#not to sound annoying but I literally can’t believe the response this fic has got

[evansbby]

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[aliceblisss]

Hej, I'd like a fluffy Spencer x reader Halloween fic :)

You got it! Tysm for your request! <3

Btw I tend to write reader fics in first person. Personally I find it’s easier to immerse yourself in the story that way.

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“Boo!”

I’m startled by the sound and a quick jolt on my shoulders. I turn around to find Spencer in a cheap Frankenstein mask.

“Spencer! Stop doing that” I hit his arm and he grabs it in pain but continues to laugh nonetheless.

“Oh come on y/n, where’s your Halloween spirit?” He protests as he leans on my desk, his Frankenstein mask resting on top on his head.

“Dead”

His mouth falls open. “What do you mean?!”

“I’ve never liked Halloween, never understood the fun of it” I say with all honesty. I know he loves Halloween, and part of me considered lying just so I wouldn’t make him feel bad.

He puts his hand over his heart, feigning a blow to the chest. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. How can you not find the fun in Halloween? It’s literally the best holiday!”

I laugh at his dramatic response and say, “That’s debatable”

“You know what?” He stands up with determination, “I won’t accept this. I hope you don’t have any plans this Saturday because I will dedicate the whole day to changing your mind.”

“Ughh” I grunt. The thought of spending the whole day with him sounds wonderful but he can be so annoying when he’s hell bent on something.

That’s when he hits me with the pouty lip and puppy dog eyes that make me melt. “Please?”

I roll my eyes, fighting back a smile because I can’t help but be amused by all this.

“Fine. It’s a date”

~~~

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Why did I say that?

I mean, there’s always been a weird tension between us and our friendship sometimes…crosses some lines a friendship shouldn’t cross; especially not a work related one.

Practically everyone knows Spencer and I have been crushing on each other for years. And we’re both aware of it but we’ve never talked about it, at least not explicitly. And now I’ve gone and called this a date.

I could tell his demeanor changed when I said it. He got all nervous and flustered, even blushed a little.

And now, he’s only two minutes away, and I’m the nervous mess.

I tried to dress accordingly, usually what I like most about fall are the outfits. I put on a cream colored knit sweater with a tan coat over it and layered some gold jewelry, with some comfy boots to match. He told me to dress comfortable.

Suddenly I hear a knock on my door, the sound startling me, breaking my train of thought. Butterflies start to flutter in my stomach.

“Hey!” I greet him with a big smile.

“Hello!” He greets back. I look him up and down and realize he put together a better fall outfit than I did.

He’s wearing a grey knit sweater with little ghosts on them, a black coat over it and his classic purple scarf hanging perfectly from his neck. So cute.

“I like your sweater,” I say as I close the door behind me.

“I thought you didn’t like Halloween”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t like your sweater” I laugh because even the simplest things he says make me laugh, like an idiot.

“Then what about my sweater do you like if not the Halloween theme?” At this point he’s teasing me, purposefully getting on my nerves like usual.

“Just take the damn compliment Reid”

~~~

“So where are we going?” I ask after a few minutes of driving.

“Ah ah, it’s a surprise” he replies.

“That’s fine, I’ll just guess” I say, thinking I can cheat the system.

“Let’s see, is it a pumpkin patch?”

No response.

“Apple picking? No. Haunted house!”

I see a small smile creeped on his face.

“That’s it! The haunted house!” I said in an ah-ha manner.

His grin grew wider, “I never said that. I’m just amused by your attempts at guessing”

“Yeah right,” I scoff. “We both know I guessed it”

We both laugh, we’re stopped at a red light so he turns to look at me as he giggles. We look at each other, entranced.

“I’m glad we’re doing this” he admits in a soft voice.

