this.

You can’t have both, Elliot’s mouth against his, voice teetering on something broken.

He gritted his teeth, catching up to Elliot as she pulled herself into the driver’s seat of a truck. 

I can. You’re mine, and I can have both.

“Ready?” Elliot asked, having elaborated not at all on what was going on and only expecting that he would come along blindly. Well, she was right—to some extent, anyway, because here he was, knowing only one thing more than before and that was that Joseph’s patience was enduring, but running thin.

John flashed her a smile when she glanced over his way. 

“As ever.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It didn’t get any more clear where it was Elliot was taking him. Perhaps “taking him” was a bit of a stretch—he was going along because Joseph had insisted, and even if he hadn’t insisted it probably would have been his first choice of how to spend the afternoon anyway.

They were running out of time. That much had been made clear to him, either by Joseph or by Elliot’s itching to get out of the compound; pulled two ways, and only one of them was able to give—Elliot, with the proper amount of planting, guiding. 

John knew that he needed to stay focused. There could be no more lingering, favoring glances; she would need to be his, and he would have to make it happen. 

Fast.

The blonde turned the truck up a long, winding drive that took them further back into the wilderness of Hope County and parked in front of a house that he’d seen only once or twice before, and only in passing; he’d even considered reaping it for himself, at one point, but it was far out and small enough that it would have been more of an inconvenience than it was worth.

“So,” he said, when she put the truck in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition, “where is this?”

It was a small house, but not as small as most houses in Hope County; by all accounts, the house was probably considered upper class —the snob in him wanted to scoff audibly even as the thought considering how fucking incredible that statement alone was—but the two-story ranch house screamed Gothic South at him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure where it was where Elliot’s parents hailed from.

All of the lights in the house wereoff; the wisteria climbing the trellis that arched over the pathway had just finished blooming, and some of its perfume still lingered; ivy climbed up the elaborate railing of the top front porch, and the garden had clearly been meticulously well-kept.

“My mom’s,” she replied after a moment, sliding out of the driver’s side and closing the door. She sounded more put-together now; whatever had transpired between herself and Joseph had shaken her, but only temporarily. She’d stuffed it down, locked it away somewhere far away from him.

Oh, John thought, feeling that little thrill of delight he got every time he thought Elliot might be about to let him in and under and through. Mom’s house, hm? Interesting.

Boomer leaped from the back without waiting for the tailgate to get dropped and raced excited circles around Elliot as she made her way up the bricked path. He barked once, twice, and then Elliot lifted her hand and he quieted just before she gestured for him to go and he took off running. 

“I drove past this place when I first came back,” John said as he followed. “Your mom likes gardening, huh?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Elliot sighed, lifting one of the flower pots by the front door to fish a key out from underneath. There was something bitter and a little humorous as she added, “Scarlet Honeysett would never lift a hand to garden, except —” And here the blonde lifted a finger quite dutifully, that little Southern twang peeking through. “For her rose bushes. Nobody goes around touchin’ her rose bushes.”

John glanced around the front porch. The steps up were lined with the aforementioned bushes, tiny scalloped fencing keeping them from being in the way of foot traffic while still on perfect display. Ah, he thought absently, the neuroses.

Elliot unlocked the door, nudging the front door open with her foot and stuffing the key into her pocket. John followed her inside, glancing around in the late-afternoon light; the polished dark wood floors, the carefully placed decorations, plush foyer rug, elegant painting on the far wall leading past the stairs.

It was luxe, to say the least. A portrait hung on the wall closest to the door, a photo of a young woman and her blonde look-alike toddler. John thought that it was the kind of thing that you only saw in the home of a woman who put her daughter into pageants and drank martinis at ten in the morning. 

“Elliot Honeysett,” he began, with no shortage of needling glee, “are you rich?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “ I certainly am not,” she told him. “My mother, however, is a trust fund baby, likely has not worked a single day in her life. Papa Graves was a retired jockey—made a lot of money, real quick, invested it, retired...”

Her voice trailed off and she walked past him to the room on the right, fiddling around with something past his line of sight. He picked up a frame on one of the side tables; it was a young blonde girl, grinning ear to ear, sitting atop a buckskin horse, her fingers tangled into its dark mane,

“You like horses?” John called.

As if to clarify, she replied, “Animals.”

Something in the next room clicked. For a second, John’s brain panicked; a gun, he thought, a brief second of considering that Elliot had brought him here to—

And then the music started to play. It was older music that didn’t quite suit his picture of Elliot—the same girl that had blasted Guns’N’Roses on their way out from the ranch—but dreamy. Hazy. The perfect kind of music to suit the golden light of the late afternoon slanting through the gauzy curtains framing French windows. For a second, John thought he could forget himself: she had let him in, to the most vulnerable part of her, this place littered with photos and monuments to Elliot as a child, Elliot as a girl, Elliot before any of this.

Joseph hadn’t gotten this. Nobody had gotten this—not Joseph, and not her ex-boyfriend, and not anyone. Not anyone except for him.

See the pyramids along the Nile; watch the sun rise on a tropic isle.

Next was a gentle clink. It sounded like ice cubes in a glass. John moved down the hallway, picking up another frame—what he could only presume to be young Elliot, perched atop the shoulders of a red-haired man, grinning like a scoundrel at the camera.

He could hear the sound of liquid pouring a room over. As he walked, he realized the table—and the walls—were covered with photos of this man, this red-haired stranger, freckles covering his face. He was handsome. His eyes looked familiar, too.

Just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me.

“John,” Elliot said from the sitting room—what an absurd thought; Elliot Honeysett, in a sitting room , and that’s what it was, a sitting room, “what are you doing?”

“Learning about you,” John replied. “Your parents left with the resistance?”

There was a pause. He thought that he knew the answer—the only pictures of the man whose eyes were mirrored by Elliot’s own were from when she was quite young. Maybe too young to even remember?

“Mama did, yeah,” Elliot replied. He heard a match striking in the room next to him. She didn’t elaborate on her father; everything in John was itching to pry, to slide just under her skin and figure out what was going on in that brain of hers. Per usual, her decision to remain tight-lipped concerning just about everything that held any emotional bearing on her proved the biggest obstacle.

I'll be so alone without you.

John rounded the corner back into the living room. Elliot had started a fire in the fireplace, kicked off her shoes, and in her hand was a drink; she looked tired , neck still mottled with bruises, but more relaxed than he thought he had seen her in a long time. Even more relaxed than when she was sleeping.

“Didn’t even make me a drink,” he tsked, walking behind the couch to the bar cart. “Just pulled me out here for a little vacation, did you? We could visit.” His gaze slid to her, still perched on the couch with her back to him. “About whatever you’d like.”

“Just wanted to get out of the compound. Felt like I couldn’t breathe in there.” She waved her empty hand in a vague gesture, as if to indicate he was welcome to help himself. “You really don’t stop talking, do you?”

“It’s my job,” John replied, “and you’ve forbidden me from using my mouth otherwise.”

“Oh,” Elliot drawled as he idled around the back of the couch, taking in every meticulous detail of her mother’s living room, “so all I had to do was forbid you and you’d stop doing shit?”

A short laugh billowed out of him. It was so strange to have Elliot like this—was this how she had been with Joey? With the other deputies, with her friends? What she was like before that pesky ex-boyfriend of hers?

Maybe you'll be lonesome too, and blue.

John walked around the side of the couch and sat next to her, regarding her amusedly. She side-eyed him like she didn’t want to exert the effort of turning her head all the way to look at him; when he reached up to brush his fingers along her jaw, she only tilted her head out of his reach for a moment before relenting.

“Might not have worked before,” he suggested. “You’ve definitely gotten more persuasive.”

“Ah.” She arched a brow at him loftily, letting him tilt her face so that she was facing him, and took a sip of her drink. “Maybe your brother is rubbing off on me. After all, romantic coercion isn’t really your style , is it, John?”

He felt his mouth sour at the words. Dropping his fingers from her chin, he instead lifted the drink from her hand; though she relinquished the glass readily, he did see her eyes narrow, just a little. “You just can’t resist, can you?”

He waited for the bite; a part of him anticipated it now, sat patiently, eagerly for the quick-strike of venom. It had become so intrinsic to their day-to-day that he couldn’t tell if he liked it more when she was prickly and headstrong or if he liked it when she was sighing his name like a prayer.

Probably the latter.

The blonde feigned innocence. “Resist what?”

John took a sip of the drink. It was a vodka soda—strong, burning on its way down. Maybe her drink of choice? Or someone else’s. “Picking a fight with me.”

“You do have an exceptionally punchable face,” Elliot acquiesced. And then, as though to soften the blow: “But you have lovely long eyelashes.” She smiled, angelic. “Like a lamb.”

“Fuck you,” John snapped.

“You can,” she replied idly, “if you beg. ”

John felt a flare of something—maybe delight, maybe shame —red-hot and searing in his chest at her nonchalant words. He wanted to stay focused; this was the perfect opportunity to pry more out of her, to really know her and figure out exactly what it was that made her tick, what got those little draconian gears in her head churning.

And they were draconian—after that little show she’d put on with Joseph, he thought maybe Elliot was just a bit more wicked than she liked to let on.

Regarding her for a moment, John set the glass back in her hand, the burn of the alcohol still lingering in the back of his throat. She looked comfortable, draped against the couch; before, being in the same room as him put her on edge, teeth grinding and eyes wild.

“Liked that?” he asked, forcing his voice to lightness, digging. “Having me beg for you?”

“Well,” Elliot said demurely, “who wouldn’t like to hear you begging for something, you smug fucker?”

He bit back his knee-jerk retort and instead willed his words out. “You really are filthy then, aren’t you, Deputy Honeysett?”

Elliot took a swallow of the drink and looked as though she were measuring something, weighing the pros and cons of it in her head. In a fluid motion that must have cost her quite a bit of labor considering the current state of her skeleton, she swung one leg over his lap and settled herself there; straddling him, one hand flattened and smooth against the fabric of his shirt, the other holding the glass and draped over the back of the couch.

“I suppose,” she said, her eyes flickering over his face, “that you’re going to offer to cleanse me of my sins?”

“You’re a quicker study than you let on,” he replied, grinning. “You’ve confessed, but you’re hardly clean. ”

“You should hear yourself.” Elliot’s voice was clipped coming out of her mouth, even as John’s hands came to her hips and tugged her down more firmly against his lap. Her fingers undid one of the buttons on his shirt. “ ‘You’re hardly clean’. You sound so fucking stupid—”

“Let me baptize you,” John insisted. He tried to stuff away his irritation at her words, but it was hard to—even when the sharpness of her words was punctuated by a kiss, her lips parting silkily against his as she sighed, the sharp bite of the vodka chasing the warmth of her mouth. Joseph’s low, murmured threat sat heavy in his chest. “Let me—”

“Drown me?” she said with no absence of venom, even when she said it against his mouth. “Or was that just a one-timer?”

“It’s different,” he snapped. His hands slid beneath the hem of her long-sleeved shirt, tracing the dips and curves of her before splaying against her spine. “It’s different when you choose .”

She sighed; for a moment, John thought she was going to slide off of him, but she stayed, shifting idly on his lap and making the temperature of his body spike. Wicked, wretched viper, he thought, but it was affection blooming in his chest. Wicked and wretched, but mine. Legally bound to me, and all mine.

Besides; where was she going to go, after all of this? She didn’t seriously think she was walking out of Hope County like nothing had happened.

“You gave Joseph what he wanted,” he continued, feeling a little spiteful even as he kept his hands in the slope of her hips. “How’s it feel, knowing that?”

Elliot’s mouth twisted in a grimace. His words had sucked the wind right out of her sails; he saw the impact on her face, meteoric in its destruction.

She said, “John, don’t—”

“I will ,” he insisted, watching her take another dutiful swallow of the alcohol in her glass, “and you did. You gave him exactly what he wanted, after spending all this time insisting you were going to kill him the second you got a chance to. You’ve had a chance. We all know what you did to Kian; all it would take is what, ten minutes alone with him? So, I’ll say it again, how—”

“Worse,” the blonde interrupted, her voice thick with an emotion that John couldn’t quite pin down, “than giving you what you want.”

Yes yes yes, the monster inside of him chanted. He could feel it writhing just beneath his proverbial fingers; so close to sticking the wings of her little butterfly, that special thing that she didn’t want him to have or know. Yes, all mine, give it to me, I deserve it.

The air felt thick, molten-hot and bubbling between them until he thought he was going to be dizzy from trying to breathe something so oxygen-thin. He could feel the flutter of Elliot’s pulse, unsteady and hammering, against his chest: not the heartbeat of an apex predator, but that of prey, snagged and caught and his.

John pressed his mouth to the slope of her neck, tightening his grip on her; his tongue traced the marks left there just below her jaw, and then he murmured, “Tell me how it feels to give me what I want, El.”

Elliot’s free hand had tangled into his hair, knotting there and gripping just a little tighter at his words.

“Good,” she managed out. Her voice barely broke the sound barrier of a whisper; that single word alone gave John a vibrant surge of triumph in his chest, billowed the breath right out of him. But when he pulled back to look at her, she finished off the rest of the vodka and set the glass on the side table before she plunged on, “I had a dream the other night.”

A brief pause dragged the silence on, with only the music playing absently in the background as she righted herself on his lap.

“It was after my walk with Faith,” Elliot continued. “You were there, and—it was just a stupid dream, but—”

“Dreams can be prophetic,” John said, because whatever she was unraveling was making her upset, and he wanted it; that little tremble in her voice, so sweet so sweet, the same kind of sweetness he’d wanted to taste that night he’d first gotten his hands on her.

When he opened his mouth to continue to encourage her, she slapped her palm over it and said, “Shut up or I’m going to lose my train of thought.”

John made a muffled noise of acquiescence. Elliot dropped her hand from his mouth and took in a short, sharp little breath.

“You were there, and you kept saying things like… That you wanted to be—mine,” she explained, and this whole time she hadn’t been looking at him, but she did now. “That you wanted a home with me, that we would—after Kian, we would leave Hope County and for a second—I fucking—everyone, and everything, it’s all gone to shit and for one fucking second when you were saying that I didn’t—I didn’t feel—”

So close, John thought, watching her try to work around the words that she wanted to say but that fought against her entire being to come out. I just need to hear it. That’s all I need.

“Alone,” Elliot finished softly.

It was the perfect opportunity; Joseph had made it clear that they weren’t going to be waiting to finish off the Family to retreat for the End, and that meant that John only had so much time to bring Elliot around. This was the moment that he had to take advantage of, to tell her about their marriage and hope for the best.

“It wasn’t,” John said after a moment. “A dream, I mean.”

The blonde stared at him for a moment. Her expression was guarded. “What wasn’t?”

“That night that you came back from your walk with Faith,” he began, “you weren’t feeling well, and I walked you back to the bunkhouse—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—and I told you that I didn’t want you to be alone anymore—”

“John.”

It’s fine, he thought, even when Elliot’s expression flattened and emptied out, it’s fine, it’s fine.

“—and that after all this was done, I would leave with you, and I wanted a home. With you.”

Elliot blinked. A few moments passed. Surprisingly, there was no fury radiating off of her; she looked blank, like she was still processing and taking in all of this information. Like maybe it hadn’t quite hit her yet.

John opened his mouth, very deliberately, to proceed and inform her of the next part—the completely fine and totally normal agreement to get married when Elliot said, “So you lied to me?”

His mouth closed. “Sorry?”

“I asked you about it,” she began, and now she was biting the words out, “the next morning. In the chapel. Jacob was there, and I asked you if something happened—”

“—less like it happened—”

“—and you said, John, that I walked myself to the bunkhouse and went to sleep.” Her fingers had fisted into the front of his shirt now, gripping, as if she were preparing for him to try and squirm out from underneath her. “I fucking knew you weren’t telling me the truth, I fucking knew it because my gun was on the table and I’d never fucking put it there to go to sleep, you stupid fuckhead—”

“El,” John said, lifting a hand, though he didn’t know why; maybe in an effort to soothe her, maybe to block any incoming blows, but Elliot smacked his hand out of the way.

“You fucking weasel—”

“Elliot, listen to me!”

Bad, John thought, and he hadn’t even told her about the part of this that was the most legally binding, the part of this that didn’t make her a Honeysett at all anymore but a Seed. All of that softness from before had evaporated in the heat of her rage. Bad, so fucking bad, fuck I’m fucked fuck.

“I’m gonna fucking dig the decay out of your teeth with a hunting knife, you lying piece of shit,” Elliot snapped. “You saw what I did to Kian, huh? I let you fuck me, and you lied to me—”

“I was—”

“—fucking rotten through and through—”

“Elliot,” John managed out, scrambling for something as he ducked an otherwise well-timed blow; he snagged her wrists, both of them, to stop her from landing any kind of hit. “I was embarrassed, okay? When you came in the next day and you didn’t remember, I—freaked out. Jacob was there, and I thought you’d kill me if I didn’t tell you, and also that you’d kill me if I said it front of Jacob, and I didn’t want to say it in front of him anyway because it was about how I was going to leave with you rather than stay with them!”

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. It was a lie —a big fucking lie, in a lot of ways, but most importantly a big lie-by-omission, but though he knew it John thought certainly there was no fucking way in Hell he was going to bring that part up to Elliot now, too.

She’s clearly emotionally fragile, he reasoned, I should wait until a better moment.

“Why’d you want me to get baptized then?” she snapped. “If you were planning on leaving with me?”

“Because,” John said slowly, come on come on come on, “Joseph—knows about us, and it would be suspicious. If you didn’t.”

Elliot stared at him. “And?”

“ And,” he insisted, “I planned on telling you in the car on the way out of the compound that night, and then we got hit, and we went on Kian’s fun little nightmare carnival ride, and—”

“Shut up.” Elliot yanked her wrists out of his grip and passed a hand over her face exhaustedly. John wanted to keep talking—it was instinct to want to weave the most elaborate tale that he could in the face of Elliot’s fury—but he did as she said, keeping his mouth shut as she processed whatever it was she had taken in.

Her hand dropped from her face, and she stared at a spot on the wall over his head for a minute before she sucked her teeth and said, “You don’t fucking lie to me, John.”

“I—”

“You don’t fucking lie to me,” Elliot reiterated again, “because if you do, I will find out, and I will make you fucking suffer.”

John regarded her warily. He knew that he needed to tell her. He knew that he should, because if this was any indication to how she was going to handle it, the full truth would be astronomically worse. It would be best to get it out of the way, let her process it, and maybe by the end she’d have come around to the picture he’d paint of them, together, as the End crept in; safe and in the bunker and—

“Okay,” he replied, “no lying.”

“No fucking lying.”

“Got it.”

“And if you do—”

“Skeleton pulled out of my body,” John supplied, lowering his hands hesitantly back to her hips. She eyed him through her lashes for a moment before she seemed to relax a little, sucking her teeth and crossing her arms over her chest. As each second ticked by that she didn’t make good on her violent promises of emergency tooth surgery, John felt more and more confident that he had assuaged the monster and reached up to gently unlace her arms. She balked at first, and then relented after another few heartbeats; when she allowed him to pull her arms around his neck, Elliot let out a soft little exhale, like she’d been holding her breath.

He said, trying for lightness, “I like when you get scary.”

“Did you mean it?” she asked, ignoring his little playful remark. When John looked at her expectantly, looking for some elaboration, she took in a breath and said, “About... leaving?” And then, with concerted effort: “With me?”

Soft —she was so soft, right then and there, and only for him. It was in moments like this when John wanted to drag her down into him, kiss her until his lungs ached, until their breath mixed and intermingled; to capture something like this and keep it his and his alone, forever.

He’d tell her. He’d tell her when things were better—when she wasn’t so emotionally raw, when she hadn’t lost so much so quickly, and when she’d have a more level head about it. She’d feel safer, more secure, with this little white lie; and then he’d tell her about the End again, once things had quieted down for a few days, and explain the importance of having her by his side. As his wife.

“Yeah, El,” he replied. “I meant it.” And then, because she was staring at him with those eyes—wary, cautious, guarded—he took her face in his hands and said, “I’m yours.”

“Don’t,” she managed out, and now her voice was really wobbling, “don’t fucking lie to me again, John Seed.”

She’ll see that I did this for us. 

“I won’t.” And technically, sort of, it was true—he wasn’t going to tell her another lie now that she’d just said not to do it again. Unless she asked again. But she wouldn’t. So it was sort of like he was doing exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it? 

Elliot’s forehead brushed his. She let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t have anything left,” she said after a second, “anymore.”

He pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss—luxuriated in, drenched himself in it, indulged in the feeling of her leaned into his touch.

“You have me,” he said against her mouth. “You know that.”

“Yes.” Elliot’s voice was an exhausted murmur; her eyes fluttered shut. Got you, John thought, dragging his thumb along the slope of her cheekbone, and she said, “I know.”

Got you, hellcat.

[rosequartzakapinkdiamond]

Everything’s Fine

you know what got me the most about ‘Everything’s Fine’? this scene:

‘I’m a fraud.’

on god, i felt that

when you’re mentally ill, abused, neuro-divergent, or have had anything different in the way you think, you CONSTANTLY feel like you’re masking, like you have to wear this facade to stay included, or loved, or safe, until you’re so far down that hole you don't know how to get out, so you deny its even happening, and you work yourself up inside with all this self-hatred, after all you’re lying to people, and you begin to believe deep down that you’re not good anymore. that you polluted yourself. and so everything in you wants to pretend its not real, and the cyclical facade continues.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m fine, awesome in fact! Ah- c’mon, you’ve seen me when I wasn’t doing well. Nothing’s wrong, and besides, I don't want you to worry.’ 

Steven is deflecting, trying to draw attention away from his problems so the others won’t fret about him, because worry leads to scrutiny, which leads to concern, and then he could burst, everything he’s tried to prove, tried to show as true, is all going to shatter. he’s so, so used to being the one who catches the other in a trust fall, he doesn’t know how to lean back himself, so when faking doesn’t work, he immediately tries to remove himself from the situation. 

‘It’s not that easy! You know what, I don’t have to deal with this!’

if he’s not in the room, the atmosphere can’t follow, he can find somewhere safe and far, and calm down, but this doesn't work. its another attempt at deflecting, and neither Pearl, Amethyst or Connie allow it, they know he needs to talk it out before they can help

and so now, the lies begin to come out, and oh god it hurt to watch. ive been exactly where Steven is and hoo boy sucks, because you instantly try to dumb it down as a protection measure, despite how it feels to lie further. throughout the show we’ve seen how much Steven values the Gems’ opinions of him, Connie and Greg too, as early on as ‘Laser Light Cannon’ he’s desperate to show he isn’t a liability. he’s taught himself to not be a problem, to not cause problems, so he can stay included and helpful, and help them get better instead. its just so much easier to focus on other people over yourself. its distracting, it’s comfortable.

‘Hahaa... It wasn’t that important you guys! You’re making a big deal out of nothing! Have I done some thing wrong? Sure! I trashed the house today, I broke an anvil, but what teenager hasn’t? Dad and I had a little disagreement, but that’s practically a rite of passage! I mean, it would be weird if we didn’t, right?’

he’s still looking for their approval, their assurance that it’s not a problem, repercussions can go away, and everything can just go back to normal, but you can see in their faces, they’re angry, and this only spurs on his deflecting, because now he’s faced with rejection, again. so he tries to assure himself that it’s just the everyday teen problems, nothing to make an issue out of, because that’s too raw to think about, I mean, Connie's had disagreements with her parents right, that’s the same?? right?

