#why does awful shit always happen right around my birthday. why am i cursed like this

[cassynite]

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[arty-shadow-morningstar]

Graveyard Siblings (4)

I am sorry for not posting in a while. School is a total bitch. Here is part 4 of a fic that is not a fic.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)

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Tall Marinette.(I admit I might be projecting a little here.)

One day, she took out something from someplace high and the whole family realized that ‘holy shit when did you get so tall?’

Bonus if Jason comes back from a long mission and had a wtf moment because she was wearing 6-inch-heels and met his eyes with them on.

“Pixie?!”

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You know how Bruce has the identity of Matches Malone to infiltrate the Gotham Underground.

While Jason does the drug deals more street crime stuff, Maria uses an excuse of being the representative for Red Hood excuse to mingle with the rich people who does crime on the side (Penguin), she uses it to go to black market auctions and buy some of the lost miraculouses which got into the hands of black market dealers.

Jason knows about it and acts as her ‘bodyguard’ anytime he can or sends one of his henchmen to be one with a death threat if she gets a single scratch on her.

Bruce is unaware of this. Or is he?

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Mari helps with running WE since she is a little less busy with the vigilante side of things.

It started with Tim panicking about deadlines and Mari offering to help, to Bruce and Tim bullying the board to have her as co-CEO.

She has to be that and head of Afterlife. So she is very busy. Doesn’t know about what comes next….

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Somehow the class comes to Gotham for a trip. It has been 3 years since her death.

Mari has changed her appearance since the day she left Paris. She has highlights in her hair after a ‘sibling bonding day’ with Jason. Her hair is kept short for convenience and not in pigtails. Along with her tall height and more confident aura, she is almost unrecognizable.

She rides a motorcycle too.

The class waits in the lobby for the tour and in walks this badass woman with aviator sunglasses, leather jacket and designer clothes which was all MT brand, making a lot of people swoon.

She takes off her glasses and walks past the class. Checking stuff on her phone and sipping coffee in her other hand.

She seems familiar but they couldn’t figure out why. (All except Chloe, Alix and Felix who are snickering in the background.)

Lila sees her and comments on how she must be a criminal with the way she dresses. (Lila internally freaks out because were her eyes messing with her? Because she looked a little like Marinette. Also jealous of the new arrival for stealing all the attention.) Alya takes the bait and calls security to ‘arrest’ her.

They just laugh. The class doesn’t understand, speaking in confused French.

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“I am Maria Todd-Wayne, also known as designer MT. CEO of Afterlife and co-CEO of the very company you are in. I am allowed in here. Don’t judge a book by its cover.” she said in perfect French.

“But Lila told us you can’t speak French.”

“Who?”

“Lila Rossi, your friend. She told us that you and MT were dating.”

“Me dating myself. Okay I love myself because self-love is a thing but that is a whole other level. MT are my initials. Anyone who has a brain could have figured that out or at the very least do a Google search. I am not sure where your friend got that notion.”

“Hey, Bean, come on. We have a long day ahead of us.” Tim reminded her.

“Goodbye but cease the rumours or you would be escorted off the premises.”

As they rode up the elevator, “Tim, why are they here?”

“They are the lucky winners of the Wayne Enterprise Young Prodigies Contest. Why, Maria?”

“Lucky, huh.” She muttered under her breath. She might as well tell him. They are the Bats and they will find out anyway. “They are from my old class, the one you know…”

“Oh. Want me to send them back? I can do that if they are making you uncomfortable.”

“Nah. Too much to deal with. And it is unfair to send them back over a petty grudge. Besides, I could have some fun.”

“Anything that Bruce and I should be worried about?”

“I swear no killing. Just because Jason came back from the dead, hell-bent on killing. Doesn’t mean I am too.”

“Cool, just don’t do any property damage or traumatize our employees.”

“I might need you to erase some footage later and tell Bruce about this.”

“Some brownies, my favourite coffee cake, the ‘special’ brew and you have yourself a deal.”

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So basically she just showed up around where the class was ‘by coincidence’.

Talk to a few people and take them out of earshot of the rest of the class.

End the conversation by saying a few things only they and her would know. Insides jokes and secrets. (I pick her old childhood friends like, Nino, Kim and maybe Sabrina)

Uses Trixx to turn into a walking dead version of her 15-year old self and disappears as they freak out about how she knew that secret/story.

Freaks them out further by appearing again in front of the whole class and pretending not to know their previous conversation.

Mari manages to get Lila alone.

I should also say that Lila thought that her curse was making her see MT as Marinette.

It terrifies Lila when she finds out that MT is actually Marinette, not dead but alive after all this time and apparently living the high life she wanted. This fact made the Italian swell up with jealousy.

“I hope you are not lying about me again, Lila Rossi. Like you always do.”

“What do you want with me? I swear I didn’t say anything else about you.”

“Aw, Lila. Don’t recognize me?”

Maria flickers and Ladybug is in her place and later, the Marinette that appeared in her bedroom and back to normal.

“You! How? Why are you here? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Why not? I mean you did take away nearly all my friends, my parents and made my life a living hell. If you think about it, I am just repaying you the same favor. How are the others? Treating you well?”

“What did you do to me, you bitch?”

“I just put a curse on you. The ghosts of your past will haunt you until you stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop Lying, Liar. They all feed and grow in power from your lies. I wonder what would happen in a few years if you kept this up.”

“You think you can get away with this. This is war and I have already beaten you once.”

“Oh Rossi. This isn’t a war. It’s a death sentence.” With that she disappears.

Lila tries to tell her class that MT is actually Marinette. She is met with crazy looks. Some of them look like they want to believe her but don't because they don’t want to look crazy too.

Oh. Adrien wasn’t on the trip because his mother didn’t want him to go to the crime capital of America although the crime rate has gone down a little due to Hellbat curing some of the city’s bad energy..

Right after Lila told the class about MT, Scarecrow came to steal some Wayne tech and the class got caught in the crossfire. So later, it was brushed off as Lila seeing things due to the fear toxins.

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Joker made the mistake of kidnapping her. Once was enough to never try that again.

(It involved the use of nearly all of the Miraculouses, old and new. He was thoroughly humiliated at the end of it and his picture by the time Hellbat was done with him was on the Batfam’s Christmas Card. Like I said she doesn’t kill but making them beg for death was okay.)

It coincided with Jason’s Birthday and the video of the incident was ‘the best birthday present ever.’ The uncensored version was watched at the next undead siblings bonding day. Damian included.

After hearing a few rumours about what happened, most criminals were glad for Hellbat’s rare appearances. (which happens once a month and during really busy time of the year)

There was a time where Penguin was carrying out one of their plans and when Hellbat showed up, all of their thugs surrendered instantly. (No Batman did not pout at the fact that this French girl was more imitating than him.)

Scarecrow used his newest batch of fear toxin on her during the first year after she died.

He was astounded to see her still standing and she later proceeded to beat the crap out of him while being under the toxin’s influences.

He has tried to stay out of her way since then.

She saw Scarecrow as Hawkmoth and said a lot of things in French which scared everyone because she said it with so much hate, anger and in a very menacing tone that everyone is like ‘I am not touching this.’

It took Red Hood and Nightwing to restrain her from further beating Scarecrow up.

He was one of the people who sympathised with the Joker after the Incident.

The next was Riddler being so arrogant in his plans and managed to get Hellbat and Spoiler into a death trap.

“You know I have a few regrets in life. And my final one is that I got captured and am now going to get killed by a walking fashion disaster.”

“Hey! I made this myself. I will have, you know.”

“You have a brilliant mind but no sense of fashion at all. When I get out of here, I am going to burn that thing with you in it, for your crimes against fashion.”

“What is wrong with it?”

Cue a lot of roasting of Riddler’s costume and Spoiler adding more fuel to the fire.

They manage to escape while Riddler is crying on the floor, having an existential crisis.

The thing was no one knows why Riddler was silent the entire week after encountering Hellbat and crying when anyone mentions it.

They now think Hellbat is the scariest one in the Batfamily, second to Batman and tied with Black Bat/Orphan.

The few who find out what really happened in the warehouse that night. Blackmail material on the Riddler.

Three ( four if you count Penguin) of Gotham’s biggest villains of the Rogues Gallery scared of Bats’ newest addition. Hellbat was not someone they wanted to mess with.

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Magic crisis stuff. Like a world ending event thing. Dr. Fate says they need the Miraculous jewels but the last mention of them had been in Paris a few years ago and had vanished since then.

Costantine looked at Batman. “You know who you have to call.”

Batman calls Hellbat. Who hasn’t been introduced yet to the JL.

“Ah. Bats. Not that I question your authority or anything but how can your newest ‘ward’ help us?”

She takes off her helmet and reveals her face and more importantly, her earrings.

Tikki comes out of her hiding place.

“I am the current Guardian of the Miracle Box and wielder of the Ladybug miraculous during Hawkmoth’s reign in Paris a few years ago. Any other Questions?”

“Oh great Guardian. Tikki. It is an honour to meet you.”-Wonder Woman, who else.

“You too, Princess Diana. Pass on my regards to your mother.”-Tikki

A huge face-off and the big evil is defeated.

WW asks abt HM and gives a horrified face at the end of her story. Nearly everyone who eavesdropped on the conversation was.

"Forgive me, Guardian for not aiding you in your hour of need.”

“It’s okay. I understand that there are other crises, world-ending ones that JL have to take care of. I am better now. Mostly.”

“I doubt it with those revenge schemes I found lying around. But she is getting there with her therapist.”-Batman

“I hate you, Dad.”

“Did you just call him Dad?”

“No….”

“Do you see me as a father figure?”

“I see you as a nuisance with how nosy you are with my personal business. So you are more of a bother figure.”

“I see you as part of the family too, Daughter.” (Got that reference anyone?)

“Jason was the one who adopted me.”

“Legally you are adopted by me.”

Maria with Pikachu surprised face because nobody told her that. “My life is a lie.”

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(Part 5)

[giant-sketches]

Happy birthday @gentlegiantdreamer!!!  You are such a wonderful and inspiring person to me and I hold you dear to my heart! So for your birthday I made you this art and wrote you a little story to go along with it. I wish you a day full of fun and love! There is also a speedpaint!

I hope you can feel the effort I put into this and long hours of work too. I hope you and everyone enjoys my interpretations of Lilypadton and enjoy the story. Disclaimer: Almost Drowning/Cussing/Pain/Shouting/Monster Transformations

Word Count: 1746

At the start Patton was very active after his first transformation as Lilypadton. That may have been due to him going about the day believing it was a one time deal, but that wasn’t the case. From time to time the other sides would catch glimpses of his skin turning green around his hands and dark patches appearing on his neck. However, whenever the subject was brought up with the moral side he’d brush it off as a trick of the light or some kind of baking material he missed in his clean up. They all knew better though, especially his boyfriends Janus and Virgil.

“We need to go talk to him….TODAY!” Janus was pacing around Virgil’s room with his arms crossed, expressing his impatience with his partner.

Virgil thought it best to give Patton space, but his changes were becoming more frequent. Now things were even worse as their cutie had locked himself in his room for the past two days.

“I know you wanted to give him space, but now he’s trapped himself in his room. We’re the only ones on this side of the mindscape that can help him through this.” Janus hissed and cursed himself for not doing something sooner.

“Please calm down Jan.” Virgil got up from his bed to hold his boyfriend. “It’s going to be alright. Let’s go see him now and tell him about what’s happening to him.” He paused in thought. “Though, I never thought we’d ever have this kind of discussion with him honestly. To think he was like us this whole time.”

Janus touched his scaled face and looked at Virgil with soft eyes. “Are you going to show him? You know how h-” “Yeah I know...but I have to. It wouldn’t be fair for me to hide it when he’s going through something ten times worse.” Janus kissed Virgil’s cheek to reassure him.

Both left the room and slowly made their way to Patton’s door. Virgil tried the door knob, still locked. “Patton? Sweetpea we’ve come here to see how you are doing. Can you let us in, please?” Silence...no wait there was some kind of groaning sound coming from behind the door. “G-go away…” Was that Patton just now? It sounded like he was gurgling water while trying to speak.

“We can’t do that! We have something important to talk-or show you!” Janus looked to Virgil nervously. The former dark side nodded his head as Jan’s nails grew out to a point and sliced the doorknob off. “Excuse the intrusion.”

Both stepped into a darkened and rather humid room. Thankfully, both of them could see in the dark. In the corner they spotted Patton curled up and shaking, facing the wall. He visibly showed signs of changing with his green tinted skin and dark patches all over his arms and neck. “Pat?”

Startled, Patton sprang to his feet and turned to face them. They gasped at how their little buddy appeared taller now, his eyes now distinctly like a frog’s, and his hair showed faded tips of green. His eyes were filled with tears as he had to look down at his friends. He felt like a monster!

“No, no please….you have to LEAVE!” Patton’s voice croaked and boomed as he shot up another 10 feet and banged his head on the ceiling with a loud thunk. He groaned as he fell to his hands. The tears intensified as water seeped from the cracks in the wall and began flooding the room.

“Shit! Hold on to me!” Virgil clung to Janus for dear life as they quickly rose to the ceiling with the increasing water level. Patton was down below still weeping and expanding. His form pressing up against every nook and cranny of his tiny room. “Patton! Patton please! You need to stop crying or we’re going to- gurrglrrglr”

Time was up. The water had now completely filled the room as Janus and Virgil started sinking. Luckily, their froggy friend heard their pleas and snapped out of his distress. Quickly he expanded the room, changing it’s form as he scooped up the two tenderly in his webbed hands. With a kick of his strong legs Pat breached the surface. The room was now a large pond with only a small island in the center. The sun was warm and there was the sound of life all around them, but this was no time to relax.

“Virgil? Janus? Oh my gosh please, you have to be okay kiddos! Please!” Patton begged for his sweethearts to be okay as he set them on the soft grass. He poked at their stomachs as gently as he could.

*Cough* *Cough*

Oh thank goodness! Both were hacking up small volumes of water as they gasped for air, sweet-sweet air! “Patton?” Their vision was foggy from nearly drowning as they tried to focus on the green blob in front of them. Virgil raised up his arms, “A-are you okay?”

“What do you mean am I okay?! Are you okay? You two almost drowned b-because of me!” The big softie was on the verge of tears once again as he leaned in to nuzzle his dark darling with his nose.

“Woah...how big are you Patty?” Virgil giggled. He definitely wasn’t expecting to be cuddled by a gentle green snout of all things. “We’re okay Pat. Just a bit out of breath and-” Janus shivered, he had gotten too cold.

Virgil noticed as he escaped from Patton’s schnoz and immediately started cuddling up to his scaly boyfriend to warm him up. Pat climbed up onto the island, but at his current size of 100 feet he covered the majority of it as he scooped them up in his hand to hold them both closer to the sun. Jan was thankful for this as he hissed happily. His cold blood started to run warm again.

“Thank you darling! The numbness is fading now.” He lifted himself up to look at Patton with a warm expression. “Wow, look at you Pat.” “Yeah, Mr. Green right here.” They both joked to cut the tension. Patton laughed along with them as the ground shook, causing ripples in the water. His size really was something to behold. Still, their joy was cut short, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have bottled up my emotions like that and hidden away. You two could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“Oh Patty! We understand…w-we have something to tell you.” Virgil looked to Janus hoping he would start. “That’s right Patton, Virgil and I have both gone through what you’re experiencing right now. Okay, maybe not the exact same thing, but something similar.”

Patton was surprised. “W-what do you mean?” Janus smiled flashing his fangs, “I’m sure you’ve already noticed my face, but have you ever wondered why it looks like this?” Pat shook his head, he always thought it’d be taboo to ask about. “It’s because of my monster side.”

Monster side?! What was that? Patton was obviously confused as Virgil spoke up, “Mhm...Janus, Remus, and I...we all have a monster side to us. Janus doesn’t hide his like I do though and Remus is always shifting so it just seems ‘normal’ for him. It was a huge surprise when yours was revealed. Honestly, I never thought you’d be like us Pat.” Virg was feeling anxious as he kept his head down while talking.

“B-but you’ve never looked like Janus at all Stormcloud. What does your monster side look like?” Damn...that was a question he really wanted to avoid. “Guess there’s no use hiding it anymore huh? B-before I show you, you have to promise me you won’t freak out...okay Pat?”

Virgil looked so serious as he stared at Patton. What was he so worried about? “Awe kiddo, you know I’d never be scared of you! I love you too much!” He beamed a smile that put the sun to shame at them as Virgil sighed feeling a bit more relieved. “Alright.”

Concentrating, he closed his eyes as eight pitch black spider legs spread out from his back starting from the spine. He winced in pain, it’d been a long time since he last transformed. A pair of sharp mandibles poked out from the corners of his mouth; four slits opened up underneath his cheeks in pairs, each containing a solid black eye with a hint of purple.

“Aaaahhhh!!!” Suddenly, Virgil screamed lightly in pain as the transformation came to end with his new set of fangs and claws growing to a point. Janus caught him as he slumped over, huffing from exhaustion. Weakly, he looked up to Patton trying his best to smile.

Patton was mortified as he watched Virgil writhe in pain in his hand. When it all finally came to an end he was looking eyes wide at a big black spider...fuck! His heart was racing as he tried to not physically throw his boyfriend into the pond. Wait! That’s right this was his little sweetie, his Stormcloud, Prince of Darkness, etc. There was no need to be so scared...he gulped as he reached down to stroke his loves face.

Oh! He was still so soft and honestly his spider legs kind of tickled. The fear in his heart dissolved instantly. Patton giggled at how nervous he was only moments ago as he pressed them both to his cheek. “So I’m not alone after all.”

God, Virgil was instantly healed by his Sweetpea’s warmth. He hugged into the green flesh happily. “Of course not Patton, we’ll both always be here for you!”

“I’m so happy right now! You two are the best boyfriends in the whole wide world!!!”

Patton slid into the pond once more as he laid on his back. He kissed his cuties to his plush lips and then placed them right on top of his chest as he floated along the water. All the while they laughed and smiled at their giant lovers' touch.

“This new form is scary, but at long as I have you two I think I’ll be okay.”

“We love you Patton and we’ll always love you no matter what you are.”

The couple laid on Pat’s chest as tiny frogs hopped up from the lily pads to play with them as they enjoyed their time together. All content in knowing that each of them had a little cute monster inside of them that made them special.

[cherryblossomflowers]

Her Special Day

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Jensen wants YN to have an incredible birthday, but when his plans start to fail he's worried he ruined her special day. Luckily, YN is very understanding.

Warnings: Mega Fluff, Slight Cursing, Anxiety/Panic

A/N: Happy Birthday @mlovesstories​ I hope your day is filled with laughter and joy. Here's a little something from me. (I also had to add a JA gif from yesterday, lol) Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

***ASK OPEN***

*LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE TAGGED*

Cherry Blossom One-Shot Masterlist

As he pulled into his driveway, Jensen looked down at the clock on his radio, "Okay, she should be here in about an hour. That's plenty of time to get everything set up."

Today was YN's birthday and Jensen was determined to make it an unforgettable one. After all, the two have been dating for 3 years now.

And Jensen believed it was time to take that next step.

Early that morning, he called a local flower shop to deliver a bouquet of roses to YN's office as a surprise for her birthday. Then he made a plan and got ready for the day.

His first stop was the jewelry store in town. It took some time to find the perfect diamond, but after 3 hours of careful looking, he had found it. 

He didn't even flinch at the price when he swiped his credit card, especially since YN's happiness was worth more to him than any amount of money he ever had.

His next stop was the floral shop that he had the roses delivered from. He decided to buy a couple more bouquets of roses and use the petals as a romantic decoration around the house.

Finally he popped into the grocery store to pick up ingredients for YN's favorite meal: chicken parmesan. He also grabbed a chocolate cake mix, frosting, and candles, deciding that a semi-homemade birthday cake was better than having someone else make it in a bakery.

After he purchased everything, Jensen climbed back in his truck and drove to his house. He pulled into the driveway, checked the time, and got to work.

Jensen managed to get everything inside, including the ring, and into the kitchen before setting up a plan of action, "First things first: I need to get that cake made so it has time to cool. Then I need to get everything decorated. I should probably get dinner at least put together while the cake bakes."

In his entire life, Jensen had never been this nervous. He wanted YN's special day to be memorable, but he also needed this proposal to be perfect. She was the love of his life and he wanted her to always be happy.

So everything had to go right and be perfect.

After a half hour of mixing ingredients, Jensen popped the cake in the oven and got to work preparing dinner. Since he's made chicken parmesan several times over the years, mainly at YN's request, it was second nature to him.

He set the dish aside and started decorating the living room and kitchen for YN's birthday. He put one bouquet of roses in a vase and set them on the counter, then he set the table for himself and YN.

A little while later, the timer for the cake went off and he pulled the pans out of the oven. He set them on the cooling rack and slipped the chicken parmesan into the oven.

As he was cleaning up the kitchen, his phone started to ring on the counter. He picked it up and saw the picture from his and YN's first date at the water park.

He smiled as he answered, "Why hello, birthday girl."

Her giggle on the other end made his heart skip a beat, "Hello, love. Guess who got off work a half hour early?"

Jensen pulled back his phone and noticed the time, "O-oh, wow that’s...great," he had to think of something to keep her busy a bit longer, "Um, hey why don't you stop by the store a grab a bottle of wine? I spaced getting it when I was at the store earlier."

"But don't you have like rows and rows of wine in your house?"

"Y-yeah, I do. But I want you to have your favorite and we drank the last of it a week ago."

"Oh, uh, okay then. Sure, I'll stop by the store. Is there anything else I could grab?"

"Nope, that should be it. I'll see you in a bit my love," Jensen sighed in relief.

"I love you, Jay."

"Love you, too," he hung up and set his phone back on the counter, "Great, that bought me some time, but not a lot."

After grabbing the ring box from the kitchen counter, he jogged into the bedroom and swung open his closet. He looked around until he spotted the royal blue dress shirt that happened to be YN's favorite on him. He also grabbed his black slacks and dress shoes to match.

He set the ring on the nightstand by his side of the bed and changed rather quickly before walking into the bathroom to fix his hair, spray some cologne, and make sure he looked as handsome as the first time YN fell in love with him.

He took a long look at himself in the mirror and sighed, "You're all right. You can do this. You're Jensen Ross Ackles. Just a simple question: will you marry me? It's not that difficult. Just take a deep breath and relax."

He walked out of the bedroom and back towards the kitchen. As he stepped into the kitchen, he heard YN's car pulling into the driveway and he panicked.

"Shit!" he whispered, "Nothing’s ready. What do I do?"

He had to think quick on his feet, so he bolted out the front door and over to YN's car. He yanked open her driver door, which startled her.

"Jeez, Jay. Are you trying to scare me to death?" YN sighed.

"N-no, sorry. I...um..." he trailed off, trying to figure out what to say.

YN stepped out of the car and shook the bottle in her hand, "I got the wine."

"Oh, right," Jensen nodded, "I'm sorry I scared you."

"It's okay, love," she kissed his cheek, "Let's go inside and chill. I had a long day and I just want to have a nice relaxing evening with my love," she started walking towards the house.

Jensen panicked, "YN, wait!"

"What for?" she turned to him, "Awe, are you wearing that shirt because it's my birthday? Or just because it's my favorite?"

"Both, I guess," he walked up to her, "But you can't go inside."

YN rolled her eyes and smiled, "Why not?"

"Because...because..." Jensen stood behind her and covered her eyes, "It's a surprise! No peeking, okay?"

"Okay," she chuckled, "You know I'm not one for surprises, Jay."

"I know, but...trust me," he breathed, "This is a good surprise."

He kept his hands covering YN's eyes as they walked into his house. He guided her away from the kitchen and living room and towards his bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind himself, took his hands off YN's eyes, and spun her around to look at him.

"Whoa, okay. Now that I can see, what do you have up your sleeve, Jensen?" YN asked.

"Whatever do you mean, my love?" Jensen smiled, "Now, why don't you get out of your work clothes and take a long, hot bath?"

YN sighed, "That does sound nice."

"And while you do so, I'll get dinner ready."

"What's for dinner?"

"Your favorite."

YN smiled, "You're the best."

Jensen turned her around and walked her towards the bathroom, "I'll take that title for sure, but since it's your special day, I think you should take it back. All I've done is put chicken and sauce in a pan. You, m'lady," he kissed her cheek, "do more for me everyday just by breathing."

YN sighed in content, "You're going to be the death of me, Ackles."

"I love you, too," he smiled, "Now, go take a bath and meet me in the kitchen when you're done. Take as long as you need."

YN nodded as she walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind herself. Jensen let out a long sigh of relief as he walked out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen.

The cake had to be cool enough to ice by now, so he took them out of the pans and layered them on a plate. He grabbed the frosting and a spatula, and got to work on the cake. It wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, but Jensen made it himself.

He added the candles to the top then stood back to look at his handy work, "Not bad, Ackles. Not bad at all."

After setting the cake on the counter next to the vase of roses, he walked over to the dining table, picked up the last bouquet, and started pulling off the flower petals. He scattered them around the dining table then started walking back towards the bedroom while scattering more petals as a path.

When he reached the bedroom, he could hear YN's music coming from the bathroom. He smiled as he thought of how the rest of the night was going to go.

First, she'd walk out of the bathroom, her towel around her body and hair, and relaxed from her long soak. Then she'd get dressed and notice the rose petals around her feet. She'd walk out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and towards the kitchen. She'd see dinner on the table, her birthday cake, and more roses waiting for her.

And Jensen would be there, knelt down on one knee with the ring in his hand. He'd pop the question, she'd say yes (hopefully), and they'd live happily ever after.

It was perfect. Well, hopefully it would be that perfect.