I smile, “Me too”

~~~

A few minutes before arriving to our destined location he instructed me to close my eyes. Once we came to a stop he told me to open them.

In front of me was a big entrance with a sign that said ‘Halloween Fun Fair’.

“Oh” I say disappointed, not that this is where he brought me but that I hadn’t guessed correctly.

“What?” He asked with a chuckle.

“I guessed wrong”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Come on!” he said excitedly.

We walked in through the entrance to find a bunch of booths with carnival games. He led me to a sign with arrows pointing in different directions which had ‘pumpkin patch’ and ‘haunted maze’ written on them.

“Ah! So I was right!” I exclaim.

“Sort of yeah” he giggled.

“But we’re not going to the pumpkin patch, that’s boring. We’re gonna play some carnival games, I’m gonna beat your ass in the process, and then we’ll go in the haunted maze.” He says.

“Oh, is that a challenge, Dr. Reid?” I narrow my eyes at him playfully, leaning closer to his face.

He does the same, leaning in as well, our noses almost touching. “It’s not much of a challenge, sweetheart.”

“Oh it’s on”

And so we spent the next two hours trying to one-up each other in each game. Of course the genius wins most of them, only a few I win on my own, and some of them he lets me win at; which only pisses me off more.

We make sure to choose the smaller prizes so we can toss them in my tote bag.

After playing and filling up my tote bag with little plushies and knick-knacks he tells me he’ll be right back and runs off.

I may find him incredibly attractive most of the time but I can’t deny he runs a bit funny. I suppose it adds to his charm.

He comes back with a goofy smile and his arms behind his back. Once he’s in front of me he pulls out a small bouquet of flowers.

“For you” he says with a big smile and a pink tint on his cheeks.

I have to keep myself from swooning at this sweet gesture. But I can’t help myself from blushing.

“Thank you” I say and shyly take the flowers from his hand. Our fingers graze and my breath hitches at my throat.

He takes a step back and nervously scratches the back of his head.

After a few seconds of awkward silence he says, “So, you ready for the haunted maze?”

I look over to where the entrance of the maze is. It’s filled with fog and you can hear screaming in the distance. It scares me a bit but I’ll never admit it.

I look back at him and reply with, “Yeah. Can’t wait to hear you screaming like a little girl” and a devilish smirk.

He chuckles as he throws his arm over my shoulder. “Yeah we’ll see about that”

We walk in and decide to take a right. Already a few minutes in there’s a jump scare. It frightens us slightly but we just laugh and keep going. The deeper we get into the maze the closer we get to each other; practically stepping on each other’s toes. And the maze gets gradually scarier as we go on.

Some of the monsters just scare you and move on or go back into hiding. But others linger and follow you which kinda creeped me out. At one point we realize we’re kinda lost.

“Shit, which way did we come from?” he asks.

“How should I know?”

“You should pay more attention y/n”

“You’re the one with the eidetic memory!”

“So?”

“So you should—” I’m cut off buy another monster. This one really came out of nowhere. We both scream but Spencer’s scream is particularly high pitched which makes me die of laughter.

I’m cackling with tears forming in my eyes whilst Spencer is whining, “Y/n stop it’s not funny!” But he can’t help but laugh as well.

I’m stumbling from my laugh attack and I trip. Next thing I know I’m falling into a pair of strong arms. I look up to find Spencer smiling at me.

“Careful” his voice is low and raspy. Suddenly the laughter is gone, and I’m barely inches away from his face.

He reaches to cup my cheek with his hand, he leans in, I lean in, our lips graze and—

A monster with a chainsaw runs towards us, chasing us. Not only ruining our moment but causing us to run without any direction, screaming.

By pure luck we find the end of the maze, we get as far away from it as possible to avoid any more monsters sneaking up behind us.

As we’re trying to catch our breath we look at each other and start laughing once again.

“Man he really ruined the moment didn’t he?” He says wiping tears from his eyes.

“I mean what’d we expect trying to kiss in the middle of a haunted maze?”

He then takes both my hands and says, “I’m sorry if I misread the situation I—”

“No it’s okay” I stop him. He catches my gaze.

I pull him closer. “I wanted you to kiss me”

He starts blushing, getting flustered. “Oh, uhm, do you still want me to kiss you?” He looks at me doe eyed.

“Yes”

And so he quickly grabs my face with both hands and kisses me passionately; making me feel dizzy for a second or two.

We hold the kiss for a few more seconds before he pulls away and I whine in protest.

He slithers one of his hands from my cheek to my waist and pulls me closer. “Say Halloween is the best holiday”

I roll my eyes at him. “If I say it can we go back to kissing?”

He simply nods his head yes with a huge grin.

“Fine, it’s the best holiday. But only if I get to spend it with you.”

[roonilwazlibimagines]

I've read your fics of Ron and loved them so much. Do you know if you can make one with them eating at the Burrow? She gets jealous of Fleur talking to Ron and is feeling insecure about her looks and concerned her ' muggle' status? Ending with smut and comfort.

Sorry if this is long

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Reader Word Count: 3.3k Blurb: Her jealously of Fleur has been building up since their fourth year, even if she knows Fleur doesn’t mean it and Ron reminds her that she is the only one he loves.  Warnings: There is sex but it is just really soft :(. Like Ron just eats her out and keeps praising her. And it is at the end, the first part is mainly fluff and a little bit of angst.  A/N: honestly fuck canon, I just made this my own, oops. Also I literally don’t know how to write a scene where Ron does something to really make her jealous so this is what you get. Flashbacks are in italics. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she hummed in confusion before realising she had been staring at the ceiling, her fists clenched and jaw tense. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she gave him a half-assed reassuring look before turning back to stare at the ceiling. They were laying in their bed, both on their backs with their heads on the pillow, laying next to each other in the dark room which was only slightly illuminated by the weak flame on Ron’s bedside table. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. 

“I don’t forget how brave you were at the second task,” her thick French accent was ringing in her ears as she watched the way she grabbed onto Ron’s arm making his whole face turn red. 

“Oh really,” she glared at him as she watched him tense at her touch, “it was nothing,” Fleur removed her hand from him and she so desperately wanted to ask her if she also remembered the time Ron had made a fool of himself asking her to The Yule Ball. 

“Yes Ron,” she didn’t mean to sound so annoyed and she hoped that it was too dark for him to notice the way she rolled her eyes. 

She didn’t mean to act so harsh, it wasn’t Ron’s fault. It wasn’t Fleur’s either. Ron couldn’t help that he was always so pathetically a victim to her veela charm. She probably shouldn’t feel jealous of this ‘veela charm’ and Ron probably didn’t even realise he was doing it, but she couldn’t help the green tinge which plagued her whenever it happened. 

“Ron,” her fourteen-year-old self was hitting his chest, “Ron!” she repeated after his lack of response, “you’re pathetic,” she slapped his chest one more time before folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes. 

“Did you say something?” his body turned towards her but his eyes were still on the veela who were dancing in front of them at The Quidditch World Cup. 

“I guess not,” she had grumbled underneath her breath realising that it wouldn’t have mattered if she said it louder because it would only fall on deaf ears. And busy eyes. 

Her first introduction to veela had left a sour taste in her mouth, even if she knew it was nothing personal and she was just overreacting. And besides, her and Ron weren’t even dating then so she really did have nothing to be jealous over. 

But now they were dating and Fleur still seemed to have an effect on him even after the war and all the times he had spoken to her. She couldn’t help but let her fourteen-year-old self’s words ring in her ears, “you’re pathetic.”

“Sorry,” he turned his head so it was again facing the ceiling, “I didn’t mean-”

“I’m sorry,” she cut him off with a sigh, “I shouldn’t have snapped,” and she turned her head to see him nodding slightly. He had moved his arm so that one was resting behind his head, the other resting at his side.

“Do you think she is upset with me?” Ron had asked Harry the night he had asked Fleur to the Yule Ball. 

“Uhm,” Harry wasn’t sure whether to lie to make him feel better or give him the truth, “I don’t know,” he settled for the safe answer. 

“I mean, we were walking and she was talking about the The Yule Ball,” they were in their respective beds and Harry couldn’t see the way Ron nervously bit his lip as he recalled the events of the evening, “she was really excited.”

“Does she have a date to The Yule Ball?” Harry had asked. They both still needed dates. 

“No, I think that was what she was talking about,” it was what she was talking about, hoping that Ron would get the hint, “and then I think I might have cut her off,” there was an awkward pause. 

“Because you asked out Fleur?” Harry had asked, trying to break the awkward silence. 

“Yeah,” it was silent for a moment again as Ron started to question his actions, “and then I did it and Fleur said ‘no’, obviously,” Harry didn’t say anything as there was another pause, “and then when I turned to her she looked kind of angry,” Ron’s heart leapt as he remembered the way her mouth had turned into a thin straight line and how her gaze hardened, “thought I might of embarrassed her.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I made a fool of myself and she wouldn’t want to be associated with me,” Ron said as if it was the most obvious explanation. 

“Okay,” Harry spoke slowly. 

“And then she dragged me to The Common Room,” he shrugged his shoulders, “and she hasn’t spoken to me since,” he sighed, “and she hasn’t stopped glaring either,” he had mumbled that under his breath. 

Harry didn’t know how to comfort his friend. It was obvious to Harry what both of their actions meant, but apparently neither of them could understand it. 

Ron felt exactly like he had that night. He only had a small bed and with his large frame there was no position where they could lie without touching each other. But he felt very far away from her. 

He would do anything to realise what he had done wrong and to make this all better. He bit his lip as he tried to remember the events which could have caused her to stop clinging to his arm and start glaring at him instead. 

“He is so pathetic,” she had screamed in her dorm, slamming the door behind her before sitting on her bed and facing Hermione opposite her. 

“What do you expect?” she waited for a reaction, “Ron has always been a bit daft hasn’t he?” 

“But I was making it so obvious,” her shoulders deflated, “and then she had to come along and ruin everything,” she sneered at the memory. 

“You know just as well as I do that this isn’t Fleur’s fault,” she let out a mix of a sigh and groan in response knowing that Hermione was right, “besides, you could do a lot better than Ron.”

“But I don’t want to do better than Ron,” she had sulked the rest of the night letting the scene play through her mind over and over again until she felt physically sick and couldn’t sleep. 

“You would tell me if something was wrong, right?” Ron had finally built up the courage to address her again. 

“Yes,” she grumbled.

“So what’s wrong?” he really just wanted her to feel better so he swallowed his pride and moved so he was laying on his side and looking at her properly. 

“Nothing,” she refused to look at him, “it’s dumb.”

“Well it can’t be that dumb if it was making you this upset,” he reached out an arm to hold her hand and she squeezed it to let him know that she was upset, but it was still okay. 

“Could you please pass me the salad, Ron?” Fleur had asked Ron that night and it honestly hadn’t even bothered her. 

“Of course,” Ron had spoken and acted so quickly that he had knocked his glass of water down making his ears turn red as Molly shook her head and stood up to clean it. Fleur had laughed it off and told him that he was cute. 

That didn’t really bother her either. She liked Fleur and it was common for Fleur to talk to people that way. It really didn’t bother her. 

“Ron, could you please pass me the chicken?” he wasn’t as enthusiastic and maybe, as foolish as it was, that was what set her off. Or maybe it was because Fleur was sitting across from her and all she could focus on was how pretty she was. Maybe her eyes were tricking her but she couldn’t help but notice Ron stare at her for a little too long. And maybe these feelings had been building up since they were fourteen, but she didn’t really know why all of a sudden a wave of emotions had washed over her. The rest of the night she couldn’t help but steal glances at Fleur, noticing how effortlessly gorgeous she was compared to how average she was.  

“You’ll laugh,” she knew he wouldn’t laugh. 

“I won’t laugh,” he sounded offended. 

“I’m just,” she tried to find the right words, “not feeling well.”

“That’s a lie,” she couldn’t see the way he raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Fleur,” they had finished dinner and were sitting in the living room. Molly and Arthur, Bill and Fleur, Charlie and George and herself and Ron were the only ones in the house at the moment, “I’m so glad Bill met you,” Molly had gushed as Fleur finished her story about work.. 

She wanted to slap herself in the face when she felt her whole body tense at the words and if she didn’t want Molly’s approval so bad she probably would have done it.

“Me too,” Ron had chimed in making her head snap towards him, “still can’t believe Bill got someone so out of his league,” he smirked as Bill shouted a profanity at him. 

It was harmless, she knew that. It was just to annoy Bill, she knew that. But she couldn’t help the way her teeth began to grind and she instantly let go of Ron. 

“Sometimes I have a lot of emotions,” she began, eyes still on the ceiling. 

“Trust me,” she heard him breath out, “I’ve noticed,” she finally turned to look at him and glare, making his face fall as he mumbled out a few a, ‘sorry, love’.

“And I know I'm being silly,” she turned away again, “but sometimes I get really jealous of Fleur.” 

“Stop looking at her!” she had moved her head so it was in line with Ron’s eyes who were desperately trying to find the Beauxbaton girl who had just stolen their food. 

“I’m not looking at her,” he had tried to defend himself, “I’m trying to find her so I can look at her,” he mumbled it under his breath and into his food but she still heard him and sent a filthy look. 

“You’re pathetic,” she rolled her eyes at him making him sit up again. She didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered behind her. 

“Why do you care so much?” his ears were turning red and she blinked at him a few times realising that she didn’t have an answer.  

“You’re probably making her feel uncomfortable,” she sat up straighter and pushed her shoulders back.

She returned her focus to her food, feeling a little embarrassed and missing the way that Ron’s eyes were now flickering onto her. 

“Why?” she turned to see his reaction. His eyebrows were furrowed and he had a look of utter confusion etched on his face. 

“Because she is really pretty,” she mumbled, “and a veela,” she said that more clearly. 

“And?” 

“And you’ve never been shy of showing off in front of her,” she raised an eyebrow at him and the flame - which had suddenly become stronger - allowed her to see the red tinge which spread upon Ron’s face. 

“It’s her veela charm,” he said quietly, not entirely sounding convinced. She didn’t say anything prompting him to tease, “or maybe I’m just pathetic,” there was a slight grin forming on his face and she couldn’t stop the one forming on hers. 

“I think that’s a better explanation,” she giggled as he let his grin grow wide as well. She moved so that she was on her side as well and Ron reached out his arm so that he could rest it on her hip and bring her closer to him. 

“Get a hold of yourself, Ron,” she rolled her eyes at the red-faced boy standing in front of her, “it was just a peck on the cheek,” he had a blanket around him and he was slightly shivering. 

“That’s not fair,” he gave her an annoyed look, “I just came out of the bloody lake,” he pointed to the lake next to them and glared at her.

“Sure,” she gave him a sarcastic look before mumbling, “he is so pathetic,” under her breath. She crossed her arms over her chest missing the way that Ron’s ears perked up and went a deeper shade of red as he heard the words muttered from her mouth. 

“You have nothing to be jealous about,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead and she let herself relax under his touch. 

“I know,” she looked up at him innocently making him chuckle, “but, I don’t know,” she looked back down, “I think this has just built up since our fourth year and I think something set it off tonight.”

“You’re so stunning,” he pressed another kiss to her nose, “have nothing to be insecure about, yeah?” she looked up at him to be met with a soft gaze which pulled at her heart. 

He pressed another soft kiss to her lips and he pushed himself up so he could continue kissing all over her face. 

“I love you so much,” he had murmured in between kisses, “so beautiful,” he moved so that he was kissing her jawline, “can I show you how much I love you?” he pulled away so he could look at her face and she nodded eagerly making him smile before he continued kissing her. 

Her hands found his hair as he kissed around the sensitive area under her jaw and she tugged at it when he bit down. 

“So everyone knows you’re the only one I love,” she rolled her eyes at his comment but still pulled him closer by his hair so that she could press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Thank you,” she murmured as he continued kissing around the now red area, “I love you so much.”

“Let me see that beautiful body, yeah?” he pushed himself up again so that he could lift her shirt up, pressing another kiss to her lips as soon as it went over her head. He moved down to her pants and pulled them off as well as her underwear. Her body shivered at the cool breeze which hit her hot skin but she hummed in content as Ron started kissing her chest and continued murmuring about how beautiful she was. 

“You’re a goddess,” he commented as he started kissing around her nipple, while one of his hands reached to grab the other. She giggled and he smiled up at her, glad to hear the beautiful noise again. 

“You’re doing a good job at making me feel better,” she sighed in content as he started leaving a trail of kisses on her tummy, pressing soft kisses along her hips before placing a soft kiss on her clit which made her gasp. 

“Gonna make you feel even better,” he smirked up at her before he let his tongue touch her heat. 

“Yes,” she moaned out, “Ron,” her hands reached out to grab onto his hair. She arched her back and Ron moved his arm so that it was over her hips and holding her down. She moved one hand from his hair and put it over the one on her hips. He turned it around and she held onto it, giving it a small squeeze. 

With his other hand he pressed his thumb to her clit, placing pressure on it and making her cry out his name. 

“Better be quiet love, don’t want anyone to hear us,” he pulled himself away and gave her a cheeky grin before going back to devour her again. She felt a heat rise to her cheeks as she remembered where she was. 

“Sorry,” she moaned, “can’t help it when - ah,” she squeezed his hand as he started rubbing her clit and she let out a big breath, “when you make me feel so good,” her breathing was uneven and soon she was trying to whisper to let Ron know that she was going to cum. 

His fingers moved faster and his tongue was going deeper and soon her back was arching and she was trying to squirm under Ron’s grip, but his tongue followed her movements and she let go moaning out his name. 

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” he asked as he pushed himself up and started taking his pants off. 

“Yes,” her eyes were still shut in her post-orgasm bliss and Ron pressed a soft kiss to her nose, once again reminding her how beautiful she was. 

“So wet for me,” he commented as he let his fingers move between her folds. 

“Hurry up,” she bucked her hips towards him, making him tsk. 

“Be patient, sweetheart,” usually she would never get away with such a demand but she only smirked at him before replying, “I thought you were trying to make me feel better?” she pouted and he shook his head before aligning his cock at her entrance. 

“Going to be the death of me, love,” he thrusted his hips into her making her gasp, “be quiet,” he grabbed onto her thighs and pulled her legs up so that they were resting on his shoulders. 

“Ron,” she moaned out as he started thrusting at a much quicker pace, “ah-” she had cried out when he found the spongy spot which made her scrunch her eyes up and receive a shushing from Ron.

“I told you to be quiet,” but he thrusted harshly between each word making her mouth fall open as she reached her hand down to rub at her clit. Normally he would have smacked her hand away, but instead he took the opportunity to put his fingers in her mouth. 

“Since your fingers are doing my job,” he grunted, “and because you can’t keep quiet,” he smirked as she instantly began sucking on his fingers, “good girl.”

Her other hand went to grab onto the one in her mouth when she was about to cum and Ron told her to cum on his cock, coaxing her and praising her, telling her he wanted to see her pretty body come undone on his cock. Her legs were shaking and she was lazily sucking on Ron’s fingers now as her breath got caught in her throat and she thrashed her hips, trying to moan out Ron’s name as his thrusts became sloppier. 

He replaced his cock with his fingers so he could let her ride out her orgasm while he let his cum fall onto her tummy. 

She took a deep breath and smiled in satisfaction as Ron removed his fingers and left to go to the bathroom so he could clean her up. 

“Thank you,” she smiled in content as he started cleaning her up, “I feel much better about myself now,” she sat up as he began to dress her and she started pressing soft kisses on his face. 

He laid onto the mattress, resting on his back as he lifted an arm up so that she could rest her head on his bare chest as he traced patterns on her shoulder. 

“I love you so much, you know?” his voice was soft and she let her eyes begin to close, “so in love with you,” he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “so beautiful,” another kiss, “so good to me,” she hummed. 

“I am,” she felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled. 

“So lucky to have you,” she was starting to get tired now, “don’t ever want you to question that,” he was still kissing her head, “don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he started playing with the ends of her hair, instantly making her body relax. 

“I love you, Ron,” she mumbled sleepily. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” he pressed a long and gentle kiss onto her forehead before blowing out the candle which was now illuminating the whole room. He continued to whisper how much he loved her and what she meant to him as she fell asleep in his arms, the green tinge gone from her face and Ron’s mind happy that he could go to sleep confident she knew how much he loved her. 

[woodrokiro]

Bar Service (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Characters/Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: Bartenders--especially bartenders around the corner from her apartment--are strictly off limits. Restaurant AU. Written for @ichirukimonth . TW warning for mentioned child abuse. 

She doesn’t think much of the restaurant a few blocks away from her new apartment.

She always passes it to and from her work commute, of course. Maybe from time to time she glanced over, musing how it looks cute enough--a great place to take a date or some friends....

Before Rukia remembers: 1. She doesn’t have the time or capacity to date, and 2. She has no friends here yet… And probably won’t for a while, considering her lifelong difficulty making them in the first place. 

It’s fine by her, honestly. She likes throwing everything she has into her job, loves doing her best to earn a smile or laugh from her patients. That’s enough social interaction for her, and at the end of the day she can go home, pour a glass of wine, switch the television on to some silly drama and order takeout without mourning the “loss” of a Friday night.

So for the first few months that she’s living in Karakura: no. She doesn’t even think about stepping foot in Amore e Morte. 

Until she gets a particularly bad case at work. 

The fact that it was a foster child case alone makes her heart hurt--but of course, there’s always more with these sort of situations. 

A little girl named Hina, aged eight but looking so much smaller waiting there in her office. The social worker sitting with her--a woman named Rangiku, who Rukia knows a little and actually quite likes--squeezes Hina’s tiny hand before pulling Rukia to the side, quietly explaining the situation. 

Physical abuse from her former home where she had been for a year. Her teacher kept noticing bruises in odd places and finally called CPS, who did nothing for two months before the behavior escalated and Hina ended up in the ER.

Her new foster mom is a real nice lady, says she hasn’t been acting out or anything but… Rangiku shrugs, flashing a reassuring smile when the little girl looks their way. You know. 

She knows. 

So Rukia does what she does best: she goes to the little girl, introduces herself by her first name, and focuses on her work until she can sob angrily in her car at lunch break. 

And when her workday is done, when her emotions are fried and she’d really like a drink or three anywhere but her lonely apartment--she sees the restaurant’s sign, glowing warmly in the dusk light. 

Amore e Morte. Love and death. A weird name for a restaurant, she thinks, and wonders if the owners either don’t know Italian and thought the name was cool or are just uppity snobs. 

If you’d stop being so cynical you might go out and actually enjoy life. She can practically hear Renji’s voice scoffing in her ear now.

She parks her car at home before walking back over to the restaurant.

--

The outside of the restaurant is nice enough, but the inside is… Well. Lovely.

Brick walls painted white make the entire place look minimalist yet cozy. A couple of trendy paintings hanging sparsely through the restaurant makes the environment chic, but not overbearing. A few hanging lanterns bring just enough light to let everyone see where they’re going, but otherwise candles are utilized at each of the tables for a romantic touch.

Rukia sees by the sheer number of couples there that it is indeed a good place to bring a date.

And by the looks of one dish smelling deliciously of chicken and bell peppers that passes her by in a waiter’s hand, the food isn’t too bad either. Rukia’s mouth waters. 

“A table for one, miss?” 

Rukia startles from her musings, feeling rather silly as the bright and cheery hostess smiles patiently back. 

“Oh! No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I wouldn’t want to take up one of your tables. Do you have bar seating?”

“Of course! Right this way.” 

The hostess leads her into an adjacent room that sits tucked away from the main dining room. There’s still a couple of tables in this room, and two of the eight bar stools are occupied but it’s so much quieter here, the noise of the dining room a mere buzz. She breathes a small sigh of relief as she takes the stool at the far end. She wanted to be out and about, just… Not that out and about.

“Our bartender Kurosaki-kun will be taking care of you. I believe he’s just in the back talking to Chef, he should be right back.”

Rukia thanks her, taking a glance at the menu. 

She quickly finds out Chef Yasutora Sado’s menu inspiration is Mexican-Japanese fusion cuisine, which is… Interesting, considering the restaurant’s name is Italian. In any case, she’s fascinated. Rukia by no account considers herself a foodie, but the thought of blending traditional Japanese dishes with Mexican spices and turning them into something like sukiyaki tacos makes her stomach growl. 

“Can I get you something other than water to drink?”

Her gaze flickers from the menu to the well-toned arm extended out toward her, pouring a glass of water. Her eyes move up the arm to the man it’s attached to. 

A handsome guy, she’ll admit: if it wasn’t for the obviously bleached orange hair, the sword tattoo on his forearm peeking out from under his rolled sleeve, and the fact that he looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else.

If she had to pick him out from a crowd, there’s no doubt she’d know him as a bartender. What a walking cliche. 

“Yes, I’ll take--” She didn’t even take a glance at the drink menu. She looks down quickly. “Sorry. Can I get a matcha mojito?” 

He nods, his hands suddenly flying through liquors and shakers and mixes to make her drink. “You ready for food, too?” 

“Any recommendations?” 

“Everything.”

She snorts. She’d be irritated by the subpar service if it wasn’t for his small smirk at her response. 

“Seriously, everything’s good here. If you get something you don’t like, drinks are on me.”

“Risky.” Rukia lifted an eyebrow. “You place that bet with every customer?”

“Every single one.” 

She highly doubts that, but she appreciates the trust in his workplace nonetheless. She orders a couple of small plates, and he tends to his other drink orders while she sips her own. 

The food, when it comes out, is… Infuriatingly good. Infuriating because she would have loved to have scored a couple free drinks off the arrogant punk bartender, but she’ll have to swallow her pride because the sukiyaki taco is absolute divinity. She sips her second drink, already accepting that she’s gonna have to admit to him she’ll be paying full price for everything she ordered.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like she’ll have a chance to gloat. From what she hears next door, dinner service has picked up and with that: drink orders. He’s doing as well as he can--hands expertly flying through the liquors, garnishing the cocktails with an expert flourish before passing them on to a server--but she can tell he’s feeling the stress, particularly when he reads his second to last ticket in the rush.

“Fuck,” she hears as he rolls his eyes, stalking over to the wine cabinet. A server comes by, concerned. 

“You need anything, Ichigo?”

He waves a hand, not turning to look at his coworker. “No, no I’m fine. Just annoying when I don't open a bottle before rush, that’s all.”

The server scuttles off to tend to her tables while Rukia watches him bang a (very expensive looking) wine bottle on the counter, clumsily ripping into the foil with an opener. At one point he cuts his thumb, and he half-hazardly wraps a paper napkin around it while he tries helplessly to pull the cork up. The wine opener doesn’t grip the bottle steadily a couple of times, she waits on baited breath to see if he’ll break the bottle. After a few dangerous-looking test runs, he manages to hoist the cork up, cursing out a “fucking finally” at the sound of the cork popping.

The whole thing must have taken ten minutes.

Maybe it’s the matcha mojitos finally hitting her, but she can’t help it. She laughs. 

He shoots her a wild look and she covers her chuckles with the back of her hand. 

“Sorry, sorry! I’m not--it’s not funny. I just… That was the most atrocious opening of a wine bottle I’ve ever seen.”

Ichigo stares for a moment before scoffing, turning back to his (finally opened) bottle and pours the wine into a glass. “Yeah, well… I don’t do wine service here, lady.”

“Excuse me? That’s ridiculous. You’re a bartender.”

“Exactly. Bartender. I do cocktails, not fancy wine stuff.”

“Let me guess, you consider yourself a mixologist.”

“Don’t ever call me that. Ever.” He’s shaking his head as he moves on to his next order, but oddly enough Rukia feels like she knows he’s suddenly having a good time. “Like I said, I don’t do wine etiquette and all that. That’s for the servers.”

“I’m just… It’s hard to believe you’ve made it this far in a nicer restaurant’s bar without knowing how to open wine.”

“Not that far. I’ve been here for like, six months.” He shrugs at her inquisitive stare. “Old buddies with the chef. I bar backed in college where he was a line cook, so… And if he ever got sick of me, my sister is his sous chef. Then again, she’s more likely to fire me than he is, the brat.”

“Especially with you not knowing how to open a fine vintage.”

“Get over it. When it’s not busy I get one of the servers to help me.” He looks down, having seemingly forgotten about his paper toweled thumb. “Shit. Hang on, I gotta get a bandaid from the back--”

“I have some, if you want.” Rukia starts digging through her purse. “If there’s not some restaurant code for the kind of bandage you’re supposed to use, of course.”

“If it looks neater than a shoddy paper towel job, ‘should be fine. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Here.” 

He stares at her outstretched hand. She stares back, getting more irritated as she waits. 

“What?”

“... It’s a Chappy bandaid.”

“So?”

“So why are you a grown ass woman carrying around Chappy bandaids?” 

“They’re for my patients, for kids.” She’s telling the truth, technically. To say she also quite enjoys Chappy as a character does not need to be mentioned. “Do you want it or not? Swallow your manly pride or go looking for an ugly beige bandage while your tickets pile up again. Tick tock.”

“Fine! All right, already.” He takes the bandaid and starts unpeeling the paper adhesive. “You a pediatrician or something?” 

“Child psychologist.” Suddenly Rukia remembers Hina’s sweet face and feels terrible for not thinking about her once this entire dinner. 

“Jesus.” Ichigo’s shaking his head, pressing Chappy to his cut.

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fact that it’s such a weird response to her revealing her profession, but Rukia can’t help it. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

If he’s uncomfortable with her sudden hostility, he doesn’t show it. He shrugs. “It’s just… I can imagine it’s a hard job. Sometimes, anyway.” 

Oh. 

“Oh,” she exhales. “I’m sorry, I--yes. It can be, yes.I just… That sort of response I’ve only ever gotten from people that don’t believe in the importance of mental health. ‘Shrink talk’ and what have you.”

“Nah, I believe it.” He’s finished his job of covering his wound and moved on to his next drink order. 

She’s abashedly stirring the ice in her glass when she barely hears him say: “I had to go to a children’s therapist once, as a kid. Helped me a lot.”

She raises her head to look at him. He hasn’t changed his facial expression, nor is there any change to his body language as he continues to do his job--but as a psychologist, Rukia can’t help but wonder whether she’s the first person he’s ever told this to. 

“Me too. When I was a child, I… A therapist had helped me, too.” She raises her glass and clears her throat. “To recognizing childhood trauma, I suppose.”

He lets out a short laugh at the sudden dark joke, a sound so quick and so… So nice she can’t stop the fleeting thought that it’s a sound she’d like to hear more of. She shoves it away. 

Bartenders are absolutely off limits. 

He raises the glass that he’s mixing a cocktail in. “Yeah. Cheers.”

--

Later when she finally picks up the check, she pauses.

“Excuse me.” She waves Ichigo down, maybe just a tad tipsy. “You got the check wrong.”

He frowns, taking the bill from her and scanning it. “What are you…”

“You forgot to put a drink on there. My third one.”

It clicks and he rolls his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“What? I’m being honest.”

“It’s on me.” He slides the receipt back to her. 

“But I didn’t dislike any of the dishes!”

“Take some advice, will you Doc? If the restaurant staff didn’t put something on your bill and you still got it, chances are: we wanted to give it to you.” They lock eyes for an intense moment before he clears his throat, looks down to wipe his (suspiciously clean) bar. “‘To childhood trauma,’ and all that. Now stop yapping so loud about it. You want everyone in the restaurant to hear about me giving out free stuff?”

She shuts her mouth at that, but one small detail about what he said is bothering her.

“It’s not ‘Doc,’ so you know. I have a name. It’s Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki.”

“Okay. Whatever, Rukia.” He turns around and waves his hand. “And I’m Ichigo. Just pay your damn bill and come back soon or whatever.”

And with that: she guesses she has a new spot.

[cobaltusami]

Mercy

Hey hi hello! I finally finished my Danganronpa Trigger Happy Havoc fanfic, It took me a literal week. I've been in a bit of a writing slump, But I hope this long fic makes up for my lack of writing!

Words: 3654

Characters: Switch!Mondo, Switch!Taka, Leon

Makoto was just minding his own business, He was walking to the dining hall with Sayaka just chatting about whatever came to mind when it started.

The closer they got the louder the voices were. He couldn’t distinguish who the other person In the argument was through the thick walls, But could clearly make out Mondo’s swearing.

“Do you… Hear something?” Sayaka asked, Putting a hand on Makoto and stopping both of them In their tracks.

“Yeah, Sounds like someone’s arguing with Mondo.” Makoto murmured as he closed his eyes in an attempt to make out what was being said.

For a moment the words got louder and clearer, But quickly became muffled again. As Makoto opened his eyes again he saw Yasuhiro standing In front of the closed doors. “What’s going on In there?” Makoto asked curiously.

“Ugh. Mondo and Kiyotaka are getting Into It In there.” Hiro sighed. “The energy In there Is like, Super negative. I wouldn’t go In there If I were you.”

He patted Makoto on the shoulder as walked past back to his room.

“We should go In there.”

“Are you sure? I mean last time I tried to diffuse a situation involving Mondo I got knocked out.” Makoto laughed nervously, Rubbing the back of his neck.

“You might be able to talk Taka down though.” She suggested, A bright smile on her face.