‘And maybe I’ve had a not-so-nice thought or two, about, like, slamming White Diamond’s head through a pillar, but, but, it’s not like I actually went through with it! Ha, I-- I only actually shattered Jasper!’

and what’s horrible is it’s almost a satisfying feeling at first, technically he succeeded!! he got away with it, and doesn’t that make him smart, or capable of coping, or maybe he’s getting better!!! he could’ve done those horrible things, but its okay! he fixed them, or they weren’t as bad as they sound, or, or, or--

ive done plenty of damaging impulse things thanks to my mental illness and neuro-divergency, and ive had exactly the same script. you try so hard to make it seem like the problem isn't as large because really, you know what you did was bad, or stupid, or dark. but you still did it, you couldn’t just stop yourself. you still made the mistake and now you want to move past it as quick and as painlessly as possible, but doing so puts other things in jeopardy and means telling other people, and that’s scary. you can’t avoid letting people know about your problems, but what Steven’s struggling with is that he’s on a completely different page to the Gems, Connie and Greg. he’s had all this time dwelling on these thoughts-- he’s several chapters in, but they’ve only just picked up the book, so no wonder they’re shocked and horrified to read the blurb. these thoughts of inflicting harm, whether it be or others or otherwise, are dark, so who wouldn’t be shocked?

so Steven immediately deflects again. he pushes himself to sound positive, so desperate for the facade of normality, that it borders on unstable, as he overcompensates for this fear of criticism 

‘Oh! Don’t worry, I fixed that too! I can fix anything! I can just keep messing up and fixing things forever and you’ll never have to think or know about any of it!’

it’s because they had no idea there was anything wrong that cemented this idea in Steven that he had to keep hiding, because what they didn't know couldn’t hurt them, right, and he’s Steven! he fixes things! if you’re always deemed as perfect, any flaw can’t be shown, right? any fall and you’re out, you’re not a crystal gem anymore and you can’t go on missions or hang out with Connie or protect anymore, protect the town, protect the earth, so you hide, and you can go on, self-sabotaging and hiding and stressing, without anyone knowing a thing. 

but you know. you know well, too well, and eventually everything crumbles whether Steven wanted to ever acknowledge it or not. it just became too much for one person to hold.

‘How messed up is that? That I’ve gotten away with this for so long? You have no idea how bad I am!’

what strikes me about this too is ‘gotten away with this’ and ‘you have no idea how bad I am’. cannot tell you how many times ive said these phrases word for word in therapy and i almost screamed at my computer when I heard him say it, because that’s EXACTLY how it feels. you’re acting. the whole time you’re acting in self-preservation because of this all consuming anxiety of failure, and its always in your head and hey, you know its BAD-bad, even if they don’t notice, or ask, because you’re absolutely not going to tell. he already tried, remember, and they brushed him off, so nope, no, their fault.

so now Steven’s faced with actually looking at what exactly he’s done and how no one noticed. how not one of them thought to have this conversation with him before, did they not care? did they not see him? did not one of them wonder why Jasper just appeared suddenly out of their bathroom, at the least? could they not bother to try to reach him?

but it’s not a matter of them not loving him, or seeing him. it’s that they didn’t listen in the right way to understand him. Connie’s speech in the following episode sets it out perfectly 

‘Yes, you hurt him, but this isn’t the time to make this all about you! That is not helping! Maybe Steven would care about how sad you are, because he always puts everyone else’s feelings first, but he can’t do that for you right now, because he needs us this time!’

she acknowledges that they needed to hear Steven, especially when he wasn’t laying out exactly what was wrong, because he didn’t know what was up either (the dude has only been to the doctor once, he doesn’t know what c-ptsd is, let alone anxiety or depression), and because they should, as adults, realise that while their actions and feelings do matter, it cannot be at Steven’s detriment. his venting to Garnet, and to Greg, in ‘Together Forever’ and ‘Mr Universe’ wasn't an opportunity for them to give him advice or lay their own experiences on top, it was a chance for them to really listen to, and really hear, what Steven was telling them he was feeling and then see that as his truth. no ‘you had it better’, no ‘it was inevitable’, all he needed was ‘I hear you, I love you, let’s fix this together’. 

‘We all had Steven when we needed him, but the only person who’s never had Steven, is Steven! So, how can we be there for him now?’

which makes what Steven says next all the more painful, as he’s been holding this role on his shoulders like atlas holds the sky and its breaking him.

‘You think I’m so great, I’m so mature, and I always know what to do, but that's not true! I haven’t learned a thing from my problems. They’ve all just made me worse!’

thus far, Steven’s been taught that every experience is a chance to learn, like in ‘The Test’ (which was another ep that made me go FERAL when i saw it). he’s searching for meaning in all the horrible things that happened to him but sometimes, there is no moral. sometimes things are just that. they’re bad and they hurt you.

‘You think of me as some angel, but I’m not that kid anymore! I’m a fraud. I’m a fraud. I’m a monster!’

when you believe so deeply in yourself that you’re not a good person, it really hurts, especially when the people around you keep reminding you of who you used to be, see the whole of ‘Snow Day’. you feel like a fake, because who exactly are you? who are you without that mask? who is Steven Universe if not the boy who helps? yes, he’s not that kid anymore, but he doesn't want to be this ball of pain either, so what’s left after but to think he’s just ruined? he’s not an angel, he’s not helping anymore, he’s just angry, hurt and lost.

what’s left but a monster?  

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love you, Chapter 75

Chapter Summary - Danielle gets ready to leave for the reshoots, meaning that since their moving in together, it is the first time Tom is left behind, an odd sensation for him.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe​ @wolfsmom1​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

The break was everything Tom needed to get himself back in a good frame of mind, his body needed the massage to get out the knots he seemed to have given himself after the stress of everything, the break away got him out of the eye of the public, and finally being able to be intimate with Danielle again made him feel as though he was not falling apart completely. If her masseuse was to be believed, she too was carrying a large burden on her shoulders, but she had not shown it in his presence. After more than a little prodding, he had gotten her to admit that study was getting on top of her as well as trying to get back to work, with at least another fortnight before her brace could come off, she was worried she would miss the opportunity to interview for the US job she had been eyeing for the summer. He sensed she was also worried about him but did not say anything on the subject.

Their return to the city was fairly quiet, getting immediately back into a routine, though with less studying from Danielle's perspective. Instead, she readied to go back on location for Game of Thrones for the reshoots, packing large hoodies and jackets to take attention off her injured arm, which she was hoping to keep hidden. Tom worried that it was not a good idea to go if she was injured, but part of him knew it was not a concern, but selfishness that was causing him to think that way. He knew she would be fine, she was more level-headed than most, bar the incident that led to said injury; she would make sure to be careful so that it would be off sooner rather than later.

"I am after clearing the downstairs area of all things 'me' related," Danielle informed him as she entered the bedroom. Tom turned to look at her, conveying his confusion as he did so. "You said you were inviting the writer here for the interview?" "Yes." "Well, we don't want to go parading it all, so I have all my stuff tidied away."

"You erased all trace of yourself?"

"No, simply tidied my things downstairs until I come back." She corrected. "Our room is the same, as you can see," She pointed around. "About Mac, do you want me to put him in somewhere or will he be okay with you?" "Are you saying you think I cannot mind our dog?" Tom asked putting his arms around her.

"I am saying you might not have the time or the wish to mind him if you are busy." "I am not too busy for him, he will stay here with me." "Okay, and what are you planning to cook for…what is her name again?" "Taffy." Tom smiled. "I was thinking of cooking something simple." "Make it something reheatable, do it earlier in the day to allow you to no seem ignorant and ignore her while cooking," Danielle suggested.

"You are so considerate." Tom kissed her. "You don't mind her coming here?" Danielle frowned, "Why would I even care?"

"Well, another woman…" "Tom, she is a magazine writer, this is not some seedy rendezvous behind my back, if I was not working I would be here or close by, you are making it sound as though you plan on the two of you having some heated saucy affair." Danielle scoffed.

Tom looked at her for a moment. "Thank you." Danielle cocked her head slightly. "So many partners get jealous." "Tom if I get jealous at you meeting women you need to work with, this is not going to last particularly long." She laughed. "I mean, safety control means I work with the set crew, which to date, has had zero women on the construction side of things, zero, nada, zilch. If the same logic was to be applied to me, you would be bald, grey and going crazy."

Tom's brow furrowed. "Not one other woman in the whole area?" "Well there are set designers and other such women, but the construction guys, the ones that put the sets together, that's pretty male-orientated; not to mention I am the first woman a lot of them have worked within my role." She shrugged.

"Really?" "Yep." Tom pulled her into him. "That's my girl, breaking down barriers."

"Just wait til I am finished my study and get back my paperwork," She smiled. "Now, since I mentioned saucy already, there is Bolognese in the freezer, your one, you should just defrost some and give it to her."

"Why the Bolognese?" "Because you make a damn good one." Danielle smiled, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"What am I going to do without you?" Tom stated, looking at his smiling girlfriend. "Get on with it, it's about three days, a week at most." "Hey, there's a big difference between three and seven days," Tom pointed out.

"There is, but they won't say until we get there what is being reshot, so we can only hamper guesses and that's the best I can give. When I get there, I will be told what it is and can give you are a better idea of when I am back," she stated with a smile. "Sure, you are meeting Taffy and have the Graham Norton show so that's half the week gone alone," she explained.

"Then a small recess until hectic schedules again."

"Yes, being proper adults with responsibilities isn't always fun." Danielle agreed, "But I mean, the Kong premiere run is what, two weeks? We can handle that, right?" "Three, but yes, phone calls, texts, skype." "I am not skype sexing, I am saying that right here and now, people can hack that and the last thing I want is my hoo-hoo on the internet!"

Tom chuckled. "Agreed, that would not be advisable. So phone calls and texts then?" "Phone calls, texting while trying to have a bit of fun is not easy I would imagine." "No, it's not." Tom agreed, leading to a raised brow from Danielle, "I was far younger, and it was back before predictive text." Danielle erupted in laughter. "God I was tragic." Tom groaned as he joined in. "'Was'?" she jested. "Was that far younger, curly-haired Hiddles?"

"With obligatory oversized jeans and thinking I was cool." Danielle erupted in fresh peels of laughter. "God I have come so far."

"Thank fuck." She forced out between laughter. Insulted, Tom grabbed her and began to tickle her leading to Danielle falling onto the bed in laughter. "Stop!" "Are you saying you would not have had time for younger me?" Tom asked.

"God no, younger Danielle would probably have been in this same position, though probably with a bit more drinking and going out." Danielle smiled.

"Wait you used to drink more, what happened?" "Myself and a friend, we drank a whole bottle of vodka between us one night," Tom winced. "It was the last time I did that." She nodded.

"How old were you?" "Nineteen, maybe twenty. Before that, I went out to nightclubs, drank my weight in alcohol and eating dodgy takeaway like every other youth." "Young, irresponsible Danielle, I would love to have seen that."

"And you?" "I don't think people realise how much alcohol a bunch of lads on a rugby team can drink." "Weren't you on the rugby team when you were in Eton, underage?" Tom shrugged. "Bold boy." "Then the Drama society in college, it wasn't a day if we weren't drinking it was a day wasted in some of their opinions." "But you ran the London Marathon back then, didn't you?" "Jesus, that was the hardest day of my life." Tom groaned. "Wait, didn't you say before you were going to do an IronMan?"

"Was." "What happened?"

"Work, I can't dedicate as much time to it now." "So you have given it up?" "What, no. I just have to wait for this to heal so I can cycle and swim, not to mention the weather is crappy, but I have found a pool to train in. The cycling is harder, there are a few places, but the city is far harder to navigate with all the traffic." She stated, holding up her hand.

Tom smiled in relief. "I thought you had given up something you love."

"Nah, not going to happen. I mean, I won't get to an IronMan for a while, but I am not after giving up. I am just a bit busier now, but it is short term, I want to get this all under my belt first." turning slightly, she gave the bed sheet a small smell. "I may need to give these a wash before I go, it stinks of my deodorant." "Don't, leave them as they are," she looked at Tom. "This is odd for me, being the one left at home." "It's only for a few days, you'll be abandoning me for longer." She smiled, toying with his hair.

Tom moved around so he was over her, smiling down at her. "I know, I am sorry, I wish I had a regular job." "I don't, you are incredible at what you do and you love it. I am so happy you get to do what you love so much, and if it means that for a few weeks here and there, I have to wait at home, or even skype or call you from wherever I am, I am okay with that." Tom leant down and kissed her. "My flight is in a few hours." she reminded him.

"Are you packed?" "Mmhmm." "Well then, I am going to ensure you go well satisfied," Tom swore as he leant to kiss her again.

*

Tom - Well, that went well.

Danielle - Done and dusted?

Tom - Yes, I went to speak to her at the hotel today, clear up some of the points that may not have been as clear as I wanted them to be.

Danielle - Good stuff.

Tom - How is work?

Danielle - Fine, cold, wet, dirty, but hey, that's why I signed up for, right?

Tom - Sadly there is good and bad. BTW good call on the Bolognese.

Danielle - Called it! No, seriously, it is lovely.

Tom - Minus the celery? :)

Danielle - what can I say, I'm not a fan.

Tom - duly noted.

Danielle - where did you eat the first night?

Tom - Can't say, you'll be mad.

Danielle - …..you went…..without me…..That's it, we're over, goodbye! Tom - Darling...

Danielle - You think you can grovel at my feet? Don't darling me!

Tom - We can go when you come back.

Danielle - I cannot believe you brought another woman there, I am heartbroken!

Tom - I'm sorry.

Danielle - Bite me!

Tom - If you keep acting like this, I might have to!

Danielle - …..really? You kinky fecker!

Tom - And I'm off the hook!

Danielle - so what else did you do?

Tom - Well, after she left last night, I watched Moonlight, as good as expected, but we did the interview yesterday, partly in Regents park, partly at the house.

Danielle - I haven't been there since New Years.

Tom - God it was gorgeous that day, the fog was so thick.

Danielle - We lost Mac about fourteen times in it! Tom - that only made it more fun.

Danielle - I suppose :)

Tom - So, now that you know what they are filming, do you know how long before you are home?

Danielle - My flight is booked for Friday, should be in about half seven to Gatwick.

Tom - Three more days? :(

Danielle - I know, it is almost done putting it together, I have to sign off on it in the morning, then film all tomorrow and Thursday, back Friday.

Tom - I'm collecting you from the airport.

Danielle - Well you have then time :) I'll make a deal with you, we will spend all of Saturday doing what you want?

Tom - So not leaving bed then?

Danielle - If that's what you want.

Tom - Bed is horrible without you.

Danielle - only three more nights. Xx

Tom - Mac misses you too, by the way, he is barking at the stairs every morning for you.

Danielle - Please stop, I can't know that! Tom - It's just him and me, all alone, without you here, all alone.

Danielle - Feck you anyway!

Tom - You want to come home?

Danielle - I wasn't overly happy to leave in the first place.

Tom - you'll just have to rush back so.

Danielle - Aren't you supposed to be at the BBC?

Tom - I am there now.

Danielle - Good.

Danielle - I am being called to set now, enjoy and talk to you this evening, tell me everything then. Bye xxx

Tom - Let me know what time to ring you, have a lovely day. Xxx

Tom put his phone in his pocket and smiled at Danielle's pretend anger at him going out for food without her as well as her enthusiasm to return home soon before getting to his feet and readying to go on stage for the Graham Norton show again.

[captainsuke]

relating to the home (domestic s4 fluff)

Adrian’s not prepared.

At first he figures he’ll be fine, he’s more worried that the house will turn into some sort filthy frat house than anything else.

Living with Deran shouldn’t be too much of a shock to the system.

And he’s right. For the most part.

But.

Well.

There’s a few things.

Maybe he was a bit naive, thinking of the weeks in Belize as a guide, sure he remembers Deran not sleeping much, but none of them had slept much. It’d been five weeks of playing hard, crashing fast and being up before dawn to catch the waves.

But it takes Adrian less than a week to realize that Deran might go to bed with Adrian, go to sleep with him, but by the early hours of morning, sometimes two am, sometimes three, he’d be staring at the ceiling.

It takes him another couple of days to work out how to broach the subject.

“You can get up, you know.” he mumbles sleepily into Deran’s shoulder, and Deran stiffened further like he hadn’t expected Adrian to notice his human pillow had gotten tense as fuck. “Hey, hey.”

Deran’s shifting now like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now he’s been caught out, but Adrian’s ready to nip that shit in the bud.

“Hey, come on, talk to me man.”

“I’m not,” when Deran speaks he doesn’t seem to know what to say, just that he needs to say something. “I don’t need to, I just, I don’t sleep much.”

It’s dark in their room but there’s enough filtered light from outside to make out the lines of each other’s faces, there’s enough light for Deran to see Adrian’s sleepy smile.

“If you need to get up and do something, then get up.” He presses his lips against the smooth skin of Deran’s shoulder, reveling in the way Deran leans towards him when he does. “Just come back.”

Deran rolls towards him head ducking down to burrow into Adrian’s chest, his fingers slip down along his stomach to tuck into the waistband of his pants, Just sitting there like he needs something to hold onto.

Adrian doesn’t know all of Deran’s secrets, stuff he doesn’t ask about, things that Deran can’t talk about even if he wanted to. Maybe Deran just doesn’t sleep much for mundane reasons, it doesn’t matter, Adrian decides as he rearranges himself to wrap his arms around Deran, to press his face into his hair.

“Just don’t leave without letting me know.”

So they figure out the sleep thing, Deran wanders the house, smokes outside staring at the waves, stress cleans worse than Adrian which somehow surprises them both when the night before Adrian’s due to fly out they end up arguing over who’s doing the dishes. Dishwater ends up all over the kitchen, a plate gets smashed in an impromptu tug of war and after they stop laughing they christen the kitchen table. Adrian stares at the water dripping from the sink as he lays on his back on the table, feeling sated and the right type of sore.

“I have to sit for ten hours on an airplane, you asshole.”

Deran looks up, unsticking his face from the sweat on Adrian’s chest, eyes hooded and unreadable.

“You can fuck me if you want.”

And Adrian’s brain short circuits for a moment, they haven’t swapped it around for what seems like forever, sense memory and Deran’s current naked proximity gives Adrian some pretty vivid images.

But Deran’s relationship with sex was a complicated beast and Adrian never wants to fall into the trap of sex as an apology again.

Deran’s hairs getting long enough for him to wind it around his fingers, so he does. Uses it to gently drag Deran’s face to his.

“I need a shower,” he tells him between kisses. “Why don’t you blow me while I do that?”

Deran smiles but his eyes flicker across to the mess they’ve made and that won’t do.

“That is,”Adrian tugs at Deran’s hair, gently, just enough to get his full attention back. “if you think you won’t drown.”

Adrian hopes at some time he’ll stop feeling like his hearts going to stop - like he’s been winded in the best way - every time Deran blushes and smiles that soft smile at him. He’s not going to survive this relationship otherwise.

And he’s really not because then Deran’s soft smile turns into the sharp toothed grin that destroyed all Adrian’s defenses at seventeen.

“I think I can hold my breath long enough.” He says into Adrian’s skin as he leans further down and then suddenly he’s picking Adrian up and that’s only going to end in disaster. They’re both sweaty and slippery, exhausted and Adrian weighs a tonne no matter how nice Deran’s arms look when they flex.

It does predictably end with Adrian knocking an ankle on one of the kitchen cabinets, and then Deran clips his elbow on the doorway which sends them both down into a giggling mess of limbs on the floor.

Maybe, Adrian thinks as he doesn’t even bother trying to untangle himself before launching himself at Deran’s face, maybe disaster isn’t so bad if it results in them making out on the floor at 3am.

They do eventually end up in bed. Deran’s hair is damp against the back of Adrian’s neck as he clings to Adrian’s back. He’d dropped off to sleep almost immediately, but Adrian’s found himself suddenly not tired, staring into the darkness, face smooshed up against the tangle of arms wrapped around him. They haven’t quite worked it all out yet. But they will. Adrian’ll take a crick in the neck every morning if this is how he goes to sleep each night.

He can have this. He’ll make this work out. He can do this.

In the morning the dishes sat cleaned and left to dry on the sink and Adrian would pick his battles and let Deran have the win this time, lets himself just be pleased that at least whatever time Deran got up, he was back in bed early enough to be asleep next to him in the morning.

He drops Adrian off at the Airport - Deran picks him up sometimes when he’s not too busy and it’s so normal that Adrian shouldn’t feel the thrill he does when he sees the scout is parked out in the arrivals area - Deran kisses him goodbye in the car before Adrian gets out.

“You should come in and make out with me in front of the TSA,” he’d laughed and Deran with pink cheeks joked back about that getting Adrian a full body search. That had hit a little too close to home and against Adrian’s best attempts Deran seems to notice the mood shifting. It’s Adrian’s fault this time though Deran doesn’t know it and Adrian doesn’t know how to tell him, can’t think of a lie that won’t make it all worse.

So he let’s it go, let’s Deran stare down at his lap with a shamefaced sort of look on his face, Adrian will make it up to him. When this is all over, when he’s free and clear and the DEA’s eyes are far from him, far from where they might accidentally cast across to Deran, Adrian swears to himself that he’ll make it up to him.

The last thing. (and it’s not the last thing because Adrian’s never going to tire of coming home – home - and finding Deran in the middle of doing something mundane, silly or serious, or a weird mix of all of the above, where he gets to learn something new about the man he shares - a youth, over a decade of stupid shit – a house with.)

But one last thing is Deran’s obsession with buying things for the house. Usually on his phone. In the middle of the night. When he definitely supposed to be sleeping. Adrian doesn’t know how many times he’s woken up to the soft glow of Deran’s phone, the slight movements in his arms as he swiped around the screen.

Are you on grindr? he’d asked once, more than half asleep, but the full body jerk and affronted look had woken him up enough to laugh at Deran’s discomfort. Eventually Deran had just flipped his phone screen to face Adrian and after the light had finished blinding him, he could see a set of wooden stools that’d look nice at their counter, and then swiping left to see the same seats but in steel.

He thinks he maybe makes a comment, says something to appease Deran’s very serious face before ducking his head down to hide from the light, and drift back to sleep but it’s not until the wooden seats are delivered to their door that he knows what the decision was.

After that Deran shows his phone’s screen slightly more often, he’s still a secretive little shit – no amount of time is ever going to stop him from keeping his phone face down when it’s on the table – but Adrian can handle that, it’s not directed at him, and until he sorts out his shit he doesn’t want to see whatever messages get passed between Cody’s.  He does like Deran asking for his input though, makes his stomach feel twisted in maybe a good way that a lot of his opinions seem to be the ones Deran chooses, like maybe he’s not dreaming too big when he thinks about where he is – where they are – and it lasting longer than he ever could have hoped when he was seventeen.

He’s tried to explain it to Jess, but she had her own complicated relationships and the two of them never could fully understand the other’s stance. So they both sat at the impasse of I am behind you one hundred percent but when it crashes and burns my surprise will be completely faked and only for your benefit.