Suddenly, a beeping could be heard coming from the kitchen and Jensen could smell smoke. He went into a panic as he ran out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.

He abruptly came to a halt when he saw black smoke pouring out of the oven, "Shit! I forgot to set a timer for dinner!"

He ran into the kitchen and pulled the oven open, causing more smoke to pour out of it. He blindly reached around for something to douse the small fire and rolling black smoke.

Unfortunately that thing happened to be the vase of roses. He grabbed it and tossed it on to the flame, which ruined the flowers but extinguished the fire.

When he realized what he had done, he felt himself panic more, "Oh, no. No, no, no. This is bad. The flowers...dinner...they're both ruined."

He took a few steps back from the oven, trying to figure out a quick plan to fix this. When he moved backwards, he ended up bumping into the cake and knocking it to the ground.

He whipped around and gasped at the sight, "No! Not the cake too! What am I going to do now?!"

Just then, he heard the bedroom door squeak open and footsteps approaching the kitchen.

"Hey, uh, Jay?" YN's voice echoed in his head, "Do you, um, do you want to tell me what this is that was sitting by your side of the bed? And why there are rose petals all over the floor?"

She walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, but paused when she saw the devastating sight in front of her.

There was Jensen on his hands and knees trying to somehow salvage the cake that had dropped. YN took a few steps towards him before he looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

She gasped when she saw his face, "Jensen? Honey, what happened?"

Jensen wiped his eyes, "I-I messed everything up. The chicken parmesan is burnt to a crisp, the flowers went up in flames, a-and I knocked over the cake," then he noticed the box in her hand, "Oh, no. Y-you didn't...open that did you?"

"No, not yet," YN shook her head, "I assumed it was a birthday gift that you wanted me to open with you."

He sighed, "Well, the entire night is ruined anyway. You might as well open it."

She glanced down at the box then back at Jensen, "Honey, the night isn't ruined. So dinner got a little burnt and the cake is on the ground and the flowers are toast. So what?" she knelt down next to him, "It doesn't matter."

He blinked up at her, "But your birthday-"

"Is just another day, love," she interrupted him, "You could've just popped in a movie, ordered a pizza, and we could have cuddled up on the couch. Just the fact that you tried to hard to make it perfect let's me know how much you really care about me. I love you so much."

Jensen smiled, "I love you, too, YN. And I'm sorry about all of this."

"Don't worry about it," she kissed him, "How about I help you clean up all of this then we'll watch a movie, drink some wine and relax?"

"I like that idea," he nodded, "I'll handle the cake if you want to try and get the pan of food out of the oven."

YN and Jensen stood from the floor and got to work. After YN placed the ring box on the counter, she walked over to the oven, grabbed potholders, and pulled out the dish. She placed it in the sink and started running water on it to cool it down enough to clean it.

Meanwhile, Jensen pulled the trashcan over to start cleaning the cake off the floor. He grabbed cake by the handful and tossed them in the trashcan.

It took roughly a half hour or more to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Jensen and YN had to change their clothes once they finished as Jensen was covered in cake frosting and sweat while YN was covered in burnt chicken parm and soapy water.

Once back in the living room, YN collapsed on the couch with a heavy sigh, "I could use a glass of wine."

Jensen chuckled, "I think I can handle that."

"You sure?" YN asked.

"Hardy har har," he rolled his eyes as he walked into the kitchen, "That was so funny."

He poured two glasses of wine and moved to walk out of the kitchen when the ring box caught his eye. He had completely forgotten about proposing to her after everything had happened.

Jensen grabbed the box and took a breath, "It's now or never."

He walked back into the living room and handed a glass of wine to YN. She took it from him and immediately took a satisfying sip.

"Wow, who knew wine was the key to your happiness," he chuckled as he sat next to her and put his glass on the table.

"Well, not exactly. Just a long day," she sighed and took another sip.

Jensen took a breath and held out the box, "YN, um-"

"Oh, my birthday present," she set the wine glass on the table.

"Sort of," he smirked, "Look, I know that I'm not a perfect guy. I know that I mess up from time to time, and it's mainly from my nerves. Things like tonight, I know it won't be the last time they happen. But out of all the things I know, there is one that tops them all: I know for a fact that I love you and that you love me back."

YN felt tears welling up in her eyes, "Oh, Jay."

"I've done a lot of thinking lately. And I've come to 3 conclusions: 1) I am a huge dork who's dating the most beautiful and amazing woman on the planet. 2) That amazing woman has had me wrapped around her finger from the first moment we locked eyes. And 3) The finger needs a little something more to make it official," Jensen opened the box to reveal the ring.

YN gasped, "Jensen..."

He smiled at her with tears in his eyes, "I love you, YN YLN. Would you do me the incredible honor of becoming Mrs. YN Ackles?"

"Oh my gosh, Jensen. Y-you're being serious, right? This isn't some prank o-or some cruel joke, right?" she was shaking from shock.

"No, baby. This is real. This is 100% real," he took her hand, "So, what do you say?"

YN chuckled, "What do I say? What do you mean 'what do I say'?" she leaned forward and kissed him, "Yes, Jensen, of course I'll marry you."

"Really? Yes?!" Jensen smiled his mega watt smile as he took the ring out and slide it on her finger.

YN took a long look at the ring, "This is gorgeous, honey."

"I couldn't find the exact one that you wanted, but I hope you'll love it just the same," he kissed her hand.

"It's perfect," she reached for her wine glass, "To my handsome fiance. He has his quirks, but he always keeps a smile on my face."

Jensen lifted his own glass, "And to the birthday girl, my gorgeous fiance. There's not a single flaw about her, well maybe except her small phone addiction-"

"Hey, now," YN interrupted him, "I am the owner of a company. I kind of have to be on my phone from time to time."

"But regardless of that," Jensen chuckled, "she's always there for me no matter how clumsy I get."

"To us," YN clinked her glass against Jensen's.

"To the future Mr. and Mrs. Ackles," Jensen nodded.

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

Masterlist

My Cherry Blossoms

@mlovesstories​​​ @smollestbean-2​​​ @kitwithnokat​​​

@idksupernatural​​​ @desiredposion​​​ @thevelvetseries​​​ @let-me-luve-you​​​

@obsessedwithfandomsx​​​ @mangueweaschester​​​ @starchildwild​​​ @deans-baby-momma​​​

@spnbaby-67​​​ @unicornmadness2444​​​

@emery--nicole--morrison​​​ @spnfamily-j2​​​ @akshi8278​​​ @avocadogirl216​​​

@imthedoctorlove​​​ @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x @lyarr24​​

[jjungkookislife]

The Key to My Drawer Ch. 2

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: angst/eventual smut 18+/angst

wc: 1.2k

warnings: cursing, mention of oc’s top coming off, alcohol mention/use

date: June 28, 2020

Taehyung is unaware of what you’ve been up to while he’s been gone, but you scramble to put the letter back into the envelope.  You grab all the letters and photographs before putting them back inside the drawer, making sure not to shut it all the way so you can open it later on.

“Yeah?” you call out, buying yourself a few extra seconds to place the key back onto the bedside table before you get off his bed to join him in the kitchen.  He doesn’t say a word as he sifts through his fridge, brows furrowing.

“I didn’t get any groceries,” he sighs heavily as he stands upright and looks at you, the fridge shutting behind him.  “Do you want me to go before I leave?”

“No, I can get a few things here and there.  Does Tannie have enough food for the weekend?” You ask as you stretch before sitting on the kitchen counter.  Taehyung glares at you but doesn’t scold you for getting on the counter like he usually does, he knows you’ll be sitting on it often once he leaves in a few minutes.

“Yes, I’ll leave money just in case,” he murmurs as he opens his wallet and places a few bills on the counter beside you.

“I’ve got this, Tae,” you assure him.  

He loves you.

You shake the thought away, “go.  You’re going to miss your flight.  I’ll take care of Tannie and we’ll see you on Sunday night.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?  I can book you a ticket and we can take Tannie with us,” Taehyung pouts as he looks at his little dog sleeping in his crate.

“I’m not going to a bachelor party with you, Jimin and Jungkook.  Please, I can’t drink after you all took me out for my birthday last year.”

Taehyung smiles at the memory, “it was a good night from what I recall.”

“My bikini top fell into the pool!”

“Like I said, it was a good night.”

“Tae!” You huff, flipping him off as a smirk tugs at his lips.  “Go away!”

“Aw, no hug goodbye?”  Taehyung frowns and you hop off the counter to oblige him.  Taehyung wraps his arms around you, hugging you tight before you wish him a safe flight and reassure him that his precious pup is in good hands.

Taehyung touches his neck, eyes widening when he realizes his necklace isn’t there.  He jogs to his room to grab it and put it on, not noticing the drawer is ajar.

“You and that necklace,” you mutter, only now you know what secrets it held.  Taehyung smiles sheepishly, blowing you and Tannie a kiss before leaving.

When you’re sure Taehyung has left, you lock the door and go back to his room.  You slip your finger into the corner of the drawer, pulling it out gently.  

You empty the contents back onto his bed.  Your heart races in your chest, fearing he’ll burst back into his apartment and catch you red-handed.  You really didn’t want to invade his privacy, but how could you go on without reading the rest of the letters.

The first letter you read has a question mark on it in the right-hand side of the envelope.  You sort through the rest, piling the pictures on one side of the bed and the letters on another.  You run your hands over them, spreading them on the sheet until you see a #1 written in the upper right-hand corner of the fading blue envelope.

With a trembling hand, you’re cautious as you take the letter out, unfolding it gently to read its contents.

I don’t understand what’s going on.  I mean, I do, but I don’t?  I’m not making any sense, am I, Y/n?  I’m fucking this up already and I haven’t even said anything.  I’m an idiot.  Such an idiot.

Look... no.  

You see… no.

Y/n… you see what you do to me?  I can’t even gather my thoughts long enough to tell you that I love you.  Fuck, isn’t that odd?  Not loving you, no.  Never that.  Just saying it out loud, well writing it down.  It makes it sound real, almost tangible.

I love you, Y/n.

Holy shit, I love you.

I, Taehyung, love you, Y/n…

Holy fuck… I love you!  I love you!  I'm in love with you!

And I’ll never tell you..

But it all makes sense now.  The nervousness, the fluttering in my stomach when you smile, the way my heart races when you hug me hello.  It’s all making sense.  Shit.  When did this happen?  What am I supposed to do?  Do I tell you?  Do I take this to the grave?  Will you hate me?  Will you love me?  

What do I do, Y/n?

What do I do?

The letter ends.  The date scrawled messily in Taehyung’s handwriting.  It’s dated five years ago from the looks of it. 

Your eyes dart to the envelopes, frantically searching for envelope #2.  You find it, it’s rather large but you place letter #1 in its envelope and with utmost care, take out the second letter.  

Okay, so I couldn’t show you that first letter.  Hopefully, I can show you this one.  Here we go!

I love you, Y/n.  

There, I said it.  Wrote it.  Same thing, right?  Now how do I say it to your face?

I just have to work up the courage, right?  Find the right moment?  Hold your hand, look you in the eyes and say, “I love you.  I’m in love with you.”

And then you’ll reject me, and I’ll move to Antarctica.

Why is this so hard, Y/n?  I mean, I just realized I love you… as more than a friend at least.  I’ve always been able to share all my secrets with you, and yet, this is the only one I feel the need to keep to myself.  

We’re supposed to be studying for our final exams and here I am, writing you a poor love letter that’s almost as big of a flop as the first one.  I’ll keep this one to myself.

I can see you pouting, your brows furrowing.  I know you’re worried about passing Statistics, but you always do well.  Hell, I’m the one who should be worried about flunking Algebra and I should study instead of writing this letter, but you just look so cute.  

My palms are growing clammy, my pen is slipping out of my hand and my fingers are smudging the ink.  I can’t stop staring at you though.  You’re biting your pencil now, a terrible habit you never grew out of since high school, and you’re mouthing the words as you read your notes.  Your index finger twirls strands of your hair before you release it and do it again.  Do you know you’re beautiful?

You just whined my name, you want me to stop daydreaming and get back to studying.  How am I supposed to study when my daydream is about you being in love with me too?  Why should I leave the fantasy in my mind to focus on math?  Don’t you know I’d rather study you instead?

Wait… I’m supposed to be confessing my love to you in this letter, not droning on and on about algebra or the cute way you pout when you’re talking about dropping out of school to live in the forest with me and a dog.

If only, Y/n.  

If only...

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

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[5lazarus]

Weavers

this was meant to be severitus, or at least Snape-mentors-Harry, so let’s call this the precursor to it

Summary: Bored before the start of sixth year, Harry goes through Petunia's old family photo albums. He demands some answers, and Dumbledore sends Snape. Read on AO3 here

The days are hot and dusty and Harry is left roving the same suburban streets, bored as hell, as the Dursleys pretend nothing is wrong and everyone he knows acts the same. Voldemort’s back, and he wants to kill him. His godfather’s dead. No one wants to talk about Cedric, and he doesn’t even know how to talk about Cedric, even if anybody knew to ask. Harry just walks, and kicks at fluttery bits of newspaper littering the ground, and tries not to let the heat sour his mood. When Aunt Petunia’s busy at the neighbor’s garden parties, Harry steals into the living room and starts going through the photo albums. Why, he’s not so sure, he just wants to know, to see, to remember that there was a past before Hogwarts, and so he flips through grotesque faded photos of Dudley and Uncle Vernon eating cake with him a shadow cut in half, just barely in view. These were not happy days, but Harry’s not sure he’s ever had any of those. It was fun laughing with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the Twins sometimes, and he feels free and devoid of all this heavy thoughts on a broom. He finishes one photo album, slots it back in the shelf, and pulls out another. This one is older--before he was born. Maybe he’ll find a photo of his mother in it. He flips through time, ignoring a wedding photo--after his grandparents’ deaths--and polaroids of truly soul-crushing dates. He laughs at the bad hair, though he knows he of all people shouldn’t point fingers. Finally, he reaches his aunt’s teenage years, and he hopes he’ll find his mother there. It’s a weird thought, that his mother was barely more than a teenager when she was killed. She was only twenty when she had him. He’s almost sixteen now. He can’t imagine that, the pressure of having a baby with a target on its back in the middle of a war, and he wishes desperately  he could know what she was like. Sirius didn’t like to talk about her, and Lupin talks in circles about everything. He wishes there was someone he could ask. He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: “Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!” The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape.