‘Somehow I sincerely doubt that.’

With a nod and a sigh, Makoto pulled the doors open and stepped In with The pop star.

It was much louder In the dining hall, Taka and Mondo were yelling at each other back and forth In front of their friends.

Makoto left Sayaka’s side and approached the duo warily. He didn’t get too close though before a hand tugged on his arm, Pulling him to a stop.

“Don’t get too close.”

The Ultimate turned to Sakura who had been the one to warn him, She had her eyes carefully trained on the two bickering students. She looked as if she were ready to jump In to separate the two at a moment's notice.

“How long have they been arguing?” The brunette asked, Stealing glances at his friends.

“At least ten minutes.” Hina spoke up from her spot next to Sakura. “They started fighting over who was better.”

“Again?”

“Yes.” Sakura responded.

“Man, This is getting old.” Leon sighed. “Sakura, Why don’t we just separate them now?” He asked, turning to the Ultimate Martial artist.

She glanced at him for a moment before looking back to Mondo and Taka. “And do what, Exactly? They need to work this out for themselves or the fighting will never end.”

She has a point…

“They should just have a stupid competition and get It over with.” Hina huffed. “Seriously, Their bickering Is ruining my donut eating session.”

“Don’t you eat Donuts all the time?” Leon asked, Exasperated.

“Also yes.” Sakura spoke up again, Smirking in amusement as Asahina pouted and grumbled to herself. She reached out and patted the Swimmer affectionately on the shoulder.

“Well,” Sayaka spoke up for the first time since entering the room. “When my group would be upset, We’d find things to do to alleviate the negativity.”

“Like what?” Leon asked curiously, taking his eyes off of the Ultimate’s before him.

The Idol hummed thoughtfully as she recalled all the group activities. “Well, We would talk about our feelings, Gossip…”

“Anything that might help this situation?” Makoto asked.

“Well, I remember one time I was really mad at a few of my friends And to make me forget about how angry I was and realize how stupid our argument had been, They ended up tickling me until I felt better.” Sayaka responded calmly, As If this were a totally normal thing.

“T-Tickling?” Leon stuttered. “You can’t be serious.”

“Sayaka, I don’t think that’s going to work…” The Ultimate Lucky student mumbled, A little embarrassed at the mention of the word.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but… That might actually work.” Sakura interjected. “Maybe not In the same approach but the laughter should produce enough Dopamine to snuff out some of the Adrenaline they have.”

“Meaning…?” Hina asked quietly.

“Oh, I gotcha. They can’t be mad If they’re too busy laughing?” Leon asked.

“Correct.”

“How do we get them to go for that?” Makoto asked.

“I’m on It!” Hina jumped up, Suddenly very enthusiastic as she approached the pair. Makoto and Leon both exchanged worried looks.

“H-Hina wait!” Sakura tried to stop her friend but she was already actively ignoring everyone else.

“Should we… Stop her?” Makoto asked, To which Leon shrugged.

With a sigh the Martial artist watched even closer than before. Just what Is she up to?

After a few attempts at gaining their attention, Hina stepped In between them and yelled as loudly as she could muster. “BOYS!!!”

Taka was the first to notice her. “A-Asahina!?”

“WHAT?!” Mondo yelled back.

“Your yelling Is super annoying.” Aoi chastised them both, Crossing her arms. “Why not just settle this stupid argument with an Endurance contest? Whoever gives up first loses.”

“Hey, That’s a great idea. Then I can prove once and for all that I’m better than your dumbass.” Mondo smirked at Kiyotaka who rolled his eyes at the Biker.

“What kind of Endurance contest do you propose?” He asked the swimmer.

Aoi grinned, Her eyes glinting with mischief. “How about tickling? Whoever says mercy the fastest loses!”

Mondo and Taka exchanged glances. “That’s fucking stupid.” The biker replied, Uninterested, But that changed however when he noticed Taka looking a bit worried at the mention of Tickling.

“Y-Yeah, I don’t see how It’s supposed to be an endurance challenge! One has to be… Sensitive, In order for that to work out In the first place!” Taka stuttered nervously, Trying desperately to keep his composure. “R-Right…?”

He has a damn good reason to be worried, Kiyotaka Ishimaru Is immensely ticklish, In fact It’s nearly impossible to find a spot on the boy that Isn’t ticklish.

“Hey! It’s a perfectly good Endurance challenge! Right Sakura?” Aoi called out to her best friend, Ignoring that comment about sensitivity.

“Yes, But It’s not so much a physical endurance challenge as It is a mental one, It’s about pushing limits.” She complied.

“Yeah! She would know about pushing limits!” Aoi smiled, Going back over to Sakura. “Tell them!”

“I… Just did.”

“Not that, I meant that story you told me about Ke--”

Sakura quickly put a hand over Hina’s mouth, She appeared calm despite freaking out internally. “Karate.” She blushed, Not wanting anyone else to know the story about Kenshiro that Hina almost just blabbed. “Similarly to Karate, If you want to prove who’s better, What better way than to push past even your opponents limits?”

Leon and Makoto exchanged looks again, This time intrigued. Evidently they both picked up on the odd response.

Mondo looked back at Taka, Who despite his best efforts, Looked incredibly nervous as his window for escape kept getting smaller and smaller. “You look a little nervous, Ishimaru… Don’t tell me you’re ticklish.” He smirked as Taka’s face went red.

“W-What?! Me?! D-Don’t be preposterous!” Kiyotaka retorted. “W-What about you? Are you…?”

“Tch. As If. You think someone as tough as me Is fucking ticklish?” Mondo brushed off the comment, Playing It cool despite lying and being completely and utterly ticklish.

Aoi finally removed Sakura’s hand to dish out another embarrassing comment. “I mean, Sakura’s tougher than you are and she’s ticklish.”

Sakura was too late to stop her this time. Her face went red as everyone quickly looked at her in disbelief. “Don’t look at me like that.” She mumbled. “It was a long time ago.”

Not wanting to press their luck and get their asses kicked for teasing the powerful student, They turned back to what they were doing.

There was almost an unnervingly teasing edge to Mondo’s words as he spoke In a low voice. “So? Whaddya say Kiyotaka? Think you can outlast me?”

No, No he doesn’t. But he’s out of excuses to back out now so he gave a small nod. “O-Of course! I’m much stronger than you are!”

“I doubt that very much.” Mondo smirked, Glancing to Aoi. “You’re the one who suggested It, What do we do?”

Hina turned to Sakura to ask her opinion, But she looked too embarrassed to say anything, So she turned her attention to Sayaka. “What do you think?”

“Maybe set a timer and time how long the person lasts? and have one tickle the other?”

Mondo gave a rather sinister smirk to Taka. “Works for me.”

“W-Wait a moment! How Is that fair? I’ve never actually done this to someone before!”

“And you think I look like the kind of fucking person who goes around tickling people for shits and giggles?” The Biker scoffed.

“I mean, If you need help I can show you how to do it.” Leon volunteered.

“If you value your life you won’t get Involved.” Mondo warned.

“Now that that’s out of the way.” Makoto intervened. “Who wants to go first...?”

“We’re seriously going to do this? D-Don’t you feel the least bit… Childish?” Taka made one last attempt, And Mondo wasted no time crushing it.

“If you’re scared you can always just admit I’m better.”

Kiyotaka glanced around the room at their classmates before sighing and resigning himself to his fate. Either way his secret is going to get out, But at least this way he can take Mondo down with him. “Very well!” He shot back, Pushing aside his nervousness. “I will go first! This should be easy enough.”

While Taka wasn’t paying attention, Mondo had silently moved behind him. Smirking as he listened to Taka continue on with his self pep talk.

“I mean, It’s just tickling, How bad could It beeeEEE!” Taka squealed In surprise and quickly brought his shoulders up as he felt fingers flutter over his neck for a moment.

Mondo snorted in amusement, clearly proud of himself for producing that reaction. “I thought you said you weren’t ticklish earlier?” He asked teasingly.

“You just startled me!” He shot back, Though he was unable to hide the blush that formed.

Mondo rolled his eyes, smirking at the Ultimate Moral Compass. “Whatever,” He paused for a moment, Thinking about how he wanted to do this. He reached around Ishimaru and began to tauntingly unbutton his jacket.

“What are you doing??” Taka demanded.

“I’m having a fucking pool party-- What’s It look like I’m doing?!” Mondo retorted.

“Pool party???” Hina perked up at the mention.

“H-Hina… No.” Sakura sighed, Exasperated.

“I’m undoing your jacket so I can reach more spots.” The biker explained, Undoing the final button revealing a white shirt underneath. “There. Now then… Who’s keeping track?”

“I got you.” Leon volunteered, Whipping his phone out of his pocket and fiddling with it for a second. “Okay, Whenever you two are ready.”

“Are you ready to admit defeat?” Mondo whispered in his ear, The feeling of his warm breath against his neck sending chills down his spine. “Remember, The magic word for when you’re screaming your lungs out with laughter Is ‘Mercy.’”

Taka shivered, Closing his eyes and taking a small breath. “I am ready to begin, Leon!”

“Startiiiinnnng… now.” Leon announced, Hitting the start button on the stopwatch app.

Mondo wasted no time, His fingers skittering across Taka’s stomach with careless abandon. He smirked at the way the Red eyed student flinched and trembled under his touch.

“S-See? This Is pointless. I am fine.” Taka struggled to maintain his composure, He clenched his jaw to keep any whimpers or other embarrassing sounds from escaping.

Mondo winked at Leon as he slowed his fingers. “You’re right, I guess this Isn’t going to--” He stopped mid sentence to shove his hands under Taka’s shirt, and dug his fingers into his sides.

That’s all It took for Taka to crumble, He let out a scream and fell back against the Ultimate Biker’s chest laughing. “N-NOHOHO! MOHOHOHNDO!” He cried out, His hands grabbing uselessly at the tickling appendages.

“Well well… Looks like someone’s pretty fuckin’ ticklish.” Mondo smirked victoriously, His fingers squeezing at Taka’s bare sensitive sides without mercy.

In an attempt to escape the tickles, Taka sank to the floor. Mondo however, followed, not letting up for a moment. “Where do you think you’re going?” He teased. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

The Ultimate Hall Monitor flailed helplessly, Laughing hysterically as he did. “PLEHEHEHEASE!”

“Begging already? Man, this Is gonna be easy.” Mondo chuckled, Brushing his fingers teasingly across his stomach. “Just say mercy and this will all be over.”

“N-Nohohoho! I won’t gihihihive up!” He tried to curl In on himself but Mondo was quick to sit on his thighs to stop him.

“Fine, Guess I’ll just have to kick It up a notch then.” Mondo smirked, Tracing his fingertips up and down his sides. This action drew a squeal from the uptight student. “You seem to be pretty ticklish here. You got ticklish sides, Ishimaru?”

“N-Nohohohot particularly!” He lied. His sides were one of his worst spots.

“You’re a terrible fucking liar.” The biker scoffed, Tickling his sides much more vigorously, he honed in on a particularly sensitive spot just under his ribs.

“KYAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHA!” Taka’s face went red as he began flailing again, Mondo jolted back, narrowly missing a hand to the face.

“You’re kind of dangerous when tickled, Aren’tcha?” He chuckled, His fingers rhythmically massaging circles into the sensitive skin.

Taka couldn’t remember the last time he laughed this much or this hard, His lungs were burning and his sides were beginning to ache. He’d been tickled In the past by his parents, But never this brutally or for this long.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and his small gasps for breath became more frequent. Every nerve In his body was on fire. He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

Mondo knew this as well. “Squirm all you want, The only way to make this stop Is to say the magic word.” He teased. “I could keep tickling you for hours.”

He emphasized this by kneading his sides rather meanly, Sending ticklish shockwaves coursing through the laughing student below him.

He broke almost instantly, with a scream of laughter. “NAAAHAHA! MERCY! MERCYEHEHEHEHE!”

Almost begrudgingly, Mondo let up on the merciless tickles and moved off of Taka. “What was his time?” He asked Leon casually, Hiding his disappointment quite well.

Leon glanced at his phone screen again after hitting stop. “I’m not telling until after you go.” He grinned.

“What?! How am I supposed to know how long to last?”

“You don’t. I’ll tell you once you’ve beaten Taka’s time.” The redhead responded slyly. “It shouldn’t be a problem for someone like you, Right?”

He shoved his phone back Into his pocket and turned to Makoto. “You keep track of Mondo’s time.”

Makoto nodded and set up the app as he was told.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Mondo rolled his eyes and laid down on the floor next to Taka, Who had finally caught his breath and gotten rid of the ghost tingles.

The Ultimate Moral compass sat up, thinking carefully. He still wasn’t entirely sure how to go about tickling Mondo, But he had a bit of an idea after that.

Leon came over, Not that Mondo had noticed due to him closing his eyes to brace himself. The former Baseball star leaned In close to Taka and whispered. “I’ll help you. Basically, Mondo Is super ticklish on his stomach and under his arms.” He explained, Glancing at the student in question.

“He’s super weak to light teasy touches on his stomach, Like this.” He demonstrated by lightly running his fingertips across the back of Taka’s hand. “Also, teasing him verbally literally kills him.”

Taka nodded as he took In all of this information. More eager than before to try.

Just as Mondo was opening his eyes to question them, Leon had pinned his arms above his head. “Hey there!” He greeted cheerfully, a wide grin on his face as he received a death glare.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Mondo snapped, tugging at his arms uselessly.

“Helping the opposition, What do you think I’m doing?” He asked innocently.

“I swear to God, I will fucking end you!”

Taka sat next to the angry biker on the floor, watching the two go back and forth for a moment longer before calling over his shoulder. “Makoto! I am ready!”

“O-Okay! Stopwatch started!”

Wasting no further time, Taka began fluttering his fingers ever so lightly across Mondo’s toned stomach, making shivers run down his spine as he tried to squirm away from the delicate touches.

The biker tried to resist, But try as he may, he soon began sputtering out giggles and threats. Though not really directed at Taka. “Leheheheon, You behehetter be thinking about what you want to say to gohohod because you’re gonna meet him today!”

“Taka, He’s still threatening me, I don’t think he’s laughing hard enough.” Leon tried to say seriously, But the grin on his face betrayed his words.

“I agree! I think I know how to fix that!” Taka smirked, Darting his fingers underneath Mondo’s jacket and launching an attack under his arms.

Mondo let out a shriek and tugged roughly at his trapped arms to no avail. “NO! NOHOHOT THERE!” He barked out between laughs.

Taka’s fingers were clumsy at first, But he quickly adapted, finding spidering motions to be the most effective technique. “Why not? This seems like a very sensitive spot. I think It would benefit me to stay here.”

“THIS IHIHIHSN’T FAHAHAIR!” He complained, Burying his face in his sleeve to hide his growing blush. “IHIHIT’S TWO ON ONE!”

“Hey, I’m just helping because Taka’s never tickled anyone before. I’m making things fair if anything.” Leon retorted. “Besides, I haven’t tickled you. I’m just holding you down. This Is all Kiyotaka.”

“That’s right! The rules never stated anything about restraint.” Taka smiled tauntingly, Applying a bit more pressure and mimicking the massaging motions Mondo used against him earlier.

“GAH! NAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“I bet that tickles like hell. It looks like It tickles.” Leon teased.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” He pressed out between fits of laughter.

“Taka, Try his belly again. Now that he’s laughing, He shouldn’t be able to hold back.” the Ultimate Baseball star encouraged.

Ishimaru did as instructed, His fingers brushing teasingly against his stomach. This drew a squeal from the feared Biker gang leader’s lips.

“FUHUHUHUHUCK! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! TAHAHAHAKA STAHAHAHAP!” He cackled as he felt fingers delicately dancing across his skin.

“I’ll only stop If you say Mercy!” Taka reminded, Continuing his soft torturous tickles.

An Idea came to mind, A rather cruel one. Taka recalled a time when he was a child and was playing with his mom, he remembered how badly It tickled when she blew a raspberry on his belly and wondered If that would work here too. “L-Leon, You know that thing where someone presses their lips against your skin and makes a weird sound? What Is that called?”

“Eh?” Leon looked up at him curiously, Pondering for a moment. But a rather evil smile crossed his face as he came to the realization. “Oh, You mean raspberries, Don’t you?”

“Raspberries, Yes! How do I do that?”

“It’s simple really--”

“NONONO DOHOHOHON’T YOU DAHAHAHARE YOU SON OF A BIHIHIHITCH!” Mondo threw out an empty warning, His struggling intensifying.

Leon laughed. “You press your mouth to their skin, And blow. That’s it. Oh, When you do It, Make sure you tickle him with your hands somewhere too, That’ll really drive him nuts.”

Kiyotaka nodded, Eagerly he bent down and pressed his lips against his quivering stomach. This action alone drew a string of unmanly giggles and squeals from him.

The first few attempts weren’t so successful, but he finally figured it out and blew a raspberry against his stomach, while at the same time digging his fingers into his underarms.

“NAAHAHAHAHAHA! MERCY! OHOHO GOHOHOD STAHAHAHAP!” He screamed with laughter.

Taka relented, Pulling back with a victorious smile on his face. Leon released his arms and immediately dove for shelter In the form of hiding behind Sakura.

The others laughed at this.

Makoto was about to say something but Sayaka silently shushed him.

“Y-You’re fucking evil.” Mondo said breathlessly, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“S-So are you. I still feel the tingles on my sides.” Taka shivered at the recollection.

The Biker leader sat up and they locked eyes for a minute, Silent as they studied each other's reactions. Soon another round of laughter filled the room as they laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“I’m sorry man, I guess I was kind of being a dick.” Mondo apologized.

“N-No, You’re fine! I apologize! I suppose I don’t know when to ‘take It easy’ as you put It.” Taka also apologized.

Mondo hooked his arm around Taka’s shoulders and pulled him to him. “That’s alright, I can teach ya bro!” He grinned.

“R-Really? Thank you bro!” The strict student beamed back.

“Oh God. They’ve become the other extreme now.” Aoi mumbled.

“I’ll never understand how male friendships work.” Sakura sighed, Hina giggled In response. “But, If they’re done fighting then… I suppose It’s all right that I don’t understand.”

Makoto looked at Leon. “Do you think they even still care about who won or lost?”

“Nope.” Leon snickered. “You wanna know just for the hell of It?”

Makoto nodded with a small chuckle.

“It was--”

“For our first hang out,” Mondo said loudly, on purpose. He locked eyes with Leon, Who had peaked out from behind Sakura to look at him. “Wanna help me get revenge on a certain Redhead?”

Leon squeaked as Taka also looked at him with a rather mischievous glimmer In his eyes.

“Yeah, Let’s get him.”

[pies-writes-and-more]

AVENGERS M A S T E R L I S T

**SERIES**

Falling Masterlist Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader // Collaboration with @wxstedhexrt​ // poetry focused fics! // TW: anxious thoughts, disassociation experiences and others so please read the warnings in each part! Based on poems written by the incredible Destiny of @wxstedhexrt! Bucky Barnes is falling in so many different kinds of ways - he’s falling in and out of his brain, in and out of reality, in and out of nightmares... and falling in love? Maybe this is the one he doesn’t want to fall out of.

Mr. Steve ( part 1 // part 2 ) Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // Soulmate AU In a universe where your soulmate’s name is written on your wrist after you meet them, receiving a wedding invitation from her friend is just another reminder that (Y/N) has yet to find her soulmate. But maybe this wedding will be a little bit more exciting, with the help of a tiny child without a filter.

can’t take my mind off of you, Mr. Steve Rogers ( part 1 // part 2 // part 3 ) - COMPLETED Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader Steve Rogers and (Y/N) used to date. Emphasis on the used to. But when an important date from their relationship comes up, it stirs up some emotions too. As if to add to the fire, (Y/N) bumps into an old friend who suggests that maybe Steve’s feelings towards (Y/N) aren’t quite gone. And even though it’s hard to admit, especially because she has a new boyfriend, maybe (Y/N)’s feelings aren’t gone either.

Must’ve Been the Wind ( part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 ) - COMPLETED Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader // Song Inspo: Must’ve Been the Wind by Alec Benjamin // requested TW: mentions of abusive relationship that (Y/N) is involved in, not too graphic in my opinion but please be wary reading if it may trigger something for you.  The girl in the apartment above Bucky’s seems to be in some sort of distress, though she insists that Bucky’s just hearing things. The two bond quickly and soon enough, Bucky wants to rescue her from a situation that she insists isn’t there. Is he just hearing the wind? Or is it a cry for help?

Unlovable ( part 1 // part 2 // part 3 ) - COMPLETED Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader There’s one other person besides Steve that makes Bucky feel comfortable in the era he’s not supposed to be in. She makes him feel safe, never pushes him to do anything, and that smile always makes his stomach flip. But a situation without clear communication leaves both Bucky and (Y/N) unsure of if the other feels the same about them.

**Domestic/Homely!Steve Collection ( Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader ) :

Home  After months without hearing from his wife and daughter, Steve just wants to be home. He doesn’t care if he could be hurt from his fights, he just wants to see his little girl and the woman he loves. (The beginning of my Homely!Steve Collection!)

Grocery Shopping Steve wants to help out any way he can at home since he’s gone so often. But grocery shopping without a list can be a little stressful, especially with a little mischievous girl.

A Kid’s Imagination When (Y/N) goes to pick up Sarah from school, she’s met with an odd response from the teacher about an announcement Sarah made to her classmates. Rather than talk to Steve about it, she decides to have a little fun with it.

Santa Claus Steve’s back from a long mission and all he wants to do is be with his wife and little girl. Thankfully, they’re not too far from home… and Steve has the perfect Christmas plan to surprise them.

kidnapped.... or pretzels? Steve wakes up in the dead of night to find an empty bed beside him. His mind immediately goes to the worst case scenario as to what could’ve happened to the love of his life, (Y/N). 

Dance Recitals If there's one thing that Steve Rogers loves, it's watching his little girl learn how to dance. So he goes out of his way to make sure he doesn't miss too many of her practices. Now, he has to find out how to not miss her first dance recital...

** Stay tuned for more! Send in a request if you think of some cute Dad!Steve Rogers prompts!!**

**ONE SHOTS**

Dinner and a Show Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // done for a writing challenge // prompt: “This is one of those moments when I tell you something isn’t a good idea and you ignore me, isn’t it?” The one where Steve impulsively insists on proving that Y/N’s date for the evening is trash instead of figuring out his feelings for her, meanwhile, Bucky learns that food is way overpriced lol

accidentally ruining relationships Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader  Y/N spends the evening desperately looking for answers about her love life with her close friend, Bucky. Maybe the reason her relationships aren’t working out is because her heart belongs to another. 

A French Kiss Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // Alternative Universe Fic // based on a tweet Y/N came to Paris with a plan: take a photo with a cute man next to the Eiffel Tower, just like how her and cheating ex-boyfriend had always planned on doing, and make that son of a bitch jealous. Thankfully, there’s a super cute blond guy who just so happens to be nearby.

Makeshift Thanksgiving Dinner+ Steve Rogers x Fem!EastAsian!Reader Steve Rogers is beyond nervous to finally be meeting his girlfriend's parents. Especially when it's a meeting for Thanksgiving dinner... though (Y/N) neglects to mention until they're almost there that her east asian family doesn't usually have a typical 'American' Thanksgiving dinner... (Super fluffy I promise :))

Take a Hint Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader (Y/N) literally just wants to go out and have a good time with her girls. So why do guys seem to never take ‘no’ for an answer? To try to prevent more annoying encounters with men who can’t take a hint, (Y/N) slips on two rings onto her left hand and assumes the married life. It’s all well and good... until someone sees the rings as a challenge. Enter from stage right, our hero.

boardroom fantasies NSFW, 18+ only, S M U T // Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // done for a prompt challenge // prompt: “You wanna have sex….here? Now?” Steve can’t help how tight his pants get when (Y/N) is working nearby. While everyone else goes out for drinks, he pulls her aside to show her that the Accounting Guy who keeps asking her out isn’t who she should be with.

Holiday Kiss Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader // Christmas fic Bucky is a little tired of Christmas traditions for the day but with (Y/N) around, there’s just one more tradition he’d like to give a try. 

Anxiety Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // TW: lots of anxious thoughts based on my own so be careful if this is a trigger for you! Today’s the day Steve comes back from a mission and (Y/N) is beyond excited to see him. But when you have a little Anxiety monster whispering believable nonsense in your ear, it’s hard to get out of your head.

5 ways Steve Rogers says I Love You (and 1 way he doesn’t) Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // sad ending so if you don’t wanna be sad, don’t read the last bit lol Steve Rogers loves you and here’s just a collection of ways he shows it. But not everything has a happy ending.

Healthy Competition Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader // Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader // SURPRISE PAIRING // requested It’s not every day that the boys are all infatuated with the same human being. So when they realize they’re all falling head over heels for one girl, Steve insists some ground rules need to be laid out. Little do they know, there’s one person already that (Y/N) is swooning over.

home is a person Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader // Post inspo: “Someone asked me to describe home and I started talking about your hair colour and the sound of your voice and the taste of your lips and how your skin feels like. Until I realized they had expected to hear a place.” When asked what home was like in a conversation about their past lives, Bucky Barnes immediately thinks of something other than his 1940s home. He thinks of her.

The Waitress Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // done for a writing challenge // song prompt: “If things get worse, will you still be here?” 405 by This Wild Life Steve Rogers has finally worked up the guts to ask out the super cute waitress at the diner he frequents… except it’s hard to ask out of a girl when you’re a) already super nervous, b) unsure if it’s rude to ask her out, and c) when you have Dumb and Dumber insisting they tag along.

Fate’s Ribbon Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader // Soulmate AU Fate ties a ribbon to every baby that’s born. It’s black to everyone else but your soulmate, who sees it as bright red. Bucky Barnes doesn’t want a soulmate, especially after becoming a completely different person than he was in the 40s. But you can’t run away from what Fate has planned for you.

Happy Moments Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // prompt list // requested Prompts: a perfectly brewed cup of tea and dust floating in golden sunlight Steve Rogers has a few happy moments stored in his brain for when times got tough. He thinks about each of them and how they’re each a part of him. But in this moment, this place, he was happiest.

Probability Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader Steve Rogers is an insecure little bum sometimes. But he’s 75% sure that the girl of his dreams shares his affections… okay 70%…. maybe less….

Fate’s Sense of Humour Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // Soulmate AU Everyone is born with a soulmark, generally a signature or some sort of mark to define who this person was. And when you meet your soulmate, your mark gets darker and darker. Everyone is born with this. Except Steve Rogers. He had practically given up on finding someone to be with without a soulmark, until he wakes up from the ice to find a faded grey signature on his arm.

Jealous (Strong) Steve Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // requested Steve Rogers, the man behind the shield, knows that his strength only came from an injection. He isn’t a Norse god, how could he compete against Thor who seems to have all of (Y/N)’s affections? Steve Rogers is a jealous man. A strong jealous man who just keeps breaking things.

Studying Anatomy Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // requested Steve loves his girlfriend very much, so when she practically begs for him to help her study for her anatomy test, how can he say no?

Young But Sure Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // requested Sometimes people have different wants for their future. Sometimes their future includes a pet, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes people want to live in the country, and some just want to live in the middle of the city. Steve Rogers wants kids… and he assumed that his girlfriend did too.

Nosebleeds Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader A Stark Industries tradition was that every year, interns, agents, admins, and all the Avengers were asked to join in on a volleyball tournament. And every year (Y/N)’s team wins. She expected to have some fierce competition from the Captain’s team… she expected wrong.

Coming Home Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader No matter how long he was gone, (Y/N) always slept on the couch when Steve was away on missions so she could be the first thing he saw when he came back. Steve is happy to be home with the girl he loves.

Kiss (* Endgame Spoilers *) Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader He just looked so hot, the fire in his eyes, ready to fight. (Y/N) just can’t help herself, she just needs a kiss before they go off to their potential deaths.

Blue Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader Steve in blue is too much to handle whilst sober, (Y/N) decides. So while attending Tony Stark’s birthday party, (Y/N) doesn’t stop to drink her anxiety away making for entertaining company for Steve.

Pizza and the Medical Student Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader // College Roommates AU // requested (Y/N) just wants to study for her final. Steve wants to keep her happy. Bucky wants them to just admit their goddamn feelings for each other already.

**Super Cringy-ish Older Fics I Wrote that I Don’t Have Good Summaries For**

[scabopolis]

the gift of gab, the gift of you

Here it is @thisonesatellite! your 2020 CS Secret Santa gift. It was a complete and total delight to get to be your gift giver this year. That is not hyperbole - you are a gosh dang delight! Each of your message responses left me in stitches and while I will NEVER try and convince you a movie you think is bunk is good, I am delighted at the opportunity to recommend rom coms that don’t make you want to gouge your eyes out. 

This fic is heavily inspired by your love of coffee shops AUs (except...you know, a pub), your travel stories (which I shamelessly incorporated into the fic) and I believe rates about a 4 on the reindeer scale of Christmas cheer.  You’re a total eagle eye, so I just need to say I am well aware that Colin O’Donoghue’s accent in no way resembles an accent from Cork, but I just need that to be ignored, please and thank you.

Also, I’ve decided we’re fandom friends now. Okay? Okay! Finally, thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this exchange and being the actual best and most patient fandom soul. 

*** Title: the gift of gab, the gift of you

Summary: Emma needs an Irish man. Wait! No! It’s not what it sounds like. And then the universe just has to go and provide her with the world’s chattiest, flirtiest, blue-eyesiest Irish man in existence. 

Available on AO3. ***

Emma is in no position to complain. From where she sits both literally – (perched upon a comfy barstool in the world’s coziest pub) – as well as existentially – (traveling abroad for the first time in her life) — she is fortunate and blessed. 

It’s just – 

It’s just it would be easier to enjoy it all if she didn’t have to deal with a rather annoying request from her rather annoyingly persistent mother. 

Her headphones are in but Emma still takes great care to speak in hushed tones over video chat. There’s nothing she wants less than to be the loud American who shares her private conversation with an entire establishment. The pub she found is at the end of a quiet lane off of Cork’s high street. The customers within the pub appear to be locals well known by the staff who tend the pub. In truth, she wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it wasn’t for —

“Who have you talked to today?” her mother asks. 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I thanked the barista who made my coffee. And I ordered a pint in this pub.” 

“That’s not talking.” 

“It is by definition talking.” 

“That’s not what I meant. How else are you going to get to know the city?” Her mom interrupts before Emma can properly formulate a snarky reply. “And don’t you dare say ‘guidebooks.’ Your father and I raised you better than that.”

“Mom, please don’t make me do this.” 

“You said I could have anything I wanted as a souvenir.”  

“What about a mug? I bought Grandma Ruth one with a big fat sheep on it.” 

“Sounds lovely, sweetie, but no.” 

“Mom.” Emma realizes that as a twenty-six year old woman it is probably unbecoming to whine, but her mother is being absolutely ridiculous. Where is her dad when she needs him to rescue her? All he requested was a bottle of whiskey. What a sensible person!

“No. It’s fine. If you don’t want to get your mother the one thing she asked for on this trip that’s okay. I won’t say one word about paying for this celebration trip, or paying for graduate school, or —” 

“Shit, mom. Did you take a Guilt Trip 101 class or just Google how to?”

“Oh, this is natural talent. My present, please.” 

“Fine.” There’s a group of bearded men, the ones she pegged as locals, tucked into one corner of the pub. They’re probably her best bet, but she just arrived last night, and the combination of jet lag and travel nerves make her feel not yet up for that. Which leaves the staff working the bar. 

One of the two men she’s seen pouring pints and serving up food has gone missing. Besides, Emma wouldn’t trust herself in her sleep-deprived state to not say something utterly absurd to the blue-eyed, dark-haired, scruffy bartender. Probably a good thing he’s gone. Much safer is the other man working the bar – the one who refused to serve her Guinness but was very kind about it. While arguably attractive, he is a decidedly less intimidating sort of handsome. Unfortunately, he is in the midst of a heated discussion with one of the patrons, the two of them gesticulating to something happening with a football match on the screen. Which leaves the blonde haired woman currently polishing glasses. 

Emma lightly clears her throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?” When the woman turns to look at her, Emma smiles, and signals her over. She sets aside the pint glasses and tucks the polishing rag into her apron. Her mother, on the other end of the video call, is not satisfied. 

“Did you say ma’am?” 

“Mom,” Emma whispers.

“I said an Irish man, Emma Blanchard Nolan. Man.”

“No. You said person.” 

“The man was implied.” 

“Then you should have been more specific.” 

“Ready for another?” the woman at the bar asks. 

Emma looks down at her half-full pint. “Not quite.” She frowns. “And, uh, you’re not Irish, are you?” 

“No. Canadian.” 

“Ah. Okay.” Emma lowers her voice again and looks at her phone screen. Her mother remains unimpressed. “That’s foreign. Technically she’s a foreigner.” 

The sternness of Mary-Margaret’s expression is evident even over the video call. “Emmaline —” 

“Not my name, mother.” 

“Emmaline Blanchard Nolan, you promised me.” 

“I’ll find an Irish person tomorrow.” It’s about this time Emma realizes she’s rudely ignoring the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender. The one she asked to speak with. What’s more, the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender has been joined by the curly haired bartender. Both of whom peer at her with matching expressions of amused befuddlement. Emma removes her headphones and addresses the man. “You’re Irish, right?” 

“Well, miss,” and the gentle brogue of his accent, even with those two short words, is quite evident, “you are in Ireland.” 

“Excellent! Can you talk to my mom?” She detaches the headphones from her phone and turns the camera around to face the man and woman. “My mom wants to have a conversation with an Irish person.” 