It’s hard to explain that some of the things Deran does feels like a memory so old Adrian’s half convince he made it up. The new things he’s learning are like the first expressions of a man’s first steps into the light. Sides of Deran he’s not sure anyone else has ever been allowed to see, things Deran’s doing now that Adrian thinks he maybe kind of remembers from when Deran was a bright eyed cocky kids, who smiled more like he meant it, who’d be the first one to show Adrian something he’d decided was cool, who’d talk shit for hours just so he’d have Adrian’s attention.

The mature version of that kid makes Adrian feel things; his undivided attention, sharing a bed, Deran making breakfast, hell even the way Deran would just walk up to him sometimes and drop his forehead into the middle of Adrian’s back and just stand there, like the contact was the only thing keeping him standing.

All these little memories and moments Adrian wants to keep to himself. And he wants to make more.

[bae-leth]

I had a bunch more stuff I wanted to say about Faris and Natalia’s relationship in the Fraldarddyd family AU but I thought it would be easier on everyone to put all my thoughts in one submissions instead of sending a dozen asks this time. Also, lol, I can’t believe I keep coincidentally giving these characters the names of your relatives, what the heck???

Let’s just go over Faris first. He’s a friendly and social guy. He’s obsessed with the stars and can talk about them for hours if given the chance. He’s a smart guy and super politically savvy, perfectly at home in even the most cutthroat political climates. He’s known to be very mischievous and prone to pranks, though the less he likes you then the harsher his pranks can be. He and Natalia are the same age but he’s a couple months younger, which she loves to hold over him especially after he grows taller than her. He and Zain are pretty close despite Zain loving to give his little brother shit whenever possible. I see him being magically gifted, so I imagine him as a Warlock. I see him mainly taking after Claude in terms of looks (I don’t really have a spouse in mind for Claude in this AU so I’m leaving that part kinda vague).

Strengths – Reason, Authority; Weaknesses – Axe, Brawl, Heavy Armor; Budding Talent - Lance

Zain is two years older than Faris and basically anyone who meets him considers him a stern and serious no-nonsense kind of crown prince. This is how he’s like around most people. However he allows himself to relax and show off a much more playful, emotional, teasing side around people he trusts wholeheartedly (his immediate family and a small handful of friends). He resembles his brother in having the same eye color and skin tone, but Zain looks much more rugged and mature. Unlike Faris he is perfectly at home on the battlefield, being a renowned Sniper with plenty of victories to his name. He never became a Barbarossa like his dad cause he’s scared of heights. He enjoys the ocean a ton, so he’s always up for ocean voyages and will take any and every chance to explore coastlines.

Strengths - Bow, Axe, Authority; Weaknesses – Faith, Flying; Budding Talent - Riding

The whole engagement thing between Faris and Natalia is largely unofficial and both sides mainly just want their kids to become close to promote good relations between Fodlan and Almyra. Although things would really work out the best if the pair did become romantically involved but no one is really pushy about it. Especially since Faris and Natalia just do NOT like each other. Honestly the only thing stopping the first meeting between the royal children from being a complete disaster is that both Faris and Zain quickly become attached to Artemis (prince of stealing hearts without even trying). Faris and Artemis latch onto each other since they have so much in common (second princes, good at magic, similar weaknesses, bookworms, etc) while Zain ends up considering Artemis like another little brother while Artemis really look up to Zain (it’s thanks to Zain that Artemis’ budding talent is bows). Also Zain actually ends up being friendly with Natalia too (he likes her strong, honest personality and honestly he finds the disaster that is hers and Faris’ relationship hilarious, plus she thinks he’s super cool and likes sparring with him). So it’s literally just Natalia and Faris at odds with each other.

“If you like Artemis so much, why don’t you marry him instead?!” “Maybe I will!” “Fine!” “Fine!” “FINE!” “FINE!!!” *Zain and Artemis in the background, talking about their favorite desserts and not getting involved in their siblings’ fight*

“Claude I’m starting to doubt if this will work out. The two of them hate each other.” “Well Felix hated you plenty for a few years and look at you now. Adorable little lovebirds, a love story perfect for the bards to sing of!” “Listen here you little-” “Felix please.”

In order to try and help Natalia and Faris get along they’re both sent to visit each other’s homeland a bunch over the years. Occasionally the whole family goes but the rulers can’t keep running off all the time. So most of the time it’s Natalia (and Artemis because Natalia barricaded herself in her room until her dads agreed to let her take Artemis along “to see that stupid Faris’ face”) visiting Almyra for several weeks and then a little while later it’s Faris visiting Fodlan, particularly Faerghus, for several weeks (only bringing Zain when he’s in a particularly bad mood thanks to Natalia since Zain keeps making fun of him otherwise).

Faris is kinda sorta okay when he’s in Faerghus, even though it’s absurdly cold most of the time. Hell, every time he thinks he’s wearing enough the weather proves him wrong. Natalia keeps laughing at him when he has to dress up like a marshmallow in order to go out in Faerghus winters. Natalia is very brutal in snowball fights…RIP Faris. He definitely prefers to stay inside by the fireplace, though Natalia is insistent on dragging him outside. It usually ends in him spending the last few days of his stay sick in bed.

Natalia, like Dimitri, is dead in heat so every time she goes to Almyra she spends around a week just laying on her bed wearing as little as proper manners will allow. Faris alternates between “helping” by practicing his ice magic on her or otherwise relying on her need to do better than him to goad her into playing with him. Though he had to lay off on that after Natalia got heatstroke once.

Natalia considers it a personal insult that her beloved horse absolutely adores Faris when he’s usually very picky about who he allows near him (“Ares, how could you do this to me?!” *neighs* “Oh don’t give me that attitude young man!”)

Faris, in the meanwhile, is not pleased by how his retainers-in-the-making are absolutely smitten with Natalia (“Did you see her in yesterday’s spar with the new recruits? She could break my spine and I’d thank her.” “Please, sweet embrace of death, come for me.”)

Artemis and Zain start being regular pen pals as they compare archery notes, seek advice from one prince to another, talk about recent events in their homeland and in their lives, and complain about their siblings/commentate on whether or not they’ll get together.

“I don’t know, Zain, after that incident with the birds Sister said, and I quote, ‘The next time I see that scrawny piece of *ahem* garbage, he’s dead. Almyra will be down a prince and they’ll be all the better for it.’ So I’m saying no.” “I’d agree with you, especially since Faris has been disturbingly interested in researching dark magic after eating those ‘super special Faerghus delicacies’ Natalia brought last time. But for as social as he is my brother is normally never so obsessed with anyone, so I think we may have a romance for the ages on our hands, my friend!”

The two of them play PLENTY of stupid pranks on each other over the years. Sometimes they flat out got into physical fights with each other. The people of Fodlan and Almyra have long since gotten used to the sound of Faris and Natalia yelling at each other and then the sound of crashing and punching.

That being said, not everything was bad between them. That one time Natalia got heatstroke, Faris was genuinely apologetic and worried about her and kept her company while she was bedridden. Likewise Natalia does feel bad when she keeps getting Faris sick while trying to show off Faerghus to him and will read him adventure stories to pass the time. Also I love the idea you mentioned of Faris trying to help Natalia get over her low spice intolerance (to mixed results, Natalia’s just glad she no longer downs an entire pitcher of water on her own after eating Almyran food). One time when a Faerghus noble child made a snide remark about Faris being Almyran, Natalia tackled the brat to the ground.

Faris, holding a tissue to Natalia’s bloody nose: “I thought you didn’t like me.” Natalia, very obviously confused: “??? What does not liking you have to do with you being Almyran?” Faris: “Heh, I suppose you’re right for once.”

“Zain, I think I want to change my opinion. Sister and Faris may have more of a chance than I originally thought.” “What did I tell you, Artemis? Romance for the ages…”

As the years pass and Natalia and Faris both grow and mature and mellow out, the two of them start to consider each other friends. They speak more, debate more, discuss their interests more, and slowly start to enjoy spending time together. Eventually it gets to the point where the two of them joke around about their kinda sorta engagement to each other. Natalia singing the absolute worst love songs while Faris writes the cheesiest poetry and love letters imaginable. Calling each other cutesy pet names, those kind of shenanigans.

Honestly, they mostly do it just to fuck with poor Zain and Artemis, who didn’t ask for this bullshit but are stuck with it anyways.

“Artemis, I need you to kill me, I can’t tolerate them anymore.” “Come now, Zain, it’s not so bad! Hey, why don’t we go for a ride on Altena? That always calms me down!” “I cannot stress enough how much I would rather die than do that…” “What are you trying to say about my sweet Altena, huh?” “Would you stop taking it as an insult against your wyvern every time?!”

Natalia starts teaching Faris about fighting with lances. And Faris helps Natalia grow more used to handling politics.

Honestly, there was something special growing between them for quite some time after they started getting along better, but neither of them really recognized what it could be. But they kept getting closer and closer as time passed. At public events they stuck by each other’s side and often danced together. They were seen going off on rides together or just taking walks while talking.

Faris is the first one to recognize his feelings when he comes along to help Natalia out with a skirmish. The pair make a great team in battle, covering for each other’s weaknesses well. Faris, too exhausted after a large number of enemies surrounded him, is almost taken down from behind when Natalia saves him. His joke has a fair amount of relief and gratitude in it when he says “Thanks for the help, sweetheart!” But WOW when Natalia turns to him with the most dazzling smile on her face, looking like she practically glowing with the sun behind her, Faris feels like his heart stops. “Anytime, honey!” And Faris just keeps staring after her as she rushes off after another enemy.

Natalia was always pretty but Faris has never actually acknowledged how pretty until that moment. And his heart won’t stop racing, her smile and voice still in his head. And oh fuck, oh shit, he knows exactly what this is…

“Zain, you umm…you wouldn’t happen to know when the next visit to Fodlan is, would you?” “…Why do you ask, my dear little brother? :))))))” “…Are you going to tell Arty about this?” *Zain, pulling out a piece of parchment and quill* “What gives you that idea????”

Faris regrets everything when his parents and brother don’t let him live it down that he’s now realized he’s in love with Natalia. “Whatever happened to ‘I’d rather become a hermit and die alone and unloved on a barren mountain than ever marry her’ Faris? Seven-year-old you was soooo dramatic!” “Father, please.”

Things don’t change too significantly after Faris’ realization. But there are changes. He’s noticeably softer around Natalia, smiling gently around her or going along with her wishes more easily. Most of his pranks towards her tone down to being things that give her pleasant surprises. The most significant change comes from the love letters and poems purposefully written badly for jokes slowly becoming more sincere sounding and really sweet.

Natalia doesn’t know what to make of the changes. They’re odd but she’s more surprised by how much she enjoys it. She even reads Faris’ letters and poems over and over well into the night. A warm and peaceful feeling spreads through her every time she gets a new letter from Faris or he holds her closer than usual during a dance.

She doesn’t realize it’s love until sometime later when she visits Almyra. Faris is so bright and excited as he drags her outside in the dead of night because the skies are so clear that you can see way more stars than normal and it’s soooo beautiful. Faris happily explains the stories behind all the different constellations and laughs so happily recalling some of his favorite tales. Natalia stares and stares at him and thinks that she could watch him smile and laugh like that forever. At some point Faris starts holding her hands and pulls her close to him as he keeps pointing out constellations and telling her stories. And Natalia tries so hard to concentrate on his words but all she can focus on is his hands and how warm they are and so much bigger than hers and how she wants him to keep holding her and-Oh. Ooohhhh…Oh fuck…

“So, Sister, you enjoyed your last visit to Almyra a lot, didn’t you?” “Hmm? What gave that away, Artemis?” *Natalia, lying on her bed surrounded by all of Faris’ letters and poems to her, giggling to herself as she reads them* “…Just a hunch.”

“Felix, it seems Claude was right. He tells me Faris is rather obviously smitten. And it’s easy to tell Natalia is in love. While I’m sad at how quickly the children are growing up, it’s wonderful to see them so happy, isn’t it?” “Uh-huh yeah sure, do you think this blade is sharp enough or should I take it back to the blacksmith? I want it ready before the Almyrans come visit next month.” “…Why are you-?” “You know damn well why.” “Felix.”

“Well it seems you and I will get to call each other ‘brother’ soon enough, Artemis! Or well, hopefully soon enough. It depends on how long it takes our stubborn siblings to take those final steps.” “Agreed. But I’ve already thought of you as my brother for a long time now, Zain. We’ve known each other for so many years! Your one of my dearest friends and my brother in all but blood. :)” “…” “??? Zain, are you crying-?” “*sobs* NO, I’m not!”

[mobscene-london]

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Henry García.  AGE: 37. PLACE OF BIRTH: Porto Velho, California, United States. AFFILIATION: The Rutherford Family. OCCUPATION: Bodyguard of Lara Rutherford. FACE CLAIM: Manny Montana. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

(Warning: Mentions of domestic abuse.)

“I don’t want you fighting anymore.”

It was ironic how her tantrums only ever led to more of that.

“Don’t want me fighting, or don’t want me fighting for her?”

Because at the end of the day, that was always what it boiled down to. Vanessa had never batted an eye when he was cracking skulls for the British family, but she sure had a problem with him appealing to the attention of Lara Rutherford. Their relationship had been bitter for years, but this was the first time he’d ever seen her jealous.

The only thing that had ever been harder than growing up in Porto Velho’s shittiest neighbourhood was his fucking marriage. Don’t get him wrong, he’d been in love with her back then; or at least as in love as any seventeen year old boy could be. They’d met during high school, when his main priority had been dealing just enough drugs to pay for the upkeep of the car he raced with his friends. Henry didn’t know what real responsibility was—few teenage boys, especially the ones who grew up in his kind of household, did.

So when he’d found out, both only eighteen years old, that he’d knocked her up, it felt like his whole damn life was unravelling.

Whilst his pops had beat the shit out of him as thanks for becoming a grandfather, his mother had been the one to push the idea of doing the ‘right thing’. Even though he’d never imagined being married at this age—he’d always wanted to go to school, play football, get the fuck out of the city for good—Henry was so scared he’d just rolled with it. In hindsight, he suspects Vanessa only agreed for the same damn reasons.

Things hadn’t been so bad in the beginning. Henry was still dealing drugs for the Rutherfords, but it wasn’t enough of an income to look after the daughter he’d fallen in love with immediately. Maybe he hadn’t exactly dreamed of this life, but he was sure as hell going to do right by her now that he was living it. If that meant taking on more dangerous jobs for the British—becoming some hired muscle they could throw at the Cávado gangs—he’d do whatever it took to earn the money. No daughter of his would ever go without.

Whilst the responsibility of being a dad matured him, it sent Vanessa wildly in the other direction. The little she earned from her job went toward drinking and socializing because she was so ‘stressed out’ over all of her new responsibilities. Like she was the one up all night when Val was crying, or there to bathe and feed the kid. Still, he kept his mouth shut for the sake of peace. Of course, that didn’t stop their fights; the ones she started, but he was blamed for by her overbearing mother.

The life he was living was hell, and Valentina was the only thing that kept him going.

On the rare occasions Vanessa was home, she was almost always drunk; an aggressive one, at that. Though she’d never laid a hand on their daughter—because he sure as fuck wouldn’t have been so forgiving if she had—that didn’t stop her from lashing out at him violently. Once, she’d clocked him so hard that she’d broken his nose. Despite his violent reputation on the streets, however, not once did he put a hand on his wife. To stop her aggressive tirade, he’d locked her in the bathroom to cool off…only for the police to be called over the domestic disturbance, and his ass to be the one that was arrested.

Henry didn’t leave. Only because he couldn’t live knowing his daughter was growing up with that.

As his home life deteriorated to the point of insanity, things were at least on the up when it came to work.

It’d been at Val’s eleventh birthday party they first met.

Lara Rutherford had just moved back to the city. For her to seek him out in the way she had was unorthodox, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. After hearing about how talented he was from a mutual acquaintance, she’d approached him about taking up competitive fighting instead of working on the streets, and whilst Henry had been hesitant at first, when she’d explained how much money could be made, there was no way he could say no. Anything was better than risking his life in shitty gang wars.

To form a genuine friendship with the woman had been unexpected. Everyone who worked under Andrew’s name had heard about her; some worshiped her like a god, whilst others painted her as a sociopath. Henry’s opinion fell solidly in the middle, and maybe that’s why, after three years of fighting on her behalf, he gladly accepted when she asked him to become her bodyguard. Spending every day in her company wasn’t half fucking bad—even if it mostly consisted of throwing insults back and forth until one got so stroppy they started ignoring the other.

Henry vowed never to leave her. There was sure as hell no fucker else who could put up with her high maintenance ass, anyway. So, when he’d blamed himself for her being shot in the street by a rival gang in California—despite the fact he was off duty at the time—it’d taken a particularly shouty lecture from her to keep him from giving up the gig. Seeing her hurt was fucking rough. Whether he’d admit it or not, she really was one of the few people he actually gave a shit about in their awful city, and he’d learned years ago that something like that was worth holding on to.

When he’d found out that she was planning on making a move to London, it came as a bitter disappointment. He was sure their time was finally up.

Even though he’d promised he’d always have her back, even she wasn’t enough to make him leave his daughter behind. Valentina might’ve been eighteen years old by this time—an adult in her own damn right—but he was still her father, and he would never bail on her. When Lara sat him down with perhaps the most sincere and understanding smile he’d ever seen her wear, she told him she would never have expected him to.

“I’m gonna fucking miss you, you know that?”

Well, he could allow her a little bit of smugness.

If he’d had it in his mind that it was time to say goodbye, that shit had flown out the window as soon as she’d walked his daughter into the room. The two were smiling as though they were in on some kind of joke he wasn’t privy to. Fucking annoying. When Valentina held out a piece of paper in his direction, it didn’t take him long to understand why they looked so excited. Henry wouldn’t be leaving his daughter behind because Lara had personally paid for her to attend university in London. To finally get away from her mother now she was old enough to make the decision for herself…

It might just have been the nicest fucking thing anyone had ever done for him. For his daughter. Period. His gratitude knew no bounds. Even if he’d wanted to reject the generosity out of pride alone, he knew that Lara wouldn’t accept it.

Holy fuck.

They were finally getting a fresh start, and he didn’t have to give up doing what he loved?

Of course, he should have said thank you.

“You could’ve fucking told me that before I said I was going to miss you,” definitely seemed more fitting, though.   

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. Vanessa García (wife, separated, unplayable) FAMILY: Valentina García (daughter, unplayable) CONNECTIONS:

Dev Daryani: Good friend. Though they met whilst working in Cávado together under Johnathan Parsons, it wasn’t until the two of them started fighting for Lara that they really bonded. Henry might be talented with his fists, but he’s got nothing on Dev, and they both know it. He has a lot of respect for the man, and is always eager to learn what he can from him to improve his own game.

Adriana Amaro: Good friend. Lara often jokes that Adriana is the only person she’s ever met who’s sassier than him. Fucking rude, but probably correct, and it’s almost definitely why when the two of them get together, it’s entertaining for everybody involved. Though Adriana probably isn’t the type of person he would’ve associated with if it hadn’t been for her closeness to Lara, he’s glad to have gotten the chance to get to know her better over the years.

Johnathan Parsons: Former boss. Even though he served under Parsons loyally for years, he sometimes wonders whether his antagonistic choices do the family more harm than good. Of course, he was never fucking stupid enough to say it aloud, but now that he stands at Lara’s side, Henry certainly has a better angle to scrutinize him from. All he can hope is that London doesn’t spiral out of control in the same way Porto Velho did because of his decisions.

[serenlyss]

Growing Up

Rating: G Pairing: Background terumob Summary: Shigeo decides to branch out a little. Crossposted to AO3: Growing Up

Here's my second stab at @bisexualwinry​‘s fluff prompts!

On an unrelated note, I've been looking for fellow mp100 writers here with the potential of creating a writer's discord! Specifically I've been looking in the mp100 fandom since that's the one I'm most active in rn but it's open to all fandom writers. I haven't created it yet bc I haven't seen enough interest but I feel like it could be a really fun place for writers to get together, find beta readers, workshop ideas, etc! If you're interested, hmu here on tumblr or my discord (LyssaGirl1998). You can send me an ask or an im, whatever you prefer!

“Master Reigen,” Shigeo says one day from his spot on the couch in Reigen’s office, “I think I’d like to learn to play piano.”

Reigen looks up from where he’s tapping away at his keyboard. It’s still odd to hear Shigeo call him that, after he’d admitted to being a fraud, but despite his insistence that he doesn’t need to anymore, he still does anyway. Shigeo reclines against the couch, one leg lifted so that his ankle rested atop his opposite knee. He has a book open in his lap, which he’s been quietly reading up until now.

“Piano?” The voice of Reigen’s unwanted and self-imposed secretary butts into the conversation before Reigen can reply. Tome leans forward in her seat, the seat that used to be Shigeo’s, before he’d stopped coming around as frequently. “What would you want to learn something like that for?”

Shigeo shrugs with a small smile, slipping a bookmark between the pages of his novel and setting it aside for now. The smiles are less rare now, more generously offered and less stifled and withheld. “It was thinking that it could be fun to learn how to play an instrument,” he explains. “I don’t have a lot of hobbies, after all.”

Reigen’s more than a little surprised that piano is the thing that Shigeo has decided to pursue. He’s never seemed like much of the musical type, aside from whatever music he liked to listen to in his free time, and he’d only ever taken interest in a few random activities, like exercising. But he’s in his third year of middle school now, and he’d finally started letting go of the tight hold he’d kept on his emotions for all those years, so it’s only natural for him to want to explore those hidden and repressed sides of himself now. Besides, Reigen finds the idea of careful Shigeo sitting at a piano quite easy to imagine, once he puts his mind to it. “Hmm, I think it would suit you,” he comments. “Why piano, though? Any particular reason?”

“Well, Teru knows how to play, and he’s even offered to teach me a few times,” Shigeo replies, his smile turning a bit more shy and fond with the mention of his boyfriend. “He’s really talented, and I bet he’s a good teacher.”

At her desk, Tome makes choking noises and pretends to be sick.

Reigen ignores her entirely. “I think it’s a good idea,” he says. Shigeo deserves encouragement and support, and if he wants to try something new, Reigen firmly believes that he should.

Shigeo, at least, seems pleased with the answer, nodding with a confidence Reigen still isn’t quite used to seeing before returning quietly to his book. Reigen lets himself stare a moment longer, noting that Shigeo’s gotten taller. It won’t be long before he shoots over Reigen’s head and starts rivaling Serizawa.

He huffs out a breath that ends up sounding annoyed, turning back to his work. These stupid kids, they really do grow up way too fast.

---

Teru and Shigeo meet after their club activities often to study and, occasionally, to have a brief piano lesson. Teru can’t fit a keyboard in his little apartment, so he comes to Salt Mid instead, and the two of them take up residence in one of the school’s open practice rooms in the music wing.

Shigeo’s fingers are inexperienced and uncertain, and he’s quick to doubt the soft way he presses the keys, so different from Teru’s quick and confident playing. He’s stubbornly dedicated to learning, though, and his ear is incredibly sharp. He picks out his mistakes quickly after he makes them, fingers jerking into the correct positions with little need for Teru to correct them for him. Teru’s quick to praise him for his progress and gentle when he points out his missteps, and they quickly fall into a routine in their lessons of sitting on the bench together, close enough to brush shoulders, Teru leaning over to mess with the music while Shigeo does scales and arpeggios and sight reads the kind of music meant for three-year-olds and pretends not to notice how the proximity makes his chest warm comfortably.