Rapidly now he flips through the pages. There’s one of his bright-eyed mother with a sullen-looking boy with a big nose and greasy hair, glowering at the camera as she laughs. There’s even one of her and Petunia and him all together, sitting in someone’s garden, and Snape is wearing too-big jeans and a stained t-shirt, staring solemnly at the camera. Now that he’s seen it he can’t unsee it. Aunt Petunia comes clattering in, throwing her keys onto the coffee table, and stops sharply at the sight of him with the photos all around him. “Put those back!” she shrieks. “You knew Snape?” he shrieks back. Petunia rears back, apopletic. “You know Snape?” “Yeah, I know Snape,” Harry yells back. “He’s my Potions professor, that greasy git. How do you know Snape?” Petunia sinks onto the couch. “That--awful boy,” she says falteringly. “A teacher? At your school?” She puts her hand over her mouth. “He hated it there, he’s went back to teach?” Harry says, “Yeah. We hate him too.” Petunia begins to laugh. “Bastard,” she says, chortling, “serves him right. I always thought he’d end up teaching chemistry, or in prison. I suppose your Headmaster made him one of those offers you can’t refuse, like he did with me. I never wanted you, I hope you know.” “Believe me,” Harry says wearily, “I picked up on that early on, thanks.” Aunt Petunia yells at him for nosing into her family’s business and Harry heroically resists the urge to inform her that it’s his family too, and instead keeps the photos of his mother stealthily hidden in his pocket. When she’s done, he rushes to his room, pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, and writes a simple sentence: “Snape knew my mom?” He sends it off to Dumbledore. This complicates the whole Prophecy bullshit he told him about, and he wants answers. Hedwig knows how to charm them out of people, too. She won’t peck the Headmaster, but she sure will be cute. Sure enough, two hours later--or however long it takes for an owl to fly from Surrey to an unknown part of rural Scotland--the doorbell rings. Harry rushes downstairs and throws open the door. He falters. It’s not Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneers. He’s wearing muggle clothes, black jeans that actually fit him, a band t-shirt, and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. Harry blinks. Snape likes the Clash? Snape likes things? “I have been told to take you on a walk.” Harry says, “Uh. Do you have that in writing?” Snape’s a Death Eater, after all. He doesn’t want to die. Snape grabs his shoulder and pulls him out of the house. He closes the door. Harry yelps. “Rest assured while I have no interest in ending your idiocy as of yet,” Snape hisses. “Now, to walk. This way.” Sharply he turns, and Harry runs to catch up. “You wrote the Headmaster.” “You knew my mom!” Harry says. He pulls out the photos from pocket and fans them out like a hand of cards. “For your whole childhood! And my age, too!” “Obviously,” Snape sneers. He snatches the photos from him and scrutinizes each snapshot. His scowl deepens. In Potions class, this would be a sign to get out of blast range. Unfortunately, the only thing around to hide behind is a street lamp and a hedge, and Harry’s pretty sure Snape can get around that. Snape snorts when he gets the Weaver photo. “Your aunt kept these? She hated your mother--and me.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Well, you’re not very likeable. Sir.” With truly heroic, Gryffindor-standard effort, Harry restrains himself. He shrugs instead. He wants information. He’ll have to tap into whatever Slytherin qualities the Sorting Hat identified in him to get it. Snape says finally, “I grew up across the river from your mother. She was my friend. Then we went our separate ways.” “Well, you called her a Mudblood,” Harry says. “I mean, of course she’d stop talking to you.” “Do not say that word,” Snape hisses. Harry mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t have brought up the Pensieve incident--except, ravenously, he wants to know everything about the Pensieve incident. Dumbledore sent him there, to answer his questions. He’s got nothing to lose by asking. Snape’s gonna lose his shit anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, annoyed. He stops under a lamp post. Dusk is coming on thick, and even on Privet Drive, it’s turning to a pretty night. Snape crosses his arms and looks at him sardonically. He is sneering, preparing to spit his usual venom, but Harry persists, “How’d all that even happen? I mean, clearly my dad was a bit of a prick--I don’t know what she saw in him--” “Potter,” Snape says. “Shut up.” Harry holds his hands up. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. But you and my mother were friends. No one tells me anything about her. It’s like she had nobody but--you, I guess, and my dad. They just say I have her eyes. It’s almost my birthday, uh, Professor.” He adds the title and the respect a little thick. Snape is unamused. “Aunt Petunia just says she was a showoff. What was she really like?” Snape says, “Your aunt’s right, she was a showoff. But she was barely more than a child when she was killed. She never got the time to grow out of it. Dumbledore sent me, Potter. I’m supposed to bring you to the Weasleys. But I am not dealing with your aunt’s histrionics. Bring your things and meet me the block over. I’m parked over there.” He points at the rather nondescript gray car. “I’ll answer your questions on the drive over. You will not mention this to anyone, particularly your little friends.” It sounds sketchy, but Harry’s willing to do it just for the rumors that will circulate around the neighborhood as they see him sneaking into a strange man’s car with a wooden trunk and a bird cage. Harry darts back home and drags his things down the street and piles them into Snape’s car. Funny thought, that--that Snape has a car, and a driver’s license. He goes in for the back first, to sit with Hedwig, but Snape snaps, “I am not your chauffeur!” so he returns to the front seat. He eyes him warily as he steps in. Snape does not look at him, but sorts through a pile of CDs. “You do a lot of driving?” Harry asks disbelievingly. Snape’s nostril twitch in reply. He pulls out a battered case--The Who. He puts it in, starts the car, and there they go, driving away from Privet Drive. This is not the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Harry. He’s watched a baby hatch into a man out of a cauldron before, and listened to the whispers of the dead, and ridden on an invisible horse, as well as a broom. But Snape is serene, tapping his long, skinny fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Harry sneezes. The car stinks of weed. “Are you high?” Harry asks. Snape says, “To deal with you during my time off--there is no other way.” He looks at him suddenly. “Get the map. I haven’t driven through Devonshire in years. When does the road merge?” Harry shuffles through the hatbox of the car, shoving aside a pair of leather gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare wand. He pulls out the map and looks at it despairingly. “What, Potter? Can’t read a map?” Harry says, “Uh. Think we drove past it. Sir.” Snape curses and does a U-town, flipping off the cars that beep in their wake. Harry is beginning to get a little scared. Snape hates him, that’s obvious, and sometimes he thinks he wants to kill him. He really doesn’t want to die in a car crash, he can just imagine the headlines. Eventually Snape gets them on their way, nasty and irritated. They detangle the suburban streets and drive into the night, getting out of the suburban tarmac into the muddy rural. When Harry tries to ask a question, Snape turns up the music. They listen to “Baba O’Riley” three times. Harry stays silent the whole time, afraid. His mother wrote this on the back of the photograph, after all, maybe there’s a subliminal message here. She wanted to go. Harry wonders, but where to? The end of Avada, a flash of green light. Maybe a car crash would have been better, more glamorous, like Princess Diana. What would she have even thought of that? Harry musters up the courage. He says, “She wrote about this on the back of one of the photographs. 1976, weavers.” He puts it on the dashboard, and Snape, keeping one hand on the wheel, picks it up and glances at it. His expression, already sour, curdles. “What does that mean?” “Tuney doesn’t talk about her childhood much, does she?” Snape remarks. He faces the road and misses the exit they were supposed to turn onto. Harry puts his hand into his other pocket and surreptitiously takes ahold of his wand. Snape’s probably not trying to kill him, but as Moody--well, fake-Moody says, “Constant vigilance!” He keeps his mouth shut. Snape’s always been garrulous, using ten words when three would suffice, and cramming as many syllables into them as he can. Hermione once despaired that lectures with him were like a speech class. It was all about the enunciation. Finally, Snape says, “We grew up in a textile town. Most of the men worked at the factory, until it closed. They were the weavers, and we were too, if it weren’t for magic.” “You’re not muggleborn!” Harry says, alarmed. “How--” “No,” Snape says. “I am not answering any questions about myself, Potter.” He veers sharply on the road, finally getting them back on track. By Harry’s reckoning, they’ve got about a half hour left. He sinks in his seat, sullen. “So what about my mum?” he asks. “Did she like--weaving? Growing up in the town? What was she like?” Snape says, “No, no, and--young, because she was young. Headstrong. Sarcastic. She didn’t suffer fools, until she did.” Harry says, “My father wasn’t a fool!” “Your father used to run around school grounds with a fully transformed werewolf.” Harry has to say, maybe his father was a bit of a fool, after all. He does not, though, have to say all that aloud. He says, “Sarcastic?” Snape says, “I think much of her wit went above her Housemates’ heads. They always said she was kind. That was not my experience. She was extraordinarily righteous, and outspoken, and strict with herself and everyone around her. To the point where one wondered how anyone could measure up to Saint Lily’s grandiose proclamations.” The CD ends, finally, and Snape clicks a button. He seems amused. “Lupin didn’t like her much, and she didn’t like Sirius. I am not surprised they avoid talking about her.” Eyes on the road, he goes through the electronic piles by touch, and pulls out a tape. He sticks it in. Harry blinks. It’s the Velvet Underground now, “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” “What costume shall the poor girl wear,” the car radio warbles, “to all tomorrow’s parties?” Harry says, “They said she was kind.” “Perhaps she was to them. She was always demanding of me, and I do not call that kind.” “You called her a Mudblood.” Snape says wearily, “And no one has ever let me forget it, twenty-one long years later. Righteous, and demanding, and strict--but never kind.” “Yeah, well, you joined the Death Eaters, too.” Snape laughs suddenly, sharply, bitterly. “Much worse than calling someone a slur. And I have spent the rest of my life repenting of it.” They’re in Devon now, getting close to the end. Harry’s gotten used to the smell and he’s enjoying the music now, even though he thinks it’s a little sad. He wonders if Snape is thinking about himself, or his mother, and if his mother would’ve liked this song. It’s the first time he’s ever heard someone talk about her like a person, not a saint, and he wants more. He wants to see her be mean--meaner, he guesses, than what he saw in the Pensieve. He wants to see her being too hard on herself and snapping back for justice, whatever she thought justice was. But she’s dead, and he’s only six years younger than she was when she died. That’s an insane thought. In six years, if Voldemort doesn’t kill him, he’ll be the same age as his mother when she died. Maybe he’ll be even older. He looks at Snape, who is meditative, hands relaxed on the steering wheel. Snape’s watching the road. He looks not-old for once, not angry or sour or raging. He just looks like a guy approaching middle-age, who’s tired, who’s thinking about the past. Harry thinks, he’s not really ugly when he lets his face be. Maybe he’s thinking not-ugly thoughts. Melancholy makes a person look human. Snape doesn’t seem like a Potions professor in this car--just sad. They pull through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and Snape stops at a park. He looks at Harry directly and says, “Your mother...she was more than her eyes. She was an extraordinarily vibrant  young woman, who died too young, who had plans for herself and everyone around her. You’re nothing like her. No one is. There was only ever one Lily Evans, and we wouldn’t want anymore.” Harry gets out of the car and clambers to the boot of the car, getting his trunk and rattling Hedwig’s cage as he goes. She squawks at him, outraged, and he smiles at her affronted dignity. He’d thank Snape for telling him all this, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, because he only did it on Dumbledore’s orders. He gestures with the cage that he’s heading to the Burrow now. “Uh, bye then,” Harry says. He doesn’t necessarily want to wish him a safe trip. He gets five paces before Snape stops him. “Potter!” Harry turns back. Snape is standing in front of the car, illuminated in the headlights. His wand is up. Harry drops Hedwig’s cage, going for his own, but Snape is faster. “Obliviate!”The days are hot and dusty and Harry is left roving the same suburban streets, bored as hell, as the Dursleys pretend nothing is wrong and everyone he knows acts the same. Voldemort’s back, and he wants to kill him. His godfather’s dead. No one wants to talk about Cedric, and he doesn’t even know how to talk about Cedric, even if anybody knew to ask. Harry just walks, and kicks at fluttery bits of newspaper littering the ground, and tries not to let the heat sour his mood. When Aunt Petunia’s busy at the neighbor’s garden parties, Harry steals into the living room and starts going through the photo albums. Why, he’s not so sure, he just wants to know, to see, to remember that there was a past before Hogwarts, and so he flips through grotesque faded photos of Dudley and Uncle Vernon eating cake with him a shadow cut in half, just barely in view. These were not happy days, but Harry’s not sure he’s ever had any of those. It was fun laughing with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the Twins sometimes, and he feels free and devoid of all this heavy thoughts on a broom. He finishes one photo album, slots it back in the shelf, and pulls out another. This one is older--before he was born. Maybe he’ll find a photo of his mother in it. He flips through time, ignoring a wedding photo--after his grandparents’ deaths--and polaroids of truly soul-crushing dates. He laughs at the bad hair, though he knows he of all people shouldn’t point fingers. Finally, he reaches his aunt’s teenage years, and he hopes he’ll find his mother there. It’s a weird thought, that his mother was barely more than a teenager when she was killed. She was only twenty when she had him. He’s almost sixteen now. He can’t imagine that, the pressure of having a baby with a target on its back in the middle of a war, and he wishes desperately  he could know what she was like. Sirius didn’t like to talk about her, and Lupin talks in circles about everything. He wishes there was someone he could ask. He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: “Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!” The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape. Rapidly now he flips through the pages. There’s one of his bright-eyed mother with a sullen-looking boy with a big nose and greasy hair, glowering at the camera as she laughs. There’s even one of her and Petunia and him all together, sitting in someone’s garden, and Snape is wearing too-big jeans and a stained t-shirt, staring solemnly at the camera. Now that he’s seen it he can’t unsee it. Aunt Petunia comes clattering in, throwing her keys onto the coffee table, and stops sharply at the sight of him with the photos all around him. “Put those back!” she shrieks. “You knew Snape?” he shrieks back. Petunia rears back, apopletic. “You know Snape?” “Yeah, I know Snape,” Harry yells back. “He’s my Potions professor, that greasy git. How do you know Snape?” Petunia sinks onto the couch. “That--awful boy,” she says falteringly. “A teacher? At your school?” She puts her hand over her mouth. “He hated it there, he’s went back to teach?” Harry says, “Yeah. We hate him too.” Petunia begins to laugh. “Bastard,” she says, chortling, “serves him right. I always thought he’d end up teaching chemistry, or in prison. I suppose your Headmaster made him one of those offers you can’t refuse, like he did with me. I never wanted you, I hope you know.” “Believe me,” Harry says wearily, “I picked up on that early on, thanks.” Aunt Petunia yells at him for nosing into her family’s business and Harry heroically resists the urge to inform her that it’s his family too, and instead keeps the photos of his mother stealthily hidden in his pocket. When she’s done, he rushes to his room, pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, and writes a simple sentence: “Snape knew my mom?” He sends it off to Dumbledore. This complicates the whole Prophecy bullshit he told him about, and he wants answers. Hedwig knows how to charm them out of people, too. She won’t peck the Headmaster, but she sure will be cute. Sure enough, two hours later--or however long it takes for an owl to fly from Surrey to an unknown part of rural Scotland--the doorbell rings. Harry rushes downstairs and throws open the door. He falters. It’s not Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneers. He’s wearing muggle clothes, black jeans that actually fit him, a band t-shirt, and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. Harry blinks. Snape likes the Clash? Snape likes things? “I have been told to take you on a walk.” Harry says, “Uh. Do you have that in writing?” Snape’s a Death Eater, after all. He doesn’t want to die. Snape grabs his shoulder and pulls him out of the house. He closes the door. Harry yelps. “Rest assured while I have no interest in ending your idiocy as of yet,” Snape hisses. “Now, to walk. This way.” Sharply he turns, and Harry runs to catch up. “You wrote the Headmaster.” “You knew my mom!” Harry says. He pulls out the photos from pocket and fans them out like a hand of cards. “For your whole childhood! And my age, too!” “Obviously,” Snape sneers. He snatches the photos from him and scrutinizes each snapshot. His scowl deepens. In Potions class, this would be a sign to get out of blast range. Unfortunately, the only thing around to hide behind is a street lamp and a hedge, and Harry’s pretty sure Snape can get around that. Snape snorts when he gets the Weaver photo. “Your aunt kept these? She hated your mother--and me.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Well, you’re not very likeable. Sir.” With truly heroic, Gryffindor-standard effort, Harry restrains himself. He shrugs instead. He wants information. He’ll have to tap into whatever Slytherin qualities the Sorting Hat identified in him to get it. Snape says finally, “I grew up across the river from your mother. She was my friend. Then we went our separate ways.” “Well, you called her a Mudblood,” Harry says. “I mean, of course she’d stop talking to you.” “Do not say that word,” Snape hisses. Harry mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t have brought up the Pensieve incident--except, ravenously, he wants to know everything about the Pensieve incident. Dumbledore sent him there, to answer his questions. He’s got nothing to lose by asking. Snape’s gonna lose his shit anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, annoyed. He stops under a lamp post. Dusk is coming on thick, and even on Privet Drive, it’s turning to a pretty night. Snape crosses his arms and looks at him sardonically. He is sneering, preparing to spit his usual venom, but Harry persists, “How’d all that even happen? I mean, clearly my dad was a bit of a prick--I don’t know what she saw in him--” “Potter,” Snape says. “Shut up.” Harry holds his hands up. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. But you and my mother were friends. No one tells me anything about her. It’s like she had nobody but--you, I guess, and my dad. They just say I have her eyes. It’s almost my birthday, uh, Professor.” He adds the title and the respect a little thick. Snape is unamused. “Aunt Petunia just says she was a showoff. What was she really like?” Snape says, “Your aunt’s right, she was a showoff. But she was barely more than a child when she was killed. She never got the time to grow out of it. Dumbledore sent me, Potter. I’m supposed to bring you to the Weasleys. But I am not dealing with your aunt’s histrionics. Bring your things and meet me the block over. I’m parked over there.” He points at the rather nondescript gray car. “I’ll answer your questions on the drive over. You will not mention this to anyone, particularly your little friends.” It sounds sketchy, but Harry’s willing to do it just for the rumors that will circulate around the neighborhood as they see him sneaking into a strange man’s car with a wooden trunk and a bird cage. Harry darts back home and drags his things down the street and piles them into Snape’s car. Funny thought, that--that Snape has a car, and a driver’s license. He goes in for the back first, to sit with Hedwig, but Snape snaps, “I am not your chauffeur!” so he returns to the front seat. He eyes him warily as he steps in. Snape does not look at him, but sorts through a pile of CDs. “You do a lot of driving?” Harry asks disbelievingly. Snape’s nostril twitch in reply. He pulls out a battered case--The Who. He puts it in, starts the car, and there they go, driving away from Privet Drive. This is not the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Harry. He’s watched a baby hatch into a man out of a cauldron before, and listened to the whispers of the dead, and ridden on an invisible horse, as well as a broom. But Snape is serene, tapping his long, skinny fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Harry sneezes. The car stinks of weed. “Are you high?” Harry asks. Snape says, “To deal with you during my time off--there is no other way.” He looks at him suddenly. “Get the map. I haven’t driven through Devonshire in years. When does the road merge?” Harry shuffles through the hatbox of the car, shoving aside a pair of leather gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare wand. He pulls out the map and looks at it despairingly. “What, Potter? Can’t read a map?” Harry says, “Uh. Think we drove past it. Sir.” Snape curses and does a U-town, flipping off the cars that beep in their wake. Harry is beginning to get a little scared. Snape hates him, that’s obvious, and sometimes he thinks he wants to kill him. He really doesn’t want to die in a car crash, he can just imagine the headlines. Eventually Snape gets them on their way, nasty and irritated. They detangle the suburban streets and drive into the night, getting out of the suburban tarmac into the muddy rural. When Harry tries to ask a question, Snape turns up the music. They listen to “Baba O’Riley” three times. Harry stays silent the whole time, afraid. His mother wrote this on the back of the photograph, after all, maybe there’s a subliminal message here. She wanted to go. Harry wonders, but where to? The end of Avada, a flash of green light. Maybe a car crash would have been better, more glamorous, like Princess Diana. What would she have even thought of that? Harry musters up the courage. He says, “She wrote about this on the back of one of the photographs. 1976, weavers.” He puts it on the dashboard, and Snape, keeping one hand on the wheel, picks it up and glances at it. His expression, already sour, curdles. “What does that mean?” “Tuney doesn’t talk about her childhood much, does she?” Snape remarks. He faces the road and misses the exit they were supposed to turn onto. Harry puts his hand into his other pocket and surreptitiously takes ahold of his wand. Snape’s probably not trying to kill him, but as Moody--well, fake-Moody says, “Constant vigilance!” He keeps his mouth shut. Snape’s always been garrulous, using ten words when three would suffice, and cramming as many syllables into them as he can. Hermione once despaired that lectures with him were like a speech class. It was all about the enunciation. Finally, Snape says, “We grew up in a textile town. Most of the men worked at the factory, until it closed. They were the weavers, and we were too, if it weren’t for magic.” “You’re not muggleborn!” Harry says, alarmed. “How--” “No,” Snape says. “I am not answering any questions about myself, Potter.” He veers sharply on the road, finally getting them back on track. By Harry’s reckoning, they’ve got about a half hour left. He sinks in his seat, sullen. “So what about my mum?” he asks. “Did she like--weaving? Growing up in the town? What was she like?” Snape says, “No, no, and--young, because she was young. Headstrong. Sarcastic. She didn’t suffer fools, until she did.” Harry says, “My father wasn’t a fool!” “Your father used to run around school grounds with a fully transformed werewolf.” Harry has to say, maybe his father was a bit of a fool, after all. He does not, though, have to say all that aloud. He says, “Sarcastic?” Snape says, “I think much of her wit went above her Housemates’ heads. They always said she was kind. That was not my experience. She was extraordinarily righteous, and outspoken, and strict with herself and everyone around her. To the point where one wondered how anyone could measure up to Saint Lily’s grandiose proclamations.” The CD ends, finally, and Snape clicks a button. He seems amused. “Lupin didn’t like her much, and she didn’t like Sirius. I am not surprised they avoid talking about her.” Eyes on the road, he goes through the electronic piles by touch, and pulls out a tape. He sticks it in. Harry blinks. It’s the Velvet Underground now, “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” “What costume shall the poor girl wear,” the car radio warbles, “to all tomorrow’s parties?” Harry says, “They said she was kind.” “Perhaps she was to them. She was always demanding of me, and I do not call that kind.” “You called her a Mudblood.” Snape says wearily, “And no one has ever let me forget it, twenty-one long years later. Righteous, and demanding, and strict--but never kind.” “Yeah, well, you joined the Death Eaters, too.” Snape laughs suddenly, sharply, bitterly. “Much worse than calling someone a slur. And I have spent the rest of my life repenting of it.” They’re in Devon now, getting close to the end. Harry’s gotten used to the smell and he’s enjoying the music now, even though he thinks it’s a little sad. He wonders if Snape is thinking about himself, or his mother, and if his mother would’ve liked this song. It’s the first time he’s ever heard someone talk about her like a person, not a saint, and he wants more. He wants to see her be mean--meaner, he guesses, than what he saw in the Pensieve. He wants to see her being too hard on herself and snapping back for justice, whatever she thought justice was. But she’s dead, and he’s only six years younger than she was when she died. That’s an insane thought. In six years, if Voldemort doesn’t kill him, he’ll be the same age as his mother when she died. Maybe he’ll be even older. He looks at Snape, who is meditative, hands relaxed on the steering wheel. Snape’s watching the road. He looks not-old for once, not angry or sour or raging. He just looks like a guy approaching middle-age, who’s tired, who’s thinking about the past. Harry thinks, he’s not really ugly when he lets his face be. Maybe he’s thinking not-ugly thoughts. Melancholy makes a person look human. Snape doesn’t seem like a Potions professor in this car--just sad. They pull through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and Snape stops at a park. He looks at Harry directly and says, “Your mother...she was more than her eyes. She was an extraordinarily vibrant  young woman, who died too young, who had plans for herself and everyone around her. You’re nothing like her. No one is. There was only ever one Lily Evans, and we wouldn’t want anymore.” Harry gets out of the car and clambers to the boot of the car, getting his trunk and rattling Hedwig’s cage as he goes. She squawks at him, outraged, and he smiles at her affronted dignity. He’d thank Snape for telling him all this, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, because he only did it on Dumbledore’s orders. He gestures with the cage that he’s heading to the Burrow now. “Uh, bye then,” Harry says. He doesn’t necessarily want to wish him a safe trip. He gets five paces before Snape stops him. “Potter!” Harry turns back. Snape is standing in front of the car, illuminated in the headlights. His wand is up. Harry drops Hedwig’s cage, going for his own, but Snape is faster. “Obliviate!”

[ddaenggtan]

black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG,  some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it. 

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway. 

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience. 

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain. 

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands. 

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more." 

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet. 

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring. 

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected. 

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough. 

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago. 

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you. 

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better. 

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home. 

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from. 

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing. 

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering. 

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas. 

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd. 

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal. 

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault. 

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name? 

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do. 

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why. 

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success. 

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts. 

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point. 

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process. 

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing." 

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar. 

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks. 

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you." 

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered. 

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space. 

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat. 

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him. 

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive. 

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already. 

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you. 

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles. 

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows. 

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off . 

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse. 

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own. 

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want. 

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way. 

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear . 

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you. 

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are. 

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them. 

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you. 

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself. 

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all. 

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long. 

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar. 

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe. 

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off." 

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws. 

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?" 

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper. 

"You are going to wish that you could die." 

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it. 

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body. 

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight. 

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats. 

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have. 

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages. 

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself. 

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom. 

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns. 

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.” 

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs. 

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says. 

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them. 

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you. 

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers. 

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out. 

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues. 

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest. 

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head. 

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is: 

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead. 

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway. 

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer. 

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you. 

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.” 

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal. 

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference. 

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is. 

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new. 

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will. 

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.  

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking. 

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore. 

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that. 

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you. 

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings. 

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment. 

Someone says your name and you swing. 

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor. 

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway. 

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to. 

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building. 

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too. 

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you. 

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love. 

If you can love. 

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed. 

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself. 

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is. 

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there. 

Until the night when it’s not. 

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win. 

You would take it back if you could. 

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster. 

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital. 

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal. 

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them. 

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive. 

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips. 

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again. 

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you. 

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you. 

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist. 

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair. 

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out. 

“I didn’t-” 

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have. 

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking. 

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her. 

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough. 

It’s never enough. 

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan. 

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster. 

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing. 

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it. 

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips. 

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with. 

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go. 

Frustrated, you pull back. 

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown. 

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress. 

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees. 

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh. 

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free." 

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath. 

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat. 

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve." 

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits? 

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again. 

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time. 

Not with Taehyung. 

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him. 

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating. 

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could. 

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up." 

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind. 

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been. 

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately. 

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you . 

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you. 

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder. 

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come. 

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.” 

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for. 

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose. 

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena. 

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake. 

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs. 

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have. 

He’ll learn. 

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it. 

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face. 

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes. 

The giant swings. 

[let-it-raines]

Something As Stupid As Jealousy and Queso (1/1)

Emma Swan is in love with her best friend. 

It’s the most cliché thing in the world, and she kind of hates herself for it. But she doesn’t hate Killian, not at all. And maybe, just maybe, if she focuses on her coursework and her finals she won’t have time to think about his stupid blue eyes or the way he makes her smile. 

Maybe, just maybe, she’s the biggest liar in the world. 

Rating: Mature (but just barely)

a/n: It’s the 15th, so it’s time for me to wish @carpedzem​ the happiest of birthdays! Nat is such a sweetheart, and she’s so talented! Like, if you haven’t seen her artwork, I encourage you to go check it out now. She’s been the most fun to get to know, and I hope this story is everything she wanted! I think I tried to get it all in there ❤️

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

“Hey, are you that – ”

“Yep,” Emma murmurs, picking up her pace and flicking her hand toward the guy who’s calling out to her. She doesn’t have time for this today. She’s got to fix a paragraph in her paper, which will inevitably lead to her changing the entire thing around, and she doesn’t want to be up until a minute before midnight turning it in at the actual last moment.

One and a half more semesters of this, and then she’s free.

Well, for a little while. She’s not exactly sure what her plans are yet for after she graduates. That’s the end goal here, but it’s also not something she can focus on right now.

Paper. She’s got to focus on her paper. One track mind and all that.

“Loved the episode last night,” someone else yells. She recognizes him. He’s in her Cross-cultural Prospective class, and now she’s going to have to hide away whenever they’re in lecture.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbles, flashing him a tight smile.

There are a few more comments thrown her way as she walks across campus, and after being told by some guy she’s never met that he would gladly have sex with her, she turns from main campus and walks an extra mile out of her way to get home without having to see anyone else.

She needs coffee.

And grilled cheese.

She also probably needs some water, but that’s a problem for another time.

Oh, Mexican food might be good tonight.

The moment Emma gets home, she kicks off her sneakers, leaving them strewn across the entryway, and drops her backpack to the ground before stalking into the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine and grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter. Mary Margaret must have gone grocery shopping this morning if they have fresh fruit.

As the coffee percolates and Emma bites into her apple, she pulls her phone out of the hidden pocket in her running pants and scrolls through her Instagram. She’s got her notifications turned off so she never sees anything unless she actually opens up her app. Things get too crazy otherwise.

@KillianJones33 mentioned you in his story.

Emma huffs, and clicks on the link until she’s opening up Killian’s story. It’s a video, and she immediately knows what it is.

The asshole.

“So,” Killian begins, “as you can see here is a perfectly clean house. However, if you look down at the floor, there’s a trail of shoes, specifically Emma Swan’s shoes that she has left in every room of this damn house….except for her bedroom.”

The camera flips around so she can see his face and the shit-eating grin he’s sporting. Why is he this way? He’s so damn dramatic about everything.

“Do you think publicly shaming her will make her pick her shoes up, or am I cursed to live like this forever?”

The coffee machine beeps behind her, and Emma tosses her half-eaten apple into the trash before grabbing a travel mug out of the cabinet and pouring it three fourths of the way to the top so she still has room for her creamer.  As soon as she’s got the creamer in and has the top firmly on, she starts walking out of the kitchen and through the living room until she’s turning the corner and walking up the stairs, kicking away a pair of her heels that she wore on a date last week. Killian’s door is closed, but she knows it’s not locked.

“You are an asshole,” Emma grumbles the moment she’s got the door open.

Killian’s sitting in his bed with his back resting against the headboard. His room is obnoxiously clean. It drives her crazy. All of his clothes are in his closet, his bed is made, and there’s absolutely nothing out of place. He claims it’s from being raised by a brother in the military, but she thinks he’d be this way no matter what.

This is probably why her shoe thing bothers him so much.

“Can you clarify why I’m an asshole, love? There are simply so many options.”

“Your video about my shoes.”

Killian clicks his tongue and raises his brow before returning to looking at his laptop, fingers tapping against the keyboard. “Your shoes are a menace. You have to pick them up.”

“Why would I do that when I have you?”

“Because I’m not your maid.”

“But you hate when things aren’t clean, so it drives you crazy enough that you clean it up.”

“Is that your entire goal? To drive me crazy.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Killian chuckles and keeps typing, and Emma takes the opportunity to walk over toward his bed and climb up on the mattress, settling down beside him and taking a sip of her coffee. Why is his bed so much more comfortable than hers? “Did you go to campus today?”

“Aye.” “Were you accosted by people?”

“I had seven different women ask me out on dates.” “Really?” Emma asks as her stomach flips.

He hums. “I haven’t even seen the episode, so I’m not sure what we did in it. Have you?”

“Nope, and I haven’t checked any other notifications besides yours.”

Killian clicks around on his computer, and Emma recognizes the program he uses to make the designs for the ship he’s working on. She has no idea how any of the engineering works on this program, but the artistic design looks nice. She can leave all of the engineering stuff up to Killian.

“Well, Swan, I say we watch it and see what our dear friends did to make us famous today.”

“If we have to. But if I hear something else about my brother’s sex life, I’m going to die.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Just play the damn video.”

“Today,” David begins in his best on-camera voice, “we’re going to talk about arguments while in a relationship and how to deal with them. Now, Mary Margaret and I are no strangers to arguments.”

“I mean, I would say we don’t fight too much,” Mary Margaret adds in.

“Well, that’s not true, is it, honey?”

“It is true!”

“Last night we got into a fight over what to have for dinner.” “David, that was a disagreement over food. That was not a fight.”

“Yes, but we’re talking about disagreements as small as not being able to decide what to eat for dinner and as big as what would happen if you and your partner realize you have differing opinions on whether or not to have kids.”

“I still say disagreeing over food doesn’t count in our segment.” “That’s because we ended up having lasagna when you wanted lasagna.” David leans over to press his lips to Mary Margaret’s. “We can have chicken tacos tonight.”

The video has a quick transition before shifting over to Emma and Killian standing the kitchen as Emma stuffs half of a croissant in her mouth all at once while Killian presses a beer bottle to his lips.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles, “they’re literally arguing over whether or not they argue and then telling people they don’t argue.”

“I’m sure their audience is eating it up, love.”

“Oh, I know they are. It’s ridiculous. They’re all ridiculous.”

Killian snickers into his bottle and his eyes fall to the camera.

“People like watching them sweetly bicker, Swan. I mean, obviously. It’s how they get to live in this house. It’s how we get to live in this house.”

“Yeah, but you pay rent while I don’t.” “Which I believe is nepotism.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Technically, I’m not biologically related to either of them, so can it really be considered nepotism?”

“Aye, it can.”

“Emma? Killian? Can you settle this for us?”

They both groan, and Emma buries her face in Killian’s shoulder while Killian playfully tugs on her ponytail.

“You argue,” Killian answers, “but you rarely have a heated fight. It’s always calm and collected and very rarely does it last more than a few hours.”

“Except for the fight over the handles in the kitchen,” Emma mumbles.

“Swan, don’t bring that up!”

Emma pulls her forehead off Killian’s t-shirt and looks up at him. His brows quickly move across his forehead. “It’s true, though. I thought I was going to start having two Christmases.”

“You have two Christmases now.”

“Okay, well, three if we keep talking about tha handles. Mary Margaret’s, David’s, and yours.”

“It’ll be a damn fine time.”

“Emma,” David interrupts, “stop flirting with Killian and answer our question.”

“If that’s what you consider flirting, it’s amazing you ever got married.”

“Aw, but he’s so charming,” Mary Margaret sighs.

“Here we go,” Killian grumbles. “You got them started, and it’s never going to stop. What time is your first lecture today? Ten?”

“Yep. You want to give me a ride?”

He waggles his brows. “Why, Swan, I thought you’d never ask.”

Emma slaps his shoulder and reaches around him to grab his mug and take a sip of his coffee. “You’re an asshole.”

“I like to think I’m a scoundrel and a devilishly handsome one at that.”

“Shut up, KJ.”

“As you wish, milady.”

“All I wish is for us to get out of here.”

Killian pauses the video there before looking back over to her. “Are you interested in watching the rest or are we just going to assume they’ve imparted wisdom on their loyal YouTube followers on how to have a healthy argument?”

“Nah, I’ve heard enough of that for most of my life. I don’t need to hear it now. Plus there’s the risk of the whole sex life thing.”

“Really? Because I feel like maybe you could learn a lesson or two about having a healthy argument. I’ve been the recipient of one too many lashings from you.”

“Maybe if you weren’t an asshole and showed the world me being messy then we wouldn’t have this issue.”

Sighing, Killian leans over and presses his lips to her temple. “Just pick up your shoes, darling.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Emma gets up from his bed, knocking over a pillow before standing and tugging her leggings up. “I’ve got to work on my paper. You want to get dinner tonight? I’m thinking Mexican. I’ve been craving queso for about an hour now, and I have to have it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Killian starts, scratching his ear, “maybe another night. I’ve got a date tonight.”

Emma’s fingers loosen on her mug, and she has to quickly grab it before she drops it. “Wait, what?”

“I have a date. I told you I was asked out.”

“I had a guy tell me he would have sex with me, but I didn’t take him up on it. I thought you were joking about all the dates.”

“Twas not.” He flashes her a smile, all of his perfectly white teeth on display. “Good luck on your paper, Swan. You’ll be grand.”

“Thanks, KJ. Good luck on your date.”

“Darling, you know I don’t need luck when it comes to that.”

“Well, if your head keeps getting bigger, you might. Wouldn’t want you to not be able to fit in the restaurant.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Emma nods and turns on her heels until she’s walking out of Killian’s bedroom and heading back down the stairs. She needs to get her backpack and her laptop and start working, but the determination she felt on campus has melted away. She doesn’t honestly care about school right now, is definitely in the burnout stage of the semester when it’s only halfway through, and she desperately needs fall break. That’s just…three weeks away. She can do three weeks.

She can do this paper.

And prep for her internship interviews.

And pick up all her damn shoes.

-/-

“Emma, are you going to want some of this chicken?”

“No, Marg, I’m good.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you eaten since noon?”

“Um.”