“Irish man,” her mother corrects.

“An Irish man. Out in the wild.” The bartenders stare at her, nonplussed. “It’s her souvenir.” 

The woman presses her lips together – an obvious attempt to stifle a laugh. 

“Well, uh, aye.” The man tugs at his ear. “I guess I could —” He’s interrupted from his stuttering by the return of the blue-eyed, stubbly bartender, hauling a new keg into the back of the bar. 

“Actually,” the woman cuts in. “My husband,” she hip checks the curly-haired man, “needs to replace the keg.” 

“I do?” he asks. 

“He does?” This from tall, dark, and holy hell! also possesses an Irish accent. 

“But Killian is in the middle—”

“Shh,” the blonde woman interrupts her husband. 

“Yeah. Killian is—”

She goes on to shush the man Emma now knows to be Killian. 

“Oh no,” Mary Margaret whispers over the video call, “there’s two of them.” 

“What is happening?” Emma’s not sure which of the two men asked, this whole interaction spinning rather absurdly out of control. 

“I don’t know,” Emma says.

The woman ignores all of them. “I’m Elsa, this is Liam, and that,” she points to Killian, frozen with a hand on the keg like he’s uncertain what to do, “is my very single, very Irish brother-in-law.” And all at once it becomes clear what Elsa’s intentions are. “Killian, can you come over here and help our lovely patron and her lovely mother?” 

“Oh, Emma, Killian even sounds like an Irish name.” 

“Mom!” Originally she found her mother’s request to be silly but harmless. The more people who become involved, however, the quicker it approaches mortifying. Emma watches as Elsa whispers something to her brother-in-law, likely explaining the unconventional request. 

“I’m very friendly,” Mary-Margaret reassures anyone who might be listening. 

“You are a flirt, is what you are,” Emma scolds. “And what would dad say if he found out about this?”

“He asked for whiskey. I asked for this.” 

“Come on, lass. Don’t deprive me of a dashing rescue.” Killian leans across the bar, his hand reaching out for her phone. All that stubble and the blue-eyes and the accent are worse when directed directly at her. “Besides, your mum sounds like a woman after my own heart.” 

“If you’re sure—?”

“Absolutely.”

To her abject horror, the moment she hands Killian the phone, he walks away with it in hand. 

“As requested, milady,” he says to the screen, “one genuine Irish man.”

Her mother’s delighted giggle is embarrassing for all Americans everywhere but it seems to delight Killian. She can just makeout her mother’s question about where he grew up when he rounds the corner, out of her hearing. 

“Where is he going?” Emma asks, craning her neck. “Where is he taking my phone?” 

“If I know Killian, your mum is probably about to get the most thorough oral history of Irish pubs she could have asked for,” Liam says, tossing a towel over his shoulder. 

“Oh. Okay.” She drums her fingertips on her glass. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.” 

“Nonsense,” he waves her off. “This is the most exciting thing to happen in our pub since Seamus and Willy hosted their wedding reception here.” He jerks his chin towards the group of bearded men she noticed earlier, though which one is Seamus and which is Willy she can’t be certain. 

After another fifteen minutes, Emma has finished her pint and Killian still has possession of her phone. He crossed through the room once, merrily chatting with her mother as he regaled  her with the story of how he got the scar on his cheek. 

Elsa is filling a series of pint glasses for a group of women standing at the bar, and Emma feels the need to apologize again. “This isn’t what I expected,” she explains. 

“What’s that?” Elsa asks. 

“I was kind of thinking, best case scenario, there’d be an exchange of hellos and that would be that.” 

Elsa nods, hands the pints off to the women, and then fills one more. “Are you familiar with the legend of the Blarney stone?” 

Emma nods. She has absolutely no intention of kissing the dang thing (her research indicates local teens do all manner of ungodly things to the stone, knowing that tourists intend to kiss it), but it’s on her list to go see. 

“Well, Jones family legend —”

“I take it your husband and his brother are Jones’?” 

“And me by marriage. Jones family legend has it that Killian must have been birthed upon the stone because never has there been a man more endowed with the gift of gab.” Elsa finishes pouring the pint and sets it in front of her. 

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” Right at that moment, Liam returns to the bar and sets a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Or this,” Emma says. 

“Knowing my brother, you might be here a while,” Liam explains. 

“Gift of gab?” 

He nods, pleased that the Jones family lore has reached her. “Gift of gab.”

Liam proves to be correct, which means Emma has ample time to get to know both Elsa and Liam. The two of them are freakishly adept at juggling bartending, interacting with their customers, and keeping up a steady flow of conversation with her. The highlight is hearing the full story of Seamus and Willy (she is able to identify them by their matching navy sweaters – sweaters which Willy apparently handknits for the both of them), two men who worked on the same fishing boat for decades before realizing they were in love. 

“Once they sorted that bit out, they got married three weeks later,” Elsa says. 

“So which one of them is the designated driver?” Emma asks. 

“That whole lot lives down the street.” Liam raises his voice so the group can hear them. “And they do nothing but hassle me every day of my life!” The group all raise their pint glasses and cheer, indicating this kind of teasing is something central to the pub’s dynamic. 

Killian returns from wherever it was he was busy flirting with her mother and sets her phone on the bartop. She looks down at the display only to find it blank.

“Uh, your mum had to run to the market, but she indicated she’ll call you later.” 

“She didn’t even say goodbye? Unbelievable.” As Emma gears herself up for peak mom-annoyance, she gets a text message. “Speak of the devil.” 

4:38 PM - Mom to Emma hubba hubba

“Ah, geez, mom,” she grumbles. 

“What’d she say about me?” Killian asks. 

“What makes you think that text was about you?” 

“Because you have roses in your cheeks.” Emma frowns. She what? “You’re blushing,” Killian says. 

“No I’m not.” 

“It’s getting deeper, I’m afraid.” He takes away her empty pint glass. “Another?” 

“Yes, please.” 

He sets another pint of Murphy’s in front of her (Liam was the one to inform her that one drinks Murphy’s when one is in Cork). “Your mother is lovely.” 

“Yeah, she’s something alright.” She sips the beer and licks the foam off her lip. “What were the two of you talking about for so long?”

“Oh, just having a chat. She wanted to know about the pub and how Elsa and Liam met.” 

“The gift of gab.” 

“Ah,” he says, “Elsa told you of that, then?” 

“Like my mom didn’t tell you anything about me?” 

“It was all good, Emma.” 

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Why a conversation with an Irish man?” Emma frowns at Killian, not quite certain of what he’s asking. “For a souvenir. That’s truly all your mum wanted?” 

“Oh, that. In between flirting, did she tell you anything about her and my dad?” Killian shakes his head. “It’s kind of a long story.” 

As if waiting for his cue, Liam comes up behind Killian and slings an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “My dear little brother has time.” 

“Younger brother,” Killian corrects. 

“Shorter brother.” Liam bumps Killian towards the other side of the bar. “Why don’t you keep Emma company?” 

“I have another three hours on my shift.” 

“I think Elsa and I can handle it until Will arrives.” 

“Liam.” 

“Don’t make me fire you.” 

“You can’t fire me. We’re co-owners.” 

“Fine. Don’t make me quit.” 

Killian rolls his eyes but slides out from under Liam’s arm. He crosses to the other side of the bar and sits beside Emma. “I’ll take a pint, then.” He raps his knuckles on the bartop. “And make it quick.” 

Emma hides her smile in her pint glass. Both Liam and Elsa have been so lovely. There’s no reason to switch allegiances at this point. Regardless of how much she might be tempted by the stubbly-faced, blue-eyed flirty Irish man sitting beside her. 

“Between the two of them and my mother,” Emma says. 

“Yeah, not the most subtle lot.” Liam shoots Killian a glare as he sets the pint down to which Killian responds with the cheekiest grin Emma has ever seen. The interaction has older and baby brother written all over it. “So, your mom and Irishmen. Go.” 

“Oh, that.” Unlike her mother, and even her father, Emma holds the details of her life close to her chest. She’s made the mistake in the past of sharing too much too fast. When people leave her, either by choice or circumstance, it physically pains her to know there are people out in the world with knowledge of her worries, fears and dreams. But maybe it’s the sandwich sitting warm in her stomach, or the jet lag, or simply the buzz of international travel, because she feels inclined to share at least a few details of her life with Killian. 

“My mom and dad both took a gap year after high school and met while backpacking across Europe. They met at the Roman Colosseum, decided to match up their itineraries, and by the time they arrived in Budapest five months later they were in love and my mom was pregnant.” 

“And they’ve been together ever since?” 

“Almost 27 years.”

“That’s quite the story.” 

She nods. “They cut their year of travel short, and went to live with my Grandma Ruth, my dad’s mom. They always talked about returning to Europe, finishing their trip at some point, but by the time I was old enough to leave behind with my grandma, dad was in vet school, mom was teaching, and they were running a wildlife rescue from the family farm. They kept making new plans to travel but they just kept getting pushed back and back and back. Until, one day, they decided to put all that money towards sending me on my first trip instead. So, as much as I fight every silly request she has of me, I would do anything if it made her smile.”

“Your mum and dad never made it to Ireland?” 

“Nope.”

“Thus the strange request.” 

“Thus the strange request.” 

“Well, it gave me a reason to chat with the lovely lass at the bar, so for that I’ll be forever grateful.” 

Her Grandma Ruth, Aunt Ruby, and frankly everyone who knows her parents well, routinely comment on the resemblance between Emma and her dad. Apparently in temperament and affectation they are almost identical. But maybe she’s more like her mom than anyone knows because the conversation between her and Killian flows fast and easy. Easy enough that she barely notices when she and Killian finish their pints and Elsa slides new glasses in front of them. Emma’s head is feeling a little buzzy, and that turkey sandwich was more than a couple hours ago. Maybe she can hint at Killian that she wants to go to the Christmas market. Hint even more specifically that she wouldn’t hate if he went with her. 

No, she can’t do that. To even think such a thing would be ridiculous. 

She can’t possibly ask a practical stranger to walk up and down the stalls of the festive market with her. She can’t expect him to want to sample all the baked goods and food they can handle. Or to hold her hand while they drink spiked apple cider. That kind of thinking is romantic, and hopeful, and not at all her brand. 

“This is really your first trip out of the states?” Killian asks.

“I mean, Canada, but that’s so close to home it doesn’t count.” Emma catches herself, eyes darting to Elsa. “Don’t tell your sister.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Killian angles his body on the stool to face her more directly. Without Emma realizing it, they’ve drifted close enough together over the past hour or so that the move makes it so their knees knock together. Emma could move away, put some distance between them, but everything is foggy and hazy in that delicious way, and she can’t bring herself to move. “What does that make me, then? The ruggedly handsome foreigner you intend to seduce as a notch on your bedpost?” 

“Who said anything about seduction?”

“You’re giving me bedroom eyes.” 

“I do not make eyes of any kind. Especially bedroom eyes.” 

Elsa jumps in, setting glasses of water down for each of them. “Yeah, but Killian does. And he needs to put them away.”

Emma tries to react quickly enough to Elsa’s teasing to evade Killian’s detection, to turn away and hide her smile in her shoulder so he can’t see, but the gentle tug on the end of her braid indicates he caught her. 

“Think that’s funny, do you?” 

“You and my mom ganged up against me. I deserve to join with your family against you.” 

“Your mum is great.” He shrugs. “Well, based on the little I know.”  

“I know she can be a little intense. I hope she didn’t—”

“She was as lovely as her daughter.” Before his words can fully sink in, perhaps bringing that blush back to her cheeks, he’s moved on. “You’ll have to bring her with you when you return.” 

She rests her chin on palm, blinking up at him. Okay, maybe she sometimes makes eyes. “What makes you think I have any plans to come back?”

“Ireland gets in your blood. You’ll be back.” 

This time they’re interrupted by Liam. He swipes away the pint glasses in front of them, remaining beer and all. “That’s about all I can stomach of that.”

“What do you mean?” Killian asks. 

“You’ve been flirting with the kind tourist long enough. Time to go.” 

Oh. Emma looks down at her boots. A surge of deep embarrassment heating her cheeks and causing her stomach to churn. “Sorry,” she says quietly, her eyes turned down. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” The twin cries from both Liam and Killian startle her. She’s not sure which one appears more stricken by her announcement she intended to leave.   

“Apologies, Emma, I wasn’t clear,” Liam says. He extends his hand to Killian. “Apron.” It takes Killian a moment to react but when Liam stays in his place, his hand extended, Killian removes his apron and hands it to him. “See you tomorrow, little brother.” 

“Younger.”

“Dumber.” 

“Stubborner.”

“Not a word.” Liam stalks back over to Elsa who is shaking her head at the whole display. “They’re both idiots,” Liam says, and Emma is just going to pretend she didn’t hear that, thank you very much. 

“Have you been to the Christmas market yet, Emma?” Killian’s voice brings her back to the pub, and this particular bar stool, with this particular man. This particular man who has somehow intuited the secret desire of her heart to go to the town’s Christmas market with him. 

“No. No. Not yet.” 

Killian jumps down from his seat and extends a hand to Emma to help her down. “Come on, love. Let’s sail away.” 

There’s 100 ways Emma could respond to that. She could tell Killian she isn’t his love. She could jump down from the stool on her own. She could insist she’s fine going to the market by herself. But she tries to channel a little magic, that particular magic which for her mom and dad turned one day in Rome into a lifetime, and chooses differently. 

(Not that she’s saying she expects—)

She takes Killian’s offered hand and his answering grin is all the confirmation she needs she made the right decision. 

And so they go to the Christmas market, and at Killian’s insistence she tries mulled wine but quickly trades it in for a cup of boozy cider. They ride the ferris wheel, the cold stinging her cheeks from the top, the lights of Cork spread out before her, and that thrum of love for this place beats loudly in her veins. Suddenly every travel story her parents have ever told her makes sense and maybe Killian is right  – maybe Ireland is in her blood. 

They walk together side-by-side and at a point Emma can’t remember – somewhere between sampling whiskey, buying several bottles for her dad, and licking salt and malt vinegar from hot chips off her fingers – they transition to walking hand-in-hand. The heat of Killian’s skin, even through two layers of gloves, is what she blames for the fact that she actually starts humming along to Christmas carols. Where’s that deep cynicism she has been committed to for her life when she needs it? 

“Told you,” Killian says after the two of them step away from a stall with handmade ornaments. She must have been channeling her mom because she couldn’t stop herself from striking up a conversation with the vendor. Somehow by the end of the interaction she’d agreed to join him and his wife for their annual holiday pub crawl the following night. 

“Told me what?” 

“That you would fall for Ireland.” 

“You get the honor and privilege of keeping me company on my first full night on my first real trip out of the country and all you can say is ‘I told you so’?” 

“I believe what I am trying to say, love, is you appear very much at home here.” 

The sentiment makes everything in Emma buzz, but she does what she does best and works to diffuse it. “Well, uh, I don’t know. Does it ever snow here?” 

“Eh, we get about 50 mm every year?” At her look of confusion Killian smiles. “Not much.” 

“Have you ever had a white Christmas?” 

“Can’t say I have. They’re pretty rare in Ireland.” 

“In that case, I think this means you should come to Maine. We do a great white Christmas.” 

“Maybe I will.” 

“Great. Next year sound good?” 

Killian laughs and squeezes her hand. “Sounds great.”

She hears the faint echo of advice her dad once gave her. It was right when she was fresh off her heartbreak with Neal and wasn’t sure she had it in her to apply for grad school. He said something to her about moments. About the need to notice good moments even in the midst of bad ones. 

Standing here hand-in-hand with a man she met only five hours ago, the glow of Christmas lights dancing in technicolor hues against his cheeks and hair, Emma is absolutely certain this is a good moment. 

“Emma?” 

She answers Killian’s question by rising up on her toes and kissing him. It’s quick and fleeting, barely a brush of her lips against his, but the look on his face as she pulls away, all bright eyed-wonder, deserves to be classified as a good moment all on its own. 

It takes self-control Emma wasn’t aware she possessed to not drop their shopping bags to the ground, grip him by the lapels of his jacket, and kiss the crap out of him. Instead she loops her arm in his. 

“It’s getting late,” she says. “Want to walk me back to my hotel?” 

He swallows, that poleaxed expression still on his face. “Aye.” 

The next morning, Emma is woken up by the sound of her video call alert and boy it was a mistake to not extend her do not disturb until noon. She reaches out and blindly bats at the bedside table until she makes contact with her phone. As soon as she swipes up on her mom’s call, she squeezes her eyes shut again. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, sweetie. Are you still jet lagged?” 

“And a little hungover.”

“Sounds like you had a very eventful night.”

Killian grumbles from somewhere behind her. “What time is it?” he asks.

It’s right about this moment Emma realizes her error. Her mom goes quiet and Emma considers taking the opportunity to end the call. And then maybe ignore every call thereafter for the next five days. 

“Emma Nolan. Is there a man in bed with you?” 

“No,” Emma answers, though it’s perfunctory and not at all convincing. 

Killian presses closer to her, and shifts so his chin rests on her shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs. Nolan. And this must be Mr. Nolan.” 

That gets Emma’s attention and she opens her eyes enough to see her mom and dad sitting beside one another on the couch. While her mom is positively gleeful, her dad looks as though he wishes he could melt into the couch cushions and disappear. 

“There are certain things I don’t care to see,” her dad says. “Certain things I don’t care to know.” 

Emma rotates in bed and onto her back, holding the phone above her head so both she and Killian are still in view of the camera. “Oh hush, Dad, you and mom did it the first night you met.” 

“You told her that?” 

In response, her mom shrugs. “She asked.” 

“And not that it matters, but Killian and I didn’t have sex.” 

Though it didn’t stop them from trading long, slow kisses that left her dizzy and wanting more, more, and more. Killian must have felt the same because it took little to no convincing to get him to stay the night. Perhaps most remarkably, after extending the invitation, Emma had no desire to retract it or pretend it didn’t mean anything. 

“Your daughter was far too drunk to have sex.” Emma turns her head so fast in Killian’s direction she hears something crack. 

“That, for instance, is one of the things I don't want to know about,” her dad says.  

Killian cheerfully waves at the camera, ignoring both her father’s indignation and her glare. “I’m Killian, by the way. Happy to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Nolan.” 

Emma elbows Killian. The man is a total menace. “I’ll call you guys back when I’ve had coffee,” 

“I want details,” her mom says. 

“And I want no details.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emma hangs up the phone and tosses it in the direction of the foot of the bed. She flips over onto her side and Killian mirrors her, reaching out to trace the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “So that was my dad.” 

“He seems a charming fellow.” 

“Don’t let the responsible tough guy act fool you,” she says, and snuggles closer to Killian. He responds just as she hoped, by wrapping his arms tight around her. “He once spent all his money on a cross country train ride and stole oyster crackers from the dining car for food. And during a California road trip, my mom almost froze to death sleeping in her wet bathing suit on the side of the road.” 

Killian chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh making her feel even warmer. “You’re saying they can deal with a half naked man in their daughter’s hotel room?”  

“Yeah, they can deal.” After a moment’s hesitation, Emma slips her hands up and under Killian’s shirt. It’s the one he wore to work, and she can still smell the faint aromas of beer and fried food that linger. She presses her palms against his back and bunches the shirt up, up, and then over his head. 

“Emma?” 

A girl could get used to the way his voice moves over the syllables of her name. “They might have a problem with a fully naked one, though.” She kisses his bare shoulder.

Killian’s hands move under her shirt to span her waist. Goosebumps breakout across her skin. By the slight twist of his lips, Killian notices. “So you’re saying—?” 

“I’m saying you should quit gabbing and kiss me before they call again.” 

“As you wish.”

And a week later, when she is back in Maine celebrating Christmas with her family and Killian is in Ireland with his, Emma convinces herself she imagined it. She must have. She must have imagined how safe she felt in the presence of another person. Imagined the comfort she felt as he joined her for a quick road trip to Dublin. Imagined that it could feel like your heart was split in two, half residing in the chest of a person you just met. 

But the week of New Year’s Eve, when he arrives in Maine to celebrate with her, she’s startled to find it was all real. 

The morning after Killian arrives, she sits with her mom in her parents’ breakfast nook, the two of them sipping coffee as Killian and her dad make waffles. 

“Not such a dumb souvenir after all, huh?” her mom whispers.

Emma shakes her head, too happy to even react to her mom’s shameless gloating. “No. Not so dumb.” 

[bookwyrminspiration]

WAIT. I'm late to the party but I just remembered all those anons were sending in "why I send you asks" and their reasons and I actually really want to participate, so I hope you will accept late applications?

The reason I send you so many asks is because you've just...built such a nice feeling that anything can be discussed, and it's never too niche or cringy or boring, and that's really relieving and amazing.

I'm sure you (along with many others) have realized by now, but I suffer from....really bad anxiety, both social anxiety and just in general, and it very often gets in the way of my life. Because of this and past experiences, I'm always very scared and hesitant to talk about my interests and my thoughts on anything.

But every time I've sent you an ask, even if it was, in retrospect, probably really annoying to read through the one hundred "sorry"s and "my bad"s, you've always been nothing but kind and interested in my ideas, and that was just...so surprising. Because I never really knew anyone who was willing to talk about anything, and it was just...really amazing to meet someone who was! Especially because I love and am interested in so many different things and kind of need someone to bounce ideas at. And it was really cool to see someone that was unashamed of their own interests and thoughts, but didn't make others feel bad for having different ideas.

Every time I send you an ask, you always have something interesting to say back. Something I hadn't thought of or considered, or a query that would make me rethink my own theories, or just a very well-thought-out answer to a question. I remember sending in tons of asks about the wings AU before it was released, and writing those was probably the highlight of my day, because I knew you'd take them and run with the ideas, and do your best to match my energy, and I was really grateful for that. And you were always willing to dig deeper, to think "but what if there was more?" and that's just...incredible! I don't have any other word for it!

I love sending you asks because you don't dismiss an idea or deem it as stupid, and you're just...such a kind and wonderful person that can make even the most obscure subject infinitely more interesting than before, and you never fail to make me consider things again, to expand my thoughts and views, and I'm really grateful for that.

So, because it should definitely be said by now, thank you!

And, well, that's why I love sending you asks :]

- pyro

there is no timeline so there's no way to be late! and I'm answering this a few days after you sent this, so if you believe yourself to be late then we can both be late together :D. you are fully welcome to participate if you want to (which you said you did)! it was mostly just a random question I had because i'm just as analytical with myself as I am with keeper, and knowing how other perceive and think of me is helpful for that--and I was curious about how i'd aquired so many asks so quickly, and then you all just turned it into complimenting quil hours for some reason !! (but on to your ask before I get even more distracted)

(note from a quil who has answered all of this: got very long so that's why there's a readmore! i love you /p)

this means so much to me--specifically your use of "built" because I do try pretty hard to maintain a positive atmosphere and welcome everyone in and treat everyone with the same attention. it didn't just fall into place, i try to be encouraging to everyone and support all the amazing work--art, writing, ideas, etc--I see from people. (note: i've been wanting to do a thing where I ask for fic/art/other recommendations from others (can be friends or their own) so i can go through and reblog a bunch of them with comments and the like, I just want to get through more of my asks before I start something like that). But you're right--nothing is too niche! there's so many details in the story it's impossible for one person to notice anything, so people bringing up the obscure and their own thoughts makes the story richer and more fleshed out for everyone else! and i think it's really cool to just see what other people focus on (like I said, my analysis isn't limited to characters, but I'm not like dissecting you all to understand each of you in a creepy way or anything. I just like to get a better sense of someone so I can respond in a way more tailored to them when we interact)

anxiety can really suck, so as someone who also has anxiety i am giving you a comforting hug if you'd like one. it genuinely impacts everything you do and think about, rewriting how you experience life. a single, inconsequential experience to someone else can literally change major aspects of how we think, which makes interactions so scary sometimes. i remember things people said years ago and still base my actions around them, but those people have absolutely no recollection of ever saying it, but just the fear of having done something wrong once permanently altered my thinking. (this is not to make this about me, I'm just trying to show I understand by sharing an experience of my own).

reading through all your "i'm sorry"s and "my bad"s wasn't annoying and never will be. you have never had anything to apologize for, and I know that sometimes you feel you need to enter a conversation and first apologize for being there, but I'm thrilled to have you here and always love seeing you in my inbox. I don't know how to articulate this properly, but I'm going to try. i saw your apologies and your apprehension as...a puzzle? that's absolutely not the right word but I can't think of the right one so please let me explain (I don't mean to imply you're like something to be solved or a problem in any way. words can be difficult and I'm trying to describe something very intangible rn, so I hope this doesn't sound bad). I didn't see it as annoying (you're never annoying), I saw it like it was something to work through, and while it's not my job or anything to help other's with their personal problems, it was like if I could just provide one space where I could encourage you (not just you, but anyone) as a friend to try shifting your language and start thinking of yourself more positively, then I wanted to give that.

because I am interested in your ideas! and I want to be kind and welcoming to you! but I also want you to be kind to yourself, so any impact I've had to give anyone a safer, less scary space is really cool. I don't know if that made sense, but I'm not trying to talk down to you or anything or be like I'm this high and mighty figure harboring lost souls or something, just that connection is important and I like being there for people. kinda worried that sounded bad because it feels worded strange but I'm trying to reciprocate and say i appreciate you and am happy to talk about anything!

i love bouncing ideas back and forth and you are more than welcome to say anything and everything you're thinking about. talking to you is always an absolutely joy and I get so excited when you send me an ask and when you're reading my response, because it often feels like this like...buzz? like we're just vibing on this frequency and it makes it so much fun to throw ideas back and forth and just listen to each other talk. i am very glad to have surprised you and met you! I don't know a lot of people like myself either, so having someone like you interact with me and just go all out on these little things and what we personally like about different parts of the so much fun. a lot of the other people I know irl feel like they just scratch the surface, they say things just to get credit for it and to appear like they know what they're talking about while ignoring all these other things that have such an impact, so it's amazing to have found someone else who looks at everything and anything like I do. my brain really is "a little bit of everything all of the time" so knowing you have so many different interests too is really cool. i am giving you an internet high five and pretending you aren't so far away.

I spent so much of my life being quiet when I had so many thoughts, so now that I have this kind of outlet I just! want to say everything I can! i want to look at everything from every perspective possible! the world is a huge collection of things tied together and I love following the strings to find the connected pieces! but I think that's a way of approaching the world not a lot of people share (I could be wrong), so it's really cool to hear you think my thought process is interesting!! my brain is practically composed entirely of questions. any subject at any time of the day and nearly all of my thoughts are just wanting to know more and trying to understand things, so having that opportunity to ask further questions and just learn things (about what other's thing, how things work, etc) is so much fun. you might've seen me ask some questions of other's in a few of the asks I answer, but those barely scratch the surface of just how many I have. my handle is in_quil_sitive (inquisitve) on nearly every social media platform (except for this one) for a reason.

I remember some of your asks from before the wings au was published, too. those were absolutely incredible, and I got a rush of excitement every time I saw you sent another. those were the the highlight of my week, too!! your enthusiasm and excitement for something I hadn't even posted yet gave me so much motivation to continue and you helped me think through so many future ideas and consider things from new perspectives. i know i specifically wrote that you inspired one chapter in the notes, but you've had an impact on every single chapter of this story/ it wouldn't be what it is without you, and I mean that with complete sincerity. you were the one who made me think "what if there was more" so I could make this au even better and work towards something bigger. I just have so many thoughts about everything all of the time, I can't go more than a few minutes without being distracted by a different train of thought, but knowing there was someone who would want to hear all the weird, disjointed ideas i'd strung together and composed into a more cohesive format was so cool. there's just so much to think about!!

I probably sound repetitive at this point but I love answering your asks because you're so receptive to the way i say things and it's like you're actually listening and want to hear what I specifically have to say, not just the general ideas. you want to know my unique, personalized opinions and perspectives and don't just dismiss them when they're not what you expect to hear or aren't generic. you're incredibly kind, too, I hope you know. I love the description of how I can "make even the most obscure subject infinitely more interesting than before." that is such a meaningful compliment to me. I just keep thinking about this line over and over again and it just...it really means a lot. because you're saying it's me that interests you and not just what I talk about. I could talk about anything and you'd still want to interact with me and that's so fucking nice. I hope you know the same goes for you. we can challenge each other's thinking together and make things even deeper and more complex before together <33.

thank you for being here and being my friend, pyro. talking to you is always one of the highlights of my day and gives me a very positive feeling that I carry around for a while. I do this thing sometimes where I film myself to later observe my behaviors in the middle of intense emotions to understand myself better (back to that whole analysis thing again), but it's not just negative things, it's also when I'm really excited or pleased with something and jumping around and stimming and all that, and some of those are from when I interact with you. that might sound a little weird but I mean it positively, as in talking with you makes me ecstatic.

I have said. so many things. so I will stop (for now). but I really appreciate having you in my life <33

[daimonhalos]

Aight this is the second time I watch it but I'm gonna do a commentary on the latest bad's lore stream! Just for funsies, I might have honestly already forgotten some stuff so I wanna keep my thought process :3 let's go, commentary under the cut.

There's also some small theories/analysis in some points but nothing too much, just me rambling cause pain.

The pre stream song. Faster and Bad never change please.

I love so so so much the ominous soundtracks he puts as background for lore man it's just so coooool.

Reality check pre/post lore my beloved 💜

that little meh eh eh. is everything

he's just on a boat at night and but can already see he's got shaders on, this means PRETTY VISUALS AHEAD. Also i really like bits beginning with the character alone heading towards their destined direction, it's just pleasing

HIM TAKING DOWN ANTI EGG POSTERS. KING SHIT

Can't believe I got to hear "muffinhead" in lore voice.

Not even inside the room and HOLY SHIT they covered it all with the red bricks block IM AAAAH IT'S SO PRETTY. Like before the vines were all put at random but now they're neatly placed and it's actually aesthetically pleasing? I love it

DANCEFLOOR DANCEFLOOR DANCEFLOOR

The table. is . so. is so . it's so prebby,,, help like i'd live there man

Bad being overwhelmed by the egg's voice and lowkey scared. FINE IM FINE

No other choice. And the way he repeated it like a mantra? Kind of like to convince himself? AHHH

SKEPPY. SKEPP

small,, small egg staircase

haha fuckign pain. p a i n. just pain it sounds a lot like Skeppy before actually stayed with Bad cause it annoyed him how much he wanted to hang out like old times,,,,, my heart pangs

IM JUST WORRIED ABOUT YOU

I CARE ABOUT YOU *passes out*

bad scared the egg is skeppy's bff now /j (have to joke through the pain,,)

BADBOY i swear to god he knows his audience. he just does.

Bad doing whatever he can to even just hang out a few minutes with skeppy. Bro, the tears inside

"I'm comfortable right here." "Skeppy I know you are-" THE WAY BAD'S VOICE BROKE HERE HOLY SHIT LEMME CLIP IT.

He talks to chat. HE TALKS TO CHAT THIS MEANS WE ARE CANON THUS we are either little angels or demons around him or a mix or, we're particles that make up Rat ♥

"All of this is for him" okay stab me next time it'll hurt less

BADBOY STARTING TO BE CONFLICTED BECAUSE HE NEVER HAS A FUCKING BREAK

s- w- skeppy kept the egg alive? okay so ive been thinking about the fact that skeppy became completely red and like wow what if it kinda is that hes literally become a small part of Egg? like, i wonder if someone breaks it, if he feels pain

Skeppy so dry with his responses. stop i will cry

bad. bad why are you bringing up selfies to a lore stream bad-

"why are you still talking to me" "okay..." stop stop PLEASE STOP-

smol growls, he's getting frustrated

idk why but skeppy talking about the perimeters made me laugh it was just funny how far away he was and just started talking about it randomly

"i think it looked a little bit better before" thoughts being thunk

"what's it gonna take for you to stop talking to me?" literally i am deceased s t o p

STOP STEPPIN ON THE MAGMA BLOCKS SIR YOU'RE HURTING

Bad shouldn't be so happy about just having "one last walk around" with skeppy so he "stops bothering" him tHIS HURTS SO MUCH the egg has fucked them up so much

Skeppy doesn't hear it huh? Maybe it whispers different things to everyone

