#would it be awkward as hell and jarring for the tone? probably but hell yeah let's go that's still the better timeline in my book

[bibiana112]

Okay but on the topic of theatre since this train of thought was cut short the other day when I was watching the stage of the golden witch or well. Not watching I guess I could only think about how much of an absolute Need it is to have my silly little jpeg blorbos played by real people moving around on stage actually it's so fun and everyday I cry about 999 having been so flop because I'm dying to see what little mannerism choices the actors of each character would make the fucking LAYERS that scenes would have like the one with June and Ace on the infirmary god I NEED To See That Shit Live On Stage idc what anyone else says

[xjoonchildx]

last call | jjk x reader

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: 18+

word count: 4.4K

synopsis: jeon jungkook is the hottest bartender in the city. everyone has their sights set on him, but it seems he has his sights set on you.

warnings: oral (female receiving), protected sex, jungkook thirst, excessive jungkook thirst, hello we’re talking about jungkook here -- there is a jungkook-sized amount of thirst, unsanitary use of a space designated for food and beverage

A/N: this fic is a commission for the @ficswithluv​ special project “Changes with Luv”. The awesome @dee-ehn​ made a donation to BLM for this fic and she asked for sexy times with long-haired JK with tattoos and dammit that’s what she’s gonna get.  Thanks so much for making the donation, this is a cool way for authors like me to pitch in for an important cause!

*********************

Jeon Jungkook is the sexiest man in this city.

That’s not a matter of opinion, that’s an actual fact -- voted into law by you and the rest of the Council of The Thirsty after a night of downing shots at The Black Swan.  The four of you piled into the bar’s single-stall restroom to check lipstick and chat shit and it was decided, that was that.

The Black Swan is open long after the other nearby bars and restaurants have locked up for the night. After the tables have been cleared and the tips have been counted, it’s where just about everyone who works in the service industry in this part of town ends up for a post-shift nightcap. They’re drawn by the late hours and the strong drinks and, well --

Jeon Jungkook.

On any given night, his bar is packed with flirts -- men and women alike -- all hoping for just a taste of his attention.  You can’t blame them, really.  It’s far too easy to get lost in Jungkook’s massive, dark eyes, or that slow, confident smile.  And it’s far too hard to look away when he tucks an errant strand of inky hair behind his ear or when he rolls his sleeves up to reveal those toned forearms covered with tattoos.

Jungkook works his bar with the confidence of a man who understands his magnetism, a man who understands why people get sucked into his orbit and never want to leave. 

Suckers just like you.

*************************

Jägermeister is totally fucking disgusting and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

You’ve just bellied up to the bar to grab a drink when Jeon Jungkook drops a shot of the foul shit right in front of you.  The look you give him is equal parts confused and revolted.

“What’s this?” 

“Oh, come on,” he teases with a smile, “You work at a bar.  Don’t tell me you don’t recognize a shot of Jäger.”

“Oh, I recognize it,” you tease back. “I just refuse to acknowledge it.  Who sent this to me?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes playfully, pulls another shot glass from under the bar and pours himself a shot of the dark, thick liqueur.

He holds it up in the air and waits for you to do the same.

“I did.”

Your eyebrows shoot sky-high in surprise.  Jeon Jungkook buying you a shot? 

You’re probably just in the right place at the right time, you reason. The lucky recipient of a free drink because he’s in the mood to get one, too.  

Or unlucky, you correct yourself -- looking down at the glass.  But one more look at Jungkook and you know there’s no way you’re going to refuse the offering.  

You’re picky, but you’re damned sure not stupid.

You raise your shot glass in the air and Jungkook looks pleased.

“Bottoms up,” he says, eyes twinkling.

***********************

Something strange happens a few nights later.  

You’re seated at a high-top near the bar with your girlfriends when you hear Jungkook call something out across the room.  Your friends freeze, wide eyes and shocked stares focused on you for one awkward moment.

He says it again, this time louder -- and there’s no mistaking it.

It’s your name.

You ignore the frantic whispering of your girlfriends and stand up from your seat at the high-top to approach Jungkook’s bar.  He’s leaned over it, hands bracing the dark wood -- pen tucked neatly behind his ear.  His long dark hair is pulled back into a glossy knot, but one lock has fallen into his eyes.  

He looks insanely good -- but honestly, what’s new?

You clear your throat before you approach so you don’t croak your way through whatever comes next.  Spine straight, you get close, slide into a barstool and do your best to appear casual.

“What’s up?” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna threaten you with any more shots of Jäger,” he laughs, flashing his million-watt smile.  You smile back, hoping he can’t hear the holy shits and what the fucks flying at the table behind you.  “I’ve got something else for you tonight.”

“Okay,” you breathe, dazzled by the personal attention he’s bestowing on you.  “What’s on the menu?”

Jungkook reaches for two fresh shot glasses and pulls a heavy amber bottle from the well behind his bar.

“Grand Marnier,” you answer for him, watching as he pours you both a shot.  “An upgrade from Jäger, that’s for sure,” you tease.

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most goddamned adorable way possible.  “I figured this might be more your speed.”

Figured how? As far as you know, he doesn’t know a thing about you -- apart from the fact that you usually drink a vodka tonic.

And your name, apparently.  How does he know your name, anyway?

“Cheers,” he says in that low, sexy voice, and you shiver.

“Cheers,” you agree, tongue swiping at the taste of the sweet liqueur on your lips.  

Jungkook’s eyes darken for a split-second and heat creeps up your neck.

“So, um -- how do you know my name?”

You can thank the alcohol for giving you the courage to ask.  Sober you wouldn’t be nearly so forward.

Jungkook shrugs.  “I’ve seen it on your credit card.”

“Ah,” you smile.  “Well, thanks, again.  Next time, I’ll be the one buying, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he grins.

But as you’re walking back to your table something dawns on you.  

You turn and head back to the bar.

“Hold on a second,” you say, eyes narrowed at Jungkook.  “I’ve never paid with a credit card here.  I always pay my tab in cash.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs -- and fuck if the slow smile that spreads across his features doesn’t make your panties wet right then and there.  

“Is that right?”

**************************

“Jeon Jungkook wants to fuck you.”

“For the love of God, Tifa,” you hiss, ducking your head.  “Keep your voice down.  Jungkook and every last one of his ancestors can hear you when you’re talking that loud.”

Tifa shrugs, unbothered.

“I said what I said,” she sniffs, checking for non-existent dirt under her nails.  “You see any of us getting free shots from The Golden One? Or any of the other women in here, for that matter?”

Well, she’s kind of got a point there, doesn’t she?

You have no idea why you seem to have captured Jeon Jungkook’s attention, but you’re not going to question it, that’s for sure. You’re going to enjoy your good fortune while it lasts.

“He’s being nice,” you argue, and even you aren’t buying it the second the lame deflection comes out of your mouth.  Tifa rolls her eyes.

“You know what else would be nice? Getting dicked down by the hottest man in town.  Wouldn’t that be nice?”

You sigh.  

It would be, actually.  The part of your brain that entertains such outlandish fantasies has been working overtime these days, imagining exactly what that would be like.  Imagining the body that lies underneath that sinfully fitted shirt and the almost-too-tight-but-not-quite jeans.  

Jungkook certainly walks and talks and moves like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing in bed.  You’d love nothing more than to know if there’s any truth to that theory.

You chance a glance over your shoulder, back to the bar -- and Jungkook is deep in conversation with a patron.  She’s leaning over the bar, practically throwing herself at the man, but he looks away from her to catch sight of you.  His picture-perfect face breaks into a wide smile and you break into a sweat.

“See what I mean?” Tifa asks, brow raised when you turn back to face her.  “The man is trying to fuck you.  I’ll be right here after he does, waiting to say I told you so.”

You sputter a laugh into the rim of your glass.

“We’ll see about that, T.”

*************************

Nothing ruins the end of a night of drinking quite like last call.

All the fun screeches to a halt when the house lights come on.  No one looks good under the harsh fluorescents that hum to life as tabs are being paid and drinks are being slammed and tables are being wiped -- no one.

Well, no one except for Jeon Jungkook, of course.

He’s in the weeds tonight -- trying to settle tabs for at least twenty people all trying to cash out at the same time.  He nods in your direction to confirm he’s seen you, that he’ll get to you -- that eventually you’ll get your chance to pay.

So you wait.  And wait.

The crowd starts to thin as Jungkook closes tabs at top speed -- tip jar flush with obscene amounts of cash.  No one tips better than people who make a living on them -- and tonight is no exception.  From what you can tell it’s been a good night for Jungkook.  

Hell, every night is probably a good night when you’re Jeon Jungkook.

You sip what’s left of your vodka tonic and scroll through your phone while you patiently wait for your turn -- then promptly lose track of time.

How long have you been sitting here? 

It’s only when your ears pick up on the echo in this place that you look up from the screen.  Jungkook is cashing some guy out -- and as you take a look around you realize this guy must be the last person in this place. 

Correction -- you are the last person in this place, or at least you will be in about thirty seconds. 

Your pulse picks up as Jungkook wraps the transaction and sends the guy out the door with a friendly wave.  You’re definitely the only two people left in The Black Swan now, no doubt.

“So uh -- ” you drag the sound out on a nervous breath, “ -- I still need to pay my tab.”

Jungkook flips the house lights back off before sauntering to your end of the bar, wearing his most dangerous smile. He dries his hands with the towel at his waist then sets it aside.

“Your tab was paid hours ago.”

Oh.

“Because you paid it,” you say slowly, forcing yourself to drag your eyes from the man’s muscled thighs and trim waist to his flawless face.  Your heart stops a bit at the smirk you find when you finally get there.

“Yup.”

You grab for what’s left of your vodka tonic and slug it down.  

Jungkook laughs.

“You want me,” he says, fingers working the top buttons of his