Mary Margaret sighs, and Emma knows that she’s eating dinner with Mary Margaret and David whether she likes it or not. She probably should. She had some cereal this morning and then maybe that apple and…shit, she really hasn’t eaten, has she?

“I had an apple?”

“Why are you saying that like it’s a question?”

“Because I very much feel like you’re my mom right now.”

“I am four years older than you. I am not your mom. We go out for drinks!”

“You’re also married to my brother, who likes to act like my wannabe dad, so it kind of factors in or whatever.”

“David,” Mary Margaret says, placing her hands on her hips, “can you believe that Emma thinks we act like parents?”

David turns from where he’s manning the stove. “Considering Emma only lived with my mom for three years and has lived with us for four years, I feel like maybe we do have that kind of parental thing going on. Just by having her longer and all.”

“That’s horrible logic. Also, I think she knows too much about our sex life for us to be parental figures.” “Oh my God, kill me now.”

“I still think Emma should be banned from watching those particular videos.”

“Well, it comes up pretty often. It’s not like we can tell her don’t watch from minute four to minute nine because we’re talking about sex.”

David hums. “Maybe we should do that. Less scarring that way.”

“I am famous online,” Emma sighs, falling back onto the couch and closing her laptop. She’s only got one more paragraph to edit on this damn paper, but she needs a break. She ended up changing the whole thing, and it was too much. “That’s all because of you guys. I could continue on in my anonymity if you guys didn’t have cameras all over this damn place and like to include me. I have been scarred enough. I don’t need more.”

“You said you were okay with that!” “I mean, I am, but – ”

The stairs creak, and before Emma knows it, Killian’s walking into the living room. He’s got on a pair of dark jeans and a gray button-down, his favored leather jacket tossed over it. It’s what he wears all the time and is not exactly something special, but his shirt is unbuttoned more than usual so that she can dark tufts of his chest hair and the silver of the chain he wears, his mom’s wedding band at the bottom.

Shit.

Emma sits up from where she’s stretched out on the couch and desperately tries to fix her hair while her stomach tightens and her throat is doing that stupid thing where it doesn’t let air pass through.

“Oh, you look nice, Killian,” Mary Margaret says. “Where are you off to?”

“I have a date.”

David drops the pan. “Date? You didn’t tell me about a date.”

“It was a last-minute thing, and last time I checked, you weren’t my keeper, Dave.”

“I don’t care about you dating. I care about the fact that I made food for four and now we’re going to have to put half of it in the fridge.”

Killian chuckles and shakes his head. His hair doesn’t move out of place. “I think you’ll survive. See you guys in the morning, aye?”

“You assuming you’re going to get lucky?”

Air. Emma needs air.

“I’m assuming you’re all going to be in bed before ten tonight, but if you want me to wake you up – ”

“I will murder you,” Mary Margaret growls.

“Noted.” Killian salutes them before nodding his head and walking toward the front door. “See you later. Swan, don’t let Mary Margaret murder me later.”

“I’ll try,” Emma hums before waving her hand, ushering Killian out the door.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Who is his date with?” Mary Margaret wonders.

“I’m not sure. Emma, do you know?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” she croaks, “some girl who asked him out after seeing him on the show.”

David’s brow raises. “Really? Women ask him out after the show? Because we include the two of you because our viewers think you have so much chemistry and should be dating. I’m surprised by that.”

If Emma could disappear into nothingness, she definitely would. She hates talking about the damn show already and definitely doesn’t want to talk about it when it comes to this. Killian gets asked out by all of campus while she has every guy she speaks to assume she’s dating him but still offer to fuck her.

It’s a curse.

It’s also not like it matters because Emma’s an idiot who is definitely in love with her best friend like some kind of giant cliché that David and Mary Margaret would include on their show.

“But good for Killian,” David continues as he turns the stove off. “I hope it works out for him. He’s had a rough go of it since Milah.”

Mary Margaret glances over toward Emma, pity in her eyes, and Emma has never loved and hated Mary Margaret as much as she does right now. Emma’s never said a word about Killian in the whole having feelings for him regard, but Mary Margaret knows.

She always does. Some kind of magic intuition with that one.

“David, sweetie, why don’t you set the table? Include a seat for Emma because she’s eating. I’ll finish preparing everything.”

David nods and kisses his wife’s cheek, effervescent smiles on both of their faces.

That’s them. It’s not perfect. That’s what they tell their viewers, and they mean it. But it’s pretty damn good, like some kind of realistic fairytale where you have to wake up the next day after riding off into the sunset.

At least you’re waking up with the person you love, though.

Dinner is fine. Well, it’s good. It really is. The food is delicious, and she genuinely enjoys spending time with David and Mary Margaret when there’s no talk of the show or school or anything else that she’s tired of hearing about. David starts laying out Christmas plans despite it only being October, and they try to figure out her dates to go spend time with Ruth as well as Killian’s family. She almost makes a quip about Killian having someone else to bring to his brother’s Christmas this year, but that would be beyond stupid and petty.

He’s going on a date. He goes on dates all the time. Hell, she does too. She went on one last week. They never amount to anything.

Besides, who is she to keep Killian from living a life that makes him happy?

David and Mary Margaret go to their room a little before nine after helping Emma finish up her paper, and Emma grabs a blanket out of the basket before stretching out on the living room couch and turning on the television to watch a movie. She doesn’t really care what’s on. She’s mostly looking at her phone anyways because she’s absolutely and totally pathetic.

This isn’t her. She’s not some girl who gets caught up in feelings and emotions and jealousy. She’s tougher than that. Hell, she lived most of her life in foster care, and none of that was pleasant. It was whoever was biggest and strongest winning, and she’s not about to go back to being someone who is weak. She’s not going back to being the girl who Neal took advantage of.

If anyone else were inside her head, they’d tell her she was being stupid with that thought process, but they’re not inside her head.

And they’re definitely not keeping her from scrolling through Killian’s Instagram feed.

He doesn’t post that much. He’s just not very into it, but last week they went to the beach, and he’s a sucker for posting a picture of the ocean. There are a few of those, several with Robin and Will, even more with Liam or David, and then there are the ones with her. Those are the ones she takes the most time to look at.

There’s a picture of her sitting under her favorite tree on campus. It’s shady and comfortable for her back and she likes to sit there to study so no one but Killian will bother her.

@KillianJones33: If she stays in this spot long enough, I believe she’ll become one with the tree.

Not his best caption, but they can’t all be winners.

There’s another of the two of them at the beach. Her cheeks are red and her skin tan while her hair is curling into its natural state. They look happy, cheek pressed against cheek, and if she does say so herself, her breasts look fantastic there. That bikini top is a miracle worker.

@KillianJones33: Jones and Swan are at it again, and by that, I mean there’s sand in some rather intimate places. I wonder if Emma will help me out with that later.

She keeps scrolling to picture after picture, the others mixing in with the ones of the two of them, but her eyes only focus on the certain ones. Her favorite, she thinks, is one that Liam took at Christmas last year. Her hair had looked fantastic that day, mostly thanks to the ribbon Elsa had tied in it and the magic of her curling wand, and that’s the first thing Emma notices before she looks at the fact that she’s kissing Killian’s cheek while he smirks down at her, the slightest bit of blush on his cheek.

This picture is framed in her room, but it’s nice to see it this way too.

@KillianJones33: Not pictured: the mistletoe.

PS: there was no mistletoe.

Have his captions always been this ridiculous? She guesses he can’t exactly write the dirty quips he usually says. Or, at least, write them to the full extent. He might get kicked off Instagram.

Her stomach churns, the chicken obviously coming back to haunt her, and Emma quickly exits out of the app. She almost goes back to look in his tagged photos to see if there’s anything new there, but she’s not going to be that desperate. Instead, she turns back to the TV and tries to pay attention to the movie and not her phone or the clock ticking away in the kitchen.

If she chugs an entire bottle of Nyquil, she should be able to fall asleep, right?

That totally isn’t a healthy idea.

Neither are most of the decisions she’s made tonight.

But hey, she’s finished with her paper, and she probably deserves to sleep through the night.

She obviously doesn’t fall asleep easily.

Emma’s on her second movie of the night when the front door clicks before it opens, Killian walking through soon after. She doesn’t want to see if he’s brought the girl home or hear about his night if he didn’t, so she pulls the blanket up over her face and turns toward the couch, trying as hard as she can to even out her breathing. Killian is far too observant for her to half-ass being asleep.

There’s only the sound of one pair of footsteps, though, and there’s no voices talking, so she breathes a little easier than she was. He walks around and steps into the kitchen, the fridge dinging when it’s opened, and then there’s a drawer pulled. She doesn’t really know what’s happening after that, and for a moment, she thinks about letting him know she’s awake. That idea quickly dies when she hears him come closer to her and then lean down until his scruff is brushing against her temple, quickly followed by the softness of his lips.

“Goodnight, love.”

And as quickly as he was there, he’s gone, walking up the stairs and disappearing to his room.

Her heart is beating unnaturally fast. This cannot be healthy. This should send her to the hospital or something.

Slowly, she turns on the couch until she sees a neon pink post-it note right in front of her.

Swan, the queso you wanted is in the fridge. I got a large, so I fully expect you to share it with me tomorrow. Saturday lunch date as a rain check for tonight?

Her cheeks flush, all of the blood in her body rushing there, and that can’t be good when her heart is still doing unnatural things.

He brought her queso.

She’ll forget that he only brought it to her because he was on a date with another woman. That’s not important.

Nope. Not at all.

-/-

She and Killian eat queso for breakfast, and neither of them bring up his date.

-/-

Midterms come and go all while Emma’s twenty-second birthday does the same. If she were to look back, it’d all be some kind of blur where her nose was constantly stuck in a book and the only time she got to breathe was when she was running at the gym with Ruby. But she knows that it wasn’t all that bad, that she mostly has a major case of being done with this whole school thing, and that there were good moments.

That there were also bad ones too.

But it’s fine. It’s good. She’s fine, and if she minds her own business, everything will be okay.

If only everyone else would do the same.

Mary Margaret and David keep putting out new episodes, which means Emma keeps getting stopped on campus and tagged in a million things online. It wouldn’t be a day in her life if she didn’t have some girl “literally screaming” over how cute she and Killian are.

The fact that comments like that solidify the stupid, stupid thoughts in Emma’s head really don’t help her.

But she ignores them, mostly, and keeps moving on with her life.

Killian keeps moving on with his life as well.

His schedule is mostly the same. He gets up and goes to the gym, usually dragging her along with him to meet Ruby before Emma even gets a chance to brush her teeth, and then they both head home to shower and get ready to go to class. Sometimes they see each other on campus to grab lunch, sometimes not, but all in all, things go on as normal.

Except for the fact that Killian misses dinner at least twice a week, if not more. She chalks it up to studying or working on a group project he has, which seems to be never ending. There are also the days where he’s gone doing the yard work he freelances from different neighborhoods around town. Yet, he’s mostly gone at night more than usual, and while he’s never been one to be shy about his dating life in the past, Emma can’t help but think that maybe something different is happening now with Belle.

Maybe, just maybe, this is the time that’s going to be different.

She could vomit.

He’s home tonight, though, and she really, desperately wishes that he wasn’t for once.

“So,” Mary Margaret starts, clapping her hands together, “we’re going to answer your questions tonight, and we’ve roped Emma and Killian into actually sitting down with us instead of standing in the kitchen talking behind our backs.”

“Can it really be behind your backs when you have cameras set up to record us?” Emma snarks.

“Those are behind the scenes secrets, Emma. Hush.”

Emma rolls her eyes, and makes the mistake of looking across from her to see that Killian is staring at her.

He doesn’t look away either, blue eyes peering into hers, and the moment his lips curl up into a smirk, she has to look away, focusing on David and Mary Margaret.

“Anyway,” David coughs, “you all submitted questions last week, so we’ll be going through them. First, from Cara G, we have ‘what would you do if you had feelings for someone you’re friends with but were unsure of how they felt?’”

Cara G has got to be kidding her.

This is the question they start with? And this is the episode where she has to give actual input? She would rather have to retake Organic Chemistry, and that was like legal torture she paid for.

“Tell them how you feel!” Mary Margaret gushes, bouncing up and down in her seat. “Love is such a wonderful thing, and you don’t want to regret what could have been.”

“Eh,” Killian coughs, scratching his ear. “It’s more complicated than that. Sometimes, I believe, you’d rather have the friendship and be content with that than risk mentioning you want to start a relationship and lose it all.”

“Do you really think you could lose it all though?”

“I think it depends,” Killian continues, grabbing onto his chain and absentmindedly toying with the ring. “Some people can move past that if their mate doesn’t feel the same way. Others would feel uncomfortable and run from that friendship. It’s not all black and white. It’s a million shades of gray, and if Cara’s friend is someone who is close, it might be traumatic to have to risk that friendship. Honesty is often the best policy, as Mary Margaret said, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. It can take time to build the courage.”

“I don’t think fifty shades of gray is our type of content, Jones,” David jokes.

“For all that I have to hear of your sex life, I think it might as well be. I said a million, not fifty. I know you’re rubbish at math, but there’s a bit of a difference.”

David and Killian keep bantering back and forth. It’s constant and a little petty, but eventually they do move onto other questions. Emma doesn’t hear most of them, though. Her heart is beating like a drum, and she can’t seem to focus. Killian had stared at her throughout his entire answer to the question, had barely blinked, and she couldn’t look away this time.

She can’t stop thinking about it.

Why would he do that? Why would he stare at her like that? Why the hell would that be the first question they answer? Couldn’t they have started off with something easy like good first date ideas?

This blog is the worst.

And she’s done with it.

-/-

Emma hasn’t slept more than four hours in two days.

That’s probably an exaggeration (it’s definitely an exaggeration), but that’s how she feels. She’s always thought people made too big of a deal about finals week, that it wasn’t actually as much torture as people make it out to be, and for the past three years, it hasn’t been. Hell, it wasn’t even that bad when she was working as a waitress at Granny’s and barely had time to breathe between classes.

This past week, however, has been awful.

Winter break can’t come soon enough.

(Is she always waiting for some kind of school break? Is that what her life is now?)

She hasn’t been able to focus. She looks at her notes, starts outlining and going into more detail, and then one page in she’s looking at her phone or getting up to go downstairs to get something to eat. She’s only got one final left, though, and she’s just got to power through it.

It would help if she couldn’t hear talking from Killian’s bedroom.

Belle is here, which shouldn’t be shocking, but it’s been so long since he brought someone home that Emma forgot he was capable of doing that. She has been unnaturally obsessing over his dating life for the past few months, but she forgot about this part.

It was always the worst.

And the girl he’s with is an absolute sweetheart too. She’s gorgeous and kind, and Emma is sure she’s smart. She doesn’t hate her, but she could do without this distraction when she’s waist-deep in notes for her final.

It goes on like that for the next few hours, Emma trying to study while the noise from the other room stays steady, but eventually, she hears his bedroom door open followed by footsteps leading down the stairs. It takes nearly everything in her not to get up and look out the window to see if Killian is leaving with Belle. She doesn’t though. She has the tiniest bit of self-respect left, and she really has to study. Passing is all she’s focused on right now.

(Or, at least, two percent of what she’s focusing on.)

(She’s such a liar.)

“Hey, Swan,” Killian says as he opens her bedroom door and walks in, “I am absolutely starving, and I was wondering if you want to get some Mexican. I can get it delivered if you want. I think queso is calling my name, and I know it’s always calling yours. It can power you through your last final.”

“No thanks.”

His brow arches. “No thanks? Who are you and what have you done with Emma? You always want queso.”

“Nothing,” she mumbles, looking away from him to her notes. “I’ve done nothing. I’m just not particularly interested in getting dinner with you.”

“Are you okay?”

That’s the question, isn’t it?

“Just peachy.”

“I know you’re not because you just said peachy, and I’ve never heard you use that phrase before.”

Emma rolls back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you always do this?”

“Do I always do what?”

“Spend time with a girl, finish with her, and then decided ‘hey, maybe I’ll remember that Emma exists and ask her if she wants to get food?’”

His brows furrow as his arms cross over his chest. She definitely doesn’t pay attention to the way his sweatshirt clings to his arms. “Bloody hell. What are you talking about?”

“The queso! You brought me home queso because I said I’d wanted some, but you brought it home as takeout from your first date with Belle! Didn’t that piss Belle off? Doesn’t it piss her off that I live down the hall from you? Because I can’t seem to talk to a guy about you without him getting pissed off.”

She’s not making any sense. She knows she’s not. She just can’t seem to stop rambling and talking out of her ass. Seriously. This might be the dumbest, most confusing argument she’s ever picked.

She’s picked a hell of a lot of arguments, too.

“Ah, well.” He reaches up to scratch his scruff. “Belle and I went to Petite Violette, the French place downtown. I stopped and got you the queso on the way home. She didn’t know anything about it.” “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because you said you wanted it!”

“I don’t want pity queso! I don’t want to be an afterthought to the rest of your life!”

Killian groans as Emma stands from her chair and runs her hands through her hair, tugging at the strands. She’s crazy. She’s legitimately crazy. How the hell is she going to get out of this?

“It’s not pity queso, lass. Why do you insist on being so damn frustrating?”

Emma laughs before pointing to her chest. “Me? I’m the frustrating one? How the hell am I the frustrating one?”

Because she’s not making any sense.

“You’re making absolutely no sense right now! And because you can’t bloody see that I would rather eat queso on the couch with you than sit in nice restaurants with anyone else. I don’t want to keep going on dates when the woman I fancy lives five feet down the hallway and picks fights with me over cheese dip.”

Wait.

What?

What the hell?

“You absolutely asshole!” Emma reaches forward and pushes at his chest as her heart pounds. “You have a girlfriend. You can’t say shit like that when you have a girlfriend. Belle doesn’t deserve that.”

“Belle? You think Belle is my girlfriend?”

“Isn’t she?”

Killian’s chuckle is dark, and he turns around to thread his fingers into his hair before turning back around to look at her. “Belle is in the literature elective I’m in, and we decided we were better as friends. God, I can’t believe this is how we’re having this conversation. I just told you I fancied you, which is definitely understating it, and you thought I had a girlfriend. I’ve thought about telling you this for years, and we’re having it out over fucking queso dip.”

Emma has never felt so stupid.

And petty.

And like an absolute asshole.

It’s not Killian who is one. It’s her.

Yep. Definitely her.

She should really pick up her damn shoes.

In the back of her mind, Emma knows that she has several options here. She can either tell Killian she’s sorry and to forget about it, be an adult and actually hash whatever this is out, or she can take two steps forward and finally know how Killian’s lips feel on something other than her skin.

I don’t want to keep going on dates when the woman I fancy lives five feet down the hallway.

They can talk later.

Taking two steps forward, Emma wraps her arms around Killian’s neck, presses up on her toes, and then she kisses him.

She freaking kisses Killian Jones.

He’s mumbling something when their lips first touch, but she doesn’t hear it over the thundering of her heart. She doesn’t hear anything but Killian’s subtle gasp and the way that their bodies come together. He’s so solid. She knew that, but it’s different this way. Killian doesn’t move at first. His body and his lips are still, but then she’s being pulled even closer to him until she doesn’t know where she ends and he begins. She does, however, have acute awareness of the way that Killian’s left hand is on her lower back while his right is tangling into her hair until her entire body is shivering.

In the darkness of the night, usually after she and Killian have had a day spent together, she’s let herself imagine this as if it wasn’t something forbidden by her own heart.

She’s let herself imagine being as bold as the people who write into David and Mary Margaret’s blog, telling them of how they took that leap from friends to whatever this is.

Whatever this could be.

Killian pulls back from the kiss, and for half a second, Emma’s heart drops to her stomach. But then she’s blinking and looking up at Killian as he looks down at her, his fingers still toying with her hair.

“You’re absolutely impossible.”

“I think you kind of like that about me.”

“You’ve got no bloody idea how much I love you for that.”

And then his mouth is on hers again, slowly devouring her with the tenderness of the friend she’s known for three years and the fire of someone who is acting on feelings that he, too, was obviously harboring. Her mind briefly flashes back to two weeks ago, to the two of them answering questions for the show, and Killian saying something about not wanting to risk the friendship.

Sometimes it takes time to build the courage.

Or sometimes it takes Emma picking a fight over something as stupid as jealousy and queso.

She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to eat Mexican food again.

She’s not entirely sure that she’ll ever be able to look Killian in the eyes again after this. Such a pity. She’s always loved his eyes.

“Emma,” he growls as her hands fall from his hair and move down his body, slipping underneath his sweatshirt until her fingers touch a thick patch of hair that she knows goes lower thanks to Killian’s penchant for not wearing a shirt. “I’m afraid that if your hands go any lower, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

“That was kind of the plan.”

He shakes his head, wonder in his smile. She imagines she’s got the same smile sketched across her lips.

“We’re talking after this, aye? Don’t think I’m going to let you brush past everything.”

“Don’t be like David and Mary Margaret.”

“Darling, you’ve practically got your hand down my pants. I’d rather you didn’t talk about your brother.”

Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth and tugs on his jeans again. “Deal.”

He kisses her then, a building pressure mounting between her thighs and over her skin, and for all of the thoughts and reservations that should be building, there’s nothing in her mind but Killian and how good this feels.

How good it feels that this is with him.

How right.

Clothes are shed faster than she’s willing to admit, Killian’s mouth and fingers working wonders on her body before she can do the same to him. It’s wonderful and so damn satisfying while also being awkward and absolutely hysterical when it probably shouldn’t be. Emma has known she’s wanted this for longer than she’s willing to admit, but having your best friend be inside of you for the first time isn’t something that’s going to come without a little awkwardness.

It’s an awkwardness she’s grateful for.

Killian seems to be too because even with the sounds of skin moving against skin and moans that are a little too loud, his smile is so wide that he’s got crinkles around his eyes.

There’s something to be said about sleeping with your best friend, especially when he can easily slip between making a joke about a patch of unshaven hair on her thigh she hasn’t shaved before waxing poetic about how she feels wrapped around him. It’s foreign and familiar all at once, and Emma could get lost in the dichotomy of it all.

“If I fail my final tomorrow, I’m blaming you,” Emma pants out as Killian hits a particularly deep spot inside of her that is causing her breathing to be a little shallow.

“I’ll help you study when this is over.”

“That is true romance right there.”

Killian laughs as he dips his head down to run his lips over her jaw, inching over and over on her face until she’s swallowing both of their laughs with her kiss.

“I love you,” Emma whispers as her thighs tremble. “I wasn’t sure if that was clear or not.” Killian grunts and his thrusts falter before steadying as he stares down at her with those blue, blue eyes. She’s doing that thing where she can’t breathe again, but it’s in a good way this time.

“I love you, Emma. I feel like I always have even when you took my seat in Organic Chemistry.”

“It was totally worth it.”

“Aye, it was.”

This is weird and wonderful, and she wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.

-/-

Killian does help her study for her final after all. He’s always been good at that, and tonight is no different. Except for the fact that his hand stays on the inside of her thigh, fingers trailing across her skin and teasing her, and they definitely get carried away once or twice and fall back into bed in between going over her notes and hashing out feelings. It’s pretty much her two least favorite things, but like everything else with Killian, it’s different.

Different is good. It’s what she needs.

-/-

She totally aces her final.

-/-

They get queso the next night to celebrate the ending of a semester and the beginning of some new, great things.

(Mary Margaret and David are totally going to have an entire episode about this, aren’t they?)

-/-

-/-

One-shot tag list: @therealstartraveller776​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells​ @bluewildcatfanatic​

[calypsoff]

Ten. Part 2

Watching Chris walk off with the cake and I am just stood in one position, my legs refuse to move from this spot. All I can do is stare at him; he brings me great joy in my heart. I feel like I did when I first met him, when we were both teenagers, I feel the same again. I know it’s scary to feel this way but it’s deeper then this, I couldn’t even function if life was without him, I just feel like if I lost him again I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, he is the love of my life, the love I have craved “go on then” Chris said smirking “why are you staring at me” watching him place the cake down on the kitchen counter, he is giving me a weird look because I am acting weird to him but I just realised I want him, I am going to ask him if we can just be official and date now. Still in private but I really want it, I want that. I would give up my whole career, like I have felt the loneliness in my heart for a while now, no man has ever knocked me off my feet like he has me, he’s my best friend and I want him so much “do you want me to carry you or?” I chuckled “I am walking” putting my head down, let’s see where this takes me “are you not going to come with me?” I asked, looking up from the roses “nope, you take this journey alone coconut head, I put real effort in so move” I sighed out, unzipping my coat “just throw it on the couch I will put it away” he is too kind, throwing my coat to the coach but it kind of missed, let me start walking now and find out what he has been up too, I am just in awe with everything he has done for me.

Walking up the steps slowly, he’s really made sure every step has roses on it. Holding the handrail as I walked up the steps, looking down at Chris, he looked up catching me looking and he just smiled “you are so slow, annoying ass” I have to take in every moment, he will deal with it. A few more steps to reach, seeing the bed just as I reached the top. This cabin is cute as fuck, not going to lie. My smile grew at the heart shape on the bed, seeing the easel at the side of the bed just wrapped in wrapping paper. Picking the note from the bed, opening up the note “open it” I read out, an arrow pointing to the easel. Ripping the paper slowly, pushing the paper back as it exposed a painting “oh my god” ripping more of it as it exposed a painting of me and Dolly “I love it” I said “I know how much you loved your gran” I jumped as Chris spoke behind me “and it sucks that she isn’t here, so I just thought I could bring you both together in a painting form” turning to Chris, seeing the flowers, bear and card in his hand “Happy Valentine’s day too, I didn’t say or do anything for you. That is because I was busy planning for this, you didn’t say anything, but I know it must have upset you, women like to be spoilt with love. And it’s not much it’s things” I was bitter he didn’t mention it “I mean the painting is just for your birthday, but I got more, but this is Valentines day things” I cooed out, I am so emotional “this is more then enough, stop thinking that” walking over to him.