"I like how it feels" nooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO STOP HURTING TOURSELF

so no dance? *slams phone on the ground*

When skeppy says his line about never seeing anything close to a party there, idk what it is about it but his tone just hits, man he's so good preesh

HE CALLED HIM ANT. BAD PLS YOUR BEING BAD AT NAMES IS SHOWING

"Oh my goodness you're going back to the egg" HE'S SO SAD. HE'S SO SAD CAUSE HE COULDNT KEEP HIM WITH HIM A LITTLE BIT LONGER HES S

"you know what? i invite you" i wanna read this in a certain way. The egg was feeling like bad was so frustrated he started doubting the egg, so it was like alright let's use skeppy to get it closer to I can manipulate this bad boy better :)) motherfuck

are they about to kiss-

egg cockblocker

"okay don't come back" end me rn

ngl when sapnap joined I got real scared for a moment.

"it's not about power! it's nor about control! i'm you friend skeppy!" "I mean ... you can think that" FUCK U NO IM NOT DEALING WITH THIS RN

"We're friends, right?"

"In your head we can be best friends, we can be whatever you want" BDI ANYONE??????? also whatever- whatever he wants? :eyes: okay sorry no ill see myself out

"We're m- we are friends sk-" M- MARRIED WAS HE GONNA SAY MARRIED DID HE PULL A QUACKITY OH MY GOD I HATE THIS GUY OH MY GOD /pos but also like in a bawling my eyes out way

the egg is more than just a friend? skep u good there pal do u have smth to tell us

"You don't know what it's like." OH HERE HE GOES. HERE HE GOES HERE IT COMES OH NO.

The way Bad stutters i really thought he was gonna say something REALLY IMPACTFUL

"I have done so much for you, for our friendship and now you're trying to tell me we're not friends anymore?" LEAVE ME ALONE

I JUST CAUGHT THE BLOOPER HE SAID ON ME INSTEAD OF HANG OUT WITH ME IM CRYING OH MY GOD BAD HOW DID U FUCK THAT UP oh my god I imagine him mentally going like oh my gosh out of all the things that could be messed up THAT WAS SO FUNNY

ahaha my dads are fighting help

"You think you've done anything? You seriously think that?" *looks at my fic where bad feels worthless because the egg said so* ahah... I'm sorry?

"You left me for a long, long long time before you even checked up on me, okay?" he's not wrong,,,, he's not wrong why does this hurt sm,,,,, "and now all of a sudden you care about me?" OH MY GOD PLEASE I HATE THIS EGG

I see them... i see them approaching the lava blocks..

"the past doesn't matter" the egg wanting to erase their relationship so much,,,, i wanna cry because then if bad doesn't have skeppy he just has nothing right and then,,, then he can be another empty vessel for the fucking egg I hate this mI hate this so much

Also!!! little things I noticed!! Bad taking away part of the vine and also mining a red block? Without being affected at all? MHHHH

"I just wanted us to hang out like we used to" BAD'S VOICE CRACKING AGAIN STOP I WILL CJRYSD

"I did all of this for you and I didn't want the egg to take that away" you see how fucking tragic this is. Like Skeppy sacrificed himself so his friend could stop being infected. Bad sacrificed literally the whole server himself included to get him back. And then it comes down to this. The egg separating them a thousand fucking miles away. I hate this it's so sad

the selfish bit please no stop

THE LAVA BAD THE LAVA PLEASE IT'S TOO CLOSE

the fucking shaking with rage thing got me BROOOO I LOVE WHEN BAD DOES THE LITTLE THINGS IN GAME

"IT'S JUST A STUPID EGG" FUCKING FINALLY YOU TELL HIM BAD but then oh no oh no would you look at that huh. cant fucking have shit in dsmp. the way he immediately just screams for him right after

YOU CAN HEAR THE TEARS IN HIS VOICE and also mine hi I'm sobbing again

BDI FUCKING CANON LET'S GOOOOOOO WE CALLED ITTTT

(Dreamscape?)Skeppy being actually concerned with him haha this doesn't hurt at all!!!

*stares at black screen* I'm fine.

Thank you for listening to my ramble I am hurting so much bestie

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

bangs pots and pans together loudly FIC UPDATE COME GET YALL SOME JUICE

Apparently the vital, missing component to enjoying school was having a friend there. Go figure.

He and Kevin only have that first period class together, but they make the most of it, passing notes back and forth between the two of them, the teacher too tired that early in the morning to notice, or care. Lunch isn’t depressing anymore. They sit together under the shade tree, and Kevin does seem to also appreciate the view. “Can you even imagine working up a sweat, on purpose?” Betelgeuse pats his gut. “You know I can’t.”

“I can’t believe how little the track shorts are. That’s obscene. You think I’d look good in them?” “You join track and I’ll come to every meet, an’ it won’t be for th’ love of th’ sport.” He doesn’t think normal friends talk to each other like this, but he doesn’t actually know. Does everyone flirt with their friends? Are friends just cool people you wanna fuck but haven’t yet? Is it demon hormone bullshit, making him read into everything? Unclear.

It’s all going so good, until it isn’t, suddenly.

One lunch, two months into being there, Kevin pulls a huge and impressive old book from his backpack. “Look what I goooot,” he sing songs, waving it in Betelgeuse’s face, and he sneezes in response. “Smells old.” Emily and Lydia would love it. “It is. It’s very old,” Kevin confirms, and he moves so he’s sitting next to Betelgeuse, shoulder to shoulder, both their backs to the shade tree. “It’s about demons.”

Betelgeuse loses interest immediately, and focuses on not going pink at their shoulders touching, instead. “Z’at so?” he grunts. Kevin doesn’t seem to pick up on his moodiness, though. “It talks about all these ancient beings,” he explains, flipping pages. “Their summoning circles, their aspects,” he gives Betelgeuse a nudge at that, “all the things they can do for you, and the boons they grant.” He feels uncomfortable. “What’s with this? You obsessed with me, or somethin’?” He tries to play it as a joke, but that glint in Kevin’s eyes is back, and he doesn’t like it. “Of course, who wouldn’t be obsessed if they learned all this shit is actually true? It’s like there’s a whole secret world behind a locked door, and I’ve got the key.” Kevin looks back up at him.

He gets the feeling he’s the key. It’s not a good feeling.

“Where’d you even get this fuckin’ thing?” he lifts a finger, and the book slams closed in Kevin’s lap. His friend huffs. “Internet, of course.” “No, I mean… why were you lookin’ for somethin’ like this?” “I want to learn more. Don’t you?” Kev presses, and reopens the book. “I mean, what if there’s something amazing you can do, and you just don’t know, cause you’re not bothering to try?”

“So I’ll never know, so what?” Betelgeuse feels like this is a losing argument, but he tries anyways. “What’s so great about bein’ weird? You’re lucky you’re human.” “Dude, don’t even start with that. You can fly.” “So can humans,” he points out. “Wh- A plane and fucking levitating for fun are not the same, and you know it, BeetleJerk.” Kevin honestly can’t understand why he’s not excited over this. “I just mean… I’d rather be human, than this.” He blinks at his own words, because he’s never expressed that out loud before, ever. But it doesn’t feel untrue. “You’re out of your mind, more so than usual. Every human alive wants to feel special, and do the stuff you can do. Why are you acting like it’s so miserable all of a sudden? You use your powers all the time, I’ve seen you literally teleport five feet because you’re too lazy to walk.”

“You don’t get it.” He’s feeling sullen now, and he wiggles a little away from Kevin, and crosses his arms. “BJ, come on-” Betelgeuse teleports away to under the bleachers, and he eats his lunch there, until the bell rings.

He’s waiting for Emily after school, not feeling particularly friendly, when Kevin approaches. They stand there awkwardly. It feels tense, and weird, and he waits to see what the breather does. “Don’t be mad,” Kevin says, finally. “M’not mad.” “You sound mad.” “You know what mad on me looks like,” he finally turns to look at his friend, amber eyes burning with irritation. “First hand.”

Kevin looks down, and kicks at a rock that might not actually be there. “I thought you’d be excited. BJ, come on, I don’t wanna.. Not be friends over this.”

Betelgeuse signs, and scratches at the scruff on his chin. “It’s not like that,” he relents after a moment. “I just, I don’t care about that stuff. An’ I don’t wanna sit around, focusin’ on it. I don’t exactly like feelin’ different. Yeah, I do tricks an’ use my magic an’ stuff, but it’s hard to control. I lose my temper once an’ I could seriously destroy somethin’, or hurt my family. It doesn’t exactly feel good, knowin’ that. No one else my age can stand me, cause they can tell I’m weird. Before you, it was fuckin’ lonely, Kev.”

He feels a familiar pressure, because Kevin has taken his hand, and the human gives it a squeeze. He accepts it, melting a little against the other boy. “Still friends?” Kevin asks, and Betelgeuse purrs in response, resting his head on Kevin’s shoulder.

It’s not till later, at home, that he realizes Kevin never actually apologized.

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It’s like that, for a while. He knows Kevin still has the book. He knows he’s reading it, and sometimes Kevin will bring up demon stuff, but Betelgeuse has almost exactly a minute and a half of patience for answering questions or hearing about it. Still, Kev doesn’t stop. He might feel angrier if the breather wasn’t so god damn cute.

The air is starting to go cold, and leaves are beginning to fall. October is settling in, getting comfortable, and mom’s starting to break out the Halloween décor. It’s the middle of a kind of gloomy, Autumn day, when things get weird.

Kevin has the book open, much to Betelgeuse’s annoyance, and he’s blabbing away about a demon that supposedly grants wealth- “Do you think you could do that?” -when Betelgeuse looks down at the book, and sees Juno looking back at him. It’s not really her, it’s an illustration, but he’d recognize the bitch anywhere. She’s ink, glaring up from the page, those same age lines etched into her face, confirming his private theory that she’d been an old hag even when she was young. The slit neck is prominent, and as he stares, he sees smoke billow out of it. Oh, fuck no.

He grabs the book and slams it shut, startling Kevin, and then he teleports it directly under them, a mile down in the rock of the earth. Kev blinks for a moment, confused, before looking at his friend. “Wh.. Dude, WHAT?”

“Possessed book,” he croaks out, feeling tense, because he can smell cigarette smoke. “And you’re afraid of it? Why? You are also a literal fucking demon!” “That’s why I’m not messin’ with it!” Betelgeuse stands up, uneasy. The ground around the tree feels weird, now. He doesn’t like it here anymore. “Cause I actually understand why it’s a bad fuckin’ idea! God, you should have instincts that tell you not to mess with this stuff! You’re deficient, Kev, seriously.”

“Me deficient? Seriously?” Kev snaps, which hurts in a new, unexpected way. “Whatever, asshole. Give me my book back.” Kevin stands up, too, but he’s not uneasy, he’s angry.

“It’s better off where it is.”

“Which is where?”

Betelgeuse glances down. The grass around the tree is starting to wither. Kevin follows his gaze, but doesn’t seem to notice the dying vegetation. “You buried it? Come on!”

“Leave it, Kev.”

“This isn’t just your cool secret, anymore, it’s mine too!” Kevin glares at him. “You can’t keep me out of it, BJ. That’s not fair. God, at this point, I know more than you! You should be listening to me!”

He feels his volatile temper flare.

“Ex-fuckin’-scuze me?”

He waits for Kevin to take it back. Instead, his friend doubles down. “Demons have to listen to humans,” Kevin crosses his arms. “If they’re summoned. It’s in the book.” “Nobody summoned me,” Betelgeuse snarls, letting his real snake eyes show, an intimidation tactic that works for about half a second. Kevin’s too used to him, at this point. “I’m up here on a deal.” “Bet I could do it. I bet I could summon you. Then you’d have to listen to me.” “Yeah? Well, good luck without your stupid book!” He storms off, leaving Kevin standing there.

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The rest of the day sucks. He’s moody all day, annoyed in the car, grumpy in his room. He cranks metal and wishes he’d learned to play a guitar instead of his rinky, happy sounding ukulele. The instrument isn’t going to produce the noise he wants to express himself, right now. He throws it across the room, into a wall, where it smashes, and reforms a minute later, because… it’s still his favorite, after all. Even if it’s no good for expressing his teenage angst.

He can hear shuffling, and talking, outside his room, though he can’t make out what’s being said over the music. After a moment, though, there’s a knock at his door. “Hey, Bug?” Emily calls. “Can you come give me a hand with something?” He wants to tell her to piss off, go away, to leave him the hell alone, but.. It’s Emily. The CD player lets out a strangled choke and suddenly stops, and the door swings open, all without him moving from his flopped position on the bed. “Sup, ma?” he grunts. Emily peaks her head into the room, and smiles when she sees him, the expression radiating warmth and adoration and.. Oh, God/Satan, bless his sunbeam of a mother. “Just wondering if you’re free to do a little decorating?” She reaches behind her and grabs a fake severed bloody limb from the box he assumes she’s dragged into the hallway from the attic. “Don’t you worry it takes away from the “wow factor” to do Halloween twice a year?” He asks, standing and stretching, before apparating in the hallway behind her, and giving the decor box a nudge with his boot. “What? No way, there’s never enough Halloween!” Emily grins. “Get that, please.” The box floats along behind him as they head downstairs. They pause in the entryway, as Emily thinks out loud. “So, maybe the kitchen should be-” “Functional as a kitchen, please,” Charles calls from the living room. Emily rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine! Spoilsport! We’ll focus on the entryway for now,” she decides. “You wanna put up cobwebs in the rafters?” She gets on tiptoes to reach into the floating box, and he lowers it a bit for her, as she grabs the fake webbing. “I could just instantly decorate the whole room,” He takes to floating next to the box. “Could make sure it’s all normal human stuff, too,” He adds, before she can respond. “I know you can… But I like decorating,” Emily says brightly. “It’s not about getting it done quickly. It’s about, you know, doing it together.” “So why are dad and Lydia slacking?” Her smile doesn’t falter, but becomes softer. “It kinda felt like you needed some mom time, today,” She says simply. God, she can read him easier than Kev can read his stupid book. “We got in a fight,” he admits. She hums at that, because he only has one friend. It’s not hard to guess who he could possibly mean. “I’m sorry, Bug. What over?” He hesitates. So far he’s not let any of his family in on this book business. He’s been sort of hoping it could just go away on it’s own, and not be a thing. Kevin’s made it into a thing, though, and not telling even his mom feels… bad.

“He’s really into demons. Like, really, really into em,” He rasps, floating up and beginning to put up the spiderwebs, as his mother takes down the usual, sort of spooky wall hangings and trades them for her very intentionally spooky Halloween ones. “He’s got this book, an’ it’s all about demons an’ like, how to summon them, an’ their powers, an’ stuff… Sometimes th’ way he talks, it’s like.. Are we friends cause we’re friends, or friends cause you think I’m gonna be... useful?”

Maybe that doesn't make any sense, but that’s how it’s been feeling, like there’s an invisible shoe hanging midair, and it’s about to drop. His mother waits until he’s finished before looking up at him. “And you fought over that?” She prods. “Not exactly.” How the fuck can she even tell that, though? Damn her mom powers. He really, really didn’t want to talk about this, not to her, but… “I saw Juno. In th’ book,'' He lowers back down to the floor, and digs through the box, pulling out fake body parts. Back up he goes, to stick these in the fake webbing. “It was just a drawing of her, but it started like.. Billowing smoke-”

“From the neck,” His mother remembers, suppressing a shudder.

“Yeah. I could smell the smoke. So I got rid of the book, buried it in th’ school yard, but Kev got all pissy about it. He thinks he’s an expert on this shit, an’ he’s gonna mess with somethin’ big if he keeps this up.” “I’m sure you’ve told him that.” “He doesn’t listen. He gets this look in his eye, like it’s a game, or like… I dunno. Feels sometimes like he thinks he’s…” He searches for the words. “Like he thinks he oughta be the boss a’me, or somethin’.”

He rubs absentmindedly at the moss on his nose. It clings, stubborn as ever, same with the patches by his hairline, and he’s found it’s easier to just add another little layer to his glamour than try to do anything about it.

Maybe that’s indicative of a bigger problem. It’s easier to do a bit of magic and make everything look better than to actually fix the underlying problem. Ugh, introspection, how absolutely miserable. He wants to keep thoughts like that locked away tight, but they have a habit of slipping past his mental defenses and making him feel worse. Absolutely no one can make him feel shittier than he himself can. He sinks to the ground, going purple, and he’s instantly wrapped in his mother’s arms. “It’s okay, Beetlejuice,” Emily has both her hands on the back of his head, and he pushes his face into the crook of her neck. “I just.. I’ve only got the one friend,” he groans. “I don’t wanna stop bein’ his friend, but.. Fuck, ma.”

“I know.” Her voice is a soothing balm. She works her hands through the mess of purple hair at the back of his head. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s lonely at school, but school isn’t forever,” she tries to assure him. “If your friend is treating you this way, well.. He’s not a very good friend. Do you want to be around someone who makes you feel this bad? Does it feel worth it, to you?”

He knows the correct answer is, “No,” but he’s not sure if his self esteem is high enough for that.

“I like him a lot,” He grumbles, and she hums again. “He’s handsome,” She says, and then pulls back far enough to pinch his nose. “But not as handsome as my son, of course,” and it’s silly enough to help knock away his mood, so that’s something, at least. “What should I do?” He doesn’t pull away from her, just soaks up the mom energy for as long as he can. “I think you need to have a talk,” Emily tells him. “Lay out how you’re feeling. Try to get his side of things, and make sure he hears your side, too. Then, at least you both tried, you know?”

It’s such a mom type answer. He groans again.

“I was worried you’d say some shit like that.” She fuzzes his hair, and he feels the tingle in his scalp that means it’s changed colors. Back to green, he assumes. “You know your moss changes color along with your hair? And your creepo-stache?” “Leave the stache alone, it’s tryin’ it’s best,” He pretends to be defensive.

“It makes you look like the founder of a forum for people who marry their cars,” Lydia offers, from the bottom step of the staircase, where she has apparently been just chilling and listening.

“Wh-! Mom, it’s not that bad, right?” Emily tilts her head to the side and gives what can only be described as a condescending smile. “Oh, you’re both in for it now.” He brings the various decor items to life to terrorize them, and then Charles joins his side, sympathizing with his son vis-à-vis bad teenage facial hair, and by the time the whole squabble is over, hardly any decorating has gotten done… But he does feel better. His family’s good like that.

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Monday rolls around, same as it always does, but there’s a weird feeling in the air. Halloween is a week away, barely missing getting a weekend date, but there’s some big Halloween bash the school is apparently throwing. There’s fliers for it everywhere, plastered all over lockers and bulletin boards. He’s not much of a participator, though, and his reaction to his locker being plastered over with invites to a party he doesn't care about is to snap his fingers. All the fliers on all the lockers up and down the hall, all instantly fall loose at once, littering the floor. A few students jump back, but no one looks his way, because why would they?

He’s grabbing his history textbook when he feels a tap on the shoulder, and when he turns, it’s a girl he recognizes, but her name is absolutely lost on him.

“You’re BJ, right?” Miffy askes, and he nods. “Yeah, s’right,” and Margo seems to wince at how gruff his voice is, before continuing. “Um, you and that guy Kevin, you’re like…” Milicent trails off, waiting for him to finish her thought, but sorry, baby, he can barely finish his own. “Like…?” He says, with his gravel voice copying her tone and inflection, and she huffs. “Together?” Marge asks, “Like, all of the time?”

He cocks his head, and squints at her, hands t-rexing at his sides, as Lydia likes to say.\

“Usually,” He concedes, and he gets the feeling he’s dragging this out much, much more than Mango clearly wants, because he spies a group of girls a little ways off, waiting for her. One of them is staring intently, more focused on him, but he pushes that thought aside.

“Look, okay, he’s gonna be out for a few days, and I’m just trying to see if you can take him his homework,” McGrubber has grown tired of having to stand here, talking to the chubby goth loser, apparently. “I’m a student aid in the office and they’re trying to make me do it, but I have track practice!” Thaaaat’s where he knows her from. She looks different, not bouncing and sweating and also not half a football field away. “Sure, fine, I’ll make sure Kev gets his work. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on running in a fuckin’ circle, Maria.” Her face sours. “It’s Blair.” So close. “Who fuckin’ cares,” He replies, and turns back to his locker. He can hear her rejoin her friend group, all of them fawning over her harrowing experience of having to speak to him in public. The last thing he hears from Blair is, “He’s just so goddamn weird,” and then the group rounds the corner.

He closes his locker harder than he maybe needs to.

Kevin isn’t in class that day, or the next, or even the one after. The shade tree has withered and died completely, it’s color sapped and gone, and even walking near it makes him feel uneasy. His new lonely lunch spot is under the bleachers, which feels even more voyeuristic of a spot to watch the track team, but even that activity feels tainted, somehow. He’s back to being lonely.

He can’t stand being lonely.

It gets so bad he contemplates sitting, wait for it, on the bleachers, and maybe even trying to strike up a conversation, but he’s too chicken shit. He’s been going to school with these kids for the past three years, and no one’s wanted to talk to him or chat with him in all that time. He can’t imagine that’s about to change.

Still, on Thursday, miserable and lonely, he gives it a try.

Sitting up here sucks. It’s just a hard metal seat on a gloomy day, and when he’d ventured up and sat down, other people had slowly moved away from him, until he was sitting by himself, all the breathers huddled in a different area, away from him. He'd tried talking, but hardly had a "Hey, how ya doin'?" grated out before the migration began.

Figures.

He finishes eating and lies on his back, resting his hands on his chest, eyes closed, and after a while he feels someone standing over him, and something laid over his hands. He opens his eyes. There’s the most beautiful girl staring down at him. She’s got long, bleach blonde hair, darker at the roots, which is hanging down in a halo around her face, and the biggest, clearest blue eyes he’s ever seen. He glances down, to see she’s placed a daisy over his hand. He looks back up at her, amber eyes questioning.

“You looked so still,” She smiles. Her voice is like music. He thinks he can hear harps. “With your hands folded like that. Kind of like an open casket.” He’d been forgetting to breathe, apparently, which happens sometimes. She thought he looked like a corpse, and she placed a flower over him.

“Sorry, if that’s weird. You’re.. BJ?” She asks, and he picks up the daisy, sits up, and nods. “Yeah, you’re…” “Barbara,” she fills him in. “You’re not so good with names.” “Mmm. Buffy tell you that?” He recognizes her now, from that group of girls. Barbara sits next to him, which makes zero sense. “It’s Blair,” she corrects him gently, but not without a giggle in her voice. “Oh, right.” Her name could be fuckin’ Moonpie and it’d make the same amount of difference to him, but he’d agree with anything Barbara said, if it meant she kept sitting there, talking to him. “Are you going to the Halloween party?” She asks. “Supposed to be pretty killer. It kind of seems like your scene.” “I’m not exactly a social butterfly,” which is the understatement of the god damn century, honestly, but she laughs and nudges her shoulder with his. “Well, I think you should come. I bet you’d have the coolest costume. Maybe think about it?”

“I guess, maybe..” He says lamely, because his brain is short circuiting from that small touch.

“Barb, come on!” someone calls to her from a ways away, on the track. Lunch is nearly over. She stands, and smooths down the long skirt she’s wearing, which is modest but flattering. “Later, BJ,” she smiles, and just like that, she’s gone, like an angel going back up to heaven in a beam of light, off to rejoin her friends. He can hear what she says to them, though. “You guys are mean, he’s not so bad. Just shy.”

He keeps the daisy in a little glass of water on his dresser, and strums love songs on his ukulele.

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Thinking about Barbara and her smile and the way she nudged him is a fun distraction, at least for a little while, but when it’s Saturday, and he still hasn’t heard from Kevin, he decides it’s time to demon up and see what the fuck is happening with him. He’s been just teleporting Kev’s homework inside his room, and he’s sure it’s falling into a pile on the floor each time and startling him, but no one ever said how he had to deliver it. Today though, emboldened by the pretty girl on the bleachers, he appears at Kevin’s front door instead, holding Friday’s work, and he knocks. It takes a moment, but Mr. Loh answers.

Betelgeuse hasn’t had much chance to interact with Kev’s dad. He looks like a normal, tired dad, wholly unimpressive, and kinda short. Chuck could wrestle this guy to the mat, no problem.

“Oh, BJ,” Mr. Loh says, and then glances at what’s in his hands. “Kevin’s homework? Thank you. He’s holed up in his room… won’t come out.. Maybe,” and he suddenly looks hopeful. “You two are friends. Maybe you can try talking to him?”

Well, that’s what he was there to do anyways, so sure. “I gotcha, Mr. L,” he nods, stepping inside, and heading up the stairs and down the hall to Kevin’s room. The closer he gets to the door, though, the weirder he feels. Something stinks, figuratively and literally. It smells like… It smells like the waiting room. It’s that same, veil is thin type air that he can smell on Halloween night, but how the fuck is he smelling it here? He bangs on Kevin’s door. “Hey, Kev, it’s the B-Man,” he calls, trying to keep his tone playful, but he feels like he’s doing a poor job. What the hell is going on? “Come on, man, open up!” He tries again, when he receives no response. He thinks he can hear a shuffle behind the door. “Dude, I will bust this fuckin’ door down,” He growls, all the play gone from his tone. “You know I will. Better yet-”

He appears inside the bedroom, just in time for Kevin to slam shut the closet door. Kevin turns to look at him, back pressed to the wood. There’s a beat, both teens staring at each other, wide eyed, Betelgeuse in that weird way he does, and Kevin looking frazzled. “What,” the demon grates out, “the fuck, are you getting up to in here? It smells like the netherworld, Kev.” Unfortunately, that makes Kevin’s face light up. “It does? Oh my god, that’s perfect! It must be starting to work!” He crosses the bedroom, going to his desk, where an old book is sitting open. It’s not the same one he took from his friend, it can’t be, that book is still a mile down in presumably solid rock. “Another musty ass tome, great,” he growls, but Kevin ignores him, flipping through the book.

He hates feeling ignored.

A black and white striped arm sprouts from Kevin’s desk, and slams the book shut, which makes the breather turn and glare at him. “Get out of my room, BJ,” is all Kevin says, and Betelgeuse ignores that, instead crossing the floor to get a look at that book. “Where th’ hell do you keep finding these fuckin’ things?”

“This one I bought from a one armed man living out of a 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale,” Kevin recites. Betelgeuse squints at him, top teeth over bottom lip. “You’re too gay to know what that means,” he says, plainly, and Kevin shrugs. “He wouldn’t stop talking about his stupid car. I now know more about that antique than I know about geography.” It feels fun, for a second, like this drama isn’t happening, and they’re just having a conversation. It doesn’t last, though. He can’t let Kev off the hook.

“So you bought a second cursed book, this time from some amputee homeless guy, and you’re just, doing the rituals inside of it? And this seems like a super good idea to you?”

“I’m practicing,” Kevin replies.

“So what’s in the closet, Kevin?”

“Get out of my room, Betelgeuse.”

The way Kevin says his name is weird. It doesn’t feel like how it normally feels when a breather says the full thing. He shakes it off, and gives his friend a defiant look, before waving a hand and throwing open the closet door. There’s a cleared spot, in the middle of the closet floor, and a fucking summoning circle in what smells like, “Pig’s blood? Couldn’t get human?” He turns to look at Kevin, who is glaring at him intently. He matches the look.

“Betelgeuse Shoggoth, get out of my room.”

That gets his attention. It feels like an invisible hand is pushing him, and he stumbles back out of the room, confused. “W-what?” Kevin is just standing there, staring at him, and Betelgeuse stares back, eyes wild. “You motherfucker,” he hisses, eyes in snake slits, teeth sharp, claws extended. “You wanna do that “real name” bullshit with me? That the choice you’re makin’ here, Kev?”

Kevin doesn’t even look phased. “I’m working on gaining a bit more control, but looks like that works, for now.”

“You’re cracked!” Betelgeuse growls, absolutely furious. “You’re really tryin’ to summon me? Are you out of your head!?”

“You’re wasting your powers,” Kevin storms forward. “You’re a supernatural being, and you go to school and play your stupid ukulele, and don’t even try to do anything bigger. You could be stepping on everyone under you,” his former friend is going red in the face. “You could be leading, you could be ruling, but you just jerk off in your room and play pretend at being human. But someone might as well profit, here. Why not me?”

“I thought.. I thought we were friends,” is all the demon can say, lamely, and Kevin’s smile is the meanest thing he’s ever seen on a breather. “Once you’re fully listening to me, we can be friends again. Betelgeuse Shoggoth, get out of my house.”

He feels that same invisible pull, and he thinks maybe if he was stronger he could resist it, but a demon’s true name is like a lead on a dog, meant to control them, and unfortunately, Kevin has a tight hand on his leash. He makes it to the front door, and stumbles out, covering his face until he can calm himself enough to reapply his glamour.

Shit, he thinks, straightening up, and staring up at Kevin’s bedroom window. He is so fucked. ``````````````````````````````````````````````` Posted this chapter and another over at Ao3. You can read it right here

[goddamnitkastle]

The Ring

Happy Valentine’s Day!

So I finished my binge watch of the CW’s Nikita and well, I think we all know by now that I just love ripping off scenarios from other media and making Kastle fics. It’s my schtick and I’m gonna run it into the ground.

So here is an unconventional marriage proposal Kastle fic. Honestly this is probably how it would go anyway so it’s not like it’s beyond the realm of reality.

But first I want to give a huge thank you to my beta reader and editor, the amazing @joanofarkansass. This fic was initially, um, rough to put it nicely. But like a fairy godmother, she made it happen with incredible insight and gentle critique. I am literally indebted to you and I cannot thank you enough.

I also want to thank @evilbunnyking for reading the final draft, their awesome support, and catching every misplaced period and comma. Thank you!

And just a heads up, the canon in this is really screwy. Foggy and Karen know that Matt is Daredevil and Daredevil Season 2 is canon but basically just ignore the rest of the Daredevil/The Punisher Netflix/MCU timeline lol. Frank is a free man and clear of all charges here (yes that is unbelievable but just go along with it please and thank you). This is canon divergence borderlining on AU and slightly self indulgent and well, I don’t care ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Enjoy!

Karen pulls up right behind the police cruiser, about a block away from the 15th Precinct. She gets out and knocks on the windshield window, making Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney jerk his head up at her in fear for a fraction of a second.

But once he sees her he lets out an annoyed sigh and gets out. Karen crosses the front of the cruiser to get out of the street and onto the sidewalk, trying to hide her laughter from scaring Brett.

“What’s got you nervous, Mahoney?” Karen asks as he joins her and pockets his keys.

“What’s got me... oh, you know, about to watch Frank Castle walk out and be a free man. Again.”

“Nelson and Murdock won the case. Unfortunately this was not the sequel to The People vs. Frank Castle that New York City was hoping for.”

“That you were hoping for?” Mahoney cracks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No. Well, maybe Ellison was hoping for it, but… look I’m just glad he was acquitted and that justice prevailed. It’ll be a more positive ending to write up.”

Mahoney shakes his head and starts walking toward the precinct. Karen follows and falls into his stride.

“Look, I know he didn’t kill that mobster,” Brett starts. “As crazy as that sounds, given his track record. But he gave us a hell of a time when we arrested him…”

“Do you blame him? In the span of two years, he has been charged and put on trial for murder twice,” Karen says pointedly.

“Well, you didn’t hear me say this but… the guys did a great job convincing everyone that Frank Castle was a changed man.”

“He is a changed man, Brett.”

“Believe me Karen, I know. I thought Frank Castle was scary as a man who had nothing to lose. I was wrong. Apparently I needed to deal with Frank Castle when he’s got someone he cares about…”

Now it’s Karen’s turn to jerk her head up at him.

“What did he say?” she asks.

“Nothing incriminating, your reputation is safe... I guess. But it’s all over the man’s face Karen. He really…”

“I know.”

It’s a tense silence but the look Mahoney gives Karen is more perplexed than judgmental.

“Do Nelson and Murdock know?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Jesus…”

“We kept it quiet for a while but when he was arrested we had to tell them. They’re… slowly coming around to it. Should only take another couple years for them to be sort of okay with us.”

“Yeah I doubt that,” Brett replies sarcastically.

Karen chuckles half heartedly in response.

He quickly sobers up again though. “Well if you’re both happy then… I am glad. You both deserve some happiness after this shit show.”

“Thank you, Brett. That’s really sweet of you.” Karen says, just barely able to hide the emotion in her voice.

“Like I said, you didn’t hear any of this from me. Alright, let’s go get him.”

Just then, the front doors of the precinct building burst open with Matt and Foggy dragging Frank away from a horde of pissed off cops.

“Shit,” Mahoney mutters. He jogs ahead toward the mob with his hands up to stop their hot pursuit.

Karen takes her .380 out of her purse and speed walks toward the commotion. She honestly hopes she’s not gonna have to use it but she’s glad to have the comforting weight of it in her hand. She catches up to Matt and Foggy as they let go of Frank. Matt tilts his head toward her, then lets out a deep sigh.

“Come on Karen, that’s not…” he says as he gestures towards her hand that’s holding her gun.

“It’s just Mahoney, Matt. They’re gonna kill him. We have to help,” Karen insists ardently.

“No, we have to get out of here,” Matt dismisses with a wave of his free hand.

“I’m with Matt on this one, Karen,” Foggy agrees. “You have no idea how lucky we got with this case. And that none of those cops tried to kill him just now.”

“Exactly, because of Brett.” She turns her attention back to Matt, who has his walking stick in a vice grip. “We can’t leave him behind.”

“The cops are just upset. They’d be stupid to try anything. He is their boss, and at the end of the day they have to follow his orders.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Karen argues.

The frustration is palpable between the three of them. Karen just then notices Frank’s silence. She turns to him and takes in his clenched jaw and that trigger finger of his tapping away against his thigh.

“Frank? Are you…”

Just then several loud shouts catch everyone’s attention. Mahoney is on the ground now and a cop has his gun drawn.

“Oh, that’s not…” Foggy gasps.

“Come on Foggy.” Matt grabs Foggy’s arm, leaving Frank and Karen alone.

“Let’s get to the car, Frank. Before this gets a lot worse…”

Frank’s expression had barely changed so when he whips his head toward her she can’t help but take a step back.

“Give me the gun,” Frank commands quickly.

“What? Why?”

“Give me the damn gun, Karen!”

He snatches it from her hands and runs back toward Mahoney and the cops.

“Where are you going?!” Karen shouts incredulously.

“To get your engagement ring!” Frank shouts back.

Karen is stunned and suddenly, the last month comes into focus for her. The jumpiness of his movements whenever she entered a room before he was arrested. His trigger finger tapping away more than usual during the trial. How his bottom lip began to tremble out of nowhere each time she kissed him.

Karen smiles as Frank bolts past Matt and Foggy. He takes on several cops at once, knocking them down like bowling pins. Karen makes her way to the boys as Foggy raises his arms in disbelief while Matt tries to pull him away.