---

Ritsu hears Shigeo practice, sometimes, when their mother goes to run errands, their father isn’t quite home from work yet, and it’s just the two of them in the house. Usually it’s when Ritsu is up in his room, working on his homework. He’ll catch the faint, distant sound of piano melodies as Shigeo plays whatever comes to mind: random little tunes that Teru’s taught him, old folk songs and nursery rhymes, and occasionally something of his own creation.

The tunes start out rough and shaky, large breaks between bits of the music Shigeo hasn’t quite committed to memory yet. Ritsu wonders how he can see so little progress and yet still not find himself frustrated. He shakes his head and goes back to his homework, drowning out the quiet plinks of the piano beneath him with headphones and his own music.

---

Shigeo graduates middle school.

Reigen gets invited to come sit with his family for the ceremony, and Teru does as well. They find a seat off to the side, easy to spot but not too overbearing. The ceremony is widely unnecessary, in Reigen’s opinion, and drags on for far longer than he believes it should, but that doesn’t stop the rush of unprecedented pride he feels when he hears the principal call Shigeo’s name.

He watches, speechless, as the boy he’s known for the last five years of his life crosses the stage, and hides the fact that he’s on the verge of tears by pretending he’s sleepy and rubbing his eyes. Ritsu shoots him a look that says he sees right through Reigen’s bullshitting, but not even Shigeo’s snarky younger brother can steal his good mood away from him when he eagerly goes to congratulate his student after the ceremony has concluded.

Shigeo’s parents shell out to buy him a nice graduation gift: an electronic keyboard of his own, one that he can easily put up in his bedroom and take with him when he eventually goes off to college. It’s full-sized, with the nice weighted keys that feel like a real piano’s, but compact enough that he doesn’t need to worry about how much space it takes up. Reigen pitches in to help pay for the accessories as his own congratulations, and it’s beyond satisfying to see the way Shigeo’s eyes light up at the sight of the crisp, new black-and-white instrument already set up and waiting for him when they all go back to the Kageyama house to celebrate.

---

Shigeo keeps practicing. He gets better every time Ritsu hears him, his pacing more consistent, repertoire more confident. It makes him happy that Shigeo has found something he likes, that he’s willing to practice and get better at. He hopes he sticks with it.

---

Shigeo grows older, taller. His daily exercises with the Body Improvement Club show in the lean muscles he hides beneath the sleeves of the better-fitting high school uniform. His shoulders broaden and his face loses its childishness in favor of more mature, angular features, but it retains its softness in the laugh lines around his eyes and the toothy smile he no longer hesitates to show.

Larger hands and longer fingers make playing the piano that much easier, after the initial adjustment he has to make to account for his newfound clumsiness. He runs into things constantly now, banging his feet on chairs and tables that he swears are too far away to be problematic and hitting his head on low-hanging objects and shelves he used to be able to walk right under. He forgets sometimes that he can reach the high shelves now, the ones even Reigen can’t get to unless he uses the little step stool by the pantry.

He joins a music club at his new high school and uses it as his designated practice time, putting his hours into the well-worn pianos in the music room while the other club members hone their own talents all around him. It’s been months since he first touched a piano, and he’s grown confident and deft in the way he moves his fingers over the keys. He can sight read now, at least certain things. He plays whatever he feels like playing, not confined to classes or grades or any sort of classical training. He picks out song with tunes he thinks sound pretty or interesting and then he recreates them, with or without music, content to play on a whim instead of by necessity.

He never becomes so good at the piano that he’s asked to perform outside of occasional pieces he plays for his friends or classmates at his music club. He learns a few duets, with Teru or with friends who play other instruments, but he doesn’t perform in front of large crowds or even attempt to.He’s perfectly content to play for himself, and only himself.

---

Shigeo loves playing the piano. When he feels stressed, it’s an easy way for him to relieve some dormant energy and express those feelings in a productive way. He plays happy things when he’s feeling sad, somber things when he’s feeling contemplative, whatever comes to mind in the moment. He plays easy things and complex things, whatever sounds pleasing to the ear, and challenges himself by picking up pieces that he thinks may be a bit beyond his skill level. He surprises himself by putting in the time and effort into making what seemed impossible his new glass ceiling, and shatters it with every day he pushes himself out of his comfort zone.

Sometimes he plays out loud, for anyone to hear, and other times he plugs in a pair of headphones and plays just for himself. He plays as a break between homework assignments, putting his brain to work in a completely different way, plays when he’s feeling bored and has nothing else to do.

Sometimes he doesn’t play at all, too wrapped up in the business of his schedule as he balances occasional work for Reigen with hanging out with Teru and his brother and all of their friends. He never goes too long without playing, though, his attention inevitably going back to the keyboard set up by the window in his room, where he can glance outside at the neighbors walking their dogs down the street while his fingers drum against the plastic keys. It’s peaceful, and takes his mind off his other concerns.

---

When he finally leaves his parents’ house, he takes the keyboard with him.

[imagine-loki]

Irked

Title: Irked Author: lokilover9 Chapter: #25 Rating: Mature Warnings: Mention of violence and death Initially, Thor’s late night call regarding Iris’s father Freyr, had made Loki happy. Then it unexpectedly resurfaced daunting memories of the evil he was capable of, which hadn’t dissipated by morning. Of course Loki no longer loved Iris, she was deceased. Still, how could he look at Shandi with all these tumultuous thoughts in his head? Added guilt of a deceivingly in depth glimpse into her past through Nat, gives Shandi one into Loki’s, when a second call from Thor flares his temper. The following day after Shandis ‘coco’ shenanigans, the team were all sharing a late lunch when her phone rang. Excitedly, she hushed everyone and answered. “Hello Alice… Good, thanks and you?” Her mouth fell agape amidst listening. “He’s here. Would you like to ask him?”

She handed the phone to Loki and following the usual pleasantries, he too was surprised. “Certainly, I’d be delighted… Very well, see you at noon tomorrow.” Turned out the ladies assemblers for the fair were in a rock climbing accident. With everyone else in town accounted for, they were desperate for aid and Loki was now it. When Tony heard, he was again elated with their progress, then revealed he was about to call them. Phil found an assault charge on Tanya’s juvie record dated when she was twelve. Whilst spending the summer at a camp for gifted kids, her crush on a counselor, earned his counselor girlfriend a broken knee from a baseball bat. Based on a mental assessment administered following the attack, Tony was almost certain she murdered young Candace. “That is pretty brutal, but why?” Asked Shandi. “Your previous assumption was correct, Doll. The psychiatrist concluded Tanya’s a sociopath with a high IQ, narcissistic tendencies and is devoid of empathy. She scored a disconcerting 140.” “Fuck.” Said Nat, grasping this made Tanya more dangerous than they thought. “Is that high?” Asked Loki. “Very, amongst us Midgardians Cactus. Since then, no other record of her being treated for mental illness exists. Anyone curious of who ordered that enlightening assessment?”   The answer instantly struck Shandi. “Oh my God. No one else could have, but Scott. He’s known all along what his daughter’s capable of and never gotten her help.” “Correct again, Doll. A police chief who’s undoubtedly seen murders committed at the hands of others just like her. Ain’t he a peach?” Tony couldn’t resist an opportunity to raz Loki a bit. “And leave it up to Cactus. Days into an important mission and he brings crazy into the mix.” “Apparently so, Tin Man.” “Wow. No sarcastic retort? Maybe you need more coffee.” “Perhaps.” Loki replied. Tony curiously eyed his phone. “Seriously though people, stay on alert out there. I don’t trust this bitch. Pepper has a doctors appointment, so I gotta run.” Once he was gone, Loki suggested Clint and Nat  visit Judy’s bakery while he meets with Alice there. “It’s an opportunity to make them aware we’re friends before the fair. Should the ladies require more than only my help…” Everyone understood. “Perfect. Now please excuse me. As the resident groundskeeper, I’ve a cluttered and dirty shed that requires further tending.” “Need a hand?” Asked Clint. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be fine.” He abruptly left and Shandi proceeded to load the dishwasher. “Feel free to go for a swim if you like, Clint. Nat will help clean up.” “Well if that isn’t a hint you two want some chick time. What could you possibly talk about so much?” “Hey, don’t be buggin’ my woman.” Said Nat. “She’s trying to be nice, but if you would rather clear the table, scrape bacon grease from a pan, sweep the floor…” Clint stopped her there. “Alright, I’m going.” They stayed silent until he was outside. “Something’s off with Loki, Nat.” “He does seem a little distant, but we all have those days. I wouldn’t fret it.” “Since this morning, he’s avoided me at every turn and has barely made eye contact. Compared to last nights cuddling, that’s more than a little.” Nat sighed. “Honestly. I have never met two people more neurotic over each other.” “I am not neurotic over him.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Then why did you just put dirty dishes in the fridge?” Shandi frowned. “Because, that’s why.” “Okay Beautiful, time to kick you out of the kitchen too.”   “But…” “Stop worrying and go de-stress in the jacuzzi. I’ll finish up here.” Nat worked fast, sent Loki a text, removed her shorts and headed out to Clint. He was baking in the sun when they landed on his chest. “Baby Cakes, I’m horny. Why don’t we go back to our little cottage and fuck?” He looked to see her lowering her panties. “Natasha!” “Hurry or I’ll pack up the truck like this.”      Shandi was boob deep in bubbles when Nat entered her ensuite. “I have never seen tits float better than yours. No wonder you consider them great buoys. We’re outta here, woman.” “Why?” “Thought you might want a chance to pick Loki’s brain.” “What am I supposed to say?” Nat winked on her way out. “You’ll think of something.” Almost two hours passed before Loki noticed Nats text. 'Our secret please Cactus? Whatever might be troubling you, Shandi thinks it’s her. We’ve left so you can change her perspective. ;)’ After killing another large spider that pounced on his person, Loki was grumbling curses when Thor rang him. Meanwhile, Shandi had started for the shed and caught the end of a heated conversation between them. “That’s fucking absurd!” Loki snapped. “Why the hell would I attack innocent Midgardians over it? You have misjudged me yet again brother, but know this. Should anything befal Leah and I were granted an opportunity, Freya will beg for a death so merciful as a slice to her scrawny throat…. Then I am forced to trust mothers word, yes? Yours remains questionable.” Loki hung up, angrily whipped a small axe at a nearby tree, then turned to see Shandi darting back towards the house. 'Fuck.’ “Shandi wait!” She stopped and immediately locked eyes with him. “Why does Thor think you wish to attack innocent Midgardians, Loki?” He calmed himself and continued. “Thor is mistaken. How much of our conversation did you overhear?” “From that onward.” “And I sounded so malicious. Shandi, contrary to popular belief my brother can often be a fool. The only reason I would ever hurt another Midgardian was if absolutely necessary. To protect the good from the bad.” “Protecting us is one thing, but you spoke of torturing someone.” “I know, but Freya is not Midgardian. If you knew the story behind our conversation, you would understand my outburst. Will you give me a chance to explain? Please?” His words seemed to put her at ease and she nodded in agreement. “Then I’ll close up the shed and be right in. Actually, would you mind if I cleaned up first? I smell like the back end of a Bilgesnipe.” Shandi smirked. “Sure, whatever that is.” When done, Loki found her in the library. “See anything of interest?” He asked. “Some. I haven’t inspected the titles until now. Only dusted in here quickly.” Atop a plush beige carpet in the room, two chesterfield chairs sat perpendicular to each other, before a fireplace. Shandi got comfortable in one and when Loki sat stiff in the other, running his palms over his thighs, it dawned on her he might be nervous. “Loki?” “Hm?” “We don’t have to talk about this if you really don’t want to.” He rubbed his brow. “Tell me, Shandi. Have you ever been grateful for the death of an enemy, then had memories of their actions unexpectedly clog your mind?” “For the sake of knowing they couldn’t hurt others anymore, yes. The sudden memories are common if the person profoundly affected you. Especially if they’ve been repressed for some time.” “They did and would nearly two centuries count?” 'What???’ “I’ll say. Have you ever spoken to anyone about them at all?” “Briefly, but not since.”   “It’s no wonder then, Loki. Maybe getting it off your chest again will help.” “You may be right, although that isn’t my main concern. Before I continue, are you aware I’m adopted?” 'Dammit. Of all the times to ask me this.’ Darting her eyes towards an ottoman nearby, she leaned forward, clumsily luring it closer. “Mm hm.” Loki helped and after settling her legs onto it, sat back in his chair. “That was a rather nervous response. Please tell me what you know, Shandi?” There was no way she couldn’t with those emerald orbs boring straight into her. “I assumed you were already aware of the Allfathers advice to Tony.” “Which was?” “To inform all Avengers that you’re actually..a 'Frost Giant?’“   “I see. Do you know exactly what a Frost Giant looks like? With ruby eyes and blue skin?” “Yes. Tony showed me a drawing.” Loki did well to conceal his astonishment. All along, Shandi had known of his true heritage and it hadn’t deterred her interest. “Perhaps that makes sense. A safety precaution, should I alter into my Jotun form. I was aware Tony knew, yet not the others.” “Please don’t reveal I told you?” “I won’t.” “So, you’re from a place called ‘Jotunheim?’” She asked. Loki intently lead any further discussion on this subject, astray. “That’s correct. A dismal, icy realm, where winter reins and the sun never shines. I’m grateful I wasn’t raised there.” “Sounds depressing. I’ve never been a fan of winter either.” “Good thing as it takes you forever to make a snowman.” Shandi smiled. “Very funny. Why were you curious if I knew you were adopted?” “Then you wouldn’t find it odd I once intended to marry a cousin. Here, royal marriages between them is mostly frowned upon. Shandi, what I’m about to reveal is very personal. May I ask that you keep it between us?” “I promise, Loki.” “Good. Understand I don’t wish to gain your sympathy through it either. I want you to know me better. So if you’re privy to my anger, you will comprehend there’s a valid reason behind it and ‘never’ fear me.” The more Shandi realized how much her opinion of Loki mattered to him, the more it warmed her heart in all the right places. “I’m not afraid of you, Loki. Honest. I was just..confused is all.” He restrained an incredible urge to lay her down on that plush carpet and express how much it meant to hear her say that. Instead, he smiled in a way that unknowingly made her heart flutter. “Good to know.” 'Geez woman, stop blushing!’ “I’m still willing to listen to whatever you want to say.” “Then I’ll begin. Vanaheim is a sister realm of Asgard. Until recently, it was ruled by a King named Freyr. Thor informed me of his murder last night and neglected to mention, it’s new queen, his sister Freya, is offering a steep reward for the whereabouts of its previous queen, Leah. Our mother felt I should know, yet Thor nearly took it upon himself to decide I shouldn’t. He stupidly assumed I would lash out at Midgardians from anger over it. That’s why I was so angry with ‘him.’ The reason I’m so angry with Freya, is because she blames Leah for her brothers murder and is seeking revenge.” “But how was Leah responsible?” “She wasn’t. Freyrs favorite mistress was and believe me, the scoundrel had it coming. Leah managed to escape his wrath long ago. Unfortunately, not before it brought upon their daughters death.” “That’s terrible. This king 'Freyr’ must have been a monster.” “He was and their daughter, princess Iris, was the cousin I referenced. The one I intended to marry.” “I’m sorry, Loki.”   “I appreciate that, but no sympathy remember?” He went on to explain that Freyr was Odin’s first cousin. A malicious and greedy King who ruled Vanaheim with an iron fist, showed little regard for his people, nor his family. Odin had been Allfather long before Freyr gained power. Upon doing so, he suggested combining their various powers to gain control over other realms and their resources. Odin refused and their perpetual dislike began, yet Freyr wisely kept Asgard as an Ally. This required occasional visits regarding political matters, when Iris and Leah would accompany him. Over the years, Frigga developed a friendship with Leah. As Iris and Loki became young adults, the pair began visiting more frequently, allowing him to watch her blossom into a beautiful princess. One afternoon while she read in the palace garden, he humbly approached and learned they shared numerous interests. Their relationship quickly flourished, yet from the beginning, Iris had insisted upon keeping it secret. When Loki finally demanded an explanation, she surprisingly expressed bitterness towards her father’s rule and revealed she and Leah, victims of his abusive tendencies. Knowing Frigga would convince Odin to grant them refuge, he suggested telling her everything, but Iris pleaded he didn’t. She not only feared Freyrs retaliation thinking them traitors for humiliating him, but revealing their desire to court and marry, could result in her and Leah’s visits becoming forbidden. To prevent this, Loki agreed and magic helped conceal their relationship for over a year. Then leaders of another realm called Alfheim, secretly contacted Odin. Freyr had tried insisting Vanaheim post a military station near Alfheims capital city, claiming it would aid in defending them against attacks from vital enemies. They refused, believing it a scam to overtake them and feared Freyr might seek other means. Lacking knowledge of it, Odin was outraged suspecting Freyrs true intentions. Shandi couldn’t help, but comment. “By establishing a military station there, he could infiltrate the populace, gain a stronghold over Alfheims military and render them no longer an ally to Asgard.” Loki’s brows rose. “Well, well, darling. Someone would make a wise queen.” “Pfft, me? One who stumbles backwards off counter tops, falls ‘up’ stairs, shoots onions across rooms with butcher knives and runs naked and inebriated into a pool? Not quite the epitome of regal, in my opinion.” He smirked. “You’d be surprised the shenanigans Royals indulge in behind closed doors.” “I’ll bet. Go on.” “Very well. Odin demanded Freyr appear to explain himself and when word escaped of the encounter, Iris became more adamant we keep things secret. Freyr was infuriated Alfheim had snitched and glared at their leaders so threateningly, Odin stood between them. He warned that if Freyr attempted anything similar again, brought harm to Alfheims leaders or people in retaliation, Asgard would discontinue being ‘his’ ally. It was a risk Freyr couldn’t afford with his kingdom frequently on the verge of rebellion. They returned to Vanaheim the following day and I never saw Iris again.” “Why?” “Odin and Alfheims leaders would create legal documents Freyr was to return and sign in one week. Iris wanted to ensure laws against him bullying other realms were firmly enforced and we’d intended to speak with mother that same day. Then he apologetically rescheduled, claiming Leah had fallen ill. Out of respect for her, Odin let it slide. The following week he cancelled again, claiming the same illness had befallen Iris. Another two passed without word and I grew concerned, sensing something amiss. When Odin travelled to Vanaheim and confronted Freyr, he requested forgiveness. Claimed he’d been consumed, arranging Iris’s marriage. She had wed the prior day and was off on her honeymoon. Odin politely accepted his explanation, whilst detecting several oddities. One, how our family hadn’t been informed of, or invited to the wedding. How quickly Freyr signed the documents, that Leah was visiting a sister she’d long despised, but mostly, Freyrs superficial surprise with Odin’s unplanned arrival.” “Spies.” Said Shandi. 'That’s so sad.’ “Exactly. Odin always suspected their presence and centuries prior, had planted his own in Vanaheim. Yet not until then, did he grasp how deeply infiltrated Freyrs were. I’d spent that day on my mother’s tail so consistently, it raised her suspicion. Once I revealed everything, she promised we would address it when Odin returned. By the time he did however, I knew it was too late. Divorce isn’t permitted on Vanaheim once a marriage is consummated.” ‘How backwards could a society be?’ “Are you also familiar with Asgards Gatekeeper and his gifts?” “Yes, another astounding soul.” Said Shandi. “Tony explained him too in case..well…” “In case I escaped and you were all pining to have me flogged?” “What? Loki.” “I’m teasing. It makes sense everyone was educated of Heimdall as well. Upon Odin’s return, Mother immediately requested Heimdall seek Iris’s whereabouts and both were appalled by their discovery. Iris’s 'husband’ was older than her father. Odin deduced Freyr must have sent secret military personnel to intimidate Alfheim, as our spies were unaware of his attempt. Then two months after the wedding, one of Odin’s most highly skilled, gained employment as the second chef in Freyr’s palace. He learned the truth of what happened to Iris, after seducing Leah’s head handmaiden. Days after returning to Vanaheim following the warning, Freyr had introduced Iris and Leah, to his daughter’s new betrothed. Assuming a flee attempt, he’d kept his intentions secret even from Leah. Both women were informed from that day forward, of being forbidden to leave the palace until after the ceremony. Iris would only be permitted for courting purposes, always escorted by guards and was to marry in three months time. When the betrothed left, Iris and Leah pleaded with Freyr to reconsider, but he refused. Iris then panicked, revealed our relationship and Freyr became enraged. He struck her, called her a traitor and whore, for sacrificing her purity to the son of his arch enemy and swore we would never be together. He’d lied about Leah and Iris being ill, while hastening the ceremony. Then two days prior to it, Leah was caught attempting to assist Iris in escaping. Subsequently, they were imprisoned in separate rooms within his chambers. That evening, Leah received a beating so severe, she couldn’t attend the ceremony and lost all permission to leave the palace unescorted, indefinitely. Her father was Iris’s only family member present when she married. An ancient nobleman, with a reputation for violence, blackmail and notorious womanizing. Freyr apparently owed him a political debt and he’d come to collect. Following the honeymoon, Iris was further imprisoned in his home and forbidden any visitors. Especially Leah, who cleverly began feigning approval of Freyr’s decision, with the goal of returning Iris to the palace. She convinced him with Iris’s beauty, charm and intelligence, she could easily bypass the husbands minimal security. A possibility, Freyr hadn’t considered.” “Loki, why would Leah do that if believing Iris capable of escape?” “She had learned the husband would kill Iris if she tried. Leah also suspected the husband had some heavy shit on Freyr she wasn’t aware of, to worry of his own daughter escaping. Were it bad enough to bring down their monarchy, Leah wanted Iris close, to keep her spirits up until she could help her try and escape again. With that and the husbands love for the good life, he was easily convinced to move into the palace. Upon returning however, Iris had dramatically changed. She was withdrawn, notably depressed and hardly spoke or ate. Leah spent every possible moment with her and weeks passed before Iris perked up. Then she began eating, talking, even laughing again. Leah later concluded it was all an act. Iris was found dead in her chambers, six weeks to the day of her wedding….” Shandi swallowed the rising lump in her throat. ‘Oh my god.’ ….“I couldn’t attend her funeral and refrain from attacking Freyr or the husband, but mother, Odin and Thor did. Leah was so distraught, she hardly spoke, yet discreetly slipped mother a small envelope. Inside was Iris’s suicide note. She became pregnant and couldn’t bare raising a child with an abusive spouse who regarded her as only an object, nor amidst Freyrs absurd rule. She then asked my forgiveness. Declared she would love me for all eternity and had taken that love with her to Valhalla. It’s equivalent to your heaven….” Shandi bit down on her tongue, fighting hard to keep that lump at bay.   ….”Almost a year passed with Freyr so absorbed in his favorite hobbies of blaming Leah, drink and mistresses, he slacked being overly watchful of her. Odin’s spy who had come to greatly respect his Queen, aided her escape into Asgard and we willingly concealed her presence. Through her, we learned Freyr’s classified military tactics, secret weapons locations, how he infiltrated spies..she was immensely generous in her betrayal. Mother aided her in attaining cosmetic surgery and she promised Iris’s death wouldn’t remain in vain. To this day, she lives peacefully amongst our people, devoted to aiding abused women and children with beginning new lives.” Loki nodded reflectively, then concluded. “Iris would be very proud of her.” “I’m sure she would.” “I hope this has given you a better insight into my outburst and bitterness towards Freyr and Freya, Shandi.” 'And into you.’ "Very much so. I would feel exactly the same. And it’s always good when something positive comes out of something so..negative.” . “I agree. Leah is an inspiring example of that.”   “She certainly is. I think I could use some coco.” Shandi suddenly announced. She rose, as did Loki. “Then allow me. After listening to my harrowing story, you’ve definitely earned it.” Shandi held a smile until he left, then walked to the window inwardly chastising herself, as tears welled in her eyes. 'Stop it. You are ‘not’ going to cry.’ She quickly wiped away two that fell and gathered her composure. Loki returned and was steps away when she unexpectedly walked right past him. “Let’s cook dinner together. Do you like stir fry?” He watched her vanish into the hall. 'A marvelous idea, darling.’ Shandi was rummaging through the freezer drawer as he placed her drink on the counter. “Do we have any chicken?” When he knelt and reached into it, she walked around the island. “It’s probably best you cut the onions. I’ll help with the rest.” Loki smirked until getting a better look at her. “Why have you mascara smeared on your cheek and droplets in your lashes?” 'Dammit. How can he see those from over there?’ She quickly tried wiping it away. “Listen Loki. You said no sympathy, but I can still be sorry for your loss. And Leah’s. You can't…. Loki began sauntering towards her. ….reveal a story like that and not expect it on some level.” “Yes I can.” He kissed her until she softened against him and ended it, stroking her hair. “Now you listen, hm? I’m grateful to you for lending an ear, but have moved beyond Iris’s passing thanks to Leah.” “Was she whom you spoke to so long ago?” “Yes. Leah convinced me if Iris knew we were incessantly unhappy, she would be the same in Valhalla. Therefore to honour her, we had to try harder at changing that. It wasn’t easy, but in time we succeeded. Come to think of it, I’d be receiving a scolding were Leah present. ‘Clever prince of impishness, saddening this lovely maiden. For shame.’” She would say. Shandi chuckled at his high pitched voice attempt. “She called you that?”   “Only teasingly.” He held up her wounded hand. “You’ll need a bandage before cooking.” Magic applied one with a glove and he returned to the fridge for more ingredients. Their steamy kiss left Shandi with moist panties and she inhaled half of her drink. “This day went fast. It’s nearly dark already.” “Right, before I forget.” Loki retrieved a small remote from a drawer. “Stand near the windows?” The kitchen light went out, a blind rose and a display of multicolored lights come into view, beneath the peony bushes. They lit up half the path and a stone bench, amidst two planters with impatiens and Shandi beamed. "They’re perfect. You did an amazing job, Loki. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Despite having detected her scent, Loki carried on, hoping she would make a move. 'Come on, Pet. I know what that kiss did you. Unleash my burning desire.’ Shandi kept longingly watching him until he said something. "Norns darling. What has you so pensive?” 'Stop torturing yourself, Shandi. Go get what you want!’ She went to him, stood on her toes and planted a kiss on his lips, Loki was surprised she had in her. When stopping to catch a breath, he smirked at her lusty gaze. “Oh my. You keep kissing me like that and dinner will be delayed.”   Shandi then stepped back, pulled off her shirt and tossed it asunder. “The hell with dinner. I can’t take this anymore.” She sprung back into his arms and gasped when Loki hoisted her onto the island. Her drink smashing to the floor, went ignored as he exposed her neck, nipped along her shoulder and sensually kissed his way to her lobe. “Neither can I Shandi and tonight, when you’re crying out my name in pleasure? I’ll be wallowing in every..fucking..second of it.”