Squinting my eyes “the bear, like I know we will be apart a lot. I predict this already, but it doesn’t bother me. I mean it does bother me a lot but then again it doesn’t because I know you out there doing the good deed with the world and you are the peoples idol, you know it’s funny because I don’t know. Youtube been playing dumb, I just ended up on a video and it was a girl crying and how much she loves you, she was showing her bedroom and you are adored so much out there in the world and I love that, so like I know you going to be busy so I got this bear made out of my hoodie, my favourite Lakers hoodie, and it says Chris here on his foot so I am always there with you, wherever you go” he placed the flowers and card down, a sob left my lips. I can’t even “like look at this, you can put the hood over it’s head too, pretty dope. Like when I saw it, I had to do it. But this is my favourite hoodie and I wanted to let you have that. I get it Robyn, it’s hard and I have had time to think. Either I be a supportive man and let you shine or just be bitter about it all and stress you out. There is always time for us but this is your Chris bear” I am a mess. I sobbed out like a baby “don’t cry, Robyn. Seriously. Why are you crying?” Chris placed his arms around me, the floodgates have opened.

Resting my head on Chris’ chest as I am trying to calm myself down, little sobs left my lips, but Chris held me close “it’s ok, don’t cry. Look how cute the bear is” he held it in front of my face “it’s Chris bear, it’s yours and you can hug it, hump it” I giggled “like you can if you want but you going to hold it?” he nuzzled the bear into my face “hold me” he said in a squeaky voice, moving my head back. Taking the bear from Chris “I love it” I swallowed back, my eyes feel so sore now “this is really going to be with me everywhere now, like you” Chris chuckled “you already holding it like a baby too” he is right I am “thank you, so well thought out” Chris leaned down and grabbed the envelope “next!” he held it out to me “let me take this” he snatched the bear from me “more tears?” I said smirking at him “maybe, I don’t know yet. I feel so nervous about this, you know that. Like I seem very cool, but I just want to do good by you, you deserve the world. I mean I can try, but you know” opening the envelope slowly “Chris, this is more then enough. All I wanted for my birthday is you, just to spend time with you, anything you are doing and buying. It means so much to me, you know what. You may laugh but, you’re the first guy to buy me a bear. Because I am Rihanna, the guys tend to go above and I don’t want above, I just want below. I guess it’s because they really weren’t into me” pulling the card out, turning around the card to read it.

“When I tell I love you I don’t say it out of habit or to make conversation, I say it to remind you that you are the best thing that has happened to me” I cooed out “baby, that is so cute! And you picked this out?” I have to ask “of course, open it!” I am scared now, what has he put inside it. Slowly opening the card “Robyn Fenty, will you be my girlfriend?” I read out and I just felt the emotion hit me, putting the card down as I just cried out and I know why but then it’s stupid “that wasn’t supposed to make you cry? Was that bad?” shaking my head, I feel stupid “I missed the opportunity that time, when you were going to ask me out. I really wanted to date you back then, but I had the lack of English, like it wasn’t good but you were kind to me, it was a lot and now it’s just, it’s come full circle and I feel just emotional about it” Chris hugged me “man, I ain’t mean to make you cry like that. It’s fine, we can make up for lost time. Like if you didn’t just go I was going to ask you out, like that was going to happen no doubt but you were gone. Who cares though, like you said it’s come full circle and we are together now” Chris pressed a kiss to the top of my head “I have never cried like this in front of a man, I hate you” Chris chuckled “now you hate me, stop crying then. You happy though” he moved back from the hug “more then happy, wow. I am just a mess because of you, I didn’t expect this, like ok I was a little hurt you never really mentioned about Valentines, you just shrugged it off like it was nothing. I even text you and you ignored it and said when are you coming again, I was cursing you out behind the phone. But then I figured you ain’t my man so am I to complain, you know. But thank you for this, you have made up for it. And yes” nodding my head “I will be your girlfriend, I feel like a teenager all over again now” I giggled, walking over to him raising my arms to wrap around his neck “love you” pecking his lips and then hugged him.

Chris yanked the cake back again “see, this is why I didn’t want you to feed me cake, you’re being annoying” I knew he would do this, as soon as he mentioned let me feed you cake “fine, I will stop” he bought it closer to my face, leaning forward to bite a piece off “mhmm” nodding my head “that is nice, now can I eat my own cake” watching Chris eat the piece and walk off “I was going to say, least we got time this time” he jumped onto the kitchen counter, I guess that is his piece now “I felt like last time, we just had to get the sex out of the sex. Well the love making, but now we can just you know, be cool. So we are doing nothing at all today, but tomorrow we got a little something. Let your birthday commence but today is like Valentines day make up, I ain’t a bad person. I was just busy, but it didn’t hurt saying it. But yeah, going back to what you said, did that shit really affect you, because you sing it’s fine. Did it really upset you back then? The English part” letting out an oh, I was about to say “It was hard, like now I am fine. My accent is there but it’s not like I struggle with it, but then because my Barbadian accent was so strong and I was used to that, when I came here I did find it hard. Then some kids would mimic me, I didn’t like it. You didn’t do that to me, you teased me more about my forehead then anything. I would get tongue tied too, I got teased. Remember when that boy shouted where my foreign boobs gone?” Chris’ eyebrows rose “I do, I beat his ass. I don’t regret it either, like a lot of niggas mention or should I say mentioned your boobs. I was like what is even the point, but I beat his ass for you, and he apologised. After that, nobody fucked with you. I bet they regret fucking with you like that, look at you now. Baddest princess of them all” I grinned at Chris “it’s made me stronger anyways, you think we are good for each other. You think we will make it” I mean it’s early, but I just wanted to ask “if I stop being hard headed, then I suppose yes we will. It’s more acceptance of you, because it’s all good and well loving Robyn, but what about Rihanna. That is the part where I am like dang, she really is famous and people love her, she is top tier. Then I am like she is Robyn, but you Robyn. I love that for you though, success. We about to sing Mariah Carey tonight, the stars outside here. The lady said they be shining” he is such a romantic, like I just want to love him forever and keep close to me.

The best ever idea Chris has was this, I mean I wasn’t expect a cabin but it’s so cute. Not the part where he near burned us alive here “can we not take out that wood fire now, after those shenanigans of lighting it” Chris smiled as he moved back his cigarette “I tried man” he blew out the smoke “shit wasn’t lighting, you good? You unpacked your dress now?” Chris shuffled to me can placed his arm around me “I did, I also unpacked your stuff. Then I just answered some stuff, I am not being rude or invasive but how did you pay for this?” I don’t want to seem rude “drugs” he placed his cigarette between his lips eyeballing me “don’t be playing in my face like that, seriously!?” he shook his head laughing “insurance” he mumbled “insurance money, it wasn’t even that much. You worth it anyways” I breathed, thank god it was just that “I don’t want you to go above and beyond for me Chris. Also you need to move, you being in Virginia alone gives me anxiety” it really does “I know, moving to Texas” I gasped looking up at him “you think I am going to California? I would need to sell my soul to do that, I need to keep it minimum. I am going to move, soon” least he is thinking of it “you can always move with me” Chris moved away from me laughing “don’t your ass live in rentals and hotels, yeah right” he is not wrong actually.

Chris held the blunt up as I finally left the cabin to sit on the step “she wasn’t wrong about the stars here, it’s kind of creepy but in a ok way I guess” grabbing the blunt from Chris as I sat down “it’s ok here, like it safe. There is other cabins further away, we literally entered security, how you going to act like it’s unsafe, I got you. I will beat their asses for you” placing the blunt between my lips smiling, resting my head on his shoulder looking up at the stars. This is peace, Chris placed the blanket over my legs, didn’t even see he had this out. Blowing the smoke out from my lips “hope you don’t feel like I am hiding you, like I am ashamed of you because I’m not” I hope he doesn’t think that “I don’t, I get it. it’s going to be hard, but we will do it” I hope we do; I hope we are greater than this. Chris started to hum a tune, lifting my head up squinting my eyes at him trying to catch the tune “you'll always be a part of me, I'm part of you indefinitely” he started to sing which made me laugh “Boy don't you know you can't escape me, oh darling cause you'll always be my baby” I finished off as we both laughed.

[particularemu]

The Cupcake Dilemma | A Kim Seungmin Scenario

Word Count: 1985

Type: Fluff

Warnings: None really… I guess cursing if that bothers you?

Prompts: 43 (Frost the damn cupcakes.) and 51 (I’m your husband. It’s my job.)

Author’s Note: Everybody’s been soft over family stray kids, so I added a son into the mix. 

Send in a number!

You sighed, yet again, as you scrolled through the endless photos Snapchat had to offer you that night. There were plenty of golden images of Minho with the cat filter and Chan with the giant nose filter. Hyunjin had some pretty selfies of him with that heart filter — god he always looks good. You couldn’t help but laugh when you reached Jisung’s.

The boy sent you a picture of his wide eyes — a picture that reminded you of a psychopath ready to claim his next victim — with large bolded text that read “DON’T YOU DARE FUCK UP OUR 895 DAY STREAK” 

You quickly pointed your camera at your feet, snapping a picture of your award-winning giraffe socks that Seungmin gifted you for Mother’s day, and sending it to Jisung. There was no way you were letting that streak go. It had to be one of the biggest accomplishments of your life. 

Well… Marrying your best friend and having a son with him was probably your best accomplishment. But this Snapchat streak was a close second. Come on, you and Jisung were going on 3 years with that streak! 

Sure you cut it close — with it being 11:45 PM and all — but you kept the streak up anyway! 

Speaking of... 

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were forgetting something. Oh well! You get that feeling an awful lot and frankly — you’re usually forgetting something that isn’t important. Being a mom does that to you. 

The important things are taken care of. Your son’s presents are wrapped and hidden in the closet, you have the ingredients for his favorite meal for dinner, and you’ve… not prepared the cupcakes for his class tomorrow. 

Oh shit! 

That’s what you were supposed to be doing! 

Panic bubbled in your chest as you darted to the kitchen, quickly cracking eggs and pouring oil into the Kitchen Aid bowl before pouring in the 3 boxes of cake mix. You turned on the mixer and preheated the oven, thanking the gods that you somehow remembered.

Sure it’d be a long night, but you were still going to be able to give your son the joy of handing out cupcakes to his class. 

Ever since that snobby rich kid in his class brought in homemade cupcakes from his mom, who owns a fucking bakery you might add, your son has been wanting YOU to make homemade cupcakes for him to bring on his birthday. 

Of course you agreed and told your son you’d bake some cupcakes, not thinking about the fact that you were no baker. He’ll have to settle for box cake mix. He probably wouldn’t know the difference anyway. 

Once the batter was all mixed, you poured the cake mix into cupcake wrappers, until you filled all the muffin pans you owned — which is a surprising number considering Seungmin’s mom bought you one for a housewarming gift, your mom bought you one as a birthday gift, AND your son picked one for you for Mother’s Day.  

Oh yeah… you also bought one because you forgot about other 3 sitting at home. 

All those pans came in handy. You managed to fit all four into the oven, which was AMAZING because that meant you didn’t have to stay up until 3 AM waiting for all those damn cakes to bake. 

You scrolled through your phone a bit while the cupcakes baked, sending odd pictures to whoever was awake. Thank god Hyunjin and Jisung have HORRIBLE sleeping habits, or you’re sure you would have fallen asleep to let the cupcakes burn. 

Once your timer went off, you pulled the cupcakes out of the oven and set them on a platter to cool. 

The hard part was done. Now all you have to do is wait. Perhaps it’d be a good time to get in a cat nap? After all, you can’t do anything until the cakes are cool. 

You stretched your body out on the couch, resting your head on one of the throw pillows as you set an alarm for 5 AM. An hour should be enough time to frost the cupcakes. If not, then oh well. You tried. 

Tiredness took over your body as you sunk into the couch cushions, sleep taking over almost instantly. 

-----

Seungmin couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips as he woke up, yet again, at 4 AM for no apparent reason. This wasn’t the first night this happened, no… this has been going on for about a month — ever since you started staying up later. 

Perhaps he had a sixth sense when it came to you? 

Who knows… 

Seungmin reached over to your side of the bed, feeling a bit disappointed when his hand came in contact with the cold sheets. You didn’t come to bed last night. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. You’ve been staying up later, you seem tired all the time, and he felt like he didn’t get to see you as often. Perhaps you were stressed out from work? Or maybe he did something wrong?

Seungmin rubbed his eyes as he sat up. He might as well go and check on you. Besides… something smells good in the kitchen and it’s making him want to snack.

Seungmin walked out into the living room, eyes widening when he saw the cupcakes in the kitchen. Why the hell were you baking cupcakes at 4 AM? He knew it was his son’s birthday today, but he didn’t see why you needed to make cupcakes this early. 

“Baby?” Seungmin shook your shoulder lightly. “Baby? Why are you sleeping out here? You should go to bed.” His thumb rubbed your arm as you started to wake up. 

Your hands reached out to rub your eyes as you smiled — missing your husband’s gentle touches, but wait… What time is it?

You shot up from the couch, frantically grabbing your phone to check the time. Oh thank god! It was only 4:15 AM. You still had time to frost the cupcakes. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Everything’s okay!” Seungmin wrapped his arms around you. “What’s going on?” 

“No time to talk. I have to frost the cupcakes.” You shot up from the couch, before grabbing a butter knife in the kitchen. 

“Hold on love.” Seungmin chuckled, “Why do you need to finish the cupcakes now? He won’t be eating them until after dinner right?”

“Do you remember that asshole kid with the baker mother?” You yawned. 

Seungmin laughed at your saltiness. “Of course.” 

“Well our son wanted me to make cupcakes to take in to his class.” You explained, frosting the cupcake in your hands.

“Why not buy them from the grocery store?” Seungmin asked as he leaned on the countertop. 

He couldn’t help but wonder why you were so worked up over these cupcakes. Surely his son wouldn’t mind you grabbing some — no offense — prettier cupcakes from a bakery, or from the grocery store down the street. 

“Because.” You put the… rather unique… looking cupcake into a container. “Asshole kid brought in homemade cupcakes.” 

Seungmin couldn’t help but laugh. “Fuck that asshole kid.” 

“Right?” You glided the knife over another cupcake, globbing frosting on the top. “Why couldn’t he bring in store bought cupcakes like everyone else?” 

“You know…” Seungmin grabbed a cupcake and bit into it. “It’s not going to be that big of a deal if you buy cupcakes from the store. If we do it now and pack them in those containers, he won’t know the difference.” 

“Asshole quit eating the cupcakes.” You smacked his arm, making him giggle. “And no. I’m not going to be that mom.”

“What mom?” Seungmin took another large bite of the cupcake in his hands. 

“The mom who buys cupcakes from the grocery store when her son asks for homemade cupcakes.” You glared at your husband. “I’m not going to let this be the reason our son resents us later in life and turns to a life of pimping and selling prostitutes.” 

Seungmin let out a loud snort at your comment, hand darting in front of his mouth to keep what was left of the chocolate cupcake in his mouth so it wouldn’t fly across the kitchen. “If this sends him down that road I think we have bigger problems.” 

“Just shut up and frost the damn cupcakes.” You chuckled, tossing an unfrosted cupcake in his direction. 

“Okay okay! Just quit waving that knife around.” Seungmin grabbed another butter knife and started frosting cupcakes alongside you. 

The two of you frosted in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s presence as you globbed frosting on the chocolate cupcakes. Although they didn’t look the prettiest, they were still homemade, and you felt like you deserved brownie points for that. 

Seungmin broke the silence after a while. “You know… He’s not going to hate you if you go buy cupcakes.” 

“But he requested these ones.” You mumbled. “He doesn’t ask for much, and this is his birthday!” You couldn’t help but sigh. “I just want his birthday to be special.” 

Seungmin smiled softly. “It will be. Especially when you’re going through all this trouble to make these.” 

“I know I should have made them yesterday, but I got so busy.” You sighed. “I had to re-teach him how to divide fractions, because his teacher fucking sucks. But first I had to re-learn how to divide fractions because apparently the education system can’t teach kids how to divide fractions the way they did when we were in school.” 

You put another cupcake into the container, pausing to rub at your eyes. “Then I had to go to work and deal with Shelly’s high-pitched bullshit, then come home and teach our son how to do his homework AGAIN.” Another sigh escaped your lips. “I just got overwhelmed.” 

“You know what would have made it easier?” Seungmin shoved the knife in the frosting. “If you relied on me more.” 

You knew this was coming. It was true, you did have a bad habit of just handling everything yourself because it was easier. You had a routine! You get your son up, make him breakfast, make him lunch, double-check his homework, take him to school, go to work, pick him up from school, help him with homework, make dinner for your family, play with your son before he has to go to bed, tuck him into bed, then use what little energy you have left to drag yourself into bed. 

Wow… Maybe he was right. 

“It’s just easier if I handle it myself.” You mumbled. “You’re busy and —” 

“Don’t act like you aren’t busy too.” Seungmin cut you off. “Look, I know my job is pretty demanding, but I can help out. He’s my son too. There’s no reason for you to do everything.” 

You smiled at him as you drowned another cupcake in frosting. “Why are you so amazing?”

Seungmin couldn’t help but laugh at the sad ensemble of cupcakes in front of you two. “You probably won’t think I’m amazing after hearing this, but these cupcakes look like shit.” 

You glanced at the mess of frosting and decided to admit defeat. “Okay fine, let’s go to the bakery and get some cupcakes. It’s 5 AM, I think they’re open now.” 

Seungmin kissed you on the forehead. “I’ll go get them. You go get some sleep.” 

“What? I don’t mind going with you.” You pulled your shoes on and grabbed your jacket. 

“No.” Seungmin yanked your jacket from your hands and threw it back on the coat rack. “You need to go get some sleep. And call in sick today, you don’t need to deal with Shelly’s bullshit running on 2 hours of sleep.” He chuckled. 

You smiled. “You take such good care of me.” 

Seungmin laughed. “I’m your husband. It’s my job.” 

“Now go get those cupcakes before our demon spawn wakes up.” 

[teacherinthestreets]

“Appears to Be a Woman”

I set my alarm for 7am. My husband and I had the brooms out and ready. We figured, if we could wake up early on a Sunday to clean up Center City, we should do the same for Kensington. Plus, we’re homeowners in Fishtown and it feels like the neighborly thing to do. We walked under the El, sweeping up glass into piles, and at 9am I popped a headphone in my ear and joined my high school’s Monday morning meeting on Zoom. Since COVID closed down our schools, we’ve been meeting virtually. My colleagues shared their thoughts and feelings as we reflected on recent events. We’re all devastated by how especially scared and traumatized our Black and Brown students and their families must be. The general tone is of bewilderment. One colleague commented on the fact that her husband is a retired police officer and her family members are cops. She expressed her confusion and confoundment- police are trained to handle protesters so why are they doing this? 

We headed back home so I could join my students for virtual office hours. As a special education teacher who’s worked in Philadelphia for ten years, I’ve never struggled this much to entertain my students. By nature, I’m silly and a goofball. I tell jokes, don silly cat shirts, and wear a giant purple squid hat when the mood strikes. This is hard to convey online so I’ve resorted to playing lots of games on Kahoot! I always play with them and I always lose, but let’s pretend I lose on purpose. 

After the strange school day is done, my husband, friend and I head out on foot to the protest. There is a group of unions gathering together to discuss our role in advocating for change to support People of Color for the betterment of all. I’m wearing my Working Educators shirt, which is bright red and useful in case my friends and I get separated in the crowd. I could barely hear the speakers, but clapped heartily anyway. I saw a former student in the crowd and awkwardly air-hugged him. Then we began our march. Chanting loudly, sometimes in unison, and walking through the streets I love. I was flanked by two colleagues from school as well as my friends and husband. I felt that although this was something small, that’s how most revolutions succeed. Old, archaic systems are pulled asunder through death by a thousand cuts. My cut today was holding aloft my cute and colorful sign of the “This is Fine” dog. 

When our group crossed the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, we came to a halt. The police had blocked the bridge we intended to go over. We saw the group flood down the hill and onto 676. My husband and I held hands as we continued the march. What’s a little traffic to get the attention of hundreds for a worthy cause? We saw people in their cars lean out and shout, everything I heard was supportive, but then again I am trained to listen for the good and filter out the bad as there would be no way else to survive teaching high school students otherwise. As we walked under the overpass, I saw a wave of people running towards me. I froze. My husband grabbed me and helped me onto a ledge on the side of the road. When we could move again I saw a line of officers, clad in black. They were at the other end of the bridge so I couldn’t see anymore than that. Suddenly, a girl drops to her knees. She’s crying and bleeding, but I can’t tell from where. A fellow protestor reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of water to help clean the wound. I turned and saw another fellow protester on the ground, holding his face. He looked unable to stand. I was scared so I started to leave him. There were people around, someone else would help him. I heard someone next to him yell, he’s been hit by rubber bullets and tear gas! Up to this point I didn’t realize we were being shot at. I paused, perplexed. I saw my husband see the man’s distress and move toward the prostrate figure. He picked up cardboard and used it to shield the man. In spite of my trepidation, I knew I had to help as my backpack was full of water and a first aid kit. I crouched down to assist, but we were all soon on our feet as we felt more rubber bullets fly passed us and the smell of tear gas was getting stronger. I felt nips at my ankles. Is that what a rubber bullet feels like? Unfortunately, I would soon find out.

The tear gas began flooding the street. My husband held my hand and we ran. With police surrounding us, we were forced up a hill and into a tall ten foot metal fence. As I stepped up to leave. Whap! I screamed out and fell to the ground. Something hit me in my back and the sting knocked the wind out of me. A fellow protestor to my right grabbed my arm to help me up. At this point, I see my husband and I have broken apart, but I can’t get back to him. I think I’m screaming or crying, maybe both. I breathe in the gas and think, this is how I die. I survived traveling the Middle East alone for a year and I die on the side of 676. I am bent over vomiting when an officer pushes me down to zip tie my hands behind my back. When I realize what is happening I ask him if I can get my ID from my bag which has fallen off when I was blindly and desperately searching for a bottle of water to douse my eyes with. He tells me, you don’t get shit. I ask him if it’s my right to have an ID on me (because I honestly don’t know). He responds angrily, saying I can’t get it. I take a step toward my bag and he pushes me down again and yells something. I’m shaking, begging him, please, please, please, I just want my ID. What if they arrest me and claim they don’t know who I am so I’m kept longer? Please, I beg again, I just want my ID. He tells me to stand up. I try to maneuver my way to standing while on a slant with my hands tied behind my back. The tear gas has got me spun around and sick. I can’t see and the pain in my back is incessant. I am almost up when I feel him push me back down. He then dragged me down the hill backward, over the branches and brambles. I wobbly stand once at the bottom of the hill and get in position. I am relieved even though there is vomit on my chin and snot is streaming down my face. The girl next to me asks if I’m ok and says she wishes she could help me wipe my nose. Some air is coming into my lungs. I start to feel like I might not die, only to realize that I am being arrested. 

My mom, dad, friends, family- they all told me to be safe. Be safe? I have never thrown a rock, or broken a window in my life. I’ve never shoved anyone, except when jokingly imitating Elaine from Seinfeld. Why should they be worried about my safety? I was there to support, but I don’t make messes. I help clean them up, that’s what I do. Now, I realize that was my privilege telling me I was safe. My cousin is a cop. I may be against the system, but individuals can see me for who I am: not a threat. That was my privilege. It told me the police would see I was peaceful and I would be fine. As I recall the screams and sobs now, I realize how very wrong I was. 

After I was bent over the median, my situation sunk in. I followed orders. Thanked every officer. Yes sir, thank you, sir. I was pat-down, but with no pockets and no bra, I was an easy search. We were moved to the middle of the road and sat on the median. The girl next to me asks me to look at her hand. She wants to know what color it is. It’s turning purple, I tell her. She tries to ask an officer for help. I ask a little louder. We are laughed at and she’s told that they’ll see her in the ICU. I look at the line of those zip-tied and try to see if my husband is there. When I don’t see him I search the crowd above, but my glasses are covered in chemicals. (It turns out he was up at the top of the hill screaming for me he was forced away by police.)

When we are loaded into the white school buses, I feel like I’m in a strange alternate universe. At this point in the school year, we would be taking field trips in a bus similar to this, but not as clean and devoid of bars. The girl behind me is texting on her cell phone backwards. She asks if she can text anyone for me. Oh my god, I’ve been with my husband for seven years and I never memorized his number. I give her my parents numbers and hope they will see the text during their Zoom birthday conference for my aunt. I am relieved when she tells me they responded. Phew. At least someone knows where I am. 

We sit on the bus, packed with women, ages ranging from early twenties to thirties. There are a few women crying, but everyone is encouraging each other. Someone asks if anyone has been arrested before. The girl next to me replies, does drunk and disorderly in college count? Everyone else shakes their heads no. 

When we reach the station they tell us we are going in five at a time to be processed. The girl who texted my parents for me asks for those who need medical support to let it be known so they can go first. I’m in awe that even in this stressful situation, she has the foresight to be so kind and compassionate towards everyone. 

As I am brought in to be processed, I remember my former student in the crowd. I wish I could see if he is ok. I continue to comply in my normal friendly and gracious manner. A young Black woman in my group of five asks why they need her address again. She’s got some flint in her voice, but she doesn’t curse and is respectful. The officers attempting to process her begin a back and forth at one point accusing her of probably never having a job in her whole life. When she asks why they would think that of her and asks whether it is because she is Black, several officers erupt into laughter and mockingly decry the stupidity of her comment. Her friend stands up in her defense and one of the officers tells her to sit her ass down or she can stay the night. He says they could use the company. He yells at her (and us) stating that this is what we get for breaking windows and causing a riot. They protest and are waved away and told to hush-up or they’ll be locked-up. 