“Unbelievable! Are you kidding me, Castle?!” Foggy yells. “Matt, can’t you do something?”

“I’m in the wrong suit, Foggy.”

“Damn it.”

“Matt is also technically blind Foggy. Do we really want to open that Pandora’s box tonight?” Karen reminds him.

“Come on, let’s get to the car. Looks like we’re gonna have to make an escape. And figure out how we can keep this quiet...” Matt muses.

“We almost got through this damn trial without issue, I swear on the Nelson name…” Foggy groans as he runs his hand over his face.

“Karen, come on,” Matt says as he passes her.

Brett is the last man standing and both men have their guns pointed at each other. Karen is about to join the standoff when Brett holds his hand out and reaches into his back pants pocket. He reveals a ring box. Frank takes it and starts running toward her.

“Go! Go! Go!” Frank hollers at her.

Karen bolts to the car, makes a beeline for the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. Frank joins her a moment later in the passenger seat, flushed pink and his hand wrapped around the ring box.

...

“I’m surprised you didn’t take me to Metro General. Or get us back in that service elevator at the hotel…”

Frank laughs and Karen is relieved that the last 24 hours haven’t deterred Frank.

“Seriously, what was your proposal plan?” She teases as she pokes him in the arm.

“Just... trust me Karen. Okay?”

The Williamsburg Bridge is shadowed by a deep orange sunset as they walk hand in hand. Frank suddenly stops and Karen’s stomach drops. He turns to her, tears in his eyes as he exhales a shaky breath.

Suddenly Karen can’t catch her breath, everything is about to change and she isn’t sure she is ready for it. “Frank, you don’t have to do this…”

“Yes I do. It’s tradition and I’m a traditional man. And the hell I went through to get this ring to you... I want to do this right.”

He gets down on one knee and Karen covers her mouth with her hand. Frank produces the ring box in his hand and opens it. It’s simple; a small, oval diamond on a silver band. It’s perfect.

“Karen. A long time ago now, in some diner, I told you that you had everything with a man that I thought you deserved to be with. I told you to hold onto it, use two hands, and never let go. But the truth was he didn’t deserve you. And I honestly don’t either. But I will spend whatever remaining days I have to be worthy of someone like you. I love you. Karen Page, will you marry me?”

Karen hoists Frank off the ground, holding his face in between her hands. Any doubt she was holding onto is gone now.

“You had me at ‘Give me the damn gun, Karen.’”

They both laugh as Karen holds out her left hand. Frank takes the ring out of the box, caresses her hand before sliding the ring into place. They crash into each other, their hands wrapped around each other’s necks.

“I love you too, Frank Castle,” she says when they finally break apart. She takes his hand as the darkness settles in around them. But the ring doesn’t feel like the weight of her .380. Rather it feels like it has always been there. Like home. And she’ll fight like hell to keep it that way and so will Frank. They’re in this together now.

[ashtheshortstack]

seeking the truth - part 1

Rating: T Fandom: Danny Phantom

Part 1: The Truth of Vlad Masters

Tags: Valerie POV, Post D-Stabilized, Pre-PP, Sorta Reveal Fic

Read on ao3

Part 2

Humiliation… Guilt… Shame… Fury… Each emotion swirled through Valerie like the five stages of grief on a marathon. The anger was most prominent. Vlad Masters played her like a fool. How dare he!? She was a teenager whose life was in shambles, and he’d taken advantage of her pain! Conned her into believing that Phantom was the enemy. 

Not that Phantom hadn’t actually screwed up her life. Because he did. She’d later learned after fighting her fair share of ghosts that the ghost dog did break out of the Ghost Zone on occasion. Maybe, it had just been easier to blame Phantom for ruining her father’s career than to accept that a lot of it was an accident. When she was handcuffed to the ghost boy, she’d realized he was basically just a stupid kid himself. 

What idiots they both were, huh? 

Valerie flopped down on her bed, tears stinging her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him that. The one adult on this planet she thought understood her. Thought really had her back and was on her side… It was all a lie. Just another ghost using her for personal gain. Damn, she hated ghosts. Why did she live in Amity Park of all places? Clearly, the most haunted town in America. (Thanks to the Fentons, she was almost sure.) 

But what did she really know? Nothing made any sense. Humans can be ghosts? Ghosts can be humans? What the hell was that all about? How was that even possible? 

Groaning, Valerie buried her face in her pillow. “I have to talk to Phantom,” she muttered to herself. 

He said he’d be “ready to play” the next day. Maybe, there needed to be less gun and ghost ray blasts and more sharing time. She had to understand how Danielle was “related” to him if she was human. Unless… Phantom wasn’t all ghost himself? 

...There was no way she was getting a restful night's sleep. 

  Valerie wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, but she was definitely jarred awake by the sound of her ghost detection device blaring loudly. Yelping, she sat straight up in her bed and quickly opened the tracker to see the blinking dot on the screen. The ghost wasn’t too far from her home. Maybe it was Phantom? Even if it wasn’t, he’d probably show up anyway. The ghost boy never seemed to be able to resist a fight. Playing hero all of the time… 

It was that stupid Box Ghost again. Despite how annoying she found Phantom’s smartass quips to be, the prior was the worst of them all. Phantom was already sucking the ghost into the Fenton Thermos (which she still idly wondered where he had acquired one) by the time she finally approached the scene. 

Phantom capped off the thermos while staring at her. His mouth was agape, those neon green eyes wide in surprise. “U-Um. Hi? Not that I’m complaining, but you’re not shooting me? I thought we called the truce off.” 

Valerie pursed her lips, eyes hard as she squinted at him. How on earth would she convince him to discuss anything with her? They were enemies. The last twenty-four hours--despite changing her life a lot-- didn’t change that. “We need to talk.” 

“ Talk? ” he asked with a stunned scoff. “This is new. You’ve never been much of a Chatty Kathy. Except when you’re zapping me for answers--you’re not going to zap me for answers again, are you?” 

Why was he like this!? It took every bit of her to keep her temper in check. 

Crossing her arms, Valerie took a breath. “Look, I know Vlad Masters is Vlad Plasmius.” 

Well, that got his attention. All humor was suddenly drained from his face. He was--well--pale as a ghost for a lack of a better term. Those green eyes hardened. “How’d you find out?” 

“After you and Danielle left, I went back to check on Mr. Mas-- Vlad and saw him transform. Heard him talking about his whole jacked up plan about melting down Danielle too. I need answers, Phantom, and I expect you to corporate.” 

Sighing, his shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m guessing if I don’t come willingly, you’re just going to bring out the literal big guns, huh?”

Valerie just smirked in response. 

“Fine,” Phantom groaned, ruffling a gloved hand through his hair. “But there will be some things I can’t answer--for my own safety, okay?” 

“Deal.” 

  They found a building to sit on. It was out of sight from the peeping public, so no one in Amity could just ask why the ghost boy was hanging out with the Red Huntress for the evening. Plus, if her dad found out… he’d have her ass. 

Phantom leaned against the brick. “What do you want to know?” 

“How long has Vlad Masters been a ghost?” she asked. 

“Since college.” 

“That long?” 

Phantom snorted. “How do you think he got loaded? He overshadowed tycoons and robbed banks.” 

Valerie almost couldn’t believe it. But she’d seen him transform with her own eyes. How someone she had admired could be so low. Not just a filthy ghost, but a legitimate criminal. 

There was a tightness in her chest. She felt so guilty . Phantom had tried to warn her, hell Danielle even warned her. But she was so dead set in her hatred for Phantom and her trust in Vlad that she refused to listen. 

“So, you and Vlad have this--rivalry?” 

Snorting, Phantom shook his head. “You don’t know the half of it. He… He’s weirdly obsessed with me. He wants me to be his son and take over the world with him.” 

“That’s--crazy.” 

“Yeah, he’s a crazed up fruit loop.” 

Valerie snickered at that. Could it have always been this way? Could she and Phantom have gotten along like this if she’d just… listened? 

“Well, I’d say we have a common enemy now.” 

His brows shot up. “Really?” 

“Yeah, definitely. Can’t have anyone as powerful as Vlad as both a ghost and a human running around. Especially as our mayor,” she paused, “which does lead me to my next question. Do all of the ghosts know that he’s human?” 

Phantom nodded slowly. “Yeah, the Ghost Zone knows about halfas.” 

Valerie blinked. “‘Halfas?’” 

“Uh… nothing.” 

“There’s more half ghosts? Besides Vlad and Danielle?” 

Phantom suddenly wasn’t answering. He pursed his lips, staying silent. Valerie wasn’t stupid. They both knew that. She was able to put two and two together. 

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” 

He wouldn’t meet her gaze. 

Valerie felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. A rug swept out from beneath her. Literally everything she thought she knew about ghosts wasn’t true. Some ghost hunter she was. Did the Fentons know of half ghosts? Maybe, she could ask Danny? 

“You’re… human?” 

“I can’t…” he swallowed, “I can’t answer that.” 

  But he was answering. She knew it. Phantom was human too. 

[jinned]

reading the stars | jimin

snippet: it’s Jimin’s birthday and what better way to celebrate than by telling him all about his astrology chart?

pairing: jimin x female reader

genre: fluff

au: slice of life, established relationship

rating: pg

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none!

a/n: this is a birthday gift for my lovely friend @parksfilter​!! Kenz, you are such a sweet soul that has blessed my life. I hope you enjoy this little fic and that you have the best day! today is your day! thank you for being such an amazing friend to me and I hope that you’ll be in my life for many more years to come!

“Where are we going?” Jimin huffs behind a pile of blankets tickling at his nose. The air is crisp and cold tonight, not unlike any other night really, but tonight, it feels more alive.

“Hurry up and you’ll find out!” You call behind you, unable to hide the giant smile growing across your face.

You and Jimin have been dating just a little over four months now, and things have never been better. Normally, you’re not the type of girl to celebrate every single “monthiversary”, but tonight is slightly different.

"The perfect way to end the perfect birthday!" Jimin smiles blissfully as you both trek up the hillside.

"You literally just asked where we were going not even two seconds ago!" You laugh, transitioning the picnic basket from one hand to the other. This hill is a lot steeper than what you remembered from last time you were here a few weeks ago. Hair is flying out of your ponytail and into your face as you desperately try to mask your heavy breathing.

"The stars are out, the moon light is shining, and I'm with you. It's already perfect." Jimin smiles at you and leans in for a quick peck on your lips, which requires you to maneuver around the armfull of blankets.

Pausing on the hillside, you melt into his kiss, wishing it was longer. But there is plenty of time for that later. For now, you need to get to your destination.

After a few more moments of walking, you finally round the curve of the hill and reach your spot.

"Ah, finally!" You groan and jog over to the flattened ground. There's a large maple tree with leaves sprouting new orange spots, some quivering with the anticipation of falling soon. You motion for Jimin to place the blanket down further away from the tree, so that it'll be in the background to where you’ll be sitting. You were hoping more of the leaves had fallen so that you could sit beneath it and view the sky between the skeletal branches, but this will do just fine.

Once the blanket is placed, Jimin promptly jumps down upon it, opening his arms to accept the picnic basket, which you hand over willingly.

Inside, there's sandwiches, some of your favorite chips and crackers and a small slice of cake you got from the bakery down the street from where you live. You figured it would be too hard to lug around an actual full sized cake. There's some fun candles tucked tightly in your pant pocket that you're just itching to light for your boyfriend.

The food disappears fast as you both laugh through full mouths, sparkling cider even coming out of Jimin's nose after you tell the world's lamest joke.

"You're so..." Jimin coughs, trying to contain his coated bubbled laughter, "you're so stupid. How are you still this funny after months of us being together?"

Smirking, "That's the beauty of my charm. It never fades."

Jimin shakes his head at your humble response, looking up at the sky and getting lost in the stars.

"Weird to think that people spend their whole life studying those small specs of light, huh?" There's wonder in his eyes, a look not so foreign to you now.

You sit back and look up with him. "Right? I can't believe that people still deny astrology is real even though it's literally based on the stars themselves. There's science backing it all up."

Jimin makes a clicking sound with his tongue, moving his mouth sideways as he adjusts his sitting position. "I don't blame the skeptics. Astrology is so...weird. People base their whole identities around it and believe in horoscopes as if some stranger actually knows them."

"But, you just said people dedicate their lives to the stars. Isn't it kinda like, the same thing?" You crumple up your sandwich wrapper and toss it back into the basket, a little nervous that instead of celebratory, the conversation is becoming more stiff. The edge of the blanket looks enticing to fidget with, but you choose to stare at your boyfriend instead. His eyes look beyond the hillside thoughtfully, flicking his gaze up to the stars ever so slightly. Lip raw from gnawing on it so often, Jimin continues to grab at his bottom lip with his teeth, gnawing softly and slowly as he ponders over his next few thoughts.

"It just feels so...out of reach I guess. Kinda like magic."

"People are scared of it because of how real it feels. And it's different." Calmly, you scoot a little bit closer to Jimin and rest your head on his shoulder. Instantly, he leans his head on top of your own and it’s a comforting, familiar feeling that puts your previous anxieties at ease.

"I didn't know you were so passionate about astrology," he states.

"We've been together all these months now! How could you not have known? I swear I talk about it all the time."

"I guess you have mumbled a few words under your breath about random strangers before,” he chuckles, “I didn't really understand and always forgot to ask." 

You laugh, leaning away from Jimin as you do so.

"That's me publicly guessing what someone's sun sign could be! Like, when there’s a girl at the mall looking back and forth between two of the same shirt in two different colors? Classic Libra sun. Or when you hear someone laughing loudly and everyone just naturally gravitates towards them? Gemini sun or Leo sun."

Jimin stares at you with large, confused doe eyes.

Thinking for a moment, it finally hits you why he's staring at you this way, "you don't know what a sun sign is, do you?" You cry out in frustration. Jimin just casually shrugs and takes a sip of his water.

"Do you even know what your own sun sign is?" The surprise is overtaking all of your other emotions. This is pretty basic stuff that most people know. Nowadays, people know which hogwarts house they belong in, their MBTI, and their sun, moon, and rising signs. Hell, it's in almost every girl's Instagram bio.

Sighing louder than normal, you wrap your arms around the side of Jimin's shoulders and squeeze him tightly. "This was supposed to be your birthday date night, but now it's a lecture. Before we have cake you will learn your astrology chart."

Jutting out his bottom lip, Jimin stares at you with wide pleading eyes, like a toddler asking for a toy in the store.

"But...it's my birthday," he says in his overly cute child-like voice that is nearly impossible for you to say no too. Your eye practically twitches with the thought of telling this adorable boyfriend of yours no.

Yet, you hold strong, shaking your head quickly while shutting your eyes- the only true way to combat his adorable pleading gaze.

“We are doing this right now and if you do well, IF, then your reward will be the cake.”

Groaning, Jimin rocks back on his tailbone, his criss-crossed legs going up in the air as he holds tightly to his knees with his hands. 

“Fine,” he gives up, “let’s get this over with.”

With newfound energy, you reach into the picnic basket and pull out your pen and notepad- which you have with you at all times for instances just like this, then you roll onto your stomach with your phone in your hands. “Okay, so there’s this website I use, it’s super helpful, it’ll show you your entire chart and even has paragraphs breaking down each planet placement you have, basically breaking down your personality for yourself!”

Jimin matches your position, brushing his shoulder up against yours before leaning his head there.

“Okay, you were born in Busan, right?” You start typing before you even finish asking.

“Right.”

Okay and then what time were you born?”

“I don’t know.”

You playfully smack him on the shoulder with your notebook. “Jimin!”

“Is this something normal people equipped in their wallets or something? Their entire birth charts and hospital records? How about I give you my social security number next?” He quips back, unable to hide his playful smile.

“No,” you laugh, “but you should know what time you were born!” An idea pops into your head; you clutch Jimin’s arm and shake him slightly.

“Call your mother!”

Scoffing, Jimin replies, “right now? Y/n. It’s almost 2am. My mother would have a heart attack if I called her at this hour.”

“But it’s important!” You whine.

“Is it really?” He’s still laughing, and this small voice in your head hopes you’re not annoying him too much.

The wind blows softly around you, shaking the leaves on the tree in the back. Telling yourself that yes it is a bit ridiculous to try to call his mother at this hour, especially because the relationship is still fairly new so you haven’t had much time to truly get acquainted with her.

“Fine. We can learn about your sun and moon signs tonight. But, tomorrow morning, we are finding out what time you were born so we can get your rising sign!” “This is all gibberish to me.” Smiling fondly, you pick up your dark pink glitter pen and uncap it.

“By the end of the night, you’ll be an expert. Now, let me break it down for you.”

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

© all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, translate, or repost. Jinned 08/10/20

[persephonesfill]

choke on me—chapter one

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter two

a/n: you all liked breathe me in so much that i got inspired to write a sequel! read breathe me in first before reading this fic. enjoy!

summary: After fending off an alien invasion, Tony Stark has one more obstacle to face; Steve Rogers. Steve believes that they have a connection which Tony is trying hard to ignore. After a moment of passion aboard the helicarrier, Tony can't seem to stay away from Steve as their lives grow ever more intertwined.

rating: Explicit, so explicit

warning(s):  tony has self confidence issues but what else is new, heavy smut

—————

Romanov’s eyes narrow when Tony and Steve enter the briefing room. 

The fact that they’re even having a meeting after a literal alien invasion makes Tony seethe. Bureaucracy never sleeps, he guesses. (He’s not pissed because SHIELD commandeered one of the rooms in his tower. Honest.) 

Tony arches a brow at Romanov. She’s a clever one, she has to be for her line of work, but Tony’s clever, too. He knows that to beat her at her own game, he has to play into it. 

“You’re late,” she says, in lieu of a greeting. Compared to the rest of them, she looks quite put together. Not a hair out of place, the cut on her forehead cleaned and bandaged. The archer—Barton, his brain supplies—sits with his feet propped on the table like a goddamn heathen. Tony doesn’t say anything, though. Barton’s eyes have a faraway look; the archer’s mind is on anything but social etiquette right now. Even Thor, who’s a supposed god, looks a bit winded with one hand on his hammer and the other propping up his face. Bruce is full-on asleep, not that Tony blames him, with a shock blanket strewn about his shoulders. 

“Fury isn’t here yet,” Tony says, sounding like a little kid arguing with his sister. 

Natasha hums, and her eyes flit over to Steve. “You two look friendly.” 

Steve, bless his heart, blushes but doesn’t say anything, and Tony’s just reminded of how he looked when he came down Tony’s throat; head thrown back, mouth open, and skin flushed.

Tony swallows down the sudden lump that arose in his throat and scrambles to come up with something, anything, to not blow their cover. He doesn’t want it to get out that he and Steve had got up to something.

“I was being a good host,” Tony says. “Steve wanted to see the tower. Or...what’s left of it.”

“It’s ‘Steve’ now?” she says with interest, and Tony curses her. He walked right into that one. 

Fortunately, Tony’s good at thinking on his toes. “Alright, you caught me, Romanov. I just spent the last half hour rocking Rogers’ world.” 

Steve chokes, and Tony jams his elbow into his side. Steve coughs into his arm and clears his throat. 

It’s got Romanov’s attention. And everyone else’s, apparently. Bruce is still sleeping, but Barton’s turned his eyes onto them, that faraway look receding slightly. Thor’s sitting up now, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. 

Romanov’s eyes roam from him to Steve and back again before she snorts. 

Tony’s surprised she can even make such a noise. 

“Fine,” she says. “Keep your secrets.” Somehow she makes it sound like a threat. 

“You’re seriously gonna leave it, Nat?” Barton asks.

“You didn’t see them before,” Romanov says, leaning back into her seat. “Rogers wouldn’t touch Stark with a ten-foot pole.”

Okay, that fucking hurts, but before Tony can even open his mouth to argue, because what the fuck Romanov, Fury stalks into the room with his duster flapping behind him. 

If Tony weren’t so pissed, he’d make a snide comment about Severus Snape. 

“Are you two going to sit down, or should I reschedule this meeting?” Fury says. 

Tony grits his teeth but sits down (far away from Romanov), and Steve sits next to him. 

They elect Thor to nudge Bruce awake, who looks at them with bleary eyes and his hair askew.

Steve places a big hand on Tony’s thigh underneath the table. It feels like a brand. 

The meeting is agonizingly slow and painful, and Tony wishes they all would leave. Barton and Thor almost come to blows over what they’re to do with Loki, but in the end, they decide to let the Asgardian face punishment in his own land, far, far away from Earth. 

“It’s not fair,” Barton hisses, his hand balling into a fist when Fury leaves the room with Thor on his coattails to collect his brother. “His daddy,” Barton spits out the word like a curse, “won’t punish him.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Bruce says, stifling a yawn. “Odin exiled Thor to earth when he disappointed him.”

“Banner’s got a point,” Romanov says. “I want him to pay, just as much as you,” she admits. “But how would we even go about punishing a god?” 

“I have ideas,” Barton says, and Tony flashes back to Afghanistan, to three months of darkness and dampness and death, and he understands Barton’s rage. 

“I’m sure you do,” Romanov says. “Pass them along to Thor and see how he takes them.”

“Or better yet, tell me,” Tony finds himself saying. Four pairs of eyes shoot to him. If he were a lesser man, he would have wilted under the sudden attention. “I’ve got a bone to pick with Reindeer Games, too.” 

“Yeah?” Barton says, crossing his arms. 

“Seriously,” Tony says. “Now that we know that beings like Loki and Thor exist, shouldn’t we be prepared for others like them?”

“Stark’s right,” Steve says. Tony tries to hide the surprise on his face. Were his blowjob skills that good? Steve squeezes his thigh in response. “Who’s to say that Loki was the last of them?” 

Tony’s skin prickles. The others may have fought the Chitauri, but Tony had seen them and what lay beyond them. He had always been good at seeing the forest behind the trees. He had a feeling that they had barely scraped the surface with the Chitauri. There was something or someone more vicious, more bloodthirsty than any other foe they had fought combined. 

All of the Avengers seemed to sober at that thought. 

“Well, we’ll just have to be ready, won’t we?” Romanov says, her voice cutting through the silence.

“We also deserve a day off,” Barton says. “At least I do. I don’t know about the rest of you slackers.” 

That defuses the tension in the room, just a bit. Bruce lets out a light chuckle while Natasha just rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, please, if anybody carried this team, it was me,” Natasha says. 

Steve’s hand leaves Tony’s thigh and slides up to the small of his back. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders as he leans back into Steve’s touch. Tony doesn’t know what Steve wants. He doesn’t know if their little triste was just that or if there was room for more. Tony doesn’t like not knowing things. But he’ll let Steve have this, for now.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I didn’t see anybody else carry a nuke on their shoulders into an interdimensional wormhole.” 

He waits for the snide comments, the jeers, the disgust to cross their faces but instead...instead they laugh. And it’s not a laugh of derision; Tony’s heard enough of those to recognize them. These are real, genuine laughs. 

“Fair,” Barton says, the corners of his lips quirking up. 

“No, not fair! Only two of us can fly,” Romanov says. 

“Can Thor really fly?” Bruce says. “I feel like it’s more of a controlled fall. He throws his hammer and lets the weight of it take him where he needs to go.” 

“He’s in the air, he’s moving, as far as I’m concerned, it’s flying,” Barton says. 

Tony and Barton end up arguing the semantics of flying over a finger of Tony’s best scotch, Bruce occasionally chiming in, Romanov and Steve looking on in amusement. 

They’re annoying, Tony thinks. They’re annoying and loud and destructive and—

Tony is starting to like them. His feelings had always crept up on him like a lion stalking its prey, only pouncing when he least expected it. He was starting to like them, even Romanov, who he was still kind of pissed at for her earlier comment. But he didn’t blame her. Why would Steve want to touch him? Tony had practically thrown himself at him.

“He pulled you in,” his mind supplies, trying to be helpful. “He pulled you in, and he kissed the living daylights out of you.”

But maybe Steve had been desperate? Desperation drove men to crazy lengths, including sleeping with your...enemies? That wasn’t right. It held too many negative connotations, and despite their rough start, Tony didn’t think he would ever fight against Steve. Rivals? Or was that too petty? Just what the hell were they? 

The state of his and Steve’s relationship (if he can even call it that) nags at him. The others start making their leave until Steve and Tony are the only ones left. 

The boardroom feels like a matchbox with Steve so close to him with no buffer. Steve’s making himself useful and tidying up the papers and glasses strewn about the table. Tony pours himself another finger of scotch, lets the whiskey burn his throat on the way down. He needed something to ground himself. His eyes follow Steve’s every movement like magnets. Heat blossoms low in his belly when he remembers how Steve had touched him like he was nothing but a toy for Steve’s pleasure. The thought shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. 

Tony clears his throat, catching Steve’s attention. 

“Some meeting,” Tony starts and immediately wants to slap himself. He should just get to the point. Why even bother with small talk? 

“You’re telling me,” Steve says carefully. Always so careful. Except for when his hands are shoved down Tony’s pants. 

Tony shifts in his seat and hopes that Steve won’t notice, but of course, when do things ever work out the way Tony wants them to? Steve’s eyes track his movements with all the purpose of someone used to analyzing situations. Is that what Steve thinks is about to happen? A battle? 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, setting down a stack of papers. 

“Sticky,” Tony says, deadpan. They hadn’t gotten the chance to clean off after their little...excursion on the helicarrier. 

Tony expects for him to blush like he did earlier after his standoff with Romanov. But instead, the bastard grins at him. 

“My bad,” Steve says. “Any other time, I’m pretty good at uh, cleaning up.” 

Tony throws back the last of his scotch and tries not to think of Steve on his knees licking at Tony’s thighs and groin and—

It’s not working. But then Tony remembers Romanov; “Steve wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole,” and any desire he had dies. He should nip this in the bud now. They are absolutely not having a repeat performance. 

“Good thing it was a one-off,” Tony says, hoping his voice comes off light and airy. “Otherwise, I’d be pissed.” 

Steve’s smile falls, and if Tony didn’t feel like an asshole before, he sure as hell does now. 

“Oh.” 

“Just a little favor between two pals, right?” Tony says just to dig the knife in a little deeper. “Let him hate me,” he thinks. “It’s easier that way.” 

“Right.” Steve clears his throat. “I, uh, guess I’ll get going.” 

Part of Tony wants to latch onto his arm, pull him through the glass and the rubble of his penthouse suite, and into his bedroom and never let him go. He stomps that urge down with steel-toes boots. 

“See you around, Steve,” he says as Steve makes for the door. 

Steve pauses at the threshold and doesn’t look at him when he replies, “See you around, Tony.”

*** 

Life goes on. Tony reunites with Pepper. Tony’s mansion gets blown up. He loses Pepper for the final time. 

And it’s fine, really. Being cool with terrorists blowing up your home and experimenting on you without your consent is a lot to ask of anyone, even if that person is Pepper Potts. 

Pepper kisses him on the cheek, and Tony knows it’s the end. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and he means it. Because Pepper is still his and he’s still hers, just not in the way they had originally wanted. 

So, he’s single and homeless, technically, but overall it’s not the worst year of Tony’s life. 

He thinks about rebuilding his mansion in Malibu, but something stops him. 

“New York?” Rhodey asks him over Skype, curiosity twisting his features. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, clutching a pillow to his chest. He’s currently staying at one of his vacation homes on the Amalfi coast. His bedroom has a perfect view of the sea. Every evening, he sits out on his balcony and tries not to think about how Steve’s eyes are the exact color of the Mediterranean at sunset. 

“Malibu feels like an old chapter of my life. I think I’m ready for something new.” 

Italy is lovely, but Tony is so lonely. He’s never been good by himself. 

Within a month, the renovations on Stark Tower are completed, and Tony makes his move to New York. 

It’s odd, living by himself again. Of course, Tony brought his bots with him, and he integrated JARVIS into all of his personal residences. Still, there was no Pepper to remind him of some upcoming awards ceremony, no Rhodey to get into trouble with. Happy went with him because wherever Tony went, Happy followed. Tony’s sure Happy would have followed him into battle if he could. But Happy doesn’t stay in the tower, and Tony doesn’t expect him to. He knows Happy has a life outside of chauffeuring (and he hasn’t missed the looks between Happy and Pepper whenever she’s in town. He’s happy for them.) 

That’s when he starts collecting Avengers like a kid collecting those little trading cards when Tony was in college. Digimon? Pokémon? It was something that ended in -mon, he was sure of that. 

Bruce shows up first, drawn to the idea of a bed to sleep in, a constant food source, and a (relative) lack of people shooting at him.  

Bruce brings warmth to his tower, where there had been nothing but the coldness of electricity and steel. Sometimes when their research aligns, they’ll spend hours together in Bruce’s workshop. They’re good for each other, he thinks. Bruce gets him to eat a real meal and even stops DUM-E from putting motor oil in his smoothies. Tony gets him to open up. He wants to get to know the man behind the Hulk. For a moment, they’re at peace. 

Then SHIELD falls. 

Things get more complicated after that. 

Steve and Natasha show up with Clint right behind them. They’re still healing from their injuries, but overall they’re okay. Aside from dumping hundreds of SHIELD/HYDRA’s secrets onto the world wide web. 

Tony takes them in because, despite everything that happened between him and Steve, he did offer him a place to stay. Tony’s not that much of an asshole. He’s not going to retract on that offer.

Besides, his tower is enormous, and he knows it like the back of his hand; it takes nothing for him to avoid Steve without making it obvious. 

However, Tony didn’t account for the sudden friendship between Steve and Natasha, the traitor. (He doesn’t know when she stopped being just Romanov in his head.) 

Natasha must have been trailing him to learn his schedule because Steve corners him right as he’s leaving his workshop to head up to Bruce’s floor. His fellow scientist was making curry, and Tony didn’t want to miss out before the other Avengers (vultures) devoured it. 

“Can we talk?” Steve asks, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets. 

Tony stops in his tracks and immediately wants to do a full 180 back to his workshop and not come out for a good ten, twenty years. Stark Industries is in good hands, and Rhodey can take over for him the team, and he can live in his workshop like Gollum in his cave—

“Tony?” 

His eyes snap up to Steve. Right. They were having a conversation. Tony’s self-loathing can kick in later. 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Sure. Let’s head up here,” he gestures to the living area situated by the staircase. This floor of the tower serves as Tony’s second home, an escape from all of his penthouse suite’s showy glamour and the lack of privacy on the communal floors. The penthouse suite reminds him too much of Pepper, anyway.

There’s a small but up to date kitchenette off to their right done up in polished mahogany, tan stone, and black appliances for whenever hunger strikes. Tony heads to the left with Steve following behind him. His living area also functions as a bedroom of sorts. Tony had invested in a plush brown leather sofa from a high-end Italian furniture manufacturer. Sinfully soft and draped in luxurious throw blankets, it served as both a sofa and his bed when he couldn’t be bothered to take the elevator to his penthouse suite.

In a strange role reversal of the last time the two of them had been alone, Steve grabs onto his wrist and pins Tony down with his stare. 

“We can talk right here.”

Tony swallows. “Okay. Sure. That works, too.” He looks down pointedly at Steve’s hand. 

Steve flushes but lets Tony go. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve starts. 

“No harm done,” Tony says coolly. On the inside, he’s trying not to scream. He had forgotten that Steve’s hands were so big. 

“I just needed to know…” Steve hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Did I...did I do something wrong?”

And that, that makes Tony blink. 

Steve pushes on. “On the helicarrier...did I come on to you too strong? Because if I did, that wasn’t my intention at all—”

Tony holds up his hands. “Wait, what? That’s what you want to talk about? Steve, it’s been two years.”

“I know! I know it’s just...we haven’t spoken at all about...the thing, and you’ve been avoiding me ever since I stepped foot in this place.”

“I—”

“And don’t say you haven’t,” Steve says with a hard stare. “I’m old, not an idiot.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Okay. I guess you could call it avoiding.”

“Why?” Steve asks. “I’d rather you just tell me.”

Tony sighs. He’s too old to be having this conversation and telling Steve the truth would just be mortifying. “Romanov hurt my feelings, so I pushed you away before you could do it to me,” sounds pathetic, even to his ears. 

“A half-truth then. A lie grounded in reality,” he thinks. 

“You want to know why?” 

A muscle in Steve’s jaw jumps. “Yes. I would.”

“It wasn’t your fault, trust me,” Tony says. “I just feel like maybe you didn’t want to jump headfirst into this,” Tony gestures between them. He won’t dare call it a relationship. “I came onto you out of nowhere and didn’t even stop to think about whether or not you were ready for...anything.” He’s talking in circles and what’s worse is that he knows he’s talking in circles. Every muscle in his body is taut, waiting for Steve’s reaction. 

“You blew me off,” Steve says slowly, “because you thought I wasn’t ready for...this?” He’s taken on Tony’s terminology. 

“You were fresh out the ice, Steve. I figured the last thing you needed on your plate was something like this while you were still getting used to the 21st century.”

“Tony,” Steve speaks his name so softly it feels like a caress. Tony wants to step back. He wants to put on the suit and fly to Malibu, to Amalfi, to anywhere but here. 

“Tony, I don’t regret what we did,” Steve says. There’s a determined light in his eyes. Tony feels like the prey again. Steve has always made him feel like he’s being hunted. 

“Okay,” Tony says, steeling himself. 

“I want to do it again,” Steve says. “If that’s alright with you.” 

Steve wants to do it again. He wants to fuck Tony again, and the scary thing is, Tony’s going to let him. Arousal pools in his belly as he lifts his head to look at Steve head-on. 

“Okay,” he says. His voice already sounds wrecked. Desperate. Then Steve’s on him.

Tony hates how he falls into Steve’s arms as soon as his lips meet Tony’s. He had thought once would be enough, just enough to satiate the burning in his blood. He hated being wrong. 