[k-popscenxrios]

Voicemail (Jungkook x Reader)

A/N: I actually had this finished a long time ago and hated it so much that I didn’t want to post it. Turns out it was totally fine when I read over it months later, so here it is! xD I promise it isn’t the trash that I thought it was before lol

Summary: “Bye Jungkook…”I hesitated to end the call as I saw the timer continue along. I wanted to finish it already, but my mouth was dying to say something else.It was all over, anyway… so why not just leave it out in the open? “I love you,” I spoke with a slightly shaky voice. I didn’t give myself any time to think about what I had just said as I pressed the end button and left my phone in front of me.

6.4k words | angst ✞ | fluff ♡ | slight mature themes ✗

⇨ Masterlist ⇦ 

“Hey Jungkook,” I took a deep breath as I looked at my phone in front of me. The picture on Jungkook’s contact was staring at me as I felt my confidence dwindling. I couldn’t stop now. I’d already started talking. “I know I haven’t been returning your calls, and I’m sorry… I just have been really busy and didn’t have time to really talk.”

All my words were full of it and I wouldn’t be surprised if he could tell. I’d been anything but busy the past few weeks. I had no desire to talk to him. I even deliberately chose a bad time to call him, knowing he wouldn’t answer. I didn’t want to have to face the reality of the situation.

I still couldn’t face the reality of the situation.

His lips were on mine in an instant and he was pushing me into the wall behind me as I felt my eyes widen. It was no secret that he was drunk, but I didn’t think he was that drunk...

I pushed him off and looked at him as he just continued to stare at me with heavy lidded eyes. He wasn’t in his right mind and I couldn’t let any mistakes happen. It could ruin us for him pull anything, whether he was drunk or not.

“Y/N…” he called as a shiver ran down my spine. My name on his lips sounded so… right. I was weak to his voice, but his hushed and eager voice was killing me.

“Jungkook,” I tried to stay calm, but his breath on my skin was driving me crazy. The look in his eyes was so desperate, and my resolve was floating away.

“Y/N, I need this,” he slurred as my heart broke in half, “I need you to do this for me.”

I knew what it would mean if I did it. It would cost our friendship for me to give into the temptation. To him, it would just be another hook up; another check on his list. He wouldn’t think anything of it the next morning.

I, however, would remember every touch, every kiss, every moan… it would all haunt me until I drove myself absolutely insane. I knew exactly what it meant if I let him continue with me; if I let him take me into a bedroom and finish what he had started.

“Jungkook,” I tried to sound strong, but my voice was so incredibly weak. It was pitiful and soft, but that seemed to be a good sign in Jungkook’s book. He didn’t know what this would do to me…

I tried to push him completely off of me, but the moment I moved my hands to his chest to move him away, he leaned in again and captured my lips. His sudden kiss knocked the breath out of me as my hands grabbed onto his shirt desperately. I pulled him closer to me as I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I moved my hands to his shoulders keeping him as close to me as possible.

His lips were sloppily kissing mine as I kissed him in return. I could feel how needy he was as he licked my lips and pressed me hard against the wall he had pinned me against. I didn’t put up a fight as his tongue took over my mouth, moving around my tongue before he pulled away to take a quick breath.

“Can I?”

His eyes were staring into mine with such need and desperation. He looked so helpless, and I couldn’t help but wonder what got him to feel this way.

I just nodded before I had enough time to let my regret pull me out of it. I kept telling myself that I could back out at any moment as long as he didn’t pull me into a room…

But as the door shut behind the two of us and as Jungkook pinned me against the wall, I knew there was no going back. His hips were grinding mine as I moaned and held him against me. His mouth was still kissing mine as passionately as before, but his mind was elsewhere.

He didn’t even seem to notice my tears as he reached under my clothes and began caressing my stomach. He would never understand how long I had waited for a moment like this…

And he also had no idea how much it hurt that he only wanted me for a rebound.

“I know it’s been about three weeks and I just wanted to call and tell you that I’m doing just fine. I’m sure Jimin’s told you since I see him every day in class… He talks a lot, you know? He asks me for my life story, but I only tell him so much since I know he has gossip problems.”

I smiled as I talked into my phone, feeling myself reflect on the friend I had just mentioned. Jimin had introduced us when he invited me and a few of his other friends to go bowling. Jungkook had been flirting with two girls when I first met him, and I automatically labeled him as a guy I shouldn’t go near.

Later that night after I finished talking to Hoseok, one of Jimin and I’s other classmates, I ran back into Jungkook. He was just standing outside the hallway to the bathroom, looking into the arcade across the hall.

I knew I shouldn’t say anything to him. I should have just left him alone, but his expression made me feel pity on him.

“Did all the girls leave?” I joked as his eyes moved to look at me. He seemed slightly startled, but he recovered very quickly. I was waiting for some obnoxious pick up line to be thrown my way, but his words were tame.

“No,” he shook his head before leaning it against the wall. His eyes still stayed on mine as I got a good look at them. “They were boring, actually. One of them was way too eager. She asked me if I would take her to the bathroom later tonight.”

He let out a small laugh as I laughed along with him, “Good God, what a whore.”

“I’ll say,” he pushed himself off the wall as he seemed to get a little excited, “I even went up to bowl like everyone else and she started cheering really loudly. After about four frames, I quit so she would shut up.”

“No way,” I laughed as I looked toward the bowling alley, “I was wondering what all the noise was about. I didn’t think it was all over you.”

He nodded and looked in the same direction that I did, “I’m all for attention, but that was too much for me.”

I turned back to him while letting out a little laugh, and when my eyes met his once more, time seemed to stop.

Looking back on it, the time only stopped for me. To him, I was just another girl. At least in that moment I was.

“I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he held out his hand as his flirty smile appeared back on his face. I just looked down at his hand and then back up at him. Without taking his hand, I pushed myself off of the wall and started walking toward my original destination, the bathroom.

“Y/N,” I called after him, “I’ll see you around.”

And with that, Jungkook and I became fast friends. He never really hit on me, even in the beginning; he just treated me like a normal human being. I really enjoyed it at first, but somewhere along the way, my opinion changed.

It started to become a bad thing that he never flirted with me.

“I don’t have much time left before it times me out, so I’ll stop here,” I spoke as I took a deep breath. I shivered as I thought back to that night for a brief moment, feeling the regret in the pit of my stomach. I told myself to never let it happen unless he loved me like I did him. I swore to myself that I would be strong.

“Bye Jungkook…”

I hesitated to end the call as I saw the timer continue along. I wanted to finish it already, but my mouth was dying to say something else.

It was all over, anyway… so why not just leave it out in the open?

“I love you,” I spoke with a slightly shaky voice. I didn’t give myself any time to think about what I had just said as I pressed the end button and left my phone in front of me.

::

I hadn’t expected a call or anything after I left the voicemail. I didn’t really even expect to see him again after I left that simple, yet complicated message.

It felt like it had been an eternity since I had seen him in the flesh, and it didn’t help that my last memory of seeing him was laying next to him in bed, wanting more than anything to erase what I had let happen.

“Y/N,” I looked up from my book and spotted Jimin sitting in front of me. I had forgotten that we were supposed to be studying for our Biology final next week. I honestly couldn’t keep my head straight, and I could tell Jimin’s patience was dwindling. “Are you even listening?”

“No,” I didn’t hesitate to answer. Jimin had no idea what had happened between Jungkook and I nearly a month ago. He didn’t know about my feelings, he didn’t know about that night, and he certainly didn’t know about the voicemail. If anyone were to tell him what happened, it would be Jungkook. I had no desire to get any pity looks from Jimin for the rest of my pitiful days.

“Could you at least sound a little sorry?” he seemed to be losing his patience with me. We’d been trying to study for the past hour, but thanks to me, we’ve gotten nowhere.

“I am sorry,” I spoke, but I didn’t sound genuine. I honestly did mean it, but I didn’t have the will to make it sound that way.

Jimin’s annoyance slightly grew, but I also saw a hint of pity in his eyes. That was the exact look I had been trying to avoid…

“Okay, what’s going on?” He asked, closing my text book that I had been blankly staring at, “You’ve been acting strange for so long. I was hoping it would wear off over a week or two, but you’re still in this… sulking state.”

I looked down at the textbook cover and sighed, tracing the animal on the front cover, “It’s not a big deal. I’m just stressed from all these exams, and merely looking at a textbook wears me out-”

“Y/N,” Jimin stopped me as I looked up at him. He wasn’t buying any of it, but I didn’t know why. Jimin wasn’t normally so intuitive that he could see through me that easily. Was I getting really bad at hiding it? I kept it up for so long that it became almost a second nature.

Though, the more I thought about not having heard a word from Jungkook in the past few days, the more upset I got. Thinking about him; about that voicemail… that was the only explanation as to why I couldn’t keep this up any longer. My body simply couldn’t, or just didn’t want to, keep up with my mind any longer.

“Y/N, I know something’s wrong,” he leaned forward and grabbed my chin. He moved my head so that I was looking him in the eye, and all my barriers felt like breaking, “I… I uh…”

Jimin’s hesitance made my stomach ache. I almost didn’t want to know what he was going to say. Did he know? Surely he didn’t know everything…

“I talked to Jungkook about you today.”

My heart felt like a needle was being plunged into it at his words. He talked to Jungkook. I couldn’t help but feel incredibly jealous over such a simple action. Just knowing that he had spoken to the person who was killing me on the inside was enough to knock the breath out of me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked with a soft voice. His eyes were filled with all the worry and concern that I wanted to see in Jungkook. I wanted to know if he would be concerned for me like Jimin was in this moment.

“I didn’t want to be pitied,” I answered, but it wasn’t the complete truth. The complete truth was that I didn’t want to say the reality of the situation. I didn’t want it to seem even more real than it already was. “I didn’t want you to see me as weak as I feel.”

Jimin grabbed my hand and squeezed it, “Hey… You should really talk to him. It’ll make the both of you feel so much better.”

“No,” I took my hand out of his grip and shook my head, “God, no. I can’t handle talking to him.”

“I know,” he swallowed, trying to hold my attention, “Y/N, look. You need to talk to him. He really wants to talk to you about a voicemail that you left.”

My stomach twisted and turned at the mention of my stupid mistake. I wanted more than anything to erase that stupid thing… “If he wanted to talk to me about it, he should have tried to contact me. I don’t like having to hear about what he wants through another person’s mouth when he could easily say it to me.”

“I understand,” Jimin nodded, grabbing hold of one of my hands again. I looked down at them and he pulled my pinky to point at the ceiling, “Can you promise me that you’ll at least close this out? Let this end with no questions?”

I wanted to say no just as much as I wanted to say yes. I felt like I already knew all the answers that I’d need to know…

But instead of rejecting his suggestion, I just wrapped my pinky around his and took a deep breath.

“I promise.”

::

Not even a day after our promise, Jimin was begging me to go bowling with him, Hoseok, and Taehyung. He swore that Jungkook wouldn’t be there, but even if he wasn’t going to be there, I would still feel like he was. The bowling alley was not only our first encounter, but we also liked to hang out there a good bit of the time. Jungkook and I never really even bowled, but we’d watch our friends and then run off somewhere else, like the arcade they had in the back.

“I’m glad you came!” Hoseok smiled to me as I got out of my car. He and Taehyung had just arrived together since they’re roommates, and we were still waiting on Jimin. “Jimin told me that you’re starting to get sick of this place.”

I smiled nervously as I looked at the building. I was definitely not sick of the place, I just couldn’t help but have negative feelings toward it. It was a vessel harboring all my heartache; it was the place where it all began.

“Jimin lied,” I tried to put on a genuine smile, “I’m definitely not sick of this place. This is our hang out spot, after all.”

Hoseok nodded as Taehyung finally met up with the two of us. He had taken forever getting out of the car for some reason.

The three of us were already heading inside when Jimin pulled in.

Of course, Jimin’s not the only one who pulled in.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw the all too familiar Silver Audi R5. The windows were too tinted to see inside, but I didn’t need to see inside to know exactly who was in it.

It was as if time slowed down as he parked next to Jimin’s car and got out painfully slowly. It had been nearly three weeks since the mistake, and of course he hadn’t changed a bit. His hair was parted to the right, his forehead was very, very visible, and his hair was styled the exact way it was that night.

I felt my lungs being throttled as tears were welling into my eyes. My eyes met his after he and Jimin shared a handshake, but I wasn't ready. I wasn’t ready to look him in the eyes, I wasn’t ready to breathe the same air as him.

All I could think about was how his lips were pressed against mine, about his whispers in my ear, about how incredibly vulnerable I felt in this moment.

My thoughts had put me in a whole whirlpool of emotions. All I could see was what happened that night. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I couldn’t let it go like I wished I could.

And I had no one to blame but myself.

Once my mind came back to reality, I realized everyone was already heading inside.

Well, everyone except Jungkook who was standing right in front of me. He was close enough to touch, and I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him.

My eyes met his as my tears finally began spilling out. He knew what lead me to be this way, and I wasn’t going to bother hiding it. Even if I wanted to hide it, I didn’t have the strength to. I was completely and utterly pitiful.

“Y/N…” he moved his hand to my cheek to wipe away the tears that were falling, and I didn’t back away. I couldn’t move away from him when all I wanted to do was jump into his arms and kiss him like I’d gone mad.

I refused to meet his eyes as his hand was rested on my cheek. He seemed to be perfectly sober, but I was irrationally terrified that it would happen again, and I would be left in the dust once more.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” he took a deep breath. It comforted me a little bit to see him just as shaky as I was, “I guess I should start with an apology… I know I’ve texted you to apologize several times, but that’s never good enough. I would hate myself forever if I didn’t apologize properly to you.”

I knew he was meaning to be sweet, but his words caused panic to rise in my throat. He’s apologizing for that night, but what if he apologizes for not being able to feel the same way about me? What if he apologizes about leading me on?

More tears slipped from my eyes, and Jungkook was quick to catch them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N… I…” He stopped short when I moved my face out of his hold. I looked down to hide the excruciating heartbreak that awaited me.

“I’m mostly sorry for waiting so long to respond to you. I feel like a garbage person for not ever calling you back or even texting you. I just… I didn’t know how to feel at first.”

I let out a very unbecoming sob as I turned away from him. I hated this. I hated being such a mess of emotions. The worst part was that Jungkook wouldn’t just leave me to cry alone. He didn’t get the hint that I didn't want to know. I didn’t want the confirmation that Jimin thought I needed. It just made it hurt even more than it should have.

“Y/N…” he called in a gentle voice, placing his hand on mine. I flinched away, but he was relentless, “Y/N, I should have never taken advantage of you. I will never be able to forgive myself for that.”

It was silent as Jungkook gently and carefully wrapped his arms around my waist. I felt my heart jump, only to ache seconds later. I didn’t fight him as he pulled me against him in a back hug. He buried his head in my shoulder and took a deep breath as I tried to wipe away some of my tears.

“I didn’t realize that you loved me,” he sounded like he was on the verge of tears, but I couldn’t use his reaction to gauge it. His hold on me was very shaky as I felt my right hand touch his in hopes to comfort him a little. “I didn’t realize that I love you.”

I continued to hold his hand as my brain processed his words. My eyes slowly began widening as he hugged me even tighter against him. It was like he was afraid that I would push him away. I would have been crazy to push him away from me after hearing the words I never thought he’d say.

Jungkook is the player type, even after we were friends he was a flirt. He was all over different kinds of girls, and we even used to bet on if he could get a girl’s number or not.

Seeing him like this was not only confusing to my heart, but also to my brain. It didn’t logically make sense for him to be so vulnerable in this situation. It didn’t make sense for him to be in love with me…

I turned around in his arms as he lifted his head up from my shoulder. I looked in his eyes for any lies, any jokes, any bets he might’ve made on the situation…

But his were as honest and genuine as my feelings are for him. My eyes stayed glued to his as he held me against him. Our lips had barely any distance between them, and Jungkook didn’t waste any time closing that gap.

This kiss was worlds different than the other night; it was sweet, soft, and genuine. I could feel his affection with his soft touches and his careful movements. His lips were softly encircled around mine, and I felt myself leaning even more into him. He brushed his fingers through my hair so softly as a shiver ran down my spine.

My right hand found itself grabbing at the front of his shirt, pulling his mouth even more against mine. His gentle kisses were causing more frustration than happiness the longer they went on, but as I pulled him even more into me, he responded very quickly.

His hands stayed on the small of my back as my free hand buried into his hair. Our lips were being roughly pressed together, and it wasn’t long before his tongue slipped into my mouth. Even having a heated kiss like this, it felt nothing like the other night. It felt like a real, sincere kiss.

Our lips parted a few seconds as my eyes fluttered open to meet his. I almost completely forgot about how upset I had been only five minutes earlier just by looking into his eyes.

They were the same eyes I had looked into since we met, but in this moment, it was different. I could see all the feelings I thought I would never see in him.

“I wish I talked to you sooner,” he swallowed as I was brought back to reality, “but I needed time to figure out my feelings. That night three weeks ago was confusing to me just like it was to you. I didn’t know what compelled me to do what I did…”

I took a deep breath and sent him a smile. It was probably my first real smile in three weeks.

“I’m just glad this is all sorted out,” I reached up and touched his face as I felt my heart swell. This was like a dream come true, “I missed you so, so much. I didn’t realize just how in love I am until I quit talking to you.”

Without really saying much more, the two of us started to head inside. Jimin, Hoseok, and Taehyung had all started playing a game already, and Jimin immediately noticed us when we walked inside.

“Thank God you two have sorted it out,” Jimin sighed and sent me a soft smile, “I told you that you would feel better after talking to him.”

“Don’t rub it in,” I warned, but I was too happy to be truly annoyed at Jimin. Jungkook’s hand held mine in such a sure way that I knew this could last. I had no fears about us.

I looked over at him as Jimin went up to bowl, and he was already looking at me. We exchanged soft smiles as he placed a kiss on my forehead. I didn’t know that Jungkook could be such a soft and loving boyfriend…

Boyfriend��� We didn’t actually talk about being official, did we?

With one more glance in his direction, I didn’t need to. It was silently agreed upon, and I was fine with that.

“I think you two should play,” Hoseok offered as they finished the final frame, “We have six spots and there are five of us.”

I was about to decline, but Jungkook beat me, “Sure. I haven’t played in a while.”

Jungkook got up to bowl as I just watched him and every move he made. I started thinking back to the night we met and how there was one desperate girl cheering for him. I couldn’t help but relate to that girl just a little bit as I got the urge to cheer for his strike. I forgot how good Jungkook is at the game. It made me wonder why he quit playing when we’d go.

I couldn’t help but ask him as we ran off to get some food, “Hey… why did you stop playing when we’d come bowling?”

He looked over at me as he folded the receipt in his hand. A faint smile appeared on his face right before our number was called. Jungkook was quick to grab the tray, and I grabbed the drink off of it. I was quick to take a sip of it as Jungkook glanced down at me.

“Why?” he asked as I swallowed the soda that was in my mouth.

“I’m just curious. You’re really good at bowling, and you seem to enjoy it.” I slowed him down as I saw Jimin get a Spare.

He shrugged, but before I started to get annoyed at his silence, he leaned down and whispered in my ear.

“I liked talking to you a whole lot more.”

::

A/N: That wasn’t so bad was it? c;

⇨ Masterlist ⇦

-Admin Jinnie

[welllpthisishappening]

Caught in Your Light (2/4)

Forever. It’s been forever. Or, possibly, longer.

It might honestly be longer.

Killian can’t remember a moment when he wasn’t hopelessly, head over heels in love with Emma. And it’s kind of becoming a problem. Because it’s been forever and they’ve always been friends, but now things are changing and traditions are ending and there’s just one more weekend.