The officer processing me is polite, when he asks my profession and I tell him I’m a teacher he perks up and asks where I teach. When I tell him he’s genuinely excited as our school is unique and has been a Philly landmark since the 50’s. I’m given my Code Violation Notice for “Failure to Disperse” (I laugh and think that they should give that to the fence for blocking my way, but also wondering if stopping us from dispersing was the point because trapping us on that hill sure felt like it). A polaroid photo of me is taken and a young officer writes my name on the bottom. They point me to the exit. I smile and thank everyone. Like they did me a favor. Like they didn’t have a hand in what I just experienced. 

I see the girl who texted my parents outside. She’s passing out water and waiting for her ride. She graciously lends me her phone and I call my mom. I tell her I’m ok, ask her to call my husband and give her my cross streets. I ask her to tell him that I’m just going to start walking home on Montgomery Ave.

I hear my husband’s emblematic “yeerrrp!” and turn around. He’s with two of my other friends who had been trying to retrieve my backpack. I don’t care they weren’t successful, their smiling faces let me know how lucky and loved I am. I think about how this was a strange experience for me, one that I will hopefully never experience again. One that I don’t have to live in fear with experiencing again. Again, I notice my privilege in a new and deeper way. It reminds me why I went to the streets in the first place, why I have chosen Philadelphia as my home. Why I continue to teach in the city that I love and fight for a better future for each of my students. 

When I arrive home to Fishtown, we are told that the 26th precinct has a gathering of White men and women with bats, shovels, and axes. After hearing the gathering using racial slurs, cursing, smoking pot, drinking, and yelling about their guns- other Fishtown residents ask the police to disperse the gathering, to which the police’s response was dismissive and cursory. 

When home, I read the statement from Mayor Kenney and Police Commissioner Danielle Outlaw on what I went through, which was beyond disheartening. I voted for Kenney and I was excited to see a badass Black Commissioner woman take charge (I mean, with the last name Outlaw, I thought she’s got to be great). She stated in her press release, “While on the roadway, the crowd surrounded a State Trooper, who was alone and seated in his vehicle, and began rocking the vehicle, with the trooper having no safe means of egress.  Two teams from the Philadelphia Police SWAT Unit arrived. While the SWAT officers were present, members of the crowd began throwing rocks at the officers from the north and south sides, and from the bridges above the officers. The crowd also began rushing toward the officers. The SWAT officers gave numerous orders for the crowd to disperse, to which the crowd did not comply.”

I am too devastated to even respond. Throwing rocks? Rocking a police vehicle? Refusing to disperse? How could these blatant lies be shared so easily? Every detail is false to every second of my experience, but if people in power say it, won’t everyone believe it? 

The dichotomy of this day hurts in a profound way. As my adrenaline fades and I hear the encouraging words from my family and friends, I feel like I will be ok. My husband pulls up a video from the news of what happened to us on 676. I watch the situation unfold from above and can pick myself out in some shots because of my bright red shirt. Then I see it. I’m being dragged down the hill and the camera zooms in. The reporters notice and comment at my sorry state and I can’t help, but laugh when one says “[she] appears to be a woman.” 

[mirkwoodshewolf]

It’s a kind of magic tour pt.3; Queen x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay guys this is the last part of the chapter. Now for this part it does get pretty angsty. Now I’m using some personal stuff that happened within Queen at the time, esp. with Deacy. But I mean NO DISRESPECT. I wasn’t born so I can’t tell exactly how Deacy reacted during this tour, so I filled in the blanks myself going off by some interviews with Roger when he talked about Deacy during this tour.  So beyond that not really any other warnings except the normal things.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@psychosupernatural​

@waddles03​

@ixchel-9275​

@platawnic​

@geek-and-proud​

@queendeakyy​

@simonedk​

@kairosfreddie​

@onebigfangirlworld​

@naturalswifty89​

@starswin​

@dj-lowkey​

@isabella-bby​

@labessieisallama​

@5sos-wdw​

@bohemiansweede​

______________________________________________________

*August 9th, 1986. Knebworth Park*

It was the final show of the Magic Tour we were back home in England performing in Stevenage, but oh god, things have been—strained as of lately.  I don’t know when it started but at this point it looked like the guys were just ready to explode and rip either each other or anyone who made one teeny-tiny mistake.

‘So you seriously don’t know what’s going on?’ Jack asked me.

“If I did I would tell you. But all four of them are on edge, especially Deacy. He’s been completely out of character lately. I’ve never seen him so pissed off or drunk so much in my life.”

‘Have you tried talking to him? I mean he is practically your brother.’

“Jack you’re not listen! At this point he’s like Old Yeller when he got rabies. Like back in Madrid, when Queen’s new pianist Spike asked Deacy something the next thing I saw Deacy literally kicked his own AMP down and stormed off. Completely totaled the thing.”

‘Shit.’ He muttered. ‘What about the others?’

“Freddie’s always tired and strained after every show that he just snaps at everyone, Brian seems distracted by something and Roger…..well Roger’s managed to break another TV set in his hotel room.” At that point I heard a crash from the room next door and I said, “Make that three. The hotel manager’s not gonna be happy about this.”

‘Well just think of this baby, after tonight you’ll be home and I’ll pamper you till the New Year.’

“I know. I’ll just be happy to finally get my long hiatus break and spend time with my husband and daughter.”

‘I know she’ll be happy to see her mum again too. And thankfully you’ll be home for her 1st birthday.’

“I know, god I can’t believe she’s gonna be one year old in just three months.” I sighed in awe.

‘Time flies so fast.’

“God I just wish for this tour to be over. I need to see you two.”

‘We want you here too, babe. But come night fall, you all will kill it as usual and then you’ll be home.’ I nodded.

“Well I better go Jack. I love you, give Kelly a kiss for me.”

‘Will do. Love you too (n/n).’ we both kissed the speaker of the phones before we both hung up.  Unlike any other of the hotel’s this one had some pretty thin walls so I could hear the wreckage Roger was causing on the room to my right while on the left I could hear Freddie snapping at someone through the walls.

‘LOOK I DON’T GIVE A FUCKING SHIT ABOUT HOW LONG IT TAKES JUST GET IT DONE!! DON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT I CAN OR CAN’T DO!!!’ it was then I collapsed to my knees and held my hands to my ears, having flashbacks to when Johanna and Graham would argue constantly.

Why can’t tonight just get here fast enough? That way we can just celebrate and finally be done with this hellish tour.  Then for the first time in a long time, I went up to my bed and pressed my hands together.

“Mum, dad. I—don’t know if you can hear me. But…..this tour seems to have turned the guys into wild animals. The last few weeks have been hell since after Budapest, if you can…..just give me the strength to carry on until tonight. I would greatly appreciate it.” I then decided that I had to get away from the noise.

I locked my hotel room up (since apparently the place had been known for break ins. Of course we didn’t know that till someone from one level above me had his wedding band stolen).  I walked towards the back deck of the hotel but as I passed the bar there I saw Deacy sitting at the bar as he’s done in the past with a drink in his hand and his head lying on the bar.

“Unbelievable.” I muttered as I walked up to him. “John? John Richard Deacon!” he groaned and looked up towards me. “You do realize we’ve got a show to do in seven hours right?”

“Would you stop nagging at me? God that’s all you women do is nag, nag, nag, nag, nag.”

“Well sorry if I care about my brother so much! But I’d rather have Queen’s bassist be healthy and oh yeah sober during a performance. So that way he doesn’t fall flat on his back and kills himself!”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you just mind your own damn business and just focus on nagging your husband. After all he’s just the stay-at-home dad with your daughter.”

“Don’t you dare bring my family into this John! Ever.”

“God you sound like my wife.”

“Good, at least one of us does.” I sneered angrily.

“LISTEN! YOU DON’T GET TO DICATE MY LIFE! YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH!” He shouted at me as he rose up, albeit wobbled up, but he got into my face.  The stench of cocktails breathing right into my face.

“John I’m worried about you, what else am I supposed to do?”

“FUCK OFF!” John said as he stormed off with his drink.

“FINE!!” at this point I don’t even care if we ended up making a scene at the bar.  I brushed my hand through my hair as I tried to keep the tears at bay before storming out.

My breathing was sharp and heavy, it was then I dug through my purse and picked up a pack of cigarettes.  I took on out and I brought it up to my lips before digging for a lighter.  When I found it I began to try and ignite but it wouldn’t light.

“Since when did you take up smoking?” I turned and saw Brian standing beside me.  I dropped the lighter back into my bag and took the cigarette out of my mouth.

“Was thinking about today. This was my breaking point.”

“You referring to your fight with Deacy?”

“You heard that?” I asked softly.

“(Y/n) dear I’m sure all of Stevenage heard you two.” I sighed heavily and buried my face into my hands.

“I’m sorry Brian I’ve tried to hold it in together for you guys but this is all too much! The arguments, the loudness, the drinking, the homesickness, I just can’t take it anymore!” I sobbed.

“Okay, okay, shhh. Shh.” Brian hugged me close to him and rubbed my back. “C’mon, let’s head into my room.” He kept his arm around me as he led me back inside and the two of us went up to his room.

“Call me crazy or even a worry-wort. Hell, call me a hypocrite even because I did think that even through your arguments you guys always seemed to pull through. But now, just…..after Budapest it’s like you all don’t want anything to do with each other anymore. And I don’t know who to turn to because you all are so angry all the time.” I whimpered as I felt Brian’s fingers stroke through my hair as I lay on his lap.

“You’ve been our neutral ground throughout the tour, guess we’ve finally spent you out. Forcing you to take a side or force us apart. One curse about being a guy is the testosterone that makes us flare and bark at each other. You didn’t need to be exposed to that.”

“No Bri I get it. You all have your tempers and you all are adults. I shouldn’t even be crying about this.”

“No (y/n) you emotions are valid too. This isn’t just a Queen tour, it’s Queen+Angel. We’re your family and I know some of this arguing and verbal abuse is bringing back memories for you.”

“Yeah, especially with Fred’s tantrums and Roger smashing the TV.”

“Are you kidding me he destroyed another one?” I nodded. He sighed heavily and he said as he had me look up at him. “I’m sorry love. You really don’t deserve us.”

“I just wish this tour would end so that you all could go back to your loving selves. The ones I can talk to. The ones that aren’t trying to drink themselves to death, or destroy public property.” He stroked my cheek, wiping away my tearstains from the corner of my eyes.

“I know. I hate that our ugliness is really starting to get to you. We never wanted you to be exposed to that.”

“But it’s the rock star life. Hell you saw me about to smoke, and you know how against it I’ve been.”

“Just be thankful you weren’t trying coke or heroin. I’d…..we’d never forgive ourselves if you went down that road.” I sat up from his lap and sat close by him, wrapping my arms around his, my hand lying on top of his and he said.

“I think I can agree with the guys when I say after tonight, we’re all gonna need a break from each other. Just….go out, decompress, be with our families. Just have a little break from each other.”

“I’m starting to think that would be best too.” His arm came out from between mine as he wrapped it around me, placing his hand on top of my head, gently scratching through my scalp in a calming way.  I felt him kiss the top of my head while I wrapped my arms around him and just clung to him and buried my face into his chest.

As the hours ticked by, we were all now at the Knebworth stage going over soundchecks and practicing our cues.  I made sure to keep as far away from John as possible since I could tell he was still a little shitfaced, it especially didn’t help that his roadies kept making him cocktails behind his AMP.

“You okay love?” I heard Roger ask me.  He sat down beside me on the stage with his drumsticks still in hand.

“I don’t even know at this point Roger. I’m really worried about John. Has he said anything to you?”

“I wouldn’t know, even if I would ask him he’d just turn and walk away from me. Starting to piss me off.”

“Enough to toss him off the stage?”

“I think he’ll do that himself with the way he’s drinking.” He chuckled but I didn’t even crack a smile.  When he saw that his joke didn’t make me laugh, he wrapped an arm around me and he said. “Did he say something to you?”

“It wasn’t entirely his fault. I went up to him earlier this afternoon when he was down at the bar already shitfaced and we got into a little tuff with each other. Not physical touching mind you, just drunk/sober shouting’s at each other.”

“Yeah, Brian did mention something. And hey, I also came to apologize for what you must’ve heard this morning. I was just incredibly pissed off this morning at seeing some news that I thought was absolute bollocks that I couldn’t take it anymore. On every, fucking channel they kept talking about the same thing over and over and over again.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“Ohh nothing you need concern yourself about darling.”

“Dad I’m 24 years old, I’m not an idiot. Now tell me.”

“God I can never hide anything from you nowadays. Okay, it’s just rumors spreading about Freddie. Just about the stories Prenter once leaked to the press back when Fred fired him. They’re really milking his party life and drug usage.”

“Jesus H. Christ. They got nothing else to live for do they.”

“Not unless it revolves around a juicy gossip chain just to up their paycheck.” I leaned against his shoulder and I felt his head rest on top of mine.

“Leeches they are.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself love. And hey, you know I’ll always love you right?”

“Yeah, of course I know.”

“So never be afraid to come to me again okay, my little lion cub?” I smiled softly.

“You got it, just promise you won’t toss a TV in front of Kelly.”

“I swear that girl will never see my ugly side. Nor shall you.” He leaned his forehead against mine, nuzzling it like a lion would his cub.  My smile grew a little wider as I nuzzled him back, our noses rubbing against each other.

“Oi you two! I get your father and daughter and all that but we could use you both for the rehearsals!” Freddie exclaimed ruining our moment.

“I swear I’ll kill him.” Roger hissed.

“Dad please.”

“I know, I know.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead and the two of us stood up and we walked towards the guys with an arm wrapped around the other.

As the sun began to set, I could hear the fans already starting to pour into the park.  Their cheering and screams of excitement could be heard from behind the stage.  I was currently putting on the finishing touches to my makeup before finally just looking at myself through the mirror.

And boy did I look like shit.  Guess this tour didn’t just change the guys, but me too.  I looked absolutely knackered, there was hardly any life in my eyes left, I looked practically dead, both inside and out.

“Just pray to god this show goes well and that there are now fuckups.” I grabbed my Red special and headed out of my dressing room and onto the stage, my team surrounding me and putting on final touches to my face, outfit or handing me some water bottles. When I met up with the guys, we hardly spoke a word to each other, only just gave each other pats on the shoulders or arm.

Then as always the boys charged right for the stage and the show began.

Same routine, same scheduling, same songs just like we’ve done for this entire tour.  But after we performed Radio Gaga, I was standing right behind Freddie and John, right on the lower drum riser’s set and just as I came down I was forced to stop because the next thing I knew, Deacy took off his bass and literally threw it towards the AMPS and broke them before charging off stage.

I stared at John with mixed emotions of anger and shock.  I turned to Freddie who looked at me but he came up and we walked out to change our attires for the second part of the act.  God I really wanted to confront John about this so badly, but we only had a few minutes to slightly change our clothes before going back on stage, so I thought it’d be best to leave it for after the show.

When the concert finally concluded, as Fred and I began the last verse for “We are the Champions” as we both sung out the second to last line, it was then Freddie turned towards me and gestured for me to take it just like it was back at Live Aid.  Again I shook my head and gestured for him to take it but this time the look in his eyes told me to take it.  I took a deep breath and held out the last note leaving the guys to rock out.

I shook the tambourine into my mic as I backed away from the stage and soon Freddie came out once again adorned in the king getup.  He raised his hand in the air before taking the crown and raising it high.  When it was finally all over, and the crowd roared with applause.

“Thank you beautiful people. You’ve been a tremendous and special audience. Thank you very much, goodnight, sweet dreams. We love you.” Freddie spoke as we all came down center stage and waved goodbye to the audience as “God save the Queen” came up and I could hear the audience singing along to our national anthem.

Just as I began to walk away, I felt Fred take my hand and what struck me as odd was when he bestowed the crown upon me this time, it wasn’t just a one hand-silly type thing.  This time he held the crown in both his hands and placed the crown on my head, like I was actually being crowned a Queen.  He had a brief smile before getting down with his left foot forward and kneeled before me.

I smiled and knighted him thinking this was just another one of his acts in honor for the final day of the tour.  After knighting him he stood up and we waved goodbye to the audience once more before finally walking towards backstage.  As we all gathered around in Freddie’s dressing room, the three boys seemed hyped and ready to go to the after party.

“That was amazing!” Roger proclaimed as he came up and spun me around in a backwards hug.  “And you my dear killed it out there tonight!”

“You were indeed the life of the concert (y/n) dear.”

“Well I mean I can’t take all credit. You guys helped out.”

“There’s no Queen without our Angel,” Brian said.

“And no Angel without her Queen.”

“Alright you guys it’s party time!” Brian and John all proclaimed in agreement before Roger said, “Freddie you in?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be right there. I’ll join you in a moment.” Freddie said completely exhausted as he sat down and wiped his face with his towel.

“You alright Fred?” Brian asked.

“Yeah Brian I’m good. I’ll see you out there, I’ll be right behind you.” And with that the three boys all piled out of Fred’s dressing room one by one leaving me, Freddie and Jim alone.  I turned to see Jim sit beside Fred and place a hand to his back and I said.

“You sure you’re okay Fred?”

“Of course I am darling. C’mere.” I walked up to him and he took my hands in his and looked up at me with a praiseful look in his eyes. “You my darling, were a star tonight. Seems the Angel has finally surpassed her mentor.”

“No I didn’t……”

“I’m not saying it as an insult. That was literally your best performance ever. Always perform to that level my dear, if not better in the future.”

“Freddie where is this coming from?” I asked him.  I was starting to get a little concerned about him.  Just the way he was talking and saying these things it’s almost as if he’s—well he’s about to die or something.

“Just the ranting of an old man dear, nothing you need to worry about. Pretty soon you’ll be doing that to the next artist you inspire. Maybe she’ll be your intern that you’ll help make into a rockstar.” I softly laughed.

“Don’t know if that’ll happen.”

“Now go on and enjoy the party. You’ve been needing a chance to finally kick back and relax after the morning you had.”

“Let me guess, Brian told you.”

“And Rog might’ve drilled about giving you an apology for my shouting’s earlier today.”

“I may stay for an hour or two, then I think I may just head home.”

“No, no darling please stay for the boys sake. Maybe even talk to Deacy about what you went through at the hotel.”

“I doubt he’ll listen.”

“You’re his sister from another mister darling. Veronica’s hardly talked to him and what he needs right now is the second most important woman in his life.” I looked at him and saw him giving me the tired but still sweet puppy dog eyes.

“I’ll try to talk to him.”

“That’s my darling angel. Always looking out for her boys.” He said as his left hand reached up and stroked my cheek.

“Oh here’s your crown back.”

“Nah you keep it darling.”

“You serious Fred? It belongs to you.”

“Not anymore, I bequeath it to you now.”

“Are—are you serious?” he nodded.

“Keep it. And please keep it on for the entire party. Less of course you want to break my heart, and I’ll be sure to have Roger send me pictures whether you keep it on or not. If you don’t then you and I will have a serious conversation.” I laughed softly.

“Okay, okay. Thank you Freddie.”

“No (y/n) my love. Thank you.” He stood up and kissed both of my cheeks and then hugged me.  I was surprised at first just because of the suddenness of this.  And this hug wasn’t like his pervious hugs before.  This was a more—longing hug. The kind of hug that people give to one another when one’s going away to war or saying goodbye. “Keep performing my rock angel. The show must go on.”

“Okay Fred.” I said wearily as I hugged him back. “But I’ll still see you for Kelly’s 1st birthday right?”

“Darling I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He said as he separated from me before gently pushing me towards the door.  “So long as you and Jack come to my 40th birthday party.”

“I think we can make it. I’m sure mum and Misha wouldn’t mind babysitting Kelly.” I turned back to Freddie and he softly smiled before nodding very softly, then I walked out of his dressing room.

At the end of tour party, I was hardly in the party mood because my sole focus was to find one specific member of Queen.  I looked over the crowd of roadies, volunteers who signed up to be apart of the tour and help out for the entire summer, dancers, and everyone far and between that decided to come along.

It wasn’t until I came outside of the building where I found John sitting all alone looking forlorn and out of it.  I looked at him before taking a deep breath in and softly exhaled out.  I slowly walked towards him and said as calmly as I could.

“Deacy.” He brushed his hand through his curly hair before turning up to look at me.

“If this is another attempt to lecture me, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I came by because I care about you. And I wanna clear the air after what happened earlier this afternoon.”

“I think what you actually mean to say is that you’re trying to baby me. Like everyone else has been lately. I’m fine just—going through some shit right now but I’m dealing with it!”

“By what? Drinking yourself till you can barely remember anything? Till you eventually what pass out?”

“See this is exactly where you and Veronica are soo much alike.” He hissed. “You both try to put your noses into somewhere where it don’t belong!” God he really could be a cold hearted King of Quick-wits if he wanted, but at this point he was going down the road where so many people including Freddie went down.

“God I don’t even know why I try!?!” I exclaimed standing up. “I’m trying to be the adult here John!”

“Just so you could what? Tell Veronica about what’s been happening to me since a week after we left Budapest? Don’t thing I don’t know you’re snitching off to them!”

“No John! No.” I said as I turned away trying to compose myself. “I do this because…..YOU HAVE 4 BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN BACK HOME AND THEY LOVE YOU!! THEY LOVE YOU SOO DAMN MUCH!!” I exclaimed, pointing at him aggressively.  I sniffled and sobbed out, “And I don’t want them to go through the same pain I did of losing their dad!”

Silence rang between us as I turned away from him covering my sobs behind my hand.

“(Y/n), sister dear, sister dear no, no, no calm down, calm down, calm down. Hey,” he came up to me. I felt his hands rest on my shoulders but I turned my head away from him.  

That’s when he turned my head back towards him and cupped my face in his hands, and this time instead of the harsh eyes, I was met with the broken, yet warm eyes that was my Deacy.

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a—bastard to you. It’s just…this tour has been so stressful, there’s things going on back at home and I couldn’t be there so I….I was forced to resort to the only way I knew how to deal with things. In silence by the bottle.”

“And I get that Deacy. We’re all going through some shit.” I said lowly.  I looked up into his eyes and whimpered, “But from one orphan girl think about it….if you were to overdose after tonight, where would that leave your kids? Your wife?” even through my own tears, I could see tears forming at the corner of Deacy’s bloodshot eyes.

He immediately hugged me, resting his head on top of mine as his arms wrapped around me and I felt him stroke the back of my head.  I sniffled a bit before continuing.

“No matter what it takes, paying for AA meetings, or me walking out of your life for a bit. All I ask is that you do one thing…..don’t make those three wonderful boys and that sweet little girl fatherless!” I pleaded the last part as I looked up at him with tears streaming down my face.

He brought me back into his chest as I softly wept into his chest.  He rocked me from side to side and said.

“Okay, okay I will. I just…..hope Veronica forgives me.”

“If it were me and Jack, I think he would eventually. But don’t push her away. You’re each other’s swans.”

“That a—thing you and Jack call yourselves?” he teased.

“It’s romantic don’t tease!”

“No worries. When—Ronnie and I first started dating I….I called her my penguin.”

“Penguin?” I laughed softly.

“They’re her favorite animal don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” I wiped my tears away and looked up at him and he looked down at me. “What do you say you and I ditch this party and go see our families?”

“I wouldn’t mind that. Plus it’d give me time to sober up on the drive and make it up to my sister dear.”

“I’d like that.” I hummed a chuckle. “Very much, brother mine.” He then kissed my forehead and the two of us with a wrapped arm around each other walked back inside to find Brian and Rog and tell them we were gonna go ahead and go.  They accepted and wished us a safe drive but not before giving the two of us hugs on a job well done (well I got both hugs and kisses but that’s just Bri and Rog).

Play video at 3:00

I called my driver Louis to come pick us up and he drove us from Stevenage back to London. By the time we reached Deacy’s house it was already 1am.  We hugged and kissed each other goodbye and Deacy walked out with his stuff in tow on his way up to his house.  I saw him ring the doorbell a few times before the light from upstairs came on.

It was then I saw Veronica open the front door and when she saw her husband standing there, she looked stunned.  I saw Deacy talk to her for a bit before she finally embraced him and the two of them kissed each other.  As the two of them swayed back and forth and moved around till Ronnie’s back was turned towards me and I saw Deacy look directly at me.

He gave me a smile and a wave in thanks.  I smiled back and waved bye to him and watched the two of them enter the house.

“Okay Louis take me home.”

“Can do ma’am.” He said with a smile.  Thankfully traffic was on our side so it about 40min. to get there.  Finally at 2 in the morning I was greeted by the sight of my home that Bri so kindly gave us after Kelly’s birth.  Louie stopped the car and he said. “We’re home Mrs. Kline.”

“Thank you Louis. You are more than welcome to spend the night here if you wish. Lord knows Bri had plenty of bedrooms installed.”

“Thank you very much ma’am.” He turned off the engine and he helped me with my stuff.  We both quietly walked in the house and I just told him to leave the stuff near the front door and that I could get it later, while I kept my overnight bag over my shoulder.

“Sweet dreams Louis.”

“Goodnight Mrs. Kline, sweet dreams. And what a wonderful performance you played tonight.”

“Thank you.” I then directed him to one of the guest rooms and he bid me one final goodnight while I quietly walked up the stairs to the main bedroom.

When I walked in, I saw my husband sleeping soundly in the bed and there just at the foot of the bed was baby Kelly in her crib.  I quietly set my bag down and walked towards the crib and smiled down at my sleeping daughter.  I kissed my index and tall fingers before gently placing them on her cheek.