Steve’s kisses are sloppy, almost desperate, but if anything, it just winds Tony up more. It’s like he’s fallen ill, with a feverish heat spreading throughout his body in waves. His heart pounds so loudly, it nearly drowns out the words Steve murmurs when he finally pulls away from Tony. 

Steve’s face is devoid of all masks, his lips cotton candy pink against his flushed skin. 

“I did that,” Tony thinks with some wonder. “I made him this way.” 

“What?” Tony says, only a little dazed, or so he hopes. Part of him flinches at the thought of Steve realizing just how far this well of desire he has building beneath his skin goes for him. 

“Don’t run,” Steve says. His arms wind around Tony’s waist with all the finality of a lock clicking into place. 

Tony swallows, his brain trying to parse through the hazy cloud of lust that had descended upon his brain. Steve’s eyes are big and so fucking blue, he almost can’t look at them directly. 

“It’s like looking at the sun,” he thinks. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he finds himself saying. 

“Just one more time. Just to get him out of my system.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow like he knows exactly where Tony’s brain went, and isn’t that a terrifying thought that Steve can already read him so well. Steve doesn’t call him out. Instead, he kisses Tony. 

Steve kisses him like a thief, all greedy and ruthless, stealing his breath away. Steve walks them backward until Tony feels his legs hit his sofa. They stumble onto the couch, Steve lying on top of him, eclipsing Tony. 

Steve’s lips are on his again. He can’t get enough of Tony today, it seems. His tongue slips into Tony’s mouth, one of his hands running down his chest and into his pants. Tony arches into his touch, moaning into Steve’s mouth. Steve may be a thief, but in this moment, Tony is just as willing to give him everything he has. 

Steve’s hands are so big and hot as they palm at Tony’s length. It doesn’t take long for him to harden in Steve’s grasp. 

Steve works him over with quick strokes of his hand, breaking their kiss to murmur in his ear, “Come on, baby. Spread these legs for me.” 

Tony did as he was bid, letting his knees fall open. 

“That’s it,” Steve says. 

“Can I?” Tony begins, unsure of how to continue. He’d never been shy during sex, but what he and Steve were doing, as much as Tony stomped it down, felt deeper than a simple hookup. 

“Go ahead, baby,” Steve says. The pet name flows off his tongue like honey. “Tell me what you need.” 

“I want to touch you,” he declares. “Let me?” He looks at Steve and hopes his eyes look wide and sweet. He remembers how Steve had snapped the last time he had looked at him like that, the bruising kisses and the hard, almost punishing way Steve had gotten him off…

Steve gives him a crooked smile. Tony’s not...disappointed, per se, but he wouldn’t have minded it if Steve had lost control again.

“Go ahead,” Steve says. “Whatever that big brain of yours has in mind.” 

That’s all the permission Tony needs, and his own hands work at the fly of Steve’s jeans until he’s pulling Steve’s cock loose. Steve catches on quick and shucks his jeans down to his thighs. He yanks Tony’s sweatpants down in one swift motion. This is the most exposed Tony has been in front of anyone since his relationship with Pepper burst into flames. And listen, Tony knows he’s not ugly (he’d been named Sexiest Man Alive twice, up there with George Clooney and Brad Pitt), but Steve is the literal epitome of human perfection. It could just be the childhood trauma rearing its ugly head, but Tony feels small underneath Steve. Unworthy. Useless. He’s thrown back to the present when Steve rolls his hips and slides his cock against Tony’s. 

“Come on, genius,” Steve says. “Work with me.” 

Tony lifts his hips to meet Steve, and the hot slide of flesh against flesh leaves him gasping like a virgin. 

“Fuck,” Steve hisses. “Just like that.” 

They settle into an easy, almost instinctive rhythm, Steve thrusting, Tony rising to meet him. Their groins are slick with sweat and precome. Tony’s sure that if they had bothered to get some lube, they wouldn’t have lasted half as long. It’s like someone’s turned a dial up on his senses. Wherever Steve touches him, his cock rubbing against Tony’s, is like someone lit a bundle of matches. He’s so hot, he’s sure his skin is smoking. He can hear everything. The hum of electricity present throughout his tower if you listened hard enough, Steve’s muttered curses, the wetness of Steve’s cock rocking against his. 

“One day,” Steve says, picking up speed. “One day, I’m gonna tie you to your bed just like this. Get your thighs all wet and slick and fuck you until you’re coming all over your goddamn stomach,” Steve punctuates his words with a hard thrust, and that’s it for Tony. One more word out of Steve’s mouth and he’s done for. 

“Holy shit, Rogers,” he says, sounding breathless to his ears. 

“I’m not done, sweetheart,” Steve chuckles. “How do you feel about toys?” 

“Yes. Yes. Fuck, Steve, I could make them. Anything you want.” 

And he finds himself meaning it. He’d give Steve the sun if he asked. He tries not to let that scare him. 

“How about a nice vibrating cock ring, hmm? Slip it on you early in the morning. Maybe a long-distance remote to go with it, keep you hard and ready all day long.”

Tony bites back a cry, his cock jumping with arousal. “Fuck, Steve, yes, please, yes.” 

“Then don’t run,” Steve says, his voice sounding all dark and gritty. “Don’t run, and I’ll give you everything you fucking want, just don’t run away from me, again.” 

Afterward, Tony blames it on his approaching orgasm, but in that moment, all Tony can say is, “Yes, fuck, I’m staying right here.” 

They come together, oddly enough. Steve’s teeth sink into Tony’s throat, and Tony’s throwing his head back as his come lands on both of their stomachs, and it’s so. Fucking. Good.

Tony’s floating. He didn’t know when his Italian leather couch turned into a cloud, but he’s floating with Steve kissing the bite he left on his neck. 

They curl close together, uncaring of the mess cooling on their stomachs. If Tony has anything to say about it, there’s a nice joint shower waiting for them when they find the will to move. Steve places one final kiss on the bite. 

Tony knows what it is. A marker. A claim. He’s Steve’s for as long as Steve will have him. Tony’s willing to indulge him. For now. 

“Shower later?” he asks, his words thick and syrupy from post-orgasmic bliss and the sudden need for a nap. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at Steve’s handsome face. His perfectly coiffed blond hair is mussed. Steve’s skin has taken on a peachy, damn near radiant glow. “Nap first,” Steve says. 

“Steve may have left his mark,” he thinks. “But I left mine.”

[kinktae]

bitchin’ || pt. 3 (M)

↳ PART OF MY REWIND SERIES

The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.

pairing: fratboy!jungkook x reader

word count: 6.4k

genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l

warnings: multiple smut scenes, science talk, banter, jealousy, alcohol & LOTS of colorful 80s slang lmao

A/N: This fic was inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before & Stranger Things 3. Thank you to @junqkook for letting me use her likeness and @httpjeon for editing this chapter!

OFFICIAL PLAYLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10

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PART THREE

"You're a psychopath." You accused.

Jungkook let out a scoff, eyes rolling in dismissal.

"You're being dramatic."

"Stop the car."

"Y/N." Jungkook scolded, reaching over to turn down the radio's volume.

"I'm serious, asshole. Let me out!" You huffed before lowering your eyes into small slits. "You're probably driving me off to a remote location just so you can kill me. Bet you're just like that sicko Ted Bundy that they got locked up in Florida right now."

Jungkook's head snapped over to look at you, disbelief in his wide eyes.

"Holy shit, all I did was change the radio station!"

You flashed him an exasperated look.

"You changed it while Wham! was playing. What is wrong with you?"

Jungkook had shown up at the door of your dorm right on time, grinning lopsidedly in his yellow windbreaker as you opened the door, his blatant eagerness effectively souring your mood.

You were entirely against this date at first; it hardly seemed necessary to get to know someone who you already knew you had nothing in common with. Not to mention the fact that you seemed to be the only one who cared that this relationship between you two was literally fake.

If it weren't for Yara physically shoving you out the door, you would have never gotten into Jungkook's ridiculously nice Chevy as he hauled off you to wherever he had decided your date was. He refused to answer when you asked him where the two of you were headed so, needless to say, you were already on high alert.

Him changing the station as soon as Everything She Wants playing was the final straw.

"Nothing is wrong with me, dweeb. I just don't really like their sound. I don't really like a lot of artists on the radio nowadays." Jungkook confessed, shoulders shrugging as he kept his eyes on the road.

"Oh God. I'm fake dating a monster." You breathed dramatically.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, no longer in the mood to entertain this conversation as he turned the knob on the radio back up.

It proved to be in vain, however, as your stubborn self refused to let the conversation drop there, your own hand reached over to reverse what he had just accomplished– the song currently playing fading back into the dull background.

"Madonna." You pressed.

"What about her?" Jungkook droned unenthusiastically.

You furrowed your eyebrows, annoyed. "What do you think about her?"

"Oh. Industry sellout."

"What?!" You nearly shrieked, jaw dropped as you stared at Jungkook's cool expression. You let out a disappointed noise.

"Cyndi Lauper?"

"Mediocre at best."

"Duran Duran?!" You exclaimed. "Wait, no. Don't answer that, I don't think my heart could take it if you didn't like them."

Jungkook chuckled, glancing over at your distraught expression, "Duran Duran is okay."

"Just okay?" You marveled, crossing your arms over your chest.

You were wearing a patterned collar shirt today and when Jungkook first laid his eyes on it, he couldn't help but think it looked exactly like the carpet belonging to the arcade he and friends used to go to in high school. On your left wrist was a bright yellow scrunchie that he swore he saw Yara wear once.

He wondered for a moment what it might look like in your hair.

"You know what the problem is with music today? It's all synthesized, I mean you can hardly call it music." Jungkook continued, pushing his previous thought away. "What's that song by The Buggles?"

"Uh... Video Killed the Radio Star?" You offered.

"Yes! God, that song just barfs me out." He shuttered, a prominent frown on his face.

"Fine, then. What do you consider real music then?"

"Hm, let's see. Twisted Sister, Bon Jovi, Van Halen, Def Leppard–"

"Oh, I see. The meathead is also a metalhead." You mused, the sides of your mouth twitching up slightly.

"Can you headbang to Prince? I don't think so." The meathead in question offered cheekily, wagging a finger at you.

You had just opened your mouth to quip back when your surroundings suddenly dawned on you; Jungkook had pulled into the parking lot of what you recognized to be a roller rink.

"We're going roller skating?" You asked as the boy shifted into park, causing him to look up at you.

"You don't sound excited." He pointed out.

You didn't bother to confirm or deny his accusation.

"Weren't roller rinks considered cool in the 70s... when we were kids?" Was your response.

Jungkook had unbuckled himself from his seat, reaching over into the back of his car to grab his backpack, carefully lugging the brown bag over his shoulder.

"They're still cool. Man, quit being such a downer you're ruining our date." He warned.

"Hey! What did we say, this isn't a date. It's a bonding activity." You piped up, opening the passenger door. "Besides, I'm not being a downer, I just…"

Your sentence trailed off as the two of you hopped out of the car, excited chatter from a family parked nearby filling your ears.

"You just what?" Jungkook pressed as the two of you made your way over.

"Nevermind."

There was a cold rush of air that hit you as Jungkook pulled open the door to the building, causing you to cross your arms over your chest, following him into the dimly lit space.

You could make out the sound of Take on Me by a-ha playing overhead from where you could see the actual rink located in the back. From the looks of it, the arena appeared to be somewhat empty today.

Radical. Fewer people to embarrass yourself in front of.

"Where do we go now?"

"To get our skates, duh." Jungkook stated, flashing you a look. "Haven't you ever been to a roller rink?"

You didn't get the chance to respond to the condescending boy because before you knew it, your hand was intertwined with his and you were being lugged over to where a bored-looking man was waiting behind a desk, a wall of worn-out beige skates behind him.

You stood beside Jungkook awkwardly as he spoke to the employee, speaking up only to protest when Jungkook tried to pay for you and to tell the roller rink man what size skates you needed.

Sat on a nearby bench, the two of you began to change shoes; Jungkook was rambling on and on about how excited he was to skate and how he was gonna lap you ten times over.

Slipping your first foot into the wheeled shoe, you let out a sigh.

"I have to, uh, tell you something..." You began, capturing Jungkook's attention.

"Sure, what's up?"

Pressing your lips together, you laced up the skate, the neon green shoelace glowing under the room's fluorescent lighting.

"So… I never actually... learned how to roller skate." You confessed through a shrug, ignoring the way Jungkook looked at you in surprise.

"Man, you really were robbed of a childhood. And here I thought you were some kind of superhuman who could do anything."

"Firstly, don't question my superiority over you common folk. I am superhuman." You scolded, pushing a finger into his chest playfully.

Jungkook let out a laugh, rolling his eyes at your words.

"Secondly, I mean, we were a family of six. If I got rollerskates, then everyone had to get roller skates. We just didn't have that kind of money." You explained.

"Woah. Family of six, huh? So you have siblings then." He noted.

"Yep. Three."

"Tell me about them."

Looking up from where you were slipping on your second skate, you met Jungkook's eyes, surprised to see genuine interest in them.

"Well… Sammy is the oldest. He moved out when I was, like, thirteen so we were never that close but I see him every time I go back home."

You had finished fastening both skates, placing each wheeled foot on the colorful carpet. You took a moment to drag your legs front and back, enjoying the way the wheels rolled beneath you.

"Then there's the twins, Rosa and Lia."

"Hold on. Twins? Wait… did they go to our high school?" Jungkook asked, his interest in this conversation doubled.

"Yep. They were two grades above us." You confirmed.

"Oh shit, yeah, I remember your sisters, they were mad hot." Jungkook let out a low whistle, before stiffening, flashing you an apologetic look. "Uh, in a totally non-meathead way."

You offered the scared-looking boy a small smile, shaking your head.

"No, it's okay. They are pretty, um, hot, I guess."

Suddenly, you made an effort to stand up, and Jungkook jumped to his feet to help you— you waved him off, of course. The carpet provided enough grip to allow you to walk somewhat easily.

"I still can't believe the Y/L/N Twins had a little sister. And that little sister was in my grade. How come no one ever talked about you?" Jungkook asked as the two of you reached the rink.

You gripped onto the short wall that lay along the rink's entire perimeter, clearly meant for people like you to hold onto so that they wouldn't bust their asses.

"Some kids in our grade asked me if we were related but I would always lie and tell them we weren't. Honestly, I had this weird complex towards them. I hated them for a little while."

Jungkook wasn't expecting such a confession to come from you, and it was clear that you weren't either with the way your face turned away from his, twisting up in regret.

"Really? Why's that?" He asked despite himself.

You felt yourself perk up as the familiar tune of a Duran Duran song came on, lifting your mood immediately.

"It's– ah, nevermind, it was really stupid. I don't feel that way anymore." You waved him off through a laugh, not wanting to unload onto him the heaviness of your childhood insecurities.

"I don't care if it's stupid, you can tell me. I want to know."

You stare at him for a moment, unsure of whether or not to tell him. There was a sense of sincerity in his eyes that wore you down, however. You let out a sigh.

"I dunno, I think it started early on. They were older and there were two of them, so I was kind of the third wheel."

"Ah. Yeah, isn't there some special bond only twins have?" Jungkook added.

"Yeah… Yeah, I understand it now that I'm older, but when I was younger, it just pissed me off." You chuckled bitterly, eyes flickering towards a couple skating around in the ring.

"It wasn't until I entered high school that I actually started to resent them, though. I kind of got stuck in this ugly duckling phase and my sisters… they're beautiful, right? Popular with boys, lots of friends…"

You trailed off, eyebrows furrowing as an unwanted feeling of reminiscence crept into you.

"I liked learning. And I was good at it. And it wasn't like I didn't have friends. I made friends with people who liked the same things I did. I wasn't alone." You continued, Jungkook's eyes glued to your profile.

"My friends used to beg for me to come over and study with them, you know." You looked over at the messy-haired boy, a shy grin on your face.

"It felt really good for people to acknowledge the hard work I put into school. It made me feel... cool, I guess."

"So when people asked about my sisters, I lied. Because I thought if I told them, then they would see everything that I wasn't. They would have something to compare me to and they would see that I actually wasn't that cool."

Your face fell into an unreadable expression, your knuckles turning white as your grip on the wall tightened.

The only person who ever knew you had felt this way about your sisters and yourself was Yara. But Jungkook wasn't Yara. He was just a boy in high school who occasionally bumped into you in the hallways, never paying any mind to where he was going.

Hesitantly, you turned towards him, only to find him already looking at you. Suddenly, a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

"I told you it was dumb." You laughed nervously.

It wasn't that you cared much what Jungkook thought but you had a feeling a guy like him, who was popular and carefree, wouldn't be able to sympathize in the way you would like him to.

"No, I'm just… surprised, that's all."

Jungkook certainly was surprised. You had built up quite the impression on him from the very moment you two met. It was hard to imagine that the girl who was so unapologetically herself was ever unsure or insecure.

Somehow, the idea tugged at his heart, as if he understood you more if only just a little.

Entering the rink, Jungkook skated in smoothly, looking as laid back and natural as always. You raised an eyebrow, doubting that your entrance would be that seamless.

"Feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees slightly bent."

Realizing these were instructions, you frowned, walking over to the rink's entrance.

And sure as day, your first step onto the shiny wooden floor was a less of a step and more of a slip, your hands reaching out to grip onto the wall before your balance was completely thrown off.

Jungkook took his bottom lip into his mouth, trying his hardest to swallow down the chuckle that threatened to escape. Instead of laughing at your instability, however, he skated towards you, an amused glint behind his eyes.

"Don't be scared, I'll catch you if you fall."

You offered him a glare, "Thanks, meathead, but I don't plan on falling."

Mustering up your strength, you pushed yourself off the wall, taking a bold step forward. You hadn't wobbled more than two steps when you once again lost your balance, arms flailing around wildly as you tried to prevent yourself from toppling over.

Your feet slipped from underneath you, however, sending you flying backward. Before you could hit the ground though, a pair of arms found you, hoisting you up by the waist as your legs lay sprawled in front of you.

"C'mon now, stand up." Jungkook urged, causing you to let out a shaky breath. You thought your ass was grass for sure that time.

"Can't. It's useless. Just let go, Jungkook. I'll crawl my way off the rink." You shook your head.

Your savior laughed, "New plan. Hold onto me. We'll do a lap around the rink together until you can skate on your own."

Embarrassed, you agreed, carefully making your way back up into a standing position with Jungkook's help.

It certainly wasn't smooth. There was something incredibly unnatural about rollerskating; Jungkook had told you to pretend like you were a duck which only confused you more because not only were you not a duck but you hardly understand the logic behind his thinking as ducks, most certainly, did not know how to roller skate.

With hands wrapped around Jungkook's bicep, however, you found yourself making your first lap. There was one other couple on the rink skating alongside the two of you; they were young— probably still in high school, and you wondered for a moment if to them Jungkook and you actually looked like a real couple.

"What's your major? I just realized I never asked." You brought up casually, the song overhead coming to an end. Lights were hanging that projected down onto the wooden floor, moving around in tempo with the upbeat music that was playing.

If you could actually skate, you imagined this must be loads of fun.

"Exercise science." He told you.

You nodded, "Makes sense."

It was evident that Jungkook took good care of himself, even if you weren't holding onto his bicep, you'd be able to tell.

"What's yours?" He countered. "Biology?"

"Yep. I really wanted to major in Neuroscience but my scholarship wouldn't cover it."

"Oh, you're on a scholarship?"

"Yeah, it's how I'm paying for college, actually. My dad made it pretty clear early on that he wasn't paying for our college tuition." You explained.

"Could you guys not afford it?"

"Mm, well yeah money was a big part of it but he also doesn't really see the value in a college degree. He got a job without one. That's why I worked so hard in school. I knew I had to do well if I had any chance of getting into college—"

Your sentence fell flat as a loud yelp fell from you, stunned as you realized you had just slipped and fallen onto your ass.

Jungkook was doubled over in laughter, your shocked expression far too funny to hold back his amusement this time.

"What the hell! You said you would catch me!" You gaped, the sides of your mouth quirking up at the sound of Jungkook laughing harder, desperate gasps of air breaking through his giggles.

"Quit laughing, pea brain. I'll seriously dump your ass right here and right now if you don't help me back up."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He snickered before moving over to help you up, his eyes watery and smile wide.

"This is so embarrassing…" You muttered under your breath, feeling unstable like a newborn deer.

Another chuckle found Jungkook, finding the way you were pouting sourly just too cute.

"If my ass bruises I'm going to be seriously pissed." You declared stubbornly, before intertwining your hand into Jungkook's.

Jungkook knew you were only doing so to ensure your balance but something about the gesture had his chest tightening in a way he didn't understand.

"So, uh, your siblings! They're all out of high school, right? What do they do?" Jungkook started suddenly, in an attempt to sway his thoughts.

You were humming along to whatever song was filling the room and Jungkook wished he was familiar with the tune so that he could hum along with you.

"Oh, Rosa is an intern for our hometown's newspaper but between you and me those assholes don't even let her write. She does coffee and burger runs for men in charge. And Lia sells ice cream at the mall."

"What about your brother?" Jungkook asked.

"He's training to be a cop just like my dad."

"And your mom?"

"She works at a convenience store."

And so the rest of the evening played out, the two of you sharing pleasantries and learning about one another, with only a few more falls on your part.

Jungkook told you his story, how he was an only child to a set of lawyer parents that let him do whatever he wanted as compensation for being so busy all the time. You bit your tongue but it made sense, considering his behavior in high school. Still, Jungkook turned out alright, you thought. Contract or not, you wouldn't willingly spend an evening falling on your ass with someone who wasn't at least a decent person.

You and Jungkook were sat at a table at the roller rink, a box of cheesy pizza set out in front of you.

"I don't understand. If you love film so much, then why aren't you majoring in it?"

"I don't know if I'm even any good at it. Just because I have a camera and like to use it doesn't make me a director." Jungkook shrugged in response.

"No, but if it makes you happy, then that's all that matters. If you love something and it inspires you then why wouldn't you do everything within your power to go after it?"

You had that look on you again. The kind of look that made Jungkook think that if he were to lean in close, he could see flames ablaze behind your eyes. It was the kind of look at sent his curiosity and admiration for you soaring.

"Isn't that lame? A guy majoring in the arts?" He asked, sounding uncertain.

You let out a grunt, growing frustrated with Jungkook's placid nature.

"What's lame is that anyone should have to be ashamed for doing what they love. Do you know how many times I get asked, 'Why biology? Why not education?' by my male professors? Fuck what anyone else thinks Jungkook! Do what makes you happy." You declared with a clenched fist, eyes glimmering with fervor.

You had gotten so worked up, Jungkook realized; he knew right then and there that you were speaking from the heart and that he was a lucky man to get to see you this way. Even if you had begun to shout and were scaring him slightly.

Turning away from you, the cool-headed boy ran his eyes over the room's walls, pausing only when he found a neon clock perched along one of them.

"What's wrong?" You wondered, following his eyes.

"October 16th, 1985. 6:48PM."

"Yes. That's today's date and time. What about it?" You pressed, growing confused.

"Remember it." He warned.

"Why?"

"It's when I fell in love with you."

Suddenly, you let out a laugh— it was the kind that comes out unexpectedly and makes a loud, unattractive noise and it surprised you both. Your hand clamped down over your mouth as if on impulse before your shocked expression broke, a cascade of giggles washed over you. Jungkook could only stare at you in bewildered awe, wondering if that wasn't the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Jungkook shifted back up on the bed, his back having grown sore. Pulling his notebook closer, he gripped his pen. Somewhere in the background, he could hear you muttering to yourself as you worked at your desk, knees pulled up to your chest where your chin could rest on top of them.

The two of you were doing homework in your dorm room, a common occurrence for the two of you nowadays.

Jungkook let himself spare you a glance from where he sat on your bed. You had thrown your hair up into a lazy bun earlier on, but now it would seem it that you had once again let your hair down.

You had the end of your pencil tucked between your lips, captivating Jungkook's attention for longer than he had intended.

Jungkook wasn't sure if it was safe to say that you were friends, mainly because of the contract that was holding the two of you together, but seeing as you two now spent nearly every afternoon together, he couldn't help but think he had whittled you down into tolerating him.

Not that you'd ever admit that, of course.

You let out an audible sigh, whatever task you were working on clearly giving you trouble as you tapped the end of your pencil against your bottom lip contemplatively.

"Break?" Jungkook called out lazily, tearing his eyes off from your lips.

Jungkook watched as you stared down at your textbook for a moment before ultimately swiveling your chair around to face him.

"Yeah, okay." You agreed, lugging yourself off your chair only to hop onto your bed, causing Jungkook to bounce slightly, the springs of your mattress protesting.

Face scrunching up, you brought your legs up onto the bed, extending them out in front of you to stretch out your stiff joints.

Jungkook couldn't help but grin slightly as your foot brushed against his knee. You were wearing your favorite pair of socks – they were a bright red and fluffy, a cartoon picture of Santa Claus knitted into each. Jungkook nearly lost a lung the first time he saw you wear them, but you were quick to defend them, saying that keeping your feet warm was always in season.

"I still can't believe you bought Christmas socks. It's not even Halloween." He began in an effort to make conversation. You rolled your eyes, smacking the side of your foot against his knee lightly.

"You act like I was actively searching to buy Christmas socks. I was on the hunt for fluffy socks and these just happened to be the fluffiest pair the store offered." You defended.

"I would gladly wear Halloween socks if I found fluffy ones." You added, bringing your offensive socks back over to you as you sat cross-legged.

"Speaking of Halloween," Jungkook began, eyeing you cautiously, "the party is in three days."

Cocking your head to the side, you contemplated today's date before concluding that the sweater-clad boy was correct.

"Oh shit."

"We need—"

"— costumes, yeah." You cut Jungkook off, nodding.

Jungkook blinked as he took in your words before shaking his head.

"No, I meant—"

"Yara suggested Bonnie and Clyde or Danny and Sandy from Grease but I don't really know how I feel about a couple's costume. Doesn't that seem too obvious like 'Hey, look at us! We're totally banging!' Do you know what I mean? Also, can we not just dress up as whatever we want to? Can couples really not do anything without each other? I remember whenever I showed up to a party without Erik, everyone would ask about him and why he didn't come. He didn't go because I didn't invite him, morons." You finished with an irritated huff.

"Woah, hold on... you went to parties?" Jungkook marveled, halting your ramble. "Also, who the hell is Erik?"

"My ex-boyfriend. And yes I went to parties. I was in a lot of school clubs and they threw parties sometimes." You shrugged.

"Oh. Nevermind, I thought you meant actual parties."

"Fuck you, asshole. Those were actual parties!" A surprised laugh tumbled out of you. "Anyway, we can go costume shopping tomorrow if you're free–"

"Y/N." Jungkook interrupted, a stern look on his face. You shut your once open mouth, flashing him a cautious look as you offered him your full attention.

"I'm going to kiss you."

Your body tensed in surprise, eyes going wide, "What?"

"At this party. I'm going to kiss you, remember?"

"Oh... Oh!" Your eyebrows raised as his words sunk in.

"Yeah." Jungkook nodded, reaching over to shut his notebook that was now going unused. He wasn't in the mood to study anymore.

"Okay, then. Lay it on me."

"Huh?"

"Kiss me now. Like a bandaid. C'mon, meathead, rip that sucker off." You ordered authoritatively, causing Jungkook to shake his head.

You certainly know how to set the mood.

"Fine." Jungkook mused dryly.

Your composure crumbled, however, as the handsome boy began to lean forward, eyes fixated on your lips.

"Wait!" You blurted, throwing your hands in front of you to halt Jungkook from coming any closer.

"What?" Jungkook pressed, looking slightly irritated.

"No... No, I'm just... I think I'm nervous." You blinked.

At your words, Jungkook's expression noticeably softened. You had this look on your face that he had never seen you wear before. You usually carried yourself with such self-assurance and confidence, but this version of you that was sitting in front of Jungkook... this you looked vulnerable.

"Why are you nervous?" He cooed.

"Because!" You huffed, not noticing the way Jungkook's eyes were set on yours gently. "I dunno, it's just... it's you I'm kissing."

"Is that a bad thing?" He asked.

A silent moment ticked past as you failed to respond immediately.

"...No."

"You hesitated." He glared, tone falling flatly.

"Well, I don't know! Who knows where that mouth has been?!" You accused, pointing a finger towards him. He smacked away your finger easily, a frown finding his face.

"Y/N."

"Sorry, sorry! I get mean when I feel threatened, it's like my defense mechanism." You apologized.

Jungkook chuckled, enjoying the inner turmoil you were clearly going through.

"Close your eyes."

You frowned at his words, knowing what doing so would entail.

"You're overthinking this. It's just a kiss. I don't bite, I promise." He teased cheesily.

You held his eyes for a moment. If there was anything you could give Jungkook credit for was the way he made even the most astronomically complex subject seem so simple, as if you were silly for even fretting over it in the first place.

Taking comfort in that thought, you let your eyes fall shut, hands finding purchase around the duvet you sat on.

You felt the mattress shift, your weight shifting forward as Jungkook moved closer, causing your heart to pound.

And then, he kissed you.

The kiss couldn't have lasted longer than a second, and you hardly had time to register the feeling before the sound of the mattress groaning as Jungkook shifting back into his original spot rang out.

You opened your eyes.

"Oh." You breathed.

"See? Was that as bad as you thought it would be?" Jungkook mused.

"You were right. I don't know why I had hyped this moment so much in my head." You shook your head, laughing lightly despite the way your heart had yet to calm down.

"Told ya."

You nodded, "I mean if anything that was super underwhelming."

"Yeah, like— Hey, hold on. I know it was just a peck but you don't have to phrase it like that, damn." Jungkook's eyebrows furrowed.

"No, it's a good thing!" You tried to reassure him, uncrossing your legs. "I think one of the reasons I was so nervous was because I was afraid the kiss was gonna be good but, nope! Totally ordinary!"

Jungkook let out a low hum. He knew what you meant but there was still something within him that couldn't help but feel bitter. He knew you would accredit it to what you liked to call his 'raging man pride' – whatever it was, it had him pouting without him even knowing.

"That offended you." You observed easily.

"No, it didn't." He brushed off.

"Yes it did, I can see it on your face. I've thrown your fragile man ego off balance and now you're insecure over your kissing abilities." You offered him a sympathetic look.

"Woah, woah, woah. You didn't do any of the sorts because my man ego isn't that easily toppled over, okay? I've got a rock-solid foundation, thank you very much." He scoffed defensively causing you to snort.

"And for your information, I can't be offended because it wasn't like I actually kissed you so suck on that."

You frowned on his words, "What do you mean you didn't actually kiss me?"

"Y/N, please. If I had kissed you like how I usually do it would've knocked you dead." He insisted, nose sticking up in a way that reminded you of Yara.

"What the hell? Why didn't you kiss me you usually do?" You replied sharply, catching Jungkook off guard.

"Uh..."

"Isn't that the whole point of this?" You continued, hand reaching over to flick at the tip of Jungkook's nose.

You held your glare as he flinched in surprise. A scowl took over him.

"What the hell was that for?! I didn't think–"

"I don't want to embarrass myself on Saturday. I need to make sure I know what I'm doing so don't half-ass things! Kiss me like you would your real girlfriend, dumbass!" You scolded, hand reaching over to place another attack against the boy's nose.

Before you got the chance, however, Jungkook's hand came up and wrapped itself around your wrist, stopping you. You attempted to pull back your trapped hand but Jungkook's grip was unforgiving, his dark stare locked onto you.

"What are you doing? Let go." You huffed.

"God, how am I meant to kiss you if you won't shut up."

You hardly had time to register his words when the hand around your wrist was used to yank you forward, Jungkook's mouth finding yours once again.

You were absolutely caught off guard, eyes held open in shock until the moment his other hand found your face, palm cupping your jaw as his fingers pressed into the bone softly, urging your head to tilt to meet his kiss better.

The hand that Jungkook still kept captive curled itself into a fist as you struggled to reciprocate his pace, taken off guard by his sudden vigor.

His lips were softer than you expected and you prayed that the hand that held your cheek wouldn't be able to feel the way your face was burning. The second he finally let go of your hands, you were quick to find purchase on the back of his shirt, gripping the fabric in hopes to give yourself something to hold onto as you lost yourself to the way your shared breaths filled the room every time your lips separated only to meet again immediately.

It wasn't until Jungkook's tongue ran against your bottom lip that reason finally took ahold of you. Pressing back against Jungkook's chest, you broke the passionate exchange, your wide eyes meeting his hazy ones.

"Something wrong?" He breathed heavily, his tongue darting out briefly to wet his bottom lip. The sight causes something in you to stir, so you turn your head to the side, choosing to stare at the wall across the room instead.

"N-Nothing. Just… I need to catch my breath is all." You lied.

It was more than that. This was precisely what you were afraid of. The kiss was good and it was making it very, very hard to want to continue keeping Jungkook at a respectable distance. You really didn't hate the kid and maybe if the circumstances were different the two of you would've gone on to be actual friends but you knew exactly how this was going to end. Jungkook and Kiri would get back together, you'd get your event and as much as you'd like to think Jungkook and you could continue on hanging out like this, you knew that was impossible. There was no way you could face Kiri after all this – not when you were the girl who was meant to be dating Jungkook all this time. You had helped him deceive her; watching and supporting Jungkook through a relationship built on lies was not exactly on your to-do list.