This is it. So it’s time to do something about it. In Boston. With all their friends watching. It’ll be fine.

Rating: Mature. Swearing. Kissing. Rinse and repeat. Word Count: Just. Like a lot. And 9.1 this chapter AN: I’d like to apologize in advance to any Red Sox fans because there is some friendly trash talk in this chapter and Emma and Killian totally made that list of baseball-type insults. BUT! There are also other things and backstory and a lot of thoughts about Susan Pevensie. Naturally. As always, I am blown away by all of you and your nice’ness and I’m just, like, a constant mess of gratitude.  This is still for @idristardis​ who really wanted bed sharing. Ask and ye shall receive with a side of mutual pining and denial. 

It is, all things considered, kind of annoying.

This whole being in love with Emma Swan thing Killian is doing gets in the way of...everything. And, really, it’s not entirely fair, mostly because he can’t remember when it started and just saying always seems way too melodramatic even for the almost ridiculous amount of pining he’s been doing over the last decade.

Plus, always isn’t entirely accurate.

They bickered and fought and pushed several different buttons their freshman year, but Killian would be lying if he said he hadn’t let his eyes hold her gaze a few minutes longer and the first time they’d gone to the swan boats – after they’d both completely bombed some freshman marketing exam neither one of them was particularly interested in taking – was some kind of game-changer on a lifetime scale.

And it just keeps going from there.

They still bicker and fight, but there are fewer buttons to press because they get to know each other and it’s not easy, but it’s them and their friends stop sending separate text messages to each of them.

“There’s no point,” Mulan reasons one day, sitting cross-legged in the corner of Bapst Library with a small mountain of books around her.

Killian arches an eyebrow, but Mulan doesn’t blink – barely looks away from the one book she’s been staring at for the better part of the last forty-five minutes and they probably should have gotten a table. But it’s late April and there are way too many kids in Bapst and both of them have three exams in succession next week.

“What?” he asks. “Are you talking? That’s against the rules.”

She flips him off. “I’m just saying. There’s no point in texting both you and Emma anymore. You’re like one collective unit.” “I don’t think that’s true.” “No?” “No,” Killian says, waving his hand through the otherwise deserted aisle and Mulan, finally, looks up at him. “Case in point. Or whatever.” “Save your law jokes for Merida.” “I don’t know how to make a broadcasting joke.” “Well, then, clearly you’re not much of a comedian are you?” she asks, leveling him with a state he’s come to regard as bored and slightly exhausted. He’s definitely exhausted. He’s going to drink so much Sangria at Final Jam.

“Ah, but you’re still kind of charmed by it, admit it.” “I’m not. And you’re avoiding the question.” “Were there any questions?”

Mulan flips him off again – with her other hand – working a not-so-quiet laugh out of Killian, but that’s mostly a deflection and he’s definitely avoiding the unspoken question. “I’m just saying,” she continues. “There’s no point. Current situation aside, you two are like..I don’t know.” “You don’t know.” “Why are you being like this?”

“Probably because I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” She clicks her tongue, frustration obvious in the sound and the shift of her shoulders and this is not doing anything to help his current stress level. Or how goddamn annoying his emotions constantly are. “I’m serious, Jones,” Mulan says. “A collective unit. That everyone and several other people have an opinion on.” And, just like that, it’s as if he’s been thrown into the Charles River and forgotten how to swim.

Killian can feel his eyes widen, tension running down his spine and in between his shoulder blades and it kind of feels like his tongue is growing, which, really is pretty gross.

Mulan doesn’t notice – or ignores it completely, it’s probably the second one – eyes back on her books and whatever kind of knowledge she has to learn for exams about broadcast journalism. Killian, however, can’t focus on a single word, every date and point in American history swimming in front of him and his legs wobble when he stands up. “I’m going to go get some coffee,” he announces, barely working a hum out of Mulan. “You want anything?” “That’s a stupid question.” It is – she wants a double espresso, always and forever and especially while studying for three straight finals – but Killian’s not sure what his mind or legs are doing so he feels like he’s got an excuse. He leaves his books on the floor.

And, eventually, he thinks, that’s the moment or, at least, one of the moments.

Because the whole goddamn Final Jam weekend feels like several different big, important moments and a copious amount of Sangria, and he’s sitting on a bench in the middle of Boston Common with Emma half an inch away.

“It’s weird, right?” Emma asks, holding her hand out expectantly for the bottle in the paper bag that’s only slightly illegal.

Killian hums in confusion, tilting his head and barely keeping his balance, which is only a little troubling because he’s sitting down. “What is?”

“I don’t know. Everything?” “Everything? That’s awfully broad, love.”

He has no idea when that started meaning a bit more than before, but it seems to happen without Killian’s explicit permission and maybe Mulan had more of a point than even she realized.

Emma sighs, taking a far-too-long drink of shitty Sangria and shivering slightly as she swallows. “It is a little broad,” she admits. “But...it’s also, I don’t know, I’m not an English major I can’t come up with another word for it.” “You’re losing me.” “I realize that,” she laughs, soft and simple and her smile does something absurd to his slightly inebriated brain.

They’re alone again – a color-coordinated schedule completed and far too much alcohol consumed and there are only two weeks until graduation and he’s still a little worried about those final exams. His phone is on silent.

He’s fairly positive Emma’s phone is in her apartment.

That feels important too.

“So try again,” Killian suggests, fingers brushing over hers when he tries to take back the alcohol. “You’ve got to share, Swan. Those are the rules.” “Final Jam is over.” “Our rules then.”

She scoffs, but there’s still a bit of laughter clinging to it and her fingers are always freezing cold. He’s a little worried about that as well. “Just us?” Emma asks. “Seems kind of specific.” “It might be,” Killian shrugs. “You didn’t put the swan boats on your list of activity suggestions.” It doesn’t sound like an accusation – and it’s not really, more a curious observation and Killian hopes she can’t hear the way his pulse speeds up at the words. Emma’s eyebrows twist, lips pressed together tightly and it’s going to take forever to get back to campus.

“Yeah,” she whispers, but she doesn’t blink when she speaks and that feels more important than anything to do with their phones. “But that kind of felt like an our thing too. And I kind of had a hunch.” “About?” “Ending up here eventually.”

She can absolutely hear his pulse thudding in his veins – there’s no way she can’t, it’s so goddamn loud Killian is half convinced it’s the only noise he’ll ever hear again. His mind is racing, running several different Marathons and that was a few weeks ago, so the joke doesn’t even make sense, but his lungs might be shrinking and he’s clearly not getting the oxygen he needs to come up with appropriate humor.

“Yeah?” Killian asks and Emma’s smile is obvious even in the dim light of the park.

She nods. “Yeah. I mean...like I said, a hunch and some...possible optimism.” “Possible optimism.” “Why do you just keep repeating me?” “Because you keep coming up with phrases never before uttered by native English speakers,” Killian laughs. “I think the colloquialism you’re looking for is cautious optimism.”

“You clearly haven’t celebrated Final Jam enough if you can still say the word colloquialism without laughing.”

“Is that usually a funny word?” “Isn’t it? It’s weird. It’s a weird word.” “Ask Mary Margaret about the origins of it tomorrow,” Killian says and Emma makes a noise when she sticks her tongue out at him. “That’s a no then?”

“That’s a no,” Emma mutters. “And Mary Margaret’s got great, big plans to stay with David tonight and then probably volunteer while being super hungover tomorrow. It’s disgusting.” “That’s awfully judgmental, Swan.” She groans or growls and it’s good that he’s already a little, a lot, drunk because the muscles in his face would probably ache from overuse otherwise. “It’s not,” Emma promises. “It’s a fact. Mary Margaret wakes up and sings to birds and then organizes everyone’s life with a gusto that does not make sense in the real world and then she kisses David and doesn’t need coffee and goes out and saves the world.”

There’s a bitterness to the last few words that Killian doesn’t entirely expect, blinking through the haze of alcohol around them and he can’t really move closer to her, but he tries anyway. It takes a moment and some quiet encouragement to tug the bottle out of Emma’s hands, widening his eyes in the way that usually gets her agree to anything and he has to bite the side of his tongue to stop himself from doing something absurd when she licks her lips.

“Stop that,” she mumbles, resting one hand on the front of his jacket and the other on his thigh and he might burst into flames.

It feels that way.

“What?” “The mind reading, open book thing is stupid and unfair,” Emma says. She glances up at him from underneath her eyelashes, hair covering half her face and it’s not cold out, but she shivers anyway. “I’m fine, really.” “The fact that you need to tell me you’re fine suggests you aren’t fine, love.” “God, you need to be more drunk. Drunker? Drunkest?” “That last one’s definitely not a word.” “Yeah, probably not.” Emma takes a deep breath and he needs her to stop doing whatever it is she’s doing with her lips, twisting and tugging them behind her teeth, because it’s distracting. “You want to tell me what’s going on now?” Killian asks, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and he’s not sure either one of them are breathing. “Or should I really try and guess?”

“You don’t have to guess,” she mutters. “I mean you probably could at this point, but it’s just...Final Jam is over.” “Yeah, that’s kind of how the weekend works, Swan.” “No, no, that’s not what I mean. I...” She exhales, blinking too quickly and she’s going to do permanent damage to her lower lip if she keeps biting on it. “Final Jam is over,” Emma repeats. “And everyone’s got some kind of plan and all these exams and I’ve got...a business degree.” “That’s not a bad thing. You can do a lot of things with a business degree.”

“God, don’t give me that. That’s exactly what Mary Margaret and David told me and I'm pretty certain they were half a second away from singing it too, just to make sure I understood the positive implications of it all.” “Are we not looking for positive implications, then?” Killian asks, not prepared for the way Emma’s eyebrows jump at his choice of preposition.

He should have taken more English classes.

“Not when the future's so goddamn terrifying,” she grumbles. “They’ve all got plans.” “You’ve got a plan, Swan.” She glares at him. “Ok, ok,” Killian says, flashing her a grin and working one out of her in return and they definitely don’t bicker or fight nearly as much as they used to. Maybe they just flirt. Constantly. Indefinitely?

That’s definitely the wrong word.

“What are you worried about, Emma?” he asks and they both flinch at that word because he never calls her Emma, isn’t sure he actually ever has. And there’s another big, important moment for the last Final Jam of undergrad.

She closes her eyes lightly, letting her head fall forward until it’s resting on his shoulder and Killian’s tongue is bleeding from all the damage he’s doing to it. “I already told you,” she mutters. “Everything. It’s all...it’s over. Isn’t it?” Killian smiles at the question, which probably isn’t the right response, but there’s something cautiously optimistic about the way she asks, pressing the words into his shirt. “No, it’s not, love,” he answers. “It’s just another weekend and another tradition and Mary Margaret will probably keep making color-coded schedules for the rest of our lives whether we want it or not.”

“They’re really good schedules. Don’t tell her I told you that.” “They are. Don’t tell her I agreed with you.” “I promise,” Emma says, lifting her head to meet his smile with one of her own. “Ruby told me that they’ve all stopped texting both of us because it’s unnecessary.” It’s still not cold, but Killian feels something like ice landing in the pit of his stomach and Emma’s suddenly preoccupied with her feet. “Mulan mentioned that to me when we were in the classics section yesterday.” “The classics section?” “It’s quieter there. No one else goes in that aisle and there’s more room than getting an actual table and--” He doesn’t get the rest of the words out.

Emma’s right hand finds the front of his shirt as well, tugging him forward and nearly ripping the thing in the process. Their knees knock, matching winces on their faces which, really, when he imagined this happening is not at all how he expected it to go.

That kind of makes it better.

Because Emma Swan is kissing him.

And he is kissing Emma Swan.

And it’s like watching the sunrise or drinking an entire bottle of incredibly shitting Sangria without getting hungover and it’s so much better than he ever thought it could be.

He’s thought about this moment a lot.

Emma keeps her fingers in his shirt, holding on like it’s an anchor and they’re not in the perfect position. They’re twisted awkwardly around each other, bent at the waist until Killian’s half looming over her and that doesn’t feel right either.

She fixes it. And that’s the least surprising thing that’s happened in the last ten minutes because if there’s one thing Emma Swan is, it’s incredibly stubborn and even more certain and he wishes there was more oxygen in the world so his gasp doesn’t sound quite as strangled when she swings a leg over his.

They don’t stop, Emma sitting on top of his thighs with her hands in his hair and his palm flat on her back, trying to keep her there for the rest of his life and several different versions of the afterlife. They break apart and breathe and dive back in, lips slanting over lips and tongues moving quickly and there aren’t enough adverbs or adjectives in the English language to describe the moment.

He might groan at some point, but he’s lost control of his limbs and his brain and several different critical systems of the human body, moving without thinking or considering the implications of how goddamn long he’s been waiting for this.

One of them moves, rocking up or down and it’s like the Earth has lost its center of gravity, everything shifting and rearranging and nothing is ever going to be as good as this – Emma’s hair in between his fingers and her shirt riding up slightly and it almost feels like his lips are bruised at this point.

It’s impossible to keep track of time in a moment like this, everything seeming too long and too quick and Killian tilts his head, trying to keep his lips on Emma’s because he’s not entirely sure what he’ll do when she pulls away.

She pulls away.

Of course.

They’re both breathing heavily, eyes wide and mouths hanging open and Emma’s still got her fingers in his hair. She’s still sitting on top of him.

“Swan,” Killian starts slowly, but she’s already shaking her head and it would be more comfortable to be sitting at the bottom of the Charles River than that bench with a slightly altered Earth and the sudden, complete realization that he is impossibly and irrevocably in love with her.

“I’ve got to…” Emma says. It takes her a moment to disentangle their limbs, but then she’s stumbling backwards and that muscle in her jaw is working overtime. “Don’t tell Mary Margaret about that either, ok?” He’s not sure what he does, he might nod or actually say words, but there’s this rushing in Killian’s ears that makes it difficult to notice anything else and Emma’s already a few hundred feet away.

He doesn’t tell Mary Margaret.

He doesn’t tell anyone.

And, presumably, neither does Emma.

They just keep...being. He stays in Boston and Emma moves to Portland and then four other cities and a tiny little town that she absolutely hates before landing in Chicago and a job at a bail bonds company that only makes him worry, like, a slightly ridiculous amount.

It’s the whole being in love with her thing.

They don’t talk about that either.

They talk about everything else and it’s enough because it’s still them and there are still Final Jam schedules and he didn’t put the swan boats on his itinerary e-mail to Mary Margaret.

He’s got a hunch Emma might have. 

“Jones!” Killian blinks, jerking back hard enough that the seat he’s sitting in digs into his spine and he’s got no idea what inning it is. He runs a hand over his face, trying to remember what goddamn day it is, but he’s been so wrapped up in memories and feelings and that question from the night before that they could be playing basketball at Fenway and he probably wouldn't have noticed.

Ruby grins.

Maybe she’s the mind reader in the group.

“Present, Lucas,” he grumbles, but she doesn’t look convinced.

“Yuh huh. You hear any of the last conversation?” “Absolutely.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs. “That was an almost insulting lie. You’ve got to practice better if you’re going to lie to my face like that.”

“You’re missing another round of what do we want to name Mini-Nolan,” Emma mutters, widening her eyes meaningfully. She’s sitting next to him, always it seems in events like this, hair brushing against his shoulder whenever a particularly strong gust of wind works its way out of left field.

“I thought we agreed we were going to name her Luthien,” Killian says. Mary Margaret groans. Loudly. “Alright, well, I guess we’re not doing that.” “I have no idea what a Luthien is,” Mary Margaret says. She’s keeping score, a pencil stuck behind her ear and the whole thing looks very official. She’s even counting pitches.

“Where’d you get the scorebook, Nolan?” Killian asks knowingly. She groans again.

“That’s none of your business.” “Did you leave Locksley money on his desk for stealing his empty scorebook? Is it even empty? Are there already games in there?” “There are no games in here already,” Mary Margaret seethes, but that only gets Killian to smile wider and it is, he reasons, easier to sit in Fenway’s far too small seats if his arm is around Emma's shoulders.

Whatever.

She doesn’t argue it.

“She wouldn’t steal a pre-used book, get with it, Jones,” David mutters, not taking his eyes off the field and Mary Margaret probably shouldn’t be groaning that often.

“I didn’t steal it,” Mary Margaret says. “And I left Locksley ten bucks because I google’d how much it cost to buy one of these.” “And you didn’t just, I don’t know, want to buy one?” Emma asks. Mary Margaret doesn’t blink. “I’ll take that as a no then.” “No, I didn’t have time.” “Too busy color coding schedules,” Ruby chuckles, not bothering to whisper. “Whatever, can we all agree that Jones was ignoring everyone for a questionable amount of time and that Jean is a pretty adorable name?” “Jean?” Killian echoes. “And we were totally against Luthien?” “Luthien is a depressing story,” David reasons, but the words get lumped into a rather pointed insult at the Rays distinct lack of starting pitching. “And we’ve moved out of Middle Earth and into Harry Potter, so I really need you to keep up.” “Where is there a Jean in Harry Potter?” “That’s Hermione’s middle name,” Emma answers. “Seriously, pay attention to the conversation.”

Killian hums, a smirk settling on his face – but that’s almost more obvious than the lie he tried to feed Ruby. “Better than naming her Hermione straight up.” “That’s what I’m saying. Hermione is way too obvious. Although I did vote for Angelina.” “Johnson?” “How did you know that and not that Hermione's middle name is Jean?”

“Because you and Merida are the only ones who actually signed up for Pottermore,” Ruby mutters archly. “And I still think people are going to think Jolie before a Quidditch player.” “I signed up for Pottermore for the background information,” Emma says and Killian barely keeps his laugh from becoming some kind of guffaw.

“I’m sorry, Swan, that’s the single worst lie anyone in the history of the world has told.” “How do you figure?” “Are you going to tell me right now that you weren’t desperate to find out what your Patronus was? Don’t insult my knowledge of you like that.”

She makes a face – tongue sticking out and eyes rolling towards a perfectly blue sky that’s probably the textbook definition of baseball weather and Killian squeezes his hand on the curve of her shoulder.

He doesn’t notice Ruby’s expression.

Mary Margaret is still desperately trying to keep score. “What was that last pitch?” “A strike,” Killian answers. “That wasn’t a good question, aren’t there are only two options?” Merida asks, her hair barely staying contained under the baseball hats they were all told they had to wear. David is wearing a Garciaparra jersey.

“Not true,” Mulan argues. “And Jones wasn’t right either.” “What?” he asks, eyes darting towards Emma’s out of instinct and several other words that he’s been trying to ignore for the last six years. “Ok, that is just fundamentally wrong. Balls and strikes. That’s how baseball works.”

“Nope. Try again.” “What the hell are you talking about?”

Mulan opens her mouth to answer, but their attention is collectively diverted by a crack of the bat and David’s already jumping up and down, drawing a few curious stares from the people around them and maybe the J.D. Martinez trade was worth it if he keeps hitting like that.

“Run, Mookie, run,” David yells, waving his hands like he’s the third-base coach. “God, wave him home, idiots! He’s got the speed for it!”

Mary Margaret has her face in her hands.

“David, you are embarrassing your wife and your unborn child,” Emma says. “Sit down. Mookie can’t hear you.” David shakes his head. “No, I refuse to believe that. He’s right there.” He points towards the runner still standing on third, which, really, was a bad call because Mookie does have the speed to beat out the relay home, but Killian will be damned before he agrees with any of David’s baseball opinions. Emma had to get him to change out of Yankees gear four different times that morning. “He can definitely hear me,” David continues. “We paid way too much money for these seats, give me this, Emma.” “I will not do that. This is weird. You are being weird.” “Welcome to David’s Final Jam moment,” Ruby chuckles. Merida is taking pictures again. “M’s, tell me something honestly, how long did he spend trying to decide which Sox great he wanted to honor with a jersey this afternoon?”

“If it’s any less than twenty-seven I’m going to be really disappointed,” Killian mutters and Emma’s eyes flash his direction.

“Oh that wasn’t even clever.” “Swan, that was easily the most clever thing I've said all day.” “And you don’t think that’s problematic?” He shakes his head, tightening his arm and there’s far too much seat in between them, but that might be some kind of metaphor and Killian isn’t prepared to deal with that before a copious amount of Sangria.

“You’re impossible,” Emma accuses, stabbing her finger into his chest and it takes some kind of Herculean effort not to catch her around the wrist and kiss along the line of her knuckles and being in love really shouldn’t be this annoying.

He wants to talk about it.

He’s dangerously close to needing to talk about it.

He can’t.

Or won’t.

The second one is way more depressing.

“Does anyone have any idea what the hell they’re talking about?” Mulan asks and David groans when Mookie gets stranded on third to end the fourth.

“Not usually when Emma and Killian are speaking their own language,” Ruby says. “But I think it was mostly a baseball insult.” “It was all a baseball insult,” David grumbles. He has to lean around Mary Margaret to kick at Killian’s ankles, not a particularly easy feat considering the pretzel in his hand. “Question. Who has won more World Series since 2004?” “Three Series titles is not impressive,” Killian says and he’s not sure who groans more, Emma or David. They’re for completely different reasons. He grins at her. “You were just making up for lost time. And we won one.” “He says like he was part of the team,” Emma mumbles.

“Was I not, Swan? That’s disappointing.” “Now batting, the captain…” she intones and maybe the exceptionally blue sky above them is a sign. That be sort of nice.

“Speak English,” Ruby demands, swatting at Merida’s arm when her phone shutter clicks. “Mer, I am going to throw that stupid thing on the field, I swear to God.” Merida doesn’t look impressed. “You’ll get kicked out if you do that and then you won’t get to Faneuil Hall for your Final Jam moment, so come back to me when you’ve got a more threatening threat.” Ruby’s getting very good at glaring at all of them.

“The Yankees have won the World Series twenty-seven times,” Emma explains. “The Sox were, you know, cursed and awful, but then they broke said curse in 2004 and have since won two more times and David’s trying to pretend that’s impressive or like Curt Schilling isn’t an actually terrible person.” Mary Margaret groans again, slumping in her chair and she practically hisses when Killian and David both ask if she’s alright. And the jab about Curt Schilling was point seventeen on the list still sitting on Killian’s coffee table.

He loves Emma Swan an absolutely ridiculous amount.

“Now you’ve done it,” Mary Margaret sighs and the Red Sox are already back up. “Is that a new pitcher? Again?” “It’s bullpen day for the Rays,” Emma reasons. “Do they have another pitcher besides Chris Archer?” “You’re asking me like that’s a question I know the answer to.”

“Can a baseball team actually be cursed?” Ruby asks and they’re going to get banned from Fenway for being the most obnoxious fans in the history of the game. “That seems unlikely.”

“Please stop talking about this,” David begs. “It’s over now. We don’t have to rehash. Also Curt Schilling is an absolutely awful person, Emma, so don’t act like that’s something that’s up for debate. Come up with another insult.” “I’ve got a list.” “Excuse me?” Emma nods. “Buckner, Buckner, Buckner. David Ortiz took steroids too. The aforementioned Curt Schilling insult. Aaron Boone. Buckner again, just for kicks, and the Pesky Pole is a stupid attempt at alliteration that I find, honestly, insulting.”

Killian nearly dislocates his neck when he throws his head back to laugh, tugging Emma tighter against his side and they’re both going to have bruises from the goddamn seats. David scowls, but he can’t hold the expression for too long because Christian Vázquez just hit a leadoff double to the triangle in the corner of the outfield.

“The Pesky Pole is a tradition unlike any other,” David says.

“No,” Emma argues. “That’s the Masters.” “Oh my God.” “C’mon, that was funny!” “That was not funny. Are we done? Have you gotten all your insults out? Emma shrugs, twisting to glance at Killian and Mary Margaret’s pencil sounds impossibly loud, like the rest of the world has fallen away or paused or something equally impossible and he tries not to blink.

Ruby coughs loudly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma says quickly, shaking her head like she’s trying to work her way through cobwebs or a dream and Killian doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until his lungs start to ache. “Totally done. Oh, there was something about Nomar wasn’t there?” “Who are you asking?” “Killian.” David freezes. “Did you two come up with a list of insults together? Are you kidding me?” Ruby is barely staying in her seat, arm thrown over her face and several different people have started whispering about them. It’s only a matter of time before they get kicked out of their seats. Mulan isn’t much better, eyes wide and lips pressed together tightly and she tugs Merida’s phone out of her hand before she can take a photo of Killian’s face.

He assumes he looks a little stunned too.

And they’d never exactly mentioned that Emma was staying with him.

At least not in so many words.

No words, actually, there were no words about that.

There’s a blush in Emma’s cheeks, staring straight at Killian like she’s waiting for him to talk them out of this, but his throat might be shrinking and he can’t really feel his lungs anymore. He’s not sure he’s ever supposed to, but it seems important to, at least, be aware that they’re there. The air in his body feels like it’s on fire.

“If you guys insulted Nomar together last night, I’m going to be really pissed off,” David warns and, just like that, it’s normal again. Killian’s not sure how, but it might have something to do with David’s far too serious expression and the clipped tone he uses or, possibly, Mary Margaret’s put-upon sigh because her husband has always been a little in love with Nomar Garciaparra.

“It actually wasn’t that bad,” Killian says. “We mostly just agreed that of the two adults in that marriage, Nomar was the lesser athlete.” “What?” “Mia Hamm won a World Cup, David,” Emma reasons. “More than once. And a shit ton of Olympic medals. Nomar was the second-best shortstop in the division when he played.”

“Ok, that is absolutely not true!” “Eh.” “Jeter was a defensive liability!” “As he got older,” Killian admits. “Not in his prime. But, wait, there is a compliment in here. This list was not just made to ruin your life.” David blinks. “We’ve decided to allow you the one fact that Nomar might have aged better than Jeter.” “Might have?” “Definitely,” Emma promises. “Again, the general consensus is because he’s trying to keep up with Mia Hamm and all those kids they have, but we’re willing to give you this.” “How generous of you. I paid for these seats!” “Yeah, well, that’s because you picked this as your last Final Jam event. Them’s the rules, Detective.”

David rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too and the Nomar thing was a good idea. It probably helps that the Sox are absolutely destroying the Rays too – not having a starting rotation is a horrible baseball plan.

“Maybe that’s the name you should go with,” Mulan suggests. “What’s the female version of Nomar? Nomara?” “That’s even worse than Luthien,” May Margaret says. “Plus that’s worse alliteration than Peksy Pole. Nomara Nolan? C’mon.”

“Babe,” David groans, sounding a little like he’s been betrayed by every single member of the Fellowship and all the elves in Middle Earth. And, like, several prominent wizards in the Ministry of Magic. “Seriously?” “Nomara Nolan is not an option. Now, was that last pitch a strike or a ball or a foul ball because that’s what Mulan was talking about before.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Emma says, letting her head fall to the side and Killian smiles as soon as it lands on his shoulder. “Ball three, up and in by the way.”

The Red Sox win and Mookie does, eventually, score – David screaming and jumping and Killian hopes Mac is as endlessly entertained by Merida’s constant photographic updates as he is. They ask some stranger to take a picture of them, Emma mumbling they’re only agreeing because they’re scared David will yell at them too under her breath and Killian’s arm is still around her shoulders when the shutter snaps.

She’s got her right arm around his waist.

But he barely gets a moment to linger on that before Mary Margaret is directing them out of the stadium and they have to split up in two cabs to get wherever they’re going next.

“You’re up, Jones,” Mary Margaret says, trying to lean around Emma in the backseat while David gives direction to a slightly frustrated driver.

“I thought the game was over,” Emma grins. She’s far too close to him – every inch of her arm and leg pressed up against Killian and he can’t remember what the hell he picked as his Final Jam event. Mary Margaret sighs again. “Aw, c’mon, M’s,” Emma continues. “I need you to take, like, forty-seven deep breaths and tell me your thoughts on The Chronicles of Narnia. ”

“Narnia?” “I mean ignore A Horse and His Boy, but, yeah, everything else.” “Doesn’t everyone ignore A Horse and His Boy ?” David asks, twisting to look at the three of them. “And your sense of humor is almost worse than Jones’, Em.” “Please, my sense of humor is exponentially better than Killian’s. The fact that he was making twenty-seven World Series championship jokes before is proof of that.” David nods in understanding and Emma has to move her arm to turn on Killian, fingers brushing over the back of the back of his neck and maybe the world has the biggest sense of humor of all. “That’s rude, Swan,” Killian mumbles, thanking several different deities that his voice doesn’t shake in the process. “I thought we were on the same team here.” “Again, with the sports puns. You and M’s are clearly spending far too much time together.” Killian nods, certain that’s safer than giving voice to the complete certainty that he and Mary Margaret are spending far too much time together because he’s, apparently, become some kind of pining romantic at some point, but he can’t say anything with David sitting in the front seat.

Or, like, ever.

That was the agreement. Right?

God.

“Huh,” David says, an obvious change of subject that makes Emma groan. “Well, that was weird. So are we going to talk about it?”

Killian wishes he’d been hit by a foul ball. Or passed out during Sweet Caroline. Maybe he did. That would explain whatever the hell is happening in the backseat of that cab.

Emma tenses next to him. “Talk about what?”

“Ruby and Mulan.”

She exhales, head lolling forward and Killian’s eyes fall closed before he can begin to imagine how guilty that makes both of them look. Which, again, is absurd. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. He and Emma are friends.

They’re good.

They’re fine.

He thinks about the swan boats like...three times a week. Four, maybe. Five at most.

It might be a problem.

Sustaining a concussion from an errant foul ball during Sweet Caroline would probably be easier to deal with.

“What is there to talk about?” Emma asks and Killian’s positive he’s the only who notices the change in tone, the way she takes her time on every letter and he moves his hand on that same instinct from before, twisting his wrist to wrap his fingers around hers.

She doesn’t pull away.

“They’re dating,” David says, like it’s another obvious fact in the conversation. “We think Mulan’s going to move up there soon.” “You’re not making any sense at all. Up where? In the sky?” “Storybrooke,” Mary Margaret answers. “Neither one of them have said anything, but it’s not like Mulan has to be in New York for work. She can home base wherever she wants as long as she can get to an international airport for work.” “And there’s one of those in middle of nowhere Maine?” “It’s not really that far from Portland.”

“We don’t know for sure,” David adds, clearly missing the signs of how absolutely painful this conversation has become. Killian’s arm is starting to cramp. “It’s just a hunch. And that’s been a thing since forever.” “What?” Emma balks. “Forever when?” “Like senior year?” “Another hunch,” Mary Margaret corrects. “But, yeah, we think they’re going to mention it tonight when we’re at the restaurant.” Emma shifts, rolling her shoulders and it isn’t easy to keep their hands hidden, but Killian tries to make sure he doesn’t inadvertently dislocate his wrist when she laces her fingers through his. “Restaurant?” she asks, clicking her teeth together when Mary Margaret’s shoulders sag. “Ok, so I didn’t look at the schedule in detail yesterday, but in my defense I was exhausted and you guys have clearly spent way longer thinking about all of this and our secret relationships than I ever have.”

“Our?” David repeats.

“What?” “You said our secret relationships. What does that mean?” Emma nearly breaks Killian’s hand, fingers gripping his with enough strength that he briefly wonders if she’s been bitten by several different radioactive spiders and that’s another universe of name options they should probably consider.

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Nothing, just...are you analyzing my sentence structure, Detective?”

“It’s in my job description to be curious.” “And annoying, apparently.” “I think you’re the only one who thinks that, actually, Em.” “Eh,” Killian objects. “If you try and corner Lucas and Mulan about their so-called secret relationship at dinner tonight, it might be a whole table of people and Mac.” “Why Mac?” “Because I’m ninety-nine percent positive Merida is going to start FaceTiming him and it’s Saturday so he’s probably not saving New York on the weekends.” “What does he do again?” Mary Margaret asks, a slightly more subtle attempt at a subject change and Killian smiles appreciatively. He’ll have to buy her lunch on Monday.

“I think he works for the City Council.”

“Is that a real thing?” Emma asks. “I thought just happened in Pawnee.” “I believe that’s a real thing, Swan,” Killian grins, squeezing her hand slightly. “But you can ask Merida if you want to. Or probably Mac when she inevitably FaceTimes him at dinner. Where is dinner?” “It was in the schedule,” Mary Margaret yells, earning a sound of displeasure from the driver and they’ve gone from one tourist trap to another. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. They’re just...it was in the schedule, really.” “I believe you, ma’am,” the driver answers. The laughter seems to echo off the doors of the cab and Emma’s entire body shakes against Killian, her hair finding its way into his face in the process. “I’m sure it was a very good schedule.”

“It was, honestly.”

“Oh my God, M’s,” Emma mumbles. “It’s somewhere in the North End, isn’t it? The restaurant?” “Obviously.” “Obviously.”

“Are we all in agreement that Ruby and Mulan are totally dating, though?” David asks and Killian tries to shoot lasers out of his eyes. He wasn’t, however, bitten by a radioactive spider and he doesn’t possess that kind of power yet. And David is oblivious. “Because that was kind of the crux of the conversation here.” “No,” Killian argues. “The crux of the conversation was the possibility of you guys naming future Nolan after a character in Narnia, right, Swan?” She doesn’t exactly beam at him, but his mind drifts towards several metaphors about the sun and the start of everything, which is odd considering the weekend, and maybe she’ll keep her hand in his when they walk the Freedom Trail to Faneuil Hall and the North End.

He picked the Freedom Trail for his event.

“Yeah,” she mutters. “But seriously, we’ve got to ignore A Horse and His Boy. It’s the worst.”

“Naturally. Lucy and Susan are too obvious though.”

“Didn’t Susan abandon Narnia?” David asks and the driver is desperately trying to get them out of the cab.

“That’s not how it worked,” Emma dismisses and Killian can’t hide his smile because she’s so certain and so goddamn stubborn and she’s going to demand they get Italian pastries after dinner.

“Swan thinks C.S. Lewis was unfairly prejudiced against Susan,” Killian says. He tugs on her hand, swinging open the door and Mary Margaret mumbles something that sounds like Lucy isn’t all that bad under her breath.

“He was,” Emma continues. “He tries to marry her off in A Horse and His Boy and then gets mad when she’s interested in boys in the real world. It’s stupid and patriarchal.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Swan. This is why Luthien’s clearly the better choice.” “Oh my God.”

“Are you guys done speaking in tongues?” Ruby yells, waving her arms and nearly hitting an entire family trying to take a photo in front of the State House. She’s, somehow, holding a drink. “Took you long enough!” “Bad driver,” David explains at the same time Emma mutters bad directions and Merida nearly drops her phone when Killian kisses the top of her head.

There were magnets involved or something.

Probably.

Radioactive spiders.

And a little bit of cautious optimism.

“Can we focus, please?” Mary Margaret asks and both Ruby and Mulan salute in response. “Maybe we’ll learn something while we walk.” “It’s not like the history has changed,” Merida points out. “Jones picks the same thing every Final Jam.” “And it’s still just as important,” Killian says, but his eyes flicker to Emma like he’s looking for confirmation or support. She nods.

And learning something suddenly has a much bigger meaning.

“Alright, troops,” Mary Margaret continues. “Let’s move out.”

“Tell me something absolutely fascinating about this one,” Emma says. She’s standing next to him, hands back on her sides and that’s only kind of disappointing, but they’ve also drifted into their own two-person group at some point and Ruby keeps shouting the British are coming at unsuspecting tourists, so maybe it’s not really all bad.

“It’s the site of the Boston Massacre, love, I’m not sure there’s a lot of positive things about this one.” “I never said positive, I said fascinating. C’mon, Jones. This is a teachable moment or something.”

“The name is all Paul Revere’s fault.” “Yeah?” Killian hums, tugging her against his side for no reason other than how much he wants to. He wants to quite a bit. “Yup,” he says, popping his lips on the letter, like that’ll make the entire thing more normal. “The Sons of Liberty at this point were a bunch of assholes and the whole thing was a mess, British soldiers and pissed off colonists and they threw snowballs, did you know that part?” “I did actually. At some guy named Montgomery, right?”

“That was impressive, Swan.” “We’ve done the Freedom Trail before. But keep telling your story, it’s almost interesting.”

“Almost,” Killian mutters, working a laugh out of Emma and she’s got both her arms wrapped around his middle. The rest of the group is probably halfway to the North End by now. “Anyway, it was a disaster. The British were furious, John Adams was furious--” “John Adams?” “He defended the British soldiers.” “No shit, the same John Adams? Sit down John and all that?” “One and the same, although your reference is six years later. And in Philadelphia.” “Impressive though, right?” Emma asks, grinning up at him and Killian's mind races back to his apartment and questions and wants until he’s practically bursting with it. There’s no room for romance at the Boston Massacre site.

“Definitely impressive,” he says instead. “But you’re distracting me, love. Anyway, the Sons of Liberty staged this whole propaganda campaign to try and downplay the colonist’s involvement and prove how horrible the British army was and Paul Revere printed a visual of the event. History says he called it a “bloody massacre” and here we are.” “Totally Paul Revere’s fault.” “Totally.” “Paul Revere kind of sounds like a dick.” “He kind of was actually. And he got caught on his ride before Lexington and Concord.” “Why do we pretend like he was some great guy, then?” Emma asks, twisting to stand in in front of him and Killian’s heart flies into his throat. “I feel like I’ve been lied to by Liberty’s Kids.” “The cartoon?” “Yeah. So we probably shouldn’t suggest Paul Revere as a name for soon-to-arrive Nolan, right? Or, like, his wife?” Killian barks out a laugh – not entirely sure what he expected from the moment, but certain it’s not a Liberty’s Kids reference – Emma blinking at him expectantly and they’re definitely going to be late to their own dinner reservation.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Swan,” he says, more unexpected words and unexpected feelings and she’s going to set a record for blinking in one emotionally-charged moment.

It seems to take forever for her to respond, but her voice doesn’t shake when she does and he can’t even hear Ruby anymore. “Yeah, me too,” Emma says. “Exponentially.” “Good word.”

“Got to impress you with my English knowledge, since I’ve clearly been lied to about American history.” “Ah, well, stick around for a little while, love and we’ll get you up to speed.”

Emma doesn’t blink again, but her tongue darts between her lips and he’ll probably think about that for all of dinner and possibly every other hour for the rest of his life. “Is that an offer?” she asks, Killian nodding slowly. “You’ll probably have to deal with more ridiculous 1776 references though. That’s one of Mary Margaret’s favorites. She had a crush on the Thomas Jefferson in that movie.” “I’m willing to deal with that and I’m going to bring that up at dinner so I can make fun of her because Jefferson was even worse than Revere.” He doesn’t, in fact, bring it up at dinner.  

He doesn’t get a chance.

Ruby actually stands up to announce “Mulan and I have been dating for two years, all of you are incredibly unobservant, we’re going to Seoul next month.”

Mary Margaret drops her fork. Mac makes a disbelieving noise from New York – David widening his eyes meaningfully because they were right about the FaceTime thing – but Killian doesn’t say anything, is far too preoccupied with the right hand hanging at his side and the brush of Emma’s fingers on his wrist.

He twists it, the realization that her fingers fit in between his with an almost alarming perfection lingering in every corner of his brain.

“So that’s happening,” Ruby continues, calm as ever. “We’ll take requests for souvenirs within reason and in writing before the end of Final Jam.” “They do not have to be in writing,” Mulan amends. “But we’re not spending more than twenty bucks on any of you, so take that into consideration.” “That’s fair,” Mac says from New York and the entire table groans in unison.

Killian doesn’t mention anything about Thomas Jefferson – or his actor counterpart – at dinner, but he does keep holding Emma’s hand, so really, it feels like kind of a wash. And they do, of course, get lobster tails – from Mike’s and Bova’s because we have to compare and contrast, Killian, obviously – splitting one on the walk back to his apartment.

They never actually decide to walk, it just kind of happens and Killian tries to remind himself of all the reasons that’s not a sign too.

That cautious optimism is starting to become a little annoying as well though and there’s powdered sugar on the corner Emma’s lips when she closes his front door.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, leaning back and it’s probably difficult to talk when she’s trying to bite her lower lip in half. “Did I make it weird yesterday?”

“What do you mean?” “Well, at the risk of making it weird again, you kind of...froze up when I asked about your lack of kid-type planning.” “That’s because I’m not trying to actively procreate at the moment.” Emma sighs, but it’s not quite annoyed and might be a bit more like she was expecting it and is, maybe, a little endeared by it. “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she mutters. “And we really need to be drinking more if that’s how you’re talking still.” “I think you’re trying to get me drunk, Swan.” “Yes.”

Killian laughs, dropping the boxes of baked goods on the closest flat surface and it only takes a moment to pull a bottle out of his cabinet. Emma doesn’t ask where the glasses are, which is almost unfair, honestly, but then they’re drinking and sitting on the couch and the very expensive rum he picked is doing its job.

“I’m sorry I made it weird,” she whispers, barely lifting her lips away from the glass she’s got both of her hands wrapped around.

Killian narrows his eyes. “You didn’t, Swan.” “I mean, that’s a great, big enormous lie, but I appreciate the effort you’re putting into it. I was just...curious, I guess.” “About my lack of kids?” She shrugs and nods at the same time, a move that nearly makes her lose her grip on the glass. “I mean, not just that, it’s...everything.” “You’re not making any sense, love.” Emma’s eyes flash and they’re both painfully aware of the change in endearment. Killian’s sip of rum is more like a shot. It makes his eyes water. “It’s just…” she starts again, only to cut herself off and the qualifiers are slowly killing him. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” “Swan.” “No, no, it’s fine. Really.” “That’s another great, big enormous lie,” Killian says. “I’d be insulted if it weren’t so obvious.” “Did you know Ruby and Mulan were going to Seoul?” He has to blink at the abrupt change, the way her entire being shifts as if she’s been replaced by a very convincing alien version of herself in the corner of his couch. Her knuckles are white around her glass though, so it’s obvious it’s still her.

“I didn’t know Ruby and Mulan were dating until about an hour ago.” “But you had suspicions?” “Yeah,” he says slowly. “A few. Where are you going with this, Swan?” She shrugs again, making a noise in the back of her throat, but it might be mostly because of the alcohol she’s only just finished. “A hunch, I guess.” “Yuh huh.” “Something to add?” “No,” Killian shakes his head. “Mostly because I have no idea where this conversation is going and you’re doing a pretty awful job at lying about it.” “Yeah, that’s kind of true,” she admits. “I guess I’m just kind of wondering what your plan for your entire life is?” “My whole life?” “At least the next...ten years, I guess.” “Are you picking numbers out of thin air?” Emma groans, holding her hand out expectantly when he doesn’t immediately refill her glass. “That’s a normal amount of time, right? A decade of adulthood. So c’mon, picture it or something. And then update me. Please.”

Killian considers his answer for a moment – but it’s an almost easy answer and, maybe, the same it’s been for the last decade which is, probably, why all those other set-ups didn’t work out. He kind of wishes they were eating Chinese food again.

It’s the same thing it’s always been, since she walked out of Boston Common and none of them said anything and he wants to kiss her again so badly he’s half certain it’s the only emotion he’ll ever feel again.

“Killian,” Emma whispers and he’s the one who ends up dropping his glass. That’s almost embarrassing. “Super weird, overstepping question, huh?” Yes. And no. And several other lengthy explanations that mostly just boil down to it’s always been you, Emma, but that seems kind of melodramatic to say out loud and there’s rum all over his carpet.

She’s halfway to the kitchen, muttering about water and towels and he catches her around the wrist before she makes it another foot.

“Not overstepping,” Killian says and one of them probably decides to move first, but it absolutely, positively does not matter because he’s ducking his head and Emma’s pushing up on her toes and kissing her is better than he remembers.

He remembers every single moment of it.

Emma’s fingers find their way back into his hair, nails scraping lightly and he can feel her smile when he groans at the movement. He has to bend his knees to reach her, but it’s easier when her feet aren’t touching the floor anymore and they’re moving, somehow, stumbling backwards and towards the couch and oxygen is severally overrated.

They fall back against cushions and a couch arm that is definitely going to leave a bruise on Killian’s hip, Emma’s laughter echoing in the air around them, like it’s trying to work its way into his soul or something equally absurd.

He’s not sure how they don’t sustain any more injuries, a twist of limbs that wouldn’t be possible if they weren’t both so preoccupied with making out like teenagers. And it seems to last forever, kisses and laughter and his fingers brushing over her skin, her back arching enough that he groans again, hips meeting each other and it’s everything he’s ever even considered and then some.

Like some kind of ridiculously sentimental dream.

He feels far more drunk than he is.

But oxygen is, actually, a human necessity and they can’t spend the entire night making out on his couch and Killian’s cautious optimism tries to remain just that when Emma leans back.

Her eyes scan his face and he hopes she finds what she’s looking for.

“You’re going to break several ribs if you sleep out here again,” Emma says, which is only a slightly surprising turn of events, but his heart is still in his throat and he’s definitely, at least, buzzed.

“I’ll be fine, Swan.”

“Great, big enormous liar.” She licks her lips, clicking her teeth the way she does when she gets nervous and her hands are warm when they wrap around his neck. “I was just thinking...there’s space and…”

“And?” “You really can’t figure it out?” “I’d really like to hear you say it,” Killian mutters, appreciating the way Emma’s breath hitches when he brushes his lips over the curve of her jaw. “For posterity or something.”

She laughs, shaking against him and it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard until the next few words out of her mouth. “I really don’t want to be by myself.”

Killian nods, another kiss and another smile and he’s just on the cusp of falling asleep in the bed down the hall when he feels fingers reaching for his, tugging his arm around her waist. It’s the best he’s slept in...ever.

Tagging @followbatb. Let me know if you guys want to be tag’ed or updated or any of those verbs. 

[argyle-s]

Something Just Like This Chapter 13/?

Rating: Mature (For Later Chapters)

Notes:  The idea of how Cat and Carter communicate when he's stressed is lifted shamelessly from @unicyclehippo​'s wonderful fic Carter Grant, Super Sleuth which you should absolutely go read as it is one of the classics of SuperCat fandom, and a wonderful story.

(Also, I have edited one line for clarity since this was originally posted.)

Read at Ao3

Start at the Beginning

Cat and Carter have a talk about her new relationship.

Chapter 13 - Concern

Cat felt a moment of déjà vu as she walked towards the front door.  Four nights earlier, she’d been nervous because it was her first date with Kara.  Today, she was nervous for a far different reason.  What she had with Kara was turning out to be everything she’d hoped for, but it could all come crashing to an end in just a few minutes, because she was about to tell Carter about it.  She’d told Kara that this couldn’t continue if it wasn’t okay with him, and Kara had whole heartedly agreed with that.  Which made Cat love her that much more and made her that much more afraid of how much it would hurt if Carter reacted poorly.

She took a deep breath as she opened the door.  Anthony stood there next to Carter, but she ignored him and bent down, smiling at her son.

“Hey,” she said, reigning in her desire to reach out and hug him.  Carter was pretty good with it normally, but he was always a little skittish about physical contact after spending time at his father’s.  It was one of the reasons she stayed angry with Anthony almost constantly.  She wasn’t perfect herself.  She sometimes forgot to check in with him before she hugged him if she was scared, like she’d been after the train incident, but Anthony completely disregarded Carter’s normal shyness about physical contact.  It was also one of the reasons she was so stunned at how Carter had taken to Kara during the babysitting incident.

“Hey, Mom,” Carter said in a subdued tone.  She had to fight to keep from frowning.  Something was off.

“Why don’t you go inside,” she said.  “I’ll be in in just a minute.”

Carter nodded and slipped past her, his head down and his shoulders slumped, and Cat felt the anger burning in her.  She stamped it down, determined not to have a blow up on today of all days.  She stood up and looked at Anthony.

“Let’s go inside,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Cat reached up and placed her hand in the center of his chest, and pushed, forcing him back so that she could step out into the hall and close the door behind her.

“I have a feeling this isn’t a conversation I want Carter to overhear.”

“Then you should have thought about that before you splashed it across every gossip column in the country.”

“Anthony, as always, your mouth is moving, and you’re making noise, but nothing meaningful is being added to the conversation,” Cat said, but she felt a cloud of cold dread envelop her, because he could only possibly be talking about one thing.  She hadn’t checked the headlines that morning. Between worrying about how Carter was going to take the news that she and Kara were dating, and day dreaming about the three dates they’d been on so far, she hadn’t had time, but it was starting to sound like that was a mistake.

“You’re not really going to stand there and pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he replied.

“I have some notion of what you might be talking about, but  hope I'm wrong.  My opinion of myself might never recover if it turns out I was such a poor judge of character that I married such a small, narrow minded little man. So please, enlighten me.”

“It’s all over the news, Cat. You’re fucking your secretary. What’s her name?  Karen, or Christie or Katy?”

Cat raised her index finger in warning.  “First, Kara hasn’t been my assistant in months.  Second, I don’t see how who I date is any of your concern.”

“Oh, please,” Anthony said. “If you wanna get a piece on the side, that’s your business, but letting the help sleep their way to the top is beneath you.  And taking her out in public.  Really? What were you thinking?”

Cat stared at him for a moment, wondering what she’d ever seen in him.  Of course, she knew the answer.  He’d been kind and attentive when she was at a low point.  Adam’s father had just gotten married, and he’d asked her to sign the paperwork so his wife could legally adopt Adam.  And as husbands go, Anthony wasn’t the worst she’d had, but that was a fairly low bar.  He’d always been a little selfish.  A trait which had only gotten worse once she’d gotten pregnant, and which gave her a clue about why he was so upset.

“You should really thank me, Anthony,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.  “After all, this just proves you weren’t responsible for the failure of our marriage.  No one could expect it to last, since I’m just a frigged little lesbian ice queen.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Don’t be a bitch.”

“Oh, why not?  That’s what you’re really worried about, isn’t it? Everyone saying I switched because you couldn’t perform.”

“I’m worried about my son.”

“That’s funny.  You weren’t worried about your son a few weeks ago when Kara was the one to ride every roller coaster at Six Flags with him, because you were off fucking your… What did you call it?  Oh, yes.  Your ‘piece on the side.’”

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?  You want to talk about ‘not fair’?  Not fair is seeing the disappointment on *my* son’s face every time his so-called father fails to show up.  Not fair is having *my* son ask me why his father doesn’t love him.  If there’s something wrong with him, or if he did something to make you hate him.  That’s not fair.”

“I have found someone who cares about me, and who cares about *my* son enough to actually show up when she promises too.  If you care about your son, then you can take the hit to your pathetic ego.  If you can’t, I can have my lawyers draw up termination of parental rights paperwork.  But if you ever say one negative word about Kara in front of Carter, I promise you, we will revisit the divorce decree, and this time I won’t hold back.”

“Cat-”

“We’re done,” Cat said, cutting him off.  “If you take issue with the fact that my twenty-six-year-old girlfriend is a better parent to your child than you are, I suggest you take a good, hard look in the mirror.”

Without giving him a chance to reply, Cat opened the door to her apartment and stepped inside, closing it as quietly as possible, and locking it.  She took a deep breath, wishing she could take a few minutes and review the news coverage, but she’d already wasted too much time on someone who’s opinion didn’t matter.  She needed to be with her son.

She pushed off the door and headed into the apartment.  A quick glance told her Carter wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, which was a bad sign.  It meant he was in his bedroom.  She headed down the hall, pausing a moment to pick up her tablet before knocking softly on his door.

There was no answer, then then, she hadn’t really expected one.  She lifted her tablet and opened her chat app.

‘Carter, sweetie, can I come in?’ she sent.

‘Yeah,’ he replied.

Cat opened the door and stepped into Carter’s room.  He was sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, looking at his tablet. Cat pulled the chair from his desk over next to his bed and sat down.

‘Hey,’ she sent.  She sat patiently, watching as he worked on the tablet for a while, forcing herself not to reach out and touch him like she ached to. She waited, knowing he needed time and space to feel safe, so she gave it to him.  She spent the time pulling up the gossip sites, not at all surprised to find imagines of her and Kara at the theater on Thursday night, and a few from the Art Gallery Cat had taken Kara to Friday.   She sat quietly for almost half an hour, reading all the nasty comments about her love life on TMZ, until Carter sent her another message.

‘Are you dating Kara?’ he asked, not looking up from what he was doing.

‘Yes,’ she sent back.  She was silent for a few minutes, waiting for his response as she browsed the somewhat kinder comments on CatCo’s entertainment and celebrity website.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked after about five minutes.

‘It’s new,’ Cat sent back.  ‘We were just friends for a while.  I wanted there to be more, but I didn’t think she would feel the same, but we had a conversation on Tuesday.  I didn’t mean to say anything, but we were both upset about something that happened at the office, and I said something that let her figure out how I feel.  We talked more on Wednesday, and she told me she felt the same way.  We only went out for the first time Thursday night, but we’ve been on three dates so far.’

Carter didn’t look up from his tablet and she was careful not to look directly at him, instead watching out of the corner of her eye.  She was used to this.  It was how he coped when the conversation was too intense.  When they communicated through the chat app, he could focus on something else, and let it process in the background.  It drove his father nuts, which was one of the things she and Anthony fought about when it came to Carter.  Anthony thought she coddled him, and Cat thought Anthony had no respect for Carter’s special needs.  Under the terms of the amended and very detailed custody agreement, Anthony was required to adhere to the recommendations of Carter’s therapist, but Cat worried every time Carter left with him.

‘So you didn’t tell me because I was at Dad’s?’ Carter sent

‘Yes.  I was planning on talking to you about it today,’ Cat sent back.

Carter hunched forward a bit more, curling in on himself.  Cat recognized the signs.  He was trying to screw up his courage.  For a moment, Cat worried that everything was going to come crashing down, and she was going to have to choose her son over Kara.  The outcome was a foregone conclusion, of course, but it would hurt so very much.

‘I don’t want to see dad anymore,’ Carter sent.

Cat let out the breath she’d been holding, waiting for the axe to fall.  It only took a second for the dread to be replaced with ice cold fury.

‘Did something happen?’ she asked.

Carter curled up a bit tighter, and Cat knew she’d asked the wrong question, and started typing quickly.

‘Sweetie, if you don’t want to go back, you don’t have too,’ she sent.  While she waited, she gripped her tablet in her hands to keep from reaching out to him.

Carter uncurled a bit, and Cat breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him relax.  ‘Good,’ he replied.

‘I just want to understand. That’s all.’

Carter nodded, but still didn’t look up.  ‘I like Kara. I think she’s nice,’ he sent.

‘So do I,’ Cat sent back.

It was a few minutes before Carter replied.  ‘Dad doesn’t like her.’

Cat could see it perfectly in her head.  How the whole thing unfolded.  Anthony had come across the coverage that morning.  Then, like he always did, he forgot Carter existed, and said something horrible about Kara, or her, or both of them, while Carter was within ear shot. Probably mouthing off to whichever younger model he was seeing currently.  Cat had trouble keeping track, which is why she had a private investigator who vetted everyone her ex-husband dated.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Cat sent. ‘I’ll go call Elizabeth, and we’ll see about getting it set so you don’t have to go back to your Dad’s unless you decide you want to.  Then, I’ll make us some lunch.  How does that sound?’

“Do you think Kara could come visit?” Carter asked out loud, making Cat smile.

“We’ll see,” Cat said.  “If she’s not busy, I’ll bet she’d like that.”

***

“How are you doing?” Kara asked Carter.

“Better,” Carter replied. “Thanks for coming over.”

Cat stopped just outside the doorway to the game room, not wanting to interrupt the moment between her son and Kara.

“I wish I could say anytime, but you know my job keeps me really busy,” Kara said.  “But I promise, if you ever really need me, I will do everything I can to be here for you and your mom.”

“Really?” Carter asked.

“Really,” Kara said.  “I mean, you obviously know how special I think your mom is.”

“Yeah,” Carter said.  “You always get mushy face when you look at her.”

“Mushy face?” Kara said.  “I do not!”

“You totally do!  Even the first time you took care of me, you’d get the same dopy face she gets when she looks at you.”

“You couldn’t have told me this a year ago?” Kara said.

“Mom says it’s not nice to tell people when they’re being stupid,” Carter said.

Kara laughed.  “Your mom said that?”

“I know, right,” Carter replied.

Cat couldn’t help but grin, just a little.

“The thing is, even if you and your mom didn’t come as a set, which you guys totally do, I’d still want to hang around with you.  You’re pretty awesome yourself.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Carter said.

“It’s true though,” Kara said. “Didn’t you help Supergirl on the train?”

“You were just giving me busy work, Kara,” Carter said.

Cat’s breath caught in her throat a little bit at hearing her son say that, but to her surprise, Kara just chuckled.

“What gave it away?” she asked.

“The Scar,” Carter said.

“Just don’t tell me the glasses are a stupid disguise, okay?”  Kara said.

“Sore subject?”

“One of my sister’s friend figured it out in, like, five minutes,” Kara replied.

“Well, just because I’m not saying it doesn’t make it untrue.”

Cat had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“You’re as bad as your mother, who can totally stop eavesdropping and come in now,” Kara said.

Cat rolled her eyes and stepped around the corner, smiling at the sight of Carter and Kara sitting next to each other.

“What gave me away?” Cat asked.

“What didn’t?” Kara said. “I smelled the pizza and your perfume, and I heard your heartbeat and your breathing.”

“No seeing her through the wall?” Carter asked.

“Nope,” Kara said.  “Leaded glass lenses.  Trust me, X-Ray vision is not something you want use accidently.  I have seen things.”  She gave a dramatic shudder.

Cat sat the pizza down on the table, next to where Carter and Kara had set up Small World.  They were both a little frustrated after Cat had beat them two games in a row at Settlers of Catan and opted for a switch in games.

“Do I even want to know what the story is there?” Cat said as she sat down.

“Let’s just say no one involved still works at CatCo and leave it at that,” Kara said.  “Are you okay with this?”

“With Carter having figured out your secret identity?” Cat asked.

“Yeah,” Kara said.

“I’m actually a little miffed he didn’t think to share the information with his mom if he figured it out that quickly,” Cat said, giving Carter a mock glare.

“How long did it take you do figure it out?” Carter asked.

“The email leak,” Cat said. “Though I had my suspicions after the Earth Quake.  You seem to be taking Carter figuring things out a lot more gracefully than you did when I figured it out.”

Kara just smiled at her and reached down, picking her purse up off the floor.  “Carter can’t fire me because he things I should be Supergirl full time,” she said.  Cat felt a little guilty at the words, but Kara’s tone was light and teasing.  “Besides, I was going to check with you first to make sure it was okay that he knew, but I already planned on telling him.  I sat down and had a long talk with J’onn after our first date.  He agreed with me that it would be hard to explain where these came from without telling Carter the truth.”  She took two long, narrow boxes out of her purse, and handed them to Cat.

Cat took them and immediately spotted her name on one box, and Carter’s name on the other.  She opened the one with her name on it and was immediately taken aback.  The watch she was staring out was exquisite.  She didn’t recognize the designer, but it was the design was simple and elegant.  It wasn’t until she noticed at in place of the usual numbers or Roman numerals, there was symbols she didn’t recognize that she understood what she was looking at, and when she tilted the watch to get a better look, she caught sight of Supergirl’s emblem etched very finely into the crystal.

“The numbers are Kryptonian,” Kara said, blushing a little.  “If you don’t like it, I can take it back and have them changed.”

“No!” Cat said, clutching the box firmly in hand.

Kara smiled at her even wider, obviously pleased.  “They are more practical than they look,” she said.  “Press the crown in.”

Cat looked down at the watch as she pressed in the knob on the side, and the face swung up, revealing a button shaped like Supergirl’s symbol set in below what looked like a speaker grill.

Carter reached over and took the box with his name on it, opening it reverently.  Cat smiled approvingly as she saw that his watch was less a piece of fine jewelry, and something more appropriate to a teenage boy who happened to be a huge Supergirl fan.  The watch itself was in the classic diamond shape of Supergirl’s symbol, with a sturdy band that looked like leather.  The red, yellow and blue symbol was set into the face, and when he pressed in the knob, the face swung up revealing a similar beacon to the one in her watch.

“It’s a distress beacon,” Kara said.  She looked over at Carter, and Cat saw her put on her Supergirl face.  “These are for emergencies only.”

Carter nodded.  “I understand,” he said solemnly.

“I hope it’s okay,” Kara said, her voice a little timid, making Cat turn to look at her.  “I was afraid it might be a little too much too soon, but I just…  I want to be there if either of you ever need me.”

Cat reached out and took her hand.

“Thank you,” Cat said, and she meant it.  The watches might not be engagement rings, and Cat was under no illusions that they were that far along in their relationship, but the meaning was clear, all the same.  

On the same day when Carter’s father had reminded her that neither of them were ever anything more to him that status symbols to prop up his reputation and ego, Kara was claiming them as family.

[knotsandknives]

prompt fill for anonymous who said: Robert has to get bifocals. He hates this. Joseph makes him feel better about it :D ;D

“Not a word,” Robert warns, pulling the door open ever so slightly, just enough that Joseph can slip through before he slams it back. He doesn’t need any nosy neighbors seeing him like this. He rolls his eyes at Joseph’s guileless expression, turning away to sulk his way back to the living room.

“What do you mean, ‘not a word’? I’m not allowed to comment? Robert!”

Joseph trails after him, poorly-disguised amusement in his voice. He turns the light back on after Robert flicks it off, with more force than is strictly necessary.

“No,” Robert finally answers, ignoring Joseph’s pout. He sits in his favorite armchair and only protests a little when Joseph follows, perching on the arm of the chair to peer into Robert’s face. Robert averts his eyes, gaze fixed stubbornly on the far wall. He needs to paint. He’s never painted. These walls likely haven’t seen a drop of paint since the 70’s.

Joseph’s hands on his face bring Robert’s attention back to the other man, forcing him to meet those brown-flecked blue eyes of his. “Can I just say one thing?” Joseph asks, thumbing at the very edges of the large, squarish frames on Robert’s face. Robert catches his hands with a frown, pulling them away.

“Depends on what it is. If you call me four eyes, I’ll dump your ass.”

Joseph laughs, twisting his hands in Robert’s grip to tangle their fingers. “Are you sure you’re not going to do that anyway? You’re seeing me in HD for the first time. Maybe I’m not as good-looking as you remember.”

Robert squints up into Joseph’s face, pretending to consider it. “You do have a lot more wrinkles than I thought.”

Joseph whips the glasses off Robert’s face, holding them playfully out of reach above their heads. “Who needs to see, then?” He lets Robert wrap both arms around his waist, pulling him into the older man’s lap.

“What were you going to say?” Robert asks, not faking the squint this time. He didn’t even realize how badly he’d needed the damn glasses until he’d had them, and suddenly road signs could be read before he was right on top of them. Until he’d gotten a good look at Joe and been able to see the gorgeous fine lines of laughter around his mouth and eyes all the more clearly. As much as he hates the damn things, that almost makes them worth it.

Joseph smiles at him, slipping the glasses back over his ears, settling them gently on the bridge of his nose. He leans in to kiss Robert softly, still smiling. “I was just going to tell you how fucking hot you look in these.”

Robert grunts in surprise as Joseph presses nearer, angling for a real kiss. “They make me look old,” Robert corrects him. He runs one hand up Joseph’s back, under his polo, slipping the other beneath the waistband of his slacks, relishing the smooth warmth of his skin.

“Yeah, like a really hot grandpa,” Joseph says, eyes blinking open when Robert scoffs.

“Fuck, Joe, I knew they’d age me but not that much.” Robert lets go of Joseph to try and take the glasses back off. Fucking old man bullshit, he can see perfectly fine without them, thanks very much. Even if he does have to hold his drafting paper two feet from his face to be able to see his own designs.

Joseph catches his hands again, putting them back on his ass. “I told you, I like it. You’re all mature and wise looking. It’s hot,” he stresses, giving Robert another tease of a kiss. “And besides, you could totally be a grandpa. Val’s old enough. Just because she doesn’t have kids doesn’t mean she couldn’t.”

“I think we should talk about your apparent burning attraction to old men,” Robert says, indulging Joseph when he presses their foreheads together, laughing.

“It’s not old men,” Joseph tells him, pulling away to meet his eye. “It’s just one old man in particular.”

Robert pinches his waist, right where that little bit of softness peeks over his pants. Joseph starts, then laughs. “You smudged my glasses, by the way.”

Joseph grins, unrepentant. “I’d like to do a lot more than that, if you’d let me.”

Robert’s heart rate jumps at the low, suggestive tone Joseph’s adopted. “Meaning?” he asks, his own voice suddenly gruffer than normal. Joseph runs his hands up and down Robert’s arms, considering.

“I kind of want to come on them,” he says in a rush, like he has to say it fast or not say it at all. Robert’s eyes go wide, the effect possibly comically magnified by the strength of his lenses.

“Yeah?” he manages, grip tightening on Joseph’s hips. That kid never fails to surprise him. He’s so much dirtier than the clean-cut, pink-polo, blonde-hair, white-teeth exterior would ever suggest. Robert loves him.

There’s a faint, slightly embarrassed blush high on Joseph’s cheeks, but he nods firmly anyway. Robert is so proud of him. “I’ve been thinking about it basically since you told me you’d ordered them.”

“Fuck,” Robert breathes, leaning in to seal his mouth over Joseph’s in a harsh kiss.

“Is that a yes?” Joseph moves back to ask, the hunger in his eyes belying his casual tone. He nudges Robert’s glasses up with the tip of his sharp nose, fogging the lenses, not to mention Robert’s senses. This close, Joseph is all he can see, smell, feel. He can hear the quickness of Joseph’s breath, an echo of his own. He can taste the desire on his tongue when Joseph kisses him again, deep and dirty. At this point, he’d probably let Joseph talk him into eating the damn glasses, if that’s what he wanted.

“It’s always a yes with you, you know that.”

Joseph smiles, a hint of smugness in the expression. “It’s dangerous to give me that much leeway.”

Robert returns his smirk, brushing their lips together. “I like to live on the edge, baby.”

The next few minutes are a haze of wet kisses and rough hands, a shift in position that leaves Robert kneeling between Joseph’s legs, naked from the waist down. Joseph is the reverse image, stripped from the waist up, pants unzipped and open just enough that Robert can slip a hand in. Joseph’s hands are clenched in the fabric of Robert’s henley, stretching the material at the neckline. Robert has a dozen like it. He couldn’t care less.

“Robbie,” Joseph is moaning, head tipped back to expose the column of his throat, long and pale like the rest of him. Robert rests his chin on one of his generous thighs, feeling the tension beneath the khaki. He’s loathe to admit it, but he really can see so much better. Even at this distance, he catches the flutter of Joseph’s eyelids when he presses his thumbnail to slit at the tip of his cock. He can see the way Joseph’s nostrils flare on a sharp inhale when he applies just the right amount of pressure. He doesn’t miss a single nuanced expression, and it’s adding to the sensuality of the experience like he couldn’t have imagined. Damn his old man eyes for causing him to miss out on this for so long.

Robert focuses all his attention on Joseph for now, ignoring his own arousal in favor of watching Joseph’s play out across his face in stark relief. “You really are into these, aren’t you?” Robert asks, thrilling at the noise Joseph makes when Robert presses his face to the side of his cock, letting it slip up under the glasses a bit at the edge, lifting them away from his face slightly. Joseph grabs Robert’s chin, holding him in place to thrust into the gap he’s created between the frames and his temple. It’s hot enough that Robert doesn’t even care how ridiculous it is. Joseph’s unabashed lust is worth any oddities about the situation. He doesn’t even mind the glasses at this point, if wearing them can reduce Joseph to this.

“So much,” Joseph is saying through gritted teeth, already just this side of desperate. Robert is barely stroking him now, just letting Joseph rub himself against his face. And the glasses. They’re worth their weight in gold at this point. “You should,” Joseph is panting now, watching himself essentially fucking Robert’s glasses at this point, “never….fuck, Robert….you should never take them off. I fucking love -” Joseph cuts himself off with a long moan when Robert tightens his grip, giving him a better pocket to thrust into.

Robert backs off a little, ignoring Joseph’s whimpered protests. “You’re gonna be coming in my hair if you stay like that,” Robert shushes him, resisting Joseph’s attempts to draw him back in. “And this whole thing’ll be for nothin’. Aim for the glasses, sweetheart.”

“You sure?” Joseph checks, a little too late in Robert’s opinion because he’s already smeared precum over every inch of the damned things. But endearing nonetheless.

“Go for it, babe. I don’t wanna be able to see a thing outta these when you’re done.”

That’s all the permission Joseph needs before letting go, eyes as open as he can keep them in the midst of it all, watching the pearly strings of his release as they cling to Robert’s nose, cheeks, eyelashes, but mostly watching the way it coats the lenses of his glasses. Robert tilts his head accommodatingly, closing his eyes to keep the worst of it out. He doesn’t need to see. He can hear how pleased Joseph is, can feel it in the reverent brush of fingertips on his face. Joseph’s hands wander to the frames themselves, smearing the traces of himself across the lenses with his thumbs.

“These are never going to be unsmudged,” he tells Robert, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Robert smiles, a little.

“Lenscrafters is really gonna regret their free cleaning and adjustment service after they get a load of me.” Robert pauses, reconsiders. “Well, a load of you, really.”

-x-

Joseph goes with him to the store, just to see the look of barely concealed horror on the poor employee’s face when Robert hands the glasses over.