She softly stirred as she cooed but then she just went back to sleep.  I then turned to Jack and walked up towards the bed and slowly sat down before finally lying down.  As carefully as I could, I nuzzled his chest and snuggled close to him, humming tiredly. I don’t know whether it was subconsciously or he must’ve been awake for that split second, but I felt Jack’s arm wrap around my waist and pull me close.

A soft smile spread across my face as I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent.

It was at that point I was truly happy.  Deacy’s lyrics never rang more true, the ‘I’m happy at home’ line, it speaks a thousand words.  I was home, and I couldn’t wait to stay home for a long hiatus.

[knifeshoeoreofight]

He keeps dreaming of snow. 

It’s July. The weather is warm and sticky, and the sun has been blazing hot for weeks. And he dreams about snow.

It’s the same every time. A lake fringed with dark trees, the ice covered in a flawless expanse of white. Blank and perfect. In the dream, he has a pair of skates slung over his shoulder by the laces. When he swings them down to untie the knots and get them on his feet, they’re always a different pair he recognizes.

The first pair of good skates he’d received as a child, still able to fit him in the boundless logic of dreaming. He’d fallen asleep clutching them to his chest when he’d gotten them that Christmas. Stuffed dog under one arm, skates under the other. 

The beat up pair he hid in Rimouski, so that he could practice even after they took away his regular skates. The same ones he’d take to play shinny in the park, just to feel a little normal. Free.

The pair he wore to win gold in Vancouver, gleaming and perfect. 

In the dream he sits on a snowbank and pulls the skates on, and then he’s on the ice. You can’t skate on snow-covered ice, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Dream logic again.

The dark trees around the lake never grow closer, no matter how hard he skates for the opposite shore. Always, he ends up standing in the middle of that blank, unsettling expanse of white, frustrated. When he looks behind him, there’s never a mark in the featureless snow to show where he’s been. Nothing.

And he wakes up then, usually, disturbed and wondering why the fuck he’s dreaming that dream again. 

***

He’s busy enough.The flurry of early summer weddings has petered out, finally. He loves his friends’ happiness, but the annual glut gets…old. Exhausting.

He has a few media obligations, some pre-planned get togethers with Nate and any of the boys who happen to be in town. He’s ramping up the training. But he still has too much damn time to brood in between it all. You’d think he’d be able to get the bad taste of last season out of his mouth by now, but it lingers, their ignominious playoff exit following him like a shadow.

He fishes, he paddleboards. He golfs. He trains some more. He tries going to the farmer’s market and has to leave after fifteen minutes because of the commotion his appearance causes. He teaches himself how to make gluten free parmesan chicken from the Internet.

He checks social media, liking pictures of babies and dogs and summertime shenanigans on Instagram. He uploads a photo of his dock at sunrise to his private one, to a flurry of likes and chirping about being a boring old man, fishing all day. 

It’s a little funny but it stings a bit too. He doesn’t like to think of himself as old. He’s not, by ordinary standards. But he is in hockey years, and it terrifies him sometimes. 

He should post more often, then maybe he’d get less shit from the guys. He’d only made his account in the first place so that he could follow the people that mattered to him. 

He wakes up early to find that Geno commented a string of parentheses and a couple incomprehensible emojis. 

He’s given up trying to interpret what Geno means by them; he’s 90% sure he just picks the weirdest ones possible just to fuck with people. 

Sid ponders what to respond, and finally settles on turtle, Brazillian flag, paperclip. There, let him have a taste of his own medicine. 

i dont get it, jake posts underneath. Probably sex stuff, replies Flower. better not to ask. 

Asshole, Sid replies, and feels his face flush. It’s all meant as a joke, but thinking of sex and Geno too close together is always a problem, and he buries the well-worn thing he doesn’t acknowledge like he always does. 

***

The next time he has the dream, there’s someone else there. He doesn’t see them, but their presence behind him lies on him like a weight.

He stops in the middle of the lake like he always does. The presence behind him stops too.

“Hey,” Sid says, more as an inquiry than a greeting.

Some small bit of dream-awareness slots into place, and he knows that it’s Geno, behind him.

“Three years Superleague, huh?” Sid says. It’s good, and right, Geno standing behind him.

***

More training. A podcast recording with Biz and Whit that actually ends up being a lot of fun. Just shooting the shit and swapping stories. 

They ask him about Geno, of course, angling for some dirt, some “ha ha he’s so Russian” and “what a bully” kind of shit. Sid doesn’t give them anything.

Geno, Sid has always thought, is more just like an enormous cat. A little moody and opinionated, liking things to be just so. Affectionate and friendly only on his own terms. He’s always wondered if that was mostly due to the language barrier, or if it’s just how Geno is. He used to watch whenever Geno spoke to Gonch, or his friends on other teams. Listen to the faster cadence of his voice, the expansive movements of his hands, the expressiveness of his face. Trying to figure out who Geno really was when he was comfortable and at ease.

He used to watch Geno way too much in those days.

It’s still a problem sometimes.

Geno always treated Sid a little differently. All of his brash pushiness is tempered a little. He always looks into Sid’s eyes when Sid is trying to tell him something, leaning in and listening with his whole body. Sid has never taken that deference and respect for granted, treating Geno’s fierce loyalty as the precious honor it is.Geno gives zero consequence to people he’s decided he doesn’t like or respect. He isn’t like Sid, he doesn’t bother to reign in his colossal emotions or attempt a veneer of politeness or charm. If he’s done with you he’s done with you. 

Geno is Geno, and Sid, god help him, has always loved him for it.

***

He has the dream again, and it’s accompanied by a creeping sense of dread. He and the Geno-presence take to the ice. In the middle of the lake, instead of smooth white, the snow is broken by a series of jagged cracks, dark water sloshing malevolently inches from Sid’s skates. 

“Fuck, look out–” he tells Dream-Geno, but Dream-Geno steps past him, for the first time.

“Geno!” Sid tries to scream, but he doesn’t have the air. In the disjointed way of dreams, Sid just knows that Dream-Geno is in the water now, even if he didn’t see anything happen. 

He drops to his knees, and reaches out. The water looks liquid, but his fingers scrabble along it like it’s ice. He claws at it, horror and desperation cresting over him. He’s trying to scream Geno’s name, but he can’t- he just can’t- 

When he wakes up, he’s gasping, heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. He’s disoriented for a split second, grief crushing, until he wakes up further and realizes he was dreaming. 

He sits up with a groan, shreds of the dream and its dread slowly fading around him. Fuck. He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in years. 

He checks the time on his phone, curses to see that it’s three thirty in the morning. He drags himself up, flinching as he flips the bathroom light on. He takes a piss, and splashes water on his face as if he can wash away the lingering awfulness of the dream.

So weird. He hadn’t really seen anything, but the emotions themselves had felt so real. 

Back in bed, he almost doesn’t want to go back to sleep. He feels wide awake anyway. What he wants to do, is. 

Incredibly stupid.

Good for a lifetime of shit-talking if Geno tells anyone.

He does it anyway. 

You up? He texts Geno. It’s nine-something am in Moscow, so who knows. Geno’s not exactly a morning person.

There’s no answer, for long enough that he starts to feel even more colossally lame than he already did. 

Then his phone rings, making him jump. Fuck.

“Sid?” Geno says when he picks up. “What’s happen? It’s night for you.”

God, his voice. Deep and rumbling right in his ear. Accent thick like it always gets over the summer when he doesn’t use his English for months. Sid feels something in him let go, soothed by a living, breathing Geno at the other end of the line. But, then, he realizes that he now has to come up with an explanation that isn’t just, “hey bud, just had a real bad dream, wish you were here to fucking tuck me in, eh?” 

“Uh. I’m okay it’s just… I was thinking.”

There’s a judgmental silence on the other end of the line. Sid pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“You’re gonna chirp me forever, man. I, uh. I’ve been having this dream.” 

“Whaat?” Geno draws the word out, somehow conveying both amusement and disbelief. 

“I know, I know. But I’ve been having this stupid dream about skating on a lake, yeah? Just over and over. It’s fucking weird. And you were there? I think. The last few times, anyway. And this time there were these cracks in the ice, and you fell in. You know how even if it doesn’t make sense, for a second in a dream your brain doesn’t know the difference? Well. You, you were dead.” 

He pauses, realizing he’s babbling, how stupid this is. Shame washes over him. 

“Okay…” Geno says, clearly trying to take all of that in. “Sorry for dream?”

“Not your fault,” Sid says automatically. “So, yeah. Pretty much I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Geno huffs out a laugh. “Okay. I’m doing good, so.” There’s a pause, like he’s considering something. 

“It’s little bit cute, you know? Call me for scared.” His tone is amused but not as teasing as Sid would expect.

Still. Cute.

“Oh my god,” Sid groans, and flops back into his pillows.

“So stupid,” he says, more to himself then to Geno.

“No, no,” Geno says, and he’s definitely laughing now. “It’s fine, most cute. Can call me, I can give you some story, for sleep. Maybe some song.”

“Fuck off,” Sidney gripes, but he’s kind of smiling at the ceiling now, like a dweeb. 

Geno yawns, then audibly settles back into the bed or couch he’s probably lounging on. “So, keep having dream?”

“Yeah, over and over. No idea why.”

“Stress?”

Sid is quiet for a moment, wondering how to answer. “Maybe. My birthday, the season coming up. You know.”

“You captain,” Geno says. “Lots things for worry.” The matter of fact way he says it is comforting, somehow. “You need come here. Have fun in Russia.”

“Naw. The visa would take too long to get,” Sid says, wondering if Geno means it, if he’d really like to show Sid around Moscow.

“You know how long it’s take?” Geno sounds amused again, like he’s smiling. “You think about?” 

“Oh, off and on,” Sid answers. “Over the years, you know.”

“Should do, Russia best.”

Sid laughs. “Oh, for sure.”

“You do, you come. We go to banya, we eat Russian food. You can go to some museum, so boring.”

It sounds… really good. It makes an old ache start up behind Sid’s ribcage to think about it, but it sounds good. Especially if…

There’s always been an expiration date on Geno’s time in the US. And if this season is as bad as the last–

Sid tamps down the urge to surrender to the loss he can sense hovering on the horizon. 

“That sounds amazing, G. I want to, I really do. What about next summer? I can make sure the paperwork is all set up ahead of time.” Something to look forward to in that summer, no matter what. A way to delay Geno from slipping through his fingers if Geno decides he’s finally had it.

He’s being irrational, he knows. Geno has a contract. And yet.

“Yes, we do,” Geno says, with finality. “You come.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Then there’s a bit of rustling on Geno’s end, like he’s sitting up. He sounds more awake when he speaks again.

“I can come early, now. Go to Canada first.”

Sid blinks, his lips parting in surprise. “Come here? To Nova Scotia? You’d want to?”

“No more bad dream,” Geno coos mockingly, and Sid has to laugh.

“You gonna tuck me in at night, eh?” Fuck, no, what is he doing. That sounds like he’s trying to flirt, or something. He needs to backpedal. 

“For real though. I’d always love to have you visit, you know that. I just thought, it’s a little quiet, maybe. Boring.” His voice, damn it, is a lot softer than he meant it to sound. Maybe revealing a little too much. He hopes Geno isn’t paying attention.

“Mooost boring,” Geno drawls. Then, firmly: “I come. You can show me fishing. No golf.” 

Something stupid and anticipatory flutters in Sidney’s gut. “Sure, okay. Let’s uh, work out the details.” Fuck.

***

Geno plans to go to Miami for a week, then to Sid’s, then to fly together down to Pittsburgh for training camp. He grouses a little at needing to be early because Sid is the captain and always shows up in town first. 

He grumbles but then he’s there in a week and a half, tanned and insolent with a backwards SnapBack on his head, rolling a lollipop stick between his teeth and disturbing Sid’s whole universe.

He pulls Sid in for a one armed hug and a backslap, right there in the terminal. He smells like airplane and very nice cologne, and Sid wonders why the hell he allowed this to happen.

He’s exhausted but looks around avidly as they take the 102 down to Dartmouth.

“Flat,” he says thoughtfully. “Big sky. Like Russia.”

Sid feels disproportionately pleased about that. 

It’s so strange, looking at home through Geno’s eyes, or trying to. He wants him to like it. 

“Halifax is across the harbor from where we are now,” Sid explains. “We can take a look around tomorrow.”

“I’m look Google Earth,” Geno says. “Little bit. Pretty.”

“It is,” Sid agrees. 

There’s a strange little smile playing around Geno’s lips as he takes in his surroundings. Sid isn’t quite sure what it means.

When they get to Sid’s place, Geno unfolds his long legs from the car and shoves his sunglasses up on his head. He just stands there for a minute, looking at the house, the sliver of lake visible through the trees. 

Then he looks at Sid, like he’s fitting Sid into this place in his mind. That wry little smile is back.

“Looks like you,” he says, and Sid isn’t quite sure what he means. 

***

Sid takes Geno out on the lake to fish. He takes him to the rink for training, where Geno imperiously nods once at Nate and then proceeds to ignore him for the rest of the drills. He stands in the lobby for a long time, looking at the display of Sid’s jerseys and photos. He takes a picture of one of Sid’s Timbits photos with his phone. 

Sid takes him around Halifax, as promised, then to his parent’s house, where Geno is all charm and bashful politeness, helping Sid’s mom in the kitchen and talking hockey with Sid’s dad. 

In every place, it’s a strange collision of worlds. Sid has to stop himself from just, staring all the time. Geno, here in his life. Lying on the floor of his parents’ living room to fuss over Sam. Rifling through Sid’s cabinets to judge his lack of acceptable tea. Strapping on his pads in the locker room of the rink where Sid learned to skate. 

He fits easier than Sid had imagined, and that ache seems to sit in his chest all the time now.

***

Geno’s been there nearly a week when Sid has the dream again. Same thing, with Geno disappearing into the dark water. 

Sid wakes up drenched in sweat, and swears before stumbling as quietly as he can to his kitchen for cold water from the Brita in the fridge. 

“Sid?”

Sid yelps, sloshing water all over the counter. “Fuck!” 

Geno’s lying on the couch in the living room, awash in the blue light of the muted television. 

“What are you doing up? Did I wake you?” 

“Still little bit jet lag. What’s happen? Dream, again?” 

Sid takes his glass of water and stands pointedly by the couch until Geno pulls up his knees and frees a space for Sid to sit. 

“Yeah.” Sid sighs. “So stupid.” He rubs at his eyes. 

“I’m die?” 

Sid stares ahead at the silent TV. It’s showing an ad for Canadian Tire. He’s not sure how he feels about talking about this, least of all talking about it with Geno. “Uh huh.” 

Geno scoots partially upright, and regards Sid with a surprising amount of gravity. 

“What you worry about, Sid?” he says, and it’s quiet, his voice low. 

Sid can’t look at him. He takes a long swallow of water and sets his glass carefully on the coffee table, trying to decide how honest to be. 

He’s too tired, on too many levels, to say anything other than the truth. 

“That if we have another season like we did, you’ll decide you’re done.” 

Geno whole face seems to go soft, his mouth dropping open a little. 

“I know,” Sid says quickly. “I know, this is so stupid, but I just—” 

Geno swings his feet to the floor, and suddenly he’s right there next to him, so close their thighs are almost touching. 

“Sid,” Geno says, and waits to continue until Sid looks over at him. 

“Until I’m hurt or you leave, I’m not leave Penguins.” 

His voice is softer and more reassuring than Sid has ever heard it before. What is happening. 

He can’t speak for a moment. 

“I, uh. Fuck, G.” 

Geno is just. Sitting there so close Sid can feel the heat of his body, looking at Sid with dark, serious eyes. 

Sid wants to kiss him. Wants to push him back onto the couch and mark him up. Something must have shown in his face because Geno tilts his head, brows drawing together in puzzlement. 

“Sid?”

Sid shakes his head. He has to get It together, in so many ways. 

“No, yeah, sorry I just.” He sighs. “Thank you, G. I can’t tell you how much that means.” 

Geno makes a hum of agreement, and stands, extending a hand to Sid. Sid shouldn’t take it but he does, let’s Geno haul him to his feet, and lets Geno…pull him in for a hug apparently. Oh no. 

This time Geno smells like the body wash Sid keeps in the guest bedroom, and his worn t shirt is soft against Sid’s cheek. 

It’s a curiously long embrace, and when Geno’s arms tighten Sid allows himself the indulgence of relaxing, letting himself melt into it. 

Geno raises one hand and lays it heavily on the nape of Sid’s neck. He eases back so he can look into Sid’s face. 

Sid can’t tell what he’s thinking. And he himself can’t think at all, not with Geno’s hand pressing onto his neck and his everything so, so close. 

He realizes, slowly, that Geno’s hands are shaking. 

“G?”

“Sid,” Geno says, husky and so low. 

Sid feels outside of his body, incredulous that this is really, actually happening as Geno, very slowly, leans in, pausing just a hairsbreadth from Sid’s lips. 

“Sid?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, and tilts his head up to cross that final bit of separation. 

Geno’s kiss is soft lips and hot mouth, gasped breaths and possessive sweeps of those huge hands. 

Sid shudders in his arms as Geno moves to his neck, trailing kisses across his jaw and down to the skin bared by the vee of his sleep shirt. 

Sid tugs them backwards, folding when the couch hits the back of his legs and pulling Geno down over him. 

He’s greedy, he’s starving. He can’t touch enough skin, he can’t get Geno close enough. He sets his teeth where Geno’s neck meets his shoulder and nearly keens when Geno moans and responds with a slow, devastating roll of his hips. 

“Geno, is this— are you—“

Geno pushes himself upright enough to look Sid in the eyes. 

“Won’t leave, Sid. Can’t.”

“I’ve wanted this,” Sid confesses. “I’ve wanted this for a really long time.”

“Good,” Geno says, and rolls his hips again. 

“I can’t just do a, a one time fuck or—“ 

“No,” Geno says sharply. “No.” He leans on one elbow so that he can lay a hand on Sid’s cheek. “We’re like this, you know? Mine.” 

Sid feels too bright and expansive for his skin. He fists a hand in Geno’s t-shirt and tugs him closer. 

“Mine,” he echoes, and Geno groans, responding to another tug and taking Sid’s mouth in a deep, demanding kiss. 

Hands and mouths and the greedy rocking of their bodies bring them to completion within moments of each other. 

Sid lies there after, stroking his hand over Geno’s head where he’s laid it on Sid’s chest. He’s sprawled over Sid like a gigantic, clingy octopus, and Sid is feeling the kind of incredulous elation he normally associates with Cups and Olympic gold. 

“Thanks for coming, G,” he says, and although he meant “coming to Canada,” 

Geno snorts. 

“You know what I mean, dickhead,” Sid says, laughing. 

“I mean it,” he says a few minutes later. “I’m just, yeah.” 

Geno smiles at him like that made perfect sense, and doesn’t protest when Sid prods him upright and tugs him along into Sid’s bedroom. 

***

Jet lag or not, Geno falls asleep with Sid spooned up behind him, and is still asleep when Sid wakes up to the mid-morning sun streaming in the windows. Heart impossibly full, the old ache released and gone, Sid presses a kiss to the sun-gilded skin of Geno’s shoulder. 

He had dreamt of the lake again, but this time, as happened for him only rarely, he’d lucid-dreamed. 

“No,” he’d told Dream-Geno, and turned his back on the lake. Which suddenly was a completely frozen Monongahela River. 

He points up the bank, towards the arena. “We’ve got a game to get to.” 

Dream-Geno put his hand in Sid’s, and leaned down to kiss his hair. 

“Let’s go,” he tells Sid, and they walk up the bank together.

[kittensjonsa]

Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU

Summary: Sansa has to get through a tough weekend. Her boss, weekend with the family and saving her job. Oh, right, and a fake engagement too.

---

Sansa could feel her heart thumping in sync with the throbbing in her temples. Five more minutes.. just five more minutes please.

He was always early and almost everday he would step in just three minutes shy of nine o' clock in the morning. And here she was internally screaming at the line at Starbucks, moving at a glacial pace.

“Okay thanks!” Sansa hollered at the ruddy boy, the same one whom she greeted every morning when she stopped by to get her cuppas. Lucky for her, he knew exactly what her order was and all she needed to do was swipe her credit card. He was her life saver. Scrambling into a cab, she prayed, at least she'd get there a minute before her boss.

Sansa knew she should have stopped at one chapter but a wave of inspiration came over and one chapter became three - and the next thing she knew she jumped, awakened by the loud metal clang of her stationery holder that must have toppled onto the floor in the midst of her slumber.

“Oh shit! Hold please!” Sansa sighed in relief and mumbled her thanks as she rushed into the lift. She could still make in time.

8.56 am. Whew.

But of course like most of her days, it all turned to shit in a split second.

“Son of a! Nooo!” a warm sensation pooled at her chest, one of the coffee cups had smashed onto her black dress as the mail boy she raced into frantically picked up the envelopes strewn all over the floor.

“Arrghhh!” Sansa screeched and glared at him as she stomped to her desk. Angrily, she punched her computer start button. Nothing ever goes right. Nothing. 8.57 am.

“This will have to do. Jeyne will have to do without this shirt for one more day,” Sansa mumbled to herself, ripping open the plastic that covered a dry-cleaned white silk shirt she could wear over her dress. She meant to return it to Jeyne that morning but well, this was an emergency. The stain wasn't noticeable at all but Sansa was too self-conscious to ignore it.

Tying up the hems into somewhat of a cropped top over her v-neck black dress now stained and smelling of triple shot espresso, Sansa figured it looked professional enough for any meetings today. She just had to pull it off for the next ten hours or so.

“Good morn- hey is that my top?” Jeyne chuckled at Sansa's makeshift style statement.

“A teeny accident but I swear I will return this to you tonight if I have to okay. I am so sorry,” Sansa pouted, hoping her one and only friend at work would just let it go and leave it, seeing how the day was turning out to be.

“No biggie Sansa but looks good on you. I should try that some time.”

Oh thank god.

Then, the IM dinged. Two words flashed on her computer screen.

“IT'S HERE!”

Sansa looked around and watched everyone scramble back into their cubicles; no more giggling by the water dispenser, no longer was there laughing by the coffee machine just heard seconds ago. Everyone was just trying to avoid getting stuck in any common areas, any walkways that meant they had to come face to face with the boss.

Her boss, that is. Jon Snow.

How unfortunate was she to have a boss everyone loathed. Satan, she dubbed him once. Well she had many names for him, recounting many tales of her frustrations at work during her many calls to her family and it became a term of endearment almost. She could probably write a best seller one day alá Devil Wears Prada - with film rights and everything. But for now, it's ten hours a day, weekends at the office and crowded book fairs.

A figure in black went past her. His head of jet black curls was unmistakable. He was a male Medusa; never look him in the eye unless you want to be turned to ash, metaphorically speaking. The rumours that went around were ridiculously vicious albeit amusing.

“Good morning, Mr Snow. As always, here's your c-”

“Sansa, get George on the line. I just scored him an interview on Oprah and I'm gonna need to talk to him. Also, after that get Aliser a meeting with me because that dick is gonna get it from me today,” her boss strutted into his office, as if he owned the building, without as much as greeting her since his eyes were too glued to the email he was furiously typing on his phone.

“Coffee.” Sansa mumbled and cleared her throat as she waited for him to grab the takeaway cup from her outstretched hand. Like clockwork, he did, still ignoring her like as always, every morning. Sansa had gotten used to it.

Jon Snow settled into his chair and immediately turned on his computer, his phone now tossed aside now that there were more important things to start off with.

Yep, good morning to you too Satan.

“Well, so we have a staff meeting at 10, a conference call with the Westerlands office at 11 and you have an appointment at the Immigration office at 1. So should I cancel your lunch and push it back to 2 pm?”

Jon swivelled from the screen and looked at her. His brows were furrowed and to Sansa that was never a good thing. Three years with this man, this slave driver, she knew everything there was to know about him, his likes, dislikes, his micro expressions that helped her navigate through this murky depths of hell she called a job - of being the executive assistant of one the most well known and respected former Pulitzer prize winning journalist now turned editor-in-chief of Mormont & Sons Publishing. Good things don't come easy, she would tell herself that every day, through the late night coffee and dinner runs, the book fairs and the weekends in the office.

“Immigration? What? No, cancel that. I filled out those papers already. You sent them out, didn't you?”

Sansa nodded. Of course she did, she also collected his dry cleaning, his groceries and the expensive watch he had serviced, which took her an hour and half to get to the other side of the city because they were the only ones Jon trusted enough to do.

“Right, so back on with the lunch meeting then.” Sansa inched her way to the door as Jon turned back around to his computer.

“Sansa?”

Ugh.

“Who's Rick and why does he think I'm hot? Why does he have his Tinder handle here?”

What?

“Umm.. I have no idea who that is.” Sansa froze at her spot.

Jon took a sip of his coffee, his stern face visibly amused by the awful scribble on the white coffee cup. “Triple espresso shot, no sugar. Hmm.”

“Well, I'm guessing that should be my coffee that was meant for me,�� Sansa finally admitted.

Jon pursed his lips as he stared at her. “So, you're telling me that you too, drink triple espresso shot with no sugar?”

Sansa shrugged. “It grows on you.. I guess.”

“I thought you drank tea.”

“Well... variety, right?”

Jon's eyes were still on her, unamused. “You spilled my coffee didn't you?”

Sansa sighed. This day was no better than any other. If only she could catch a break.

Jon pointed to his own jacket and then to her. Sansa looked down and saw a small spot of dark brown on her makeshift cropped jacket, the pristine, shiny and well pressed silk blouse. Damn it.

“Good save on the shirt.”

Umm.. thanks?

“If... there's nothing else, you know where I'll be,” Sansa pointed to her desk outside as she slowly made her exit.

Then, the phone rang.

“Mr Snow's office,” Sansa answered dutifully. “It's Mr Thorne. Do you want to take it?”

Jon thought for a moment, then gestured to a general direction - it could only mean he wanted a one on one.

“Mr Thorne, Mr Snow is on his way to you right now.”

Jon stood up and tossed a notepad to Sansa. “You're coming with me, I need a witness.”

A witness? For what?

Murder?

“Oh you self righteous son of bitch!” the bellow shook her and Sansa almost dropped her notepad.

“You think you can waltz right in here with your big head and big ass editor ego and tell me what to do? I don't think so!” Aliser yelled at him, ripping the glasses from his face.

Shit. Don't punch each other. Please.

“Oh Thorne, you really are a thorn in my ass. Actually everyone's ass. You're just a lazy, entitled braggart who can't do the job right.”

Aliser only scoffed. “So you think your hot shot award is going to get you places huh? Throw your weight around like you own this shit?

“We told you many times, get George on board, get George on board, sign him and write a couple of books. But guess who did that instead? Me. I always have to finish your job for you because you can't do it ever.”

Aliser turned silent but his face was red with rage. Sansa couldn't blame him. He was being fired.

“Look, you have two months to look for another gig. I won't make you sign a non-compete and I'll tell everyone you resigned. I'll make sure Finance settles a leaving bonus for you. For all your years of service. How about that, huh?” Jon coolly offered in an effort to diffuse the rapidly growing tension in the air. Sansa gulped. Please take it, I want to get out of this room.

“You're going to regret this Jon Snow,” Aliser warned. Jon only shrugged and made his way to the door. Sansa quickly followed behind him and only managed a polite smile to Aliser.

“You got all that down didn't you? About the non compete and everything?” Jon asked as they made their way back to his office.

“Make a note to HR and let them get on it. And tell them I'm scouting for new editors. Which means I need you this weekend.”

Sansa's heart sank at the thought. No not this weekend. It's Gramp's 80th.

“Sansa? Did you hear what I just said?”

Sansa cursed under her breath and turned her attention back to Jon as they both stood in front of his office.

“Yes.. yes of course. Got it all down. But this weekend-”

“Why? Do you have plans?” Jon's tone was enough to warrant a slap from her.

“It's my grandfather's birthday weekend and I already told them I'll be there.”

Jon looked at her unblinking. “Well, tell them you'll come for the next one. I mean, if you want to keep your job that is. You do know birthdays happen every year, right?”

Sansa hated every time he brought that up. If it wasn't the book fairs it would be overtime at the office. When does it end?

Sansa bit her lip; there was no point arguing. “All right. I'll call them later.”

Jon winked and gave a token smile. “That's the spirit.”

Defeated, Sansa inhaled deeply, picking up the phone on her desk, hoping no one would be home pick up the call.

Sansa Stark, Editor. Sansa Stark, Editor. Sansa Stark, Editor.

It was the only thing in her mind that could help pull her through whatever life had in store for her that day.

“Hey Sansa, Mr Mormont wants to see Mr Snow right away. He says it's urgent,” Jeyne's voice broke her out her reverie.

Great, another one.

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Pushover

A conversation that may or may not have happened between Bakugou and his daughter Natsuki during Koge’s birthday party, written out in the story titled Birthday. 

Main Pairing: Bakugou x Koge (OC)

Featured Characters: Kirishima x Nene (OC), Matsuki (OC) x Otoha (OC), Natsuki (OC) x Mimiyuki (OC) Seijirou (OC) x Dokuji (OC) ,Daiki (OC), Atsuki (OC), Serina (OC)

Rating: Teen Warnings: Cursing, alcohol Genre: Fluff / Domestic / Family Words: 1660

Natsuki let out a heavy sigh as she flopped down to sit next to her father, letting her arm rest around the back of the couch behind him. “How’s it hangin’, Daddy-o? Worlds best Dad? Coolest Dad in the Univer-” 

“What do you want, Natsuki.” Bakugou grumbled as he kept his eyes on his phone, currently scrolling through his pictures as he was looking for something particular that Koge had asked for a few moments ago. With a huff, Natsuki pulled her legs up onto the couch, glowering at the phone as it was keeping most of his attention that she was trying to receive. 

“Just because I come up to you doesn’t mean I want something Daddy, I was just coming to hang out with you. You looked lonely over here all by yourself.” She moved some of her hair out of her face, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “Why do you think so negatively all the time?” 

Bakugou locked his phone, taking a second to put it into his pocket as searching for the picture would require more of his time than what he had at the moment. “Natsu, I know you. If you come up to me, and try to butter me up first thing, then you want something.” 

“That’s not always true. But-” 

“But?” 

“-Today it is true. I do want something.” A wide grin crossed her lips as Bakugou rolled his eyes, turning her body more to face him. “But it’s not for me!” 

“Not for you, huh?” Bakugou leaned forward to grab his drink off the table, thinking that he would require alcohol for whatever request she was going to have. Natsuki was his baby girl, and he would do anything in the world for her. Within reason, of course. Still, he had a tendency to crack and give her whatever she wanted, even if he did make her work for it by either paying him back or helping him do things that required assistance. “Go on, then.” 

After a quick glance around to make sure no one was within earshot, Natsuki kept her voice low, nearly whispering to him. “I want to throw a retirement party for Uncle Seiji.” Her statement made Bakugou cock his eyebrow at first, a bit surprised that she would want to take on such a daunting task. “Will you help me?” 

“Like… Just with us, or a formal party?” 

“No, I want it to be huge! He had always talked about it, where we have a formal like… ceremony where he hands off the company to me. But Uncle Doey said he may not be able to do all the planning and stuff with his injury, and Serina is so focused on college it’s hard for her to do much. I really want to plan it for him!” Natsuki took her father’s arm, giving him a small shake in excitement. “You know so many people that he does, you could help me invite them and stuff!” 

“Are you sure he’d want this?” Bakugou glanced over at Seijirou, who was currently chatting happily with Serina and Koge. “You don’t think it would be overwhelming for him?” 

“No way, I think he’d love it. I wouldn’t want it to be a surprise, I’d keep him in the loop, make sure he’s comfortable with everything. I just want to do it for him, make sure he gets the official send off that he deserves. You know he’s been kind of… abandoned by the hero community, after everything he’s ever done, it’s like he doesn’t matter anymore. Or that’s what he thinks. I want to show him that’s not true.” 

Bakugou gave a soft grunt in agreement, looking down into his cup as he considered it. Sure, Seijirou had always irritated him, from the very first moment he met the man back in High School. But, his wife and children adored him, and it was true that Seijirou had done so much for them all. In particular, Seijirou had pushed Natsuki to become the strong woman that she was, taking the fact that she was quirkless and turning it into something truly amazing. So, with a nod, he turned his gaze to look at his daughter, who was already beaming. “Alright, Natsu. I’ll help you.” 

“Really?!” Natsuki bounced in her spot, though she stopped abruptly as Bakugou struggled to keep his drink from spilling. “Oh shit, sorry! You really mean it, though?” 

“How could I say no? As long as you’re sure he’s on board with it. I don’t want to plan and pay for a bunch of shit just for him to be a bummer about it all. Get his approval first-- Not right now! Damn, Natsu, breathe.” Bakugou had to snatch her by the wrist and pull her back to sit, making her squeak in surprise from the way he jerked her back. 

Although she was annoyed at first, a thoughtful expression came over her face, huffing as she sunk down into the couch. “Hm, you’re right. This is Mama’s night, I should wait.” 

“Good choice. He’s still not retiring for another two years, right?” 

“Well, he’ll technically retire whenever, but I think he wanted to wait until I was twenty five to hand the company over to me completely. I just think it would be good to start planning early! You know him, he’ll want it to be extra extravagant and invite a whole bunch of people.” 

“Sounds fucking awful.” 

“Hey, I’ll be the one who’s judged the whole night and criticized on if I’m worthy or not. You’ll have to let me kick your ass to prove it to everyone.” 

Bakugou scoffed, taking a hefty swig from his drink. “Natsuki, no matter how much I love you, I am never letting you kick my ass. I’d let you try, but I’m not going to just let you win.” 

Giggling, Natsuki nudged him playfully, smirking up at him. “We both know I’d still kick your ass. You’re an old man now, you got them creaky bones and flabby muscles.” 

“Excuse me?” Bakugou lifted his arm to flex, only making Natsuki’s giggles turn into a laugh. “Do you see this? Does this look like flab to you, little girl?” 

“Oh no, no flab at all.” Natsuki gave his bicep a few hard smacks, which had really no effect on him. “Hard as a rock! Just like your head- ow!” She flinched as Bakugou gave her nose a flick, punishing her for that last comment. “Rude!” 

Chuckling, Bakugou sat his drink down on the table, not wanting to drink it too quickly since he was already feeling quite a buzz from it. “You think everything is rude, Natsu. Oh, how are you and Mimi?” 

“We’re great, Daddy.” Natsuki’s smile turned soft at the mention of her lover, looking over at the elegant blackhaired beauty as she conversed with Matsuki and Otoha. “She’s so supportive and amazing. Having moved in with her is one of the best decisions ever. I miss being home with you and Mama, but Mimi is just the fucking best. I miss her a lot when she goes on tour, but that’s normal, I guess.” 

“Good. I’m glad her high profile life isn’t too much for you. I know sometimes it could be for your mom.” 

“Aw, you don’t have to worry about me.” Natsuki waved her hand in the air dismissively. “People know better than to mess with her when I’m around. I guess I’m kinda used to it anyway, being the daughter of such a bad ass pro hero. I’ve had my fair share of bullshit growing up.” 

“It’ll get worse when you take Seijirou’s company. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” 

Natsuki sighed, tilting her head to the side a bit in thought as she looked down to the floor. “I had been thinking about that a lot… It’s what I’ve always wanted, and I know I’m skilled enough, but I’m worried I don’t have the personality for it. He’s so carefree and people just piss me off all the time.” 

“People piss him off all the time, too, you’ve seen him turn into some type of merciless sociopath. I remember once in high school, we were in one of his classes, and he shit on Denki Kaminari so hard it was the funniest damn thing. He can be brutal, and so can you. In my opinion, you have the perfect personality for what his core message is. I don’t think he would offer it to you if you weren’t perfect to be his successor. You should be proud of yourself, Natsuki.” 

“Think so?” Natsuki looked up at her father, genuine concern on her normally stern features. With a nod, Bakugou ruffled her already wild hair, giving her a comforting smile. 

“Of course I think so. You’re my bad ass baby girl, you can do anything you put your mind to. You know damn well you’ve completely blown me away with how much you’ve accomplished. Not only did you get that college degree, you’re about to inherit a multi million dollar company from one of the most prolific heroes in the country. I couldn’t be more proud of you.” 

Wide smile on her face, Natsuki hugged Bakugou tightly, receiving a tight squeeze from him in return. “Thank you, Daddy. You’re the best. I think I’ll come talk to you when you’re tipsy more often, you’re so nice!” 

“Tch, I’m nice all the fucking time, what are you talking about?” 

“Well, while you’re in such a nice mood and I’m staying in town for the next couple of days… Want to go shopping with me tomorrow to hang out?” 

“What, so I can buy you shit?” 

“... No. Unless you offer. I just want some Daddy-Daughter bonding, is that too much to ask?” 

“Uh huh, sure. It’s been a few years since I’ve taken you shopping, so that’s fine.” 

“Heck yeah. Worlds best Dad.” 

“Don’t push it.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #260

“better think twice; your train of thought will be altered.”

Have you ever taken a shower with anyone before? I believe Nicole and I did as kids sometimes? Do you wear your seatbelt in the car? Always. Wear your goddamn seatbelt, folks. Do you prefer to spend your time indoors or outdoors? Generally indoors, but it does depend on what I can do outside as well as the weather. How many people have you kissed? Three or four. I really can't remember if *I* ever kissed Girt. Do you just feel awkward when you dance? YIKES YUP, even when I was a dancer. Has the person you have feelings for ever told you that you’re attractive? Yes. Can you get over people easily? MOTHER OF FUCK, NO. Do you believe that there are certain circumstances where cheating is okay? No. Do you like to have long hair or short hair? SHORT. Does the sound of rain at night help you sleep? Ugggghhhh, yes. Especially cuddling while falling sleep in the rain is everything. Have you ever worn a pair of scrubs? Many times. Anything in your room that you’re hiding from your parents or someone else? Well, to a degree. I have artwork in here that I'm just self-conscious of others seeing, but I wouldn't DIE if my mom found them. They're not even really "hidden," just covered. What flavor do you add to your drink at Sonic? Strawberry. Do you like hot-dogs? I wish I didn't. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry? A fuckin hot leather, spiked choker with chains draped across it. It's just a bit tight on me now. Worst injury you’ve ever had? I skinned the shit out of my knees on the road as a kid, wound up with cuts near the bones. It was not, NOOOOOT pretty and took literally years for the scars to totally vanish. What song do you want played at your funeral? Probably "Life is Beautiful" by Sixx AM. How many keys are on your key chain? What do they go to? Just the one to the house. Have you ever taken a pregnancy test? Not in the traditional sense. Before surgery, they obviously had to be sure via a urine sample, but otherwise, no. Would you rather live in a mansion or a small cozy home? Whew, the latter, easily. If you were offered to smoke some weed right now, would you accept? Nah. Do you get your eyebrows waxed, or do you pluck them? Neither, really. I just don't care; mine aren't awful, and it's too time-consuming and "required" too frequently for me to bother. They're just eyebrows. Do you and your last ex hate each other? Not at all. Do you believe your most recent ex thinks about you? Well yeah, we're best friends. Have you ever made out for more than a half hour straight? I was literally a madly in love teenager, you can guess. How do you handle people who are overly enthusiastic all the time? "I don’t 'handle' them, they’re actually pretty cool to be around. I appreciate having that kind of energy around me because I don’t generate a whole lot of it myself and I want it to rub off." <<<< Exactly this. Do people say you look like a certain celebrity? Nah. Who do you think you look like? No one I know of. Ever loved someone who didn’t love you back? hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGALS;KDJFA;LKJEW Ever done karaoke? Did you like it? Nooooo sir. Ever seen a pregnant woman smoking/drinking? Yep. It was an occasion where I had to practice serious self-discipline to keep my mouth shut. :x What was the last piece of candy you ate? Miss Tobey brought me a Reese's yesterday morning so that. Nice breakfast lmao. Do you curse a lot? A real fucking lot. It's not intentional, it's just so ingrained in me as normal diction after being at Jason's so much when his mother is the definition of an Italian New Yorker and thus her son has a mouth too lmao. Personally, I don't believe in "profanity" in the traditional sense so it doesn't bother me in the way of "oh I'm saying too many bad words," I just know my dictionary is wider than "fuck" and "shit" oof. If you could be a Disney character for a day, who would you be? Probably like Kiara. Be a hot princess lion with a hot lion boyfriend and chill lion parents WOW am I a furry yet. Are you wearing anything of any sentimental value? Describe? Yeah, my friendship ring with Sara, a bracelet from her as well, and an ovarian cancer bracelet for my mom. Then tattoos, if you consider myself as "wearing" them. To you, what is especially distracting? The sound of TV when you're trying to sleep. What are some things that are important in your life right now? My mom's health, my mental health, job searching to at least get ideas for when transportation is easier, keeping the house clean, keeping up with Sara's health. When was the last time you did some major cleaning? A couple weeks back when I detail cleaned out both my shelves. Who challenges you the most? In what way?  My psychiatrist, but not in a bad way. He pushes me to keep improving with things. What was the last opportunity that you passed up, and why? I should know this, but I don't. Have you ever contemplated cheating on anyone? Oh no, I couldn't live with the guilt. Who do you know that gives very sound advice? Sara is great at that. What do you think makes a person weak? The will to drag someone down just because you're feeling that way. What makes a person strong? The determination to not give up. Who do you go to when you need comfort? Mom more than anyone. Where is your favorite place to get fries? BOJANGLE'S. You cannot live to your fullest potential until you've received the seasoned blessing of Bojangle's fries. What is the most recent article of clothing you’ve purchased? I think underwear. Have you ever made your own pie from scratch? No. Are there any waterfalls nearby? Definitely no big ones. Hell, maybe even no natural ones. There are lots of dams, but I don't think they count. What are your earliest memories of going to see a doctor? My first time getting my blood drawn and consciously understanding what was about to happen. Freaked the FUCK out, bolted from the room, and clinged like a monkey to a column while sobbing. It literally took multiple adults to get me off of it, and I was very little. And then when I actually got poked, apparently I just said, "... That's it?" Oh, little me, you'd take needles for hours later on in life in the name of art lol. What is your favorite condiment? Maybe ketchup. Do you know anyone who has been to rehab? Well, all the mental hospitals I've been to included addicts seeking recovery, and I befriended a few. For people more in my personal life, I think so. Would you consider yourself to be a picky eater? I am ridiculously picky. Have you ever slept in a car overnight? I'm quite sure no, not a full night. Has someone close to you died of murder? No, thankfully. Does your school offer driver’s ed? My high school did, which is where I took it. Have you ever done volunteering work abroad? No. Do you have a shower stall or a bath tub? A tub. Why do you do these surveys? I'm bored most of the time with absolutely nothing better to do. Sometimes it helps me contemplate some things about myself. Do you like shopping? Eh, depends on what I'm shopping for. What’s a show you wish that was still on air? MM IS COMIN BACK, FUCKERS. Do you like hip hop? Nooo. Do you like pretzels? I do, especially soft ones. You want your next pet to be what? It's probably going to be a tarantula. I'm not being sarcastic lmao. It just depends on if I can convince my mom. Do you like coconut scents? Sure. Would you spend 20 dollars on a candle? Hell no. What is a dessert that you DON’T like? Pie. And one that you love? mmmmmmmmMMMMMMMM ice cream. Would you rather be a vampire or a mermaid? Vampire, ig. Being a mermaid genuinely sounds boring. Where the fuck's the WiFi. Are you happy with your physical features? Bitch no. When you doodle, what are you usually doodling? Meerkats. Do you eat salads? Not enough, but I like them w/ regular lettuce and I'm open to different dressings. Favorite thing to do on your phone? Play Pokemon if I'm actually in a spot to get fckn balls. What magazines do you like? I don't read any. What is your favorite thing about Christmas? The feeling of really being a family. Do you prefer white or black electronics? Black. Firm pillow or soft pillow? S O F T Who was the last person you rode in a car with? Mom. Do you know anyone, personally, who is in an abusive relationship? Are you? Thank fuck no. Are there any people you don’t like for your significant other/crush to talk to? I’m single and don't have like... an "active" crush ig? What was the last alcoholic beverage you drank? I had a bombin' sangria for my birthday @ Olive Garden. Has one of your boyfriend’s best friends ever tried to get with you? Again, single, but for previous ones, no anyway. Are you 100% over the last person you kissed? No. Have any of your friends ever overdosed? I think so, but none died, thankfully. The last thing you downloaded onto your computer? Ummmm probably something for school. How many friends on Facebook do you have? 118. What age is the oldest you would date at the moment? It'd take me seriously liking someone to go slightly beyond 30. Do you want to be single? I don't know. I don't really know if I'm "fit" to be in a relationship right now, like I know I gotta figure shit out, but I think it's natural to want that companionship some days. Are you good at hiding your feelings? Well, I guess it depends on the emotion, but honestly, I don't think so, in most cases. Who did you last share a bed with? Sara. Have you ever been taken to the emergency room in an ambulance? Not in an ambulance, no. What are you listening to right now? An '80s-ish/synthwave cover of "Disturbia" by Rihanna. I've been on a total binge of this kinda stuff lately. Ever been on a golf cart? Ye. Do you have trust issues? Yep. Do you own something from Hot Topic? I think most of my shirts are from there. Have you ever slapped someone in the face? No. Do you have a little sister? Damn, not so little anymore. Turned 22 a few days ago. Have you ever been to New York? The state, yes. City, no. Do you actually read privacy policies when signing up for new things? Nope. Did you have a lot of birthday parties when you were younger? If so, did you invite everyone in the class? I mean, define "a lot?" I did once every year... and no. I was selective. Have you ever participated in one of those “guess how many jelly beans, mints, etc. are in this jar!” contest? If so, have you ever won? PTSD is fuckin weird. I have, and I get anxious and uncomfortable just seeing them. The very last time I hung out w/ Jason was at his brother's wife's baby shower, and something like that was there. Shitty fuckin day. Can you juggle? No. Do you live on an avenue, road, drive or something else? Road. What are your school colors? N/A Have you ever taken a picture with Santa when you were little? Yeah, I think my sisters and I did that every year? What is the population of the city you live in? Google says around 5.5k. Do you like Nerds candy? Yeah man. What’s your favourite flavour of soda, pop or whatever else you call it? Blue raspberry. What level of brightness do you usually keep your phone at? It's on about 70% during the day, and I lower it to about 20% when I'm about to go to bed. Have you ever attended a religious or private school? My previous school was a private & religious college. Do you have any pets and are they cuddly? My cat is STUPID cuddly. Absolute attention hog. My snake seems to enjoy attention, though I wouldn't define snakes as "cuddly;" their brains don't know what affection really is, which I think is mandatory in that definition. She does love to lie against me on the bed, though, when I take her out to let her wander. What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? All three of my jobs have sucked, but considering I lasted in a deli not even two hours, probs that. How many cars does your household own? One. Are there any cracks or scuffs on your phone? No. This shit is literally a Tracphone yet is incredible man, I've dropped it a good few times and it's a great phone. What’s your favourite meat? Out of most forms, probably pork, which I really wish wasn't true. I adore pigs. Or maybe chicken. Which I still feel bad about. Do you need glasses to read or drive or need them all the time? I always need them. Is the internet fast where you live? It's fine. What is your favourite meal of the day and why? Breakfast has the best options and makes me look forward to the morning lmao. Do you like long surveys or short surveys better? Ha ha, obviously long, seeing as I compile shorts ones into these larger ones. I do it because I feel individually posting with EVERY one I pick out would get annoying. Have you ever been to a cocktail bar? No. What’s the best amusement park you’ve ever visited? Disney World. Do you keep the cabinets in your kitchen and bathroom organized? More so in the kitchen. Have you ever had a romantic fling? No. Are you a very forgetful person? To a frightening point. Are your parents married or divorced? They're divorced. Do you believe in Heaven? Not the Christian one, but I do lean towards there being some peaceful existence after death. Do you eat the stems of broccoli? That's obviously the best part. Do you read blogs? No. Would you ever go out dressed like the opposite sex? I pretty much have before? Worn guy's pants and unisex or men's shirts before, I'm sure. Ever been involved with the police? No. What's your favorite shampoo/conditioner and soap? Idk, I'm just very used to Suave. Their body wash smells amazing. Do you feel that you've had a truly successful life? HELL NO. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? Twirl it. Favorite restaurant? Olive Garden is GOOD SHIT. Have you watched Tiger King yet? Christ, no, and I sure am tired of seeing it everywhere online. Do you try to do something significant and meaningful every day? It's quite clear I don't, even though I really, really want to. What is your favorite pizza topping? Pepperoni. What was the name of the first pet that you loved? Chance. What color hair did your first crush have? Brown. Does anyone know who your first crush was? yeah. Who was your first celebrity crush? Whew, Jesse McCartney, lads. Have you ever had to use an epi pen? No, thankfully. What color was your first phone? Navy, I think. Do you know anyone with Down’s syndrome? Not anyone personally. How much do you weigh (only answer if comfortable)? I'm not comfortable. Have you ever been overweight? I have been since 2016. What color is your Christmas tree? Green. What color Christmas tree do you want to have in your house someday? UGGGGHHHHHHH give me a black one with fake snow on it. Omg. What color house did you grow up in? Uhhhh... I think it was white? I should know this. Have you ever been baptized? If so, how and where? Yes, when I was a baby at the Catholic church I grew up going to. What type of wedding do you want? Give it a gothic vibe ok. Are you taller or shorter or the same height as your mom? We're the same height. What is your heritage? German, Irish, and Polish. Are you excited for the upcoming summer season? Ugh, no. Not at all. At. All. Do you like crackers with your soup? No. Which ex of yours means the most to you? Depending on which way you mean, Jason or Sara. What is something that never fails to make you feel accomplished? Do a decent amount of cleaning. How do you feel about nudity, in person? Uh???? What exactly do you mean by "in person"???? I guess it depends on who, the situation, and location??? Have you taken prescription medications that didn't belong to you? Pain medicine, yes. Do wooded areas freak you out in the evening or night? I mean, to a reasonable degree, I guess. Obviously being in the wild in the dark is dangerous. Have you ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle? No. Do you iron any of your clothes? No. Can you sleep in an unmade bed? Yeah. Did the house you grew up in have a big yard? It was p good. What has been the most difficult class you’ve ever taken? Probably Latin. What was the last website you were on, before this one? I was on Facebook. Is your hometown famous for anything? No. What are some things a house would need to have for you to purchase it? I'm personally very serious about a dishwasher and laundry room. Other than that I'm... kinda blanking? Like I'm not that picky as for what the house HASSSSSS to have, besides those. Well, two bathrooms would be great. What was the last thing you heated up in your microwave? A pancake+sausage on a stick thing for breakfast. When was the last time your internet stopped working? It was having a temper yesterday. Did you ever watch Phil of the Future? Not very much, and never really by choice. Nicole would watch it sometimes though. Were you born somewhere other than a hospital? No. What was the last flavor of ice cream you had? Vanilla. Do you have an online game that you play often? None at the very moment because my personal gaming laptop has been kaput for well over a month now. Maybe close to even two. Is there a trash can near you? No. Have you ever shared sleeping accommodations with someone of the opposite sex without anything steamy happening? No. Is there a fan going in the room you’re in? Yeah, beside me.