"Can I give you a hickey?"

Jungkook's words pulled you from your thoughts.

"Huh?" You replied, intelligently. That had been the absolute last thing you had been expecting to leave Jungkook's mouth.

"I know it's sometimes seen as a possessive thing so I, like, get why you wouldn't want one but it would definitely get the message across to everyone. If you're down, of course."

You could feel the urge to say no rise up your throat. Jungkook was right, hickeys seemed like a display of ownership – just a primitive way to claim someone as yours as if the emotional commitment wasn't enough. But there was something in the back of your head that was reasoning that he had a point. Furthermore, you could almost imagine the way Yara would be insisting you follow through with it if she were here right now and not in class.

God, she was going to lose her mind when you told her what had just gone down between you and Jungkook in your dorm room.

"Sure."

"Really?"

Jungkook's eyes were doe-like and you found it hard to face them.

"Y-Yeah, whatever, I don't care." You shrugged, hoping to give off an air of nonchalance.

"Wicked." He grinned boyishly, a hand coming down to push against your torso.

Your back met the bed and you didn't even have time to voice your confusion before Jungkook climbed over you, silencing your thoughts.

"Just easier this way." He told you, as if able to read your mind.

You feel yourself tense up as his lips meet your neck, pressing a cautionary kiss there.

"You don't have to be so stiff, I'll try to make it feel good." Jungkook leaned over to coo into your ear, causing a shiver to run over you.

You nodded, relaxing yourself the best you could as you tilted your head over to expose more of your neck to the awaiting boy.

You bit down on your lip, fighting down the sigh that threatened to spill from your mouth as Jungkook began to pepper kisses onto your neck, the feeling surprisingly pleasant. Your chest was rising and falling rhythmically, trying hold in your heart that threatened to leap out of it.

The feeling of Jungkook's tongue on your skin caused a small squeak to leave you, Jungkook taking the sensitive skin into his mouth to sucking at it. Before you could even think to stop yourself, one of your hands intertwined itself into his hair, tugging at it lightly as you felt his teeth scrape against your skin. To your disbelief, Jungkook let out a low grunt, sucking at your skin harder as if in retaliation. The noise echoed against your skin and, embarrassingly, you felt your nipples harden against the cup of your bra, a clear indication that you were getting aroused.

Shit. You were totally getting turned on; you could hardly thread together a single coherent thought and your whole body felt hot.

You tugged at Jungkook's scalp again without thinking and another noise of content left the curly-haired boy's mouth; you nearly threw out a sound of your own as he licked a hot stripe against the afflicted skin.

Before things could escalate any further, however, Jungkook pulled away from your neck, moving back to sit on his heels, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

"There. That should do it." He breathed out.

You sent him a small nod, eyes unable to pull away from the mouth that was just on you.

To say Jungkook's man ego was now pleased as hell would be an understatement. Your face was twisted in embarrassment, eyes watery and unable to meet Jungkook's the longer he stared. The left side of your neck had patches of pretty pink bruises etched into it and he couldn't deny the sick way his chest swelled with pride at knowing you would be wearing the marks he put on you.

"What?" You mumbled shyly, unable to stay still under his stare for much longer.

Jungkook was silent for a moment, lost in the dangerous thoughts his mind was filled with as he looked at the way you were laid out in front of him.

Finally, he shook his head as if to clear his mind.

"Nothing. Just admiring my work." He grinned sweetly before leaning over to press a chaste kiss onto your forehead, leaving you a hundred degrees warmer than you originally were.

[chipper9906]

Hello, Stranger

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15 EPISODE 18 ‘DESPAIR’ AND SEASON 15 EPISODE 19 ‘INHERIT THE EARTH’

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 6,201

Status: One Shot - Complete

Summary/Preview

The man above him was panting heavily, wheezing for breath through pained grunts, and usually, Dean would find some comfort in knowing he at least got a few good licks in.

Instead, all he could do was drop his head back into the carpet with gritted teeth. Great. He was Dean Winchester; He had taken on monsters that most believed to be fairy tales, he had taken on Lucifer, he had taken on God. Hell, he had even killed Hitler.

And now he was about to be killed by some goddamn junkie that had broken into his apartment.

Fan-friggen-tastic.

* * *

A post episode/ post season fix it fic because my heart hurts and I needed some happiness.

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                                                            * * *

Dean Winchester is a homeowner.

Well, he signed a contract that lets him rent a shitty, musty, one-bedroom apartment that has questionable stains on the carpet and the lingering smell of weed soaked into the walls, but it’s his. It’s also situated between a few bars and a pizza place that serves the best damn meat lover’s pizza he’s ever tasted in his life, so y’know. Silver linings.

The off-yellow, fluorescent light of the fridge hums obnoxiously at him, lighting the two last bottles of beer he has sat snugly in the corner. Dean pulls one out, grumbling to himself as he pats at the chipped kitchen counter for the bottle opener. He flips the cap off with a flick he has done many times, chucking the cap somewhere to the side (he swears he’ll throw them away later) and flopping down onto his couch with a groan.

His phone shrills at him from within his jean’s pocket and Dean throws his head back with an exasperated sigh. This was what he signed up for, after all. He just didn’t know how Bobby did it. The whole ‘normal job whilst also acting as an information source for the hunter network’ crap. If it were up to him, he’d just do the ‘hunter network’ stuff. You know, what actually matters. But he’s too old to be living out of motels which were paid for with fake credit cards and cash from hustling, so he has to do it the legal way. That’s not to say the apartment is a huge step up from the usual dumps he and Sammy used to stay in when on the road, but still. It’s his place.

Relief floods through him when he finally yanks the phone out of his pocket and sees Sam’s name plastered across the screen. Looks like he was free from hunter duties for a while yet.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean greets him the second he has the phone to his ear, his smile practically audible through the phone. “Is this an ‘another apocalypse’ phone call or…?”

“No, you jerk,” Sam chuckles down the phone. “It’s a regular phone call. You know, that thing normal people do when they check up on family?”

Dean nearly snorted into his beer. “Yeah, well, we’re far from normal, Sammy.”

“Funnily enough, I’m aware of that. But this is as close to ‘normal’ as we’re going to get. It’s the best we’re going to get.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully, swallowing down a mouthful of beer. “Yeah? Tell that to the dumbass newbie at work who decided he didn’t need to put the oil cap back on after changing the oil… oil everywhere Sammy. Everywhere. I can hack off vampire heads all day, but dealing with people? It’s a nightmare, Sam.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sam assured him. “We’ll get used to it. It’s… Dean, you know how nice it is to hear you complain about work? Hearing ‘my co-workers a pain in the ass’ instead of ‘there’s a Were on my tail, bring the silver’ is something I never thought I’d get to experience.”

“Were on my tail? Wow, great pun there Sam…” Dean mumbled into the phone, getting a half-amused half annoyed snort from his brother. “Maybe one day I’ll go full ‘Bobby’. Get a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, open up my own mechanic shop… though, doubt I could go back to the old way of looking up the lore… Hey, they do satellite internet, right?”

Sam had suddenly gone very quiet. Dean raised his eyebrows as he waited for his brother's response, the white-noise from the other end of the line the only reassurance to Dean that the line hadn’t gone dead.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I think that’s something you could get set up.” Sam finally answered. “But… you know you can do all that without the whole ‘hunting network’ thing, right? That is still an option-,”

“I know, Sam,” Dean cut off his little brother abruptly. “I know that’s an option. And maybe one day I’ll realize just how old and broken down I am and accept that. But-,”

“But you won’t,” Sam sighed subtly.

“Maybe one day,” Dean repeated softly. “I just… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to quit cold turkey, Sam. I just… I need to do something.”

“Have you been on any hunts?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders, forgetting that Sam couldn’t see him. “Eh, a few. No solo hunts, before you panic. There was a hunter going through town, uh, Jason White? Hadn’t heard of him before, but-,” Dean huffed quietly in laughter. “-He sure as hell heard of me. Seems the Winchester name still has its rep around the hunter community.”

“I can never tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Dude was giddy to work with me, so I’d say it was a good thing.” Dean took another swig of beer. “And that’s when they don’t even know we kicked God’s ass!”

“Jack kicked God’s ass,” Sam corrected him. “We got our asses kicked by God.”

“Yeah, but… we needed to get Chuck to beat us up for the plan to work, so… I think it’s fair to say we brought down God.”

“Depending on who you tell that to, you might end up being flayed rather than hailed as a hero.”

Dean paused with the bottle of beer to his lips. “Point taken… maybe it would be better to keep it to ourselves.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed with a chuckle.

“How ‘bout you, Sammy? How’s college life treating you? Again?”

“It’s…” Sam was about to do the usual ‘everything’s great’ spiel, but something about Dean’s inquiring tone made him pause. “… it’s more difficult than I’d thought. I don’t know, maybe I should have had some kind of buffering time between, try and adjust a little before going back.”

“I can imagine.”

“Back then, I felt like I belonged in college, you know? I felt… on par with everyone around me, but now? I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Yeah? Well, you are an old man amongst eighteen to twenty-year old’s.”

“Thirty-seven isn’t old, jerk. Plenty of people go back to college when they’re…”

“…older?” Dean finished his sentence with glee.

“Shut up.”

Dean laughed smugly at his brother’s annoyed grumbles, though he quickly pulled himself back together. “Seriously though Sammy, I… I hope you know I’m proud of you for this. I know it’s not exactly what we – what I imagined, but… I’m glad to see you living out the life you set out for yourself. I know I wasn’t supportive of you when you first left for college, and I know it’s gonna be tough for you. But if you can go up against God and win, I’m sure you can pass your bar exam.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam’s voice sounded a little choked. “How are you doing, anyway? I didn’t really ask.”

“Living the dream, Sammy. Living the dream.” Dean answered dryly, staring sombrely at the last dregs of beer in the bottle and wondering whether it’s worth grabbing the last bottle from the fridge. Future Dean will hate him if he does…

“Seriously, Dean.” If Sam’s voice was anything to go by, he had the puppy dog eyes on full effect right now. “How are you? You okay? I know it’s been hard since… since…”

Dean swallowed hard, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head lean back against the couch. “No, Sam. I’m pretty damn far from okay. And I’m not sure if I ever will be, but… I’ll learn to cope.”

“Dean, it’s… don’t be afraid to ask for help with this kind of stuff. I know it’s a bit unconventional when it comes to our lives, but-,”

“A bit unconventional?” Dean spluttered. “Sam, how the hell would I go about explaining any of this to a shrink, huh? ‘Hey, I had the literal Death trying to kill me, and one of the few people I love sacrificed himself to save me by telling me he loves me.’ Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go down a-,”

“What did you just say?” Sam interrupted in a quiet, shocked voice. “Dean, you… did Cas say-,”

“I’m not talking about that, Sammy.” Dean’s tone left no room for argument.

“Cas was my friend too you know, Dean,” Sam argued back, his voice understanding but digging too much for Dean’s liking. “I know you don’t like talking about this, but-,”

“No, Sam. I don’t like talking about it.” Dean snapped curtly.

“But-,”

“Cas was my Eileen, Sam.” Dean could hear Sam’s mouth snap close, the stunned silence on the other end of the phone too loud in Dean’s ear. “And I know you sure as hell don’t like talking about her. I had to… Fuck, do you have any idea, Sam? I never let myself think about it, about what Cas was to me. He could be a stubborn bastard and hard to read at times, and this whole damn time, he loved me and… he never told me. All this time he’d been holding that to himself and he just… I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t say anything. He was just gone, and I…”

“You loved him.”

It wasn’t a question. Dean squeezed his eyes shut at Sam’s words. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. And he never got to know. He never heard me say it.”

Dean ran a tense hand through his hair, pulling at the strands with a pained grimace. “I still see him sometimes, Sammy. I feel like I’m going crazy. I’ll see a flash of him in a crowd, see that stupid tax-accountant get up of his out of the corner of my eye, and… I keep telling myself he’s gone, that I need to move on.”

“You will, Dean. Sometimes, after… after Jess, I’d see her, too. Grief does strange things to the mind.”

“Yeah, I know, but… I can’t help but think about when I lost him in purgatory. When I kept seeing him, back then, and… all that time, he was trying to reach out to me.”

“This isn’t like then, Dean.” Sam’s response was like a punch to the chest. “Cas was in Purgatory. When he was trying to contact you, he was back on Earth, right? Cas is… he’s in the Empty. The only being with enough power to get him out was Jack, but-,”

“But Jack’s not gonna be hands-on,” Dean said miserably.

“Right…” Sam replied with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wish it was Cas, you know I do, but… he’s gone.”

“I know. I know that, Sammy. I’m not denying he’s gone, I just… I miss him. Guess I always assumed we’d win this thing together, you know? ‘Paradise on Earth’ and all that.”

“I don’t even know what Cas would have done after all this,” Sam said with a mild tone of amusement. “After meeting Cas, it felt like we had to stop one apocalypse after the other.”

“Poor guy never really got to catch a break,” Dean agreed sadly. “Maybe I could have trained him up to be a proper hunter, just like he wanted. Or… maybe he would have flown home.”

“Home?”

“Yeah, y’know; Heaven. If the other winged dicks let him back in, that is.”

“Dean… I don’t think ‘Heaven’ is Cas’ home. At least, it hasn’t been for a while, anyway. If Cas was still here, well… whatever he decided to do next, I can’t imagine anything that didn’t involve being by your side, Dean.”

 * * *

The later into the night it got, the more tempted Dean was to break out the bottle of whisky he has hidden under his cupboard for ‘emergencies only’.

The only saving grace was that Dean had the day off tomorrow, so it’s not like he had to worry about work. Tonight was just going to be… one of those nights. Getting off the phone with Sammy always left him feeling bittersweet; happy to hear his brother’s voice, but the reminder that he was so far away only worsening the dull ache he felt in his chest that he could only fix by drinking until everything went black and numb.

‘THUMP’

Dean was upright from his bed in seconds, fingers curling around the comforting grip of his pistol under the pillow. The sound hadn’t come from his room, rather somewhere else in the apartment – the living room, perhaps? The kitchen? He slowly peeled off the covers, untangling them from his legs and stepping softly onto the dusty carpet, thankful it would mute his footsteps.

Dean cautiously approached his closed bedroom door, placing his ear up to the door and straining his hearing. Nothing. For a moment, he wondered if he had simply imagined the noise, his emotional and exhausted mind caught between sleep and lucidity, conjuring up a sound to distract him.

Maybe, if Dean were a normal person, he’d have waved it off and headed back to bed. Hunter's instincts are hard to shake off though, and not checking the apartment simply wasn’t an option. Sure, he had thrown up all the usual sigils in the apartment the second he had moved in (and likely ruined any chance of getting his deposit back), but you never know.

Dean clasps his free hand around the rounded doorknob, painstakingly turning it until he hears the ‘click’ of the lock, wincing at how loud the usually quiet sound felt in the silence of the room. Dean swings the door open slowly, peering out of the room and into the pitch-blackness of his apartment. He can barely make out the shadowed outline of his furniture, lit up only by the muted lights of passing traffic peeking in through the partly opened blinds.

Dean takes a single step out into the living room when a hand clasps around his shoulder.

He whirls around in an instant, knocking off the assailant’s arm and lifting his pistol to aim. The gun is wrenched out of his hands in an instant, the unexpectedly strong pull nearly sending him tumbling straight into his attacker. Dean hears his gun clatter to the floor, and he throws a punch out of instinct, feeling his knuckles connect with the strangers’ jaw. There’s a pained grunt from the man, definitely a man by his posture and deep, surprised groan of pain, and Dean jabs out his fist again before the man can counter. His fist lands squarely in the man's gut and Dean knows by the sound the man makes that he had just had the wind knocked out of him.

Dean’s next hit isn’t as successful, the man catching Dean’s fist mid-swing and twisting him away, pushing him forward until his chest hits the wall with a resounding ‘thud’. Dean grimaces at the pressure against his back and arm, kicking out a leg backward and feeling it connect with the guy’s knee. It buckles, the pressure on his back gone and Dean takes the advantage, spinning around and shoving the guy hard. He sees the blurry black figure go sprawling backward, slamming into the wall opposite with another pained grunt. Dean scrambles to the floor in search of his gun, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the darkness of the room. He just about catches a glint of metal, reaching for the gun before it’s gone again, kicked out of sight by his attacker. Dean growls in frustration, jumping to his feet as fast as his body will let him. It seems he isn’t as fast as he once was, the man grabbing him by the arm and slamming him back down to the ground before he can even blink.

His back hits the floor hard, the air leaving his lungs in one giant ‘whoosh’, dust erupting from the unkempt carpet under him. His attacker had clambered over him, the heavy pressure he felt on his wrists surely the man pinning him down, the weight on top of his legs surely that of the stranger. His head was spinning, vision blurry from the dark, and the hit to the back of his head when he landed. The man above him was panting heavily, wheezing for breath through pained grunts, and usually, Dean would find some comfort in knowing he at least got a few good licks in.

Instead, all he could do was drop his head back into the carpet with gritted teeth. Great. He was Dean Winchester; He had taken on monsters that most believed to be fairy tales, he had taken on Lucifer, he had taken on God. Hell, he had even killed Hitler.

And now he was about to be killed by some goddamn junkie that had broken into his apartment. Fan-friggen-tastic.

“Hello, Dean.”

His heart stops. Pauses, for just a moment. When it kicks back into gear, it's with a hard, resounding thump. The voice was gruff, grated, that of a man who had either smoked ten packs of cigarettes a day or had had his vocal cords shredded apart. It was familiar, like coming home, and he wants to scream to the Universe how fucking cruel it is for him to be losing his mind like this, that it was bad enough to be seeing him, but to be hearing him too?

Unless…

He squirms underneath the man’s grip, his shallow, quick intakes of air a sure sign of an approaching panic attack. To Dean’s surprise, the man's grip slackened, and he let Dean scramble up to his feet. Dean stumbled back into the wall as the man smoothly got to his feet, stood there silently watching Dean panic as he slapped his hand against the wall, searching for the light switch. Dean’s hand passes over the smooth cool plastic of the panel, and he smacks down hard on the switch.

The light bursts to life, bathing the room in that sickening bright white. It’s blinding - as if lightning had struck inside his apartment. Dean still has his hand glued to the light switch; his gaze glued to the stranger stood opposite him.

Except, that was no stranger.

There’s a thin trail of blood slipping down a split lip that’s curved up into a subtle smile, blue eyes glossy with unshed tears that are scanning up and down Dean like he can’t quite believe he’s there. His chest is still heaving with exasperated breaths from their scuffle and he’s holding himself awkwardly, one leg taking more of his weight than the other – likely a result of Dean’s attempt at defending himself.

“Cas? Cas, is this… is that really you?” Dean’s voice is breathy, uncertainty laced in every word.

“I spent the whole drive over here thinking about what to say when I saw you,” Castiel said. “And now all I can think is how I should be scolding you for not checking to see if I’m a shifter or a demon first.”

Dean blinked owlishly at Cas, the shock mixed with the adrenaline sending his brain into overdrive. Cas’s shy smile widened briefly for a moment, barely wincing at the sting of his split lip being pulled.

“Actually, I… I was worried for a moment that I had been told the wrong address and had broken into someone else’s residence. But then you were pulling a gun on me and it seemed a bit too late to ask, so I-,”

Dean rushes forward before Cas can finish his sentence, throwing his arms around Cas’s shoulders and burying his head into his neck. He’s fully aware his hands are shaking, scrunching up the back of Castiel’s trench coat so tightly that he can feel some threads popping loose under his fingers. Castiel’s hands were wrapped around his back in return, squeezing Dean close with all his worth, eyes squeezed shut in content with his head nestled next to Dean’s.

When Dean pulls away, it’s to hold Cas at arm’s length and just… look. Take him all in. To savor the warmth of Cas’s under his hands, to drink in the smile he never thought he’d get to see again. Because there’s a part of him that still doesn’t know if this is real, and he wants to take the time to memorize the feel of Castiel in his arms.

“You, uh…” Dean says somewhat awkwardly. “You need a drink?”

 * * *

Dean’s been staring at Cas for way too long then is socially acceptable now.

He’s perched on what Dean knows from experience is an incredibly uncomfortable bar stool at the end of the kitchen counter, the beer Dean had offered him pressed against his split lip from their, um… reunion. Dean tapped his fingers against the cool glass of whisky he held, watching Cas as his eyes scanned curiously around the apartment, and Dean starts to feel guilty for not keeping on top of the cleaning as much as he should. In his defense, he wasn’t exactly expecting company.

“How… how are you here, Cas?”

“I had to hot-wire a car that had been left parked in a desolate road near a field in Illinois. In my defense, it seemed rather neglected, so I doubt it’ll be missed. It was quite difficult finding you actually, your number no longer worked and I had to visit many, many bars to find some hunters who had some knowledge on your whereabouts-,”

“Cas, that’s… that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean how are you here?”

Castiel pulled the bottle away from his lip, placing it down delicately on the countertop. The signature frown was back on his face, along with the cocked head that Dean found much too endearing. “Dean, have you not noticed?”

Dean followed Castiel’s hands to where he had placed a finger on his split lip, wincing when he pressed down a bit too hard.

“What? That I greeted my best friends return from the dead by giving him a beating? Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

Castiel sighed quietly, and Dean grinned at the exasperation. “Have you not noticed that it hasn't healed?”

Dean frowned at him in confusion. “Oh. Why haven’t you…?”

It finally clicked.

Dean sat up straight as it hit him; looking to the split lip, to the bruise that had already begun forming on the edge of Cas’s jaw, to the way he held out his leg at an odd angle like it was bothering him.

Almost as if…

“You’re human?”

“I believe so, yes. My grace was… warped. It’s been through a lot, through the fall… but… I believe it had been different from the very start. Chuck was right, in a way. I was ‘the angel with a crack in his chassis’. Maybe that’s why I was the only one. Out of all the other me’s that exist… I was the angel that began to feel. The angel to fall in love with the righteous man. Angels aren’t supposed to love, you see. Emotions are seen as distractions. Emotions were thought only possible to humans because of one thing.”

“Souls,” Dean answered for him.

Castiel nodded. “Dean, do you understand what the Empty is? What happens to us? It’s… it seems almost peaceful when you think about it. To spent eternity just… sleeping. But we don’t sleep. We dream. We dream of all that we regret. For most angels and demon’s, they have only one regret; their death. What they did wrong to meet their end, tortured endlessly by that mistake. I didn’t dream of my death though, Dean. My death was no mistake. Instead, I dreamt of you. I dreamt of all the times I let you down, of all the things I should have done or said but never did. Angels aren’t supposed to do that, Dean. Those aren’t the regrets soldiers of God are meant to have.

“The Empty isn’t a complicated being. It’s… it’s nothingness, and it wants to exist as nothingness. Billy made it promises she wouldn’t keep, keeping it awake when all it wanted to do was to return to sleep. So when it had dragged us into that place, when I fell into that sleep… perhaps it assumed it would be able to return to sleep. But my dreams, my regrets… they weren’t of the type that any another being in the Empty had. My grace wasn’t settling, it was… it was like an animal in a cage, it was…”

“It was keeping the Empty awake.”

“The Empty wanted me to suffer. But in doing so, it was suffering itself. It didn’t understand why; I didn’t understand why. Why my grace. What made it different? It wasn’t until I had been spat back out here; when the Empty had figured it out before me that I realized. It wasn’t my grace, Dean. It wasn’t grace at all, not anymore. I’m… I’m still not sure how it happened, whether it had been happening for a while, if it was the reason my grace had been diminishing over the years, or… if maybe Jack had a part to play in it, or… or if it was just myself. If me falling for you, to be the first angel to do that… maybe it’s something that could happen to all angels.”

Dean had never been more confused in his life. “What are you talking about, Cas?”

“My grace was changed, Dean. An angel’s grace, it’s a source of power, a piece of God himself; just like a soul. I’m not just an angel who has lost his grace, Dean. My grace is still here, just changed. Adapted. I’m human in every sense of the word.”

Dean knew what Cas was getting at, but he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “…You have a soul?”

“I have a soul,” Castiel confirmed, giving Dean a watery smile. “Humans were not meant to exist in the Empty. It’s not something the Empty has ever had to deal with - emotions. The Empty is a powerful being. It can tear into your mind, to know all that makes you suffer. But a soul? It doesn’t know how to approach that. It doesn’t know how to make it quiet.”

“So… so what does that mean now for you?”

“It means I’m here,” Castiel answered simply, his wandering gaze returning to their surroundings.

Dean smiled, glancing down to the whisky in his hand to avoid seeing Castiel’s judgment of his shitty apartment. “Yeah? And what do you think of… here?”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully, taking his sweet time to look around the abysmal contents of the room which Dean knows full well only takes about ten seconds to take in.

“It’s rather small,” Castiel finally gives his verdict. Dean ducks his head with embarrassed laughter, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.

“Yeah, well… a high-school dropout who has barely any prior job experience and next to no references doesn’t exactly get many calls for interviews.”

“I see,” Castiel replied with an understanding yet sad smile. “Why did you and Sam leave the bunker?”

“Well, after Sammy decided he wanted to give college another shot, and after you and Jack, it was… the bunker was too empty. Too quiet. Too many memories, I guess. And it’s not like I was gonna be hunting like I used to without Sammy…”

“You’re not hunting?” Castiel asked, surprise clearly written across his features.

“Sometimes,” Dean replied with a shrug. “It’s… Sammy wanted another shot at the normal life, and after everything… that doesn’t even begin to cover what the kid deserves.”

“And what about you?” Castiel said with a questioning frown. “What about what you deserve?”

Dean laughed one humorless chuckle. “Cas, I always expected to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe with Sammy by my side, maybe not, but-,” Dean paused, turning his eyes down. “I didn’t… I didn’t picture a scenario where I lived and you didn’t. I didn’t know what life was going to be like after that, after you… I didn’t think it was a pain I’d have to live with, you know?”

Cas’s calloused hand rests over Dean’s, thumb gently sweeping over his wrist. There’s a sadness and regret to Cas’s gaze, but a comforting smile curled onto his lips. “When I took that deal… a part of me never expected for it to be claimed. I thought the Empty had made some colossal mistake on its part, because… I couldn’t envision a scenario where I’d be happy. A scenario where we beat God and we made it out alive. But then I wondered… I wondered how much the Empty knew of me. It had tortured me with it once, with what I feared and… of who I loved. And Dean, it was almost funny when I realized, when I assumed the Empty had surely made that mistake. It knew what I wanted most, and yet, it was something I could never have.”

“What you wanted?”

Cas’s smile turned sad. “You, Dean Winchester. I wanted to know the touch of your lips, of the feel of your skin under my hands… I wanted to know what it would be like to wake up next to you, to be something that brought you some sense of happiness… I wanted to know what it was like to be seen as something more than family, a friend, a brother… I wanted what angels aren’t supposed to want. I wanted your love, Dean Winchester.”

“…Cas-”

“But there was a simplicity to it.” Cas continued before Dean could form the words he wanted to say. “I couldn’t get that happiness because… because I wouldn’t let myself feel it. It was easier to just push it down, to pretend as if this hadn’t been something eating at me ever since I had rebelled. And to just… to just say it. In letting myself feel it, in telling you, in telling myself… that was my own form of happiness. It wasn’t in knowing you felt the same way, it wasn’t that I needed you to say it back… I said it because I needed you to know.”

How did Cas do this? Every time he thought he knew what to say, Cas found a way to rip the words right of his mouth. Dean was thrown through a loop again, his brain brought to a standstill. None of it made sense in his mind. The thought that he was Cas’s happiness, that he had somehow made an angel of the lord love, it was just… why him?

“In a way, the Empty lost,” Cas told him. “It wanted me to suffer. It was cruel, yes, but genius on its part, I must admit. To only take me once I had found happiness on Earth, but… I didn’t suffer as it took me, Dean. To die, knowing you were safe? That I had kept you safe? My mission is and always will be to save Dean Winchester. If my ending was the one where you get to live the life you deserve? Then… that was my happiness.”

Dean huffed, staring down at his whisky, absentmindedly spinning the glass across the counter. “You had found your peace. I get that, Cas, I really do,” Dean stopped spinning the glass, eyes flickering up to meet Cas’s. “But if you think the life I deserve is one that didn’t have you in it, then…”

Dean chuckled dryly, taking a small sip of his drink, welcoming the burning sensation that crawled down his throat.

“Dean, don’t think I wouldn’t have wanted… this,” Castiel insisted, brows furrowing. “I would have been content to carry on the way we are. I would of course wanted to stay with you, and Sam, and Jack, just as we were.”

Dean licks his lips nervously, tasting the lingering leftovers of his whisky. “And what if I’m not content with that?”

Cas frowned at him, a brief look of panic flashing across his face. “I don’t get what you mean?”

Dean laughs. He can’t help it. They’re small hushed snorts of laughter, dropping his chin down into his chest and shaking his head, his shoulders shaking with every chuckle. “Oh, Cas… We’re both idiots, aren’t we? Biggest damn idiots there are.”

Castiel was only getting more and more confused.

“Cas, what the hell did you think that mixtape meant?” Dean asked once he lifted his head back up. “What did you think that prayer back in Purgatory meant, huh? Both times? When I prayed to you every damn night in that hellhole?”

“I… I assumed-,”

“Assumed… yeah, we both kept making assumptions about the other, huh? You know I’m not great with words, Cas. I’m… I speak better with my actions, you know? But this… you… I didn’t know how to handle the way I felt for you. Calling you my brother was easy because that was a love I knew how to process. It was easy. You knew I cared for you, and I thought that was enough.”

“It was enough,” Castiel assured him.

“No, it wasn’t, Cas,” Dean insisted. “I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth.”

“Dean, you don’t have to-,”

Dean grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat to shut him up, tugging him forward and damn near dragging him over the counter. Castiel had gone wide-eyed, bracing himself by grabbing onto Dean's arms, keeping him suspended over the counter.

“Listen to me,” Dean stresses the words, keeping his eyes locked with Cas. “You’re not just my best friend. You’re not just my brother. You’re all that and more. You’re not just what I want, you’re all that I need. And I’m telling you this now because I should have told you all those years ago. I should have told you when you told me. I love you, too. You got that? I love you.”

And then Dean kisses the shocked look right off of Cas’s face, just to drive the point home.

It’s far from the best kiss Dean’s ever had. The taste of Castiel’s blood is metallic and tangy under his lips, and he went into the kiss a bit too rushed and hard. There’s definitely a clash of teeth at first, and a kiss was apparently the last thing Cas was expecting as his lips remained frozen in disbelief for some good few seconds. And yet, it was perfect.

Because it was Cas.

It’s not until Dean’s hands frame Cas’s face that he gets a response. His lips move under Dean’s, chapped yet addictingly soft. Dean’s thumb brushes down Cas’s cheek, the burn of stubble against his skin something new, but a reminder that this was Cas. It was Cas’s lips on his. It was Cas’s hands brushing through the short strands of hair at the back of his neck.  It was Cas pressing his body into him, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle that never thought the other piece would fit.

When they break away, it’s with a surprised “Oh,” from Cas that has Dean shaking quietly with repressed laughter, his forehead pressed against Cas with matching smiles on both men's faces.

“Like I said-,” Dean said softly. “-Idiots. Both of us.”

“I prefer the term ‘fools in love’,” Cas said with a grin. “Still idiots, but we have an excuse.”

“Yeah... yeah, I like the sound of that.” Dean agreed, returning Cas's gentle smile. “So, back on Earth, grace gone – or, changed into a soul. What’s the plan now?”

“Just... live life, I suppose. Experience humanity, of all there is to offer. Grow old...”

“Hmmm,’ Dean hummed in content. “Can you perhaps picture a little cozy cabin out in the woods? Maybe a yappy dog that won’t shut up and is constantly shedding all over the damn place, but you love anyway?”

“I think I could get on board with that... so long as there’s a cat running around that’ll provide the dog with some company,” Cas paused, squinting suspiciously at Dean. “Is there already a dog?”

“Apartment has a ‘no pets' rule. Miracle’s shacked up with Sammy for the time being, keeping the kid sane through exams.”

“...Miracle?”

“Yeah. Y'know, coz she was a miracle.” Dean swallowed nervously, struggling to get the next words out. “And... in this vision of the future... maybe you see yourself growing older with a grizzled, greying green-eyed hunter?”

“...Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“If you really have to ask that question, then I’m afraid I’m going to use to demote you back to ‘idiot'.”

“Wow,” Dean blanched. “Having a soul has made you a sassy dick.”

“You say that like you don’t love it.”

“I deal with it, but only because I love you. There’s a difference.”

Dean’s word elicited a beaming smile from Cas, that toothy smile he so rarely sees from Cas that he knows he’s going to be spending the rest of his life trying to see as often as possible. And really, what else can he do but smile back, just two idiots smiling at each other in a cramped, barely lit kitchen?

“I never thought I’d hear you say it…” Castiel admitted quietly.

“Well, be prepared to hear it until you get sick of it, coz I’ve got a lot of times I should have said it to make up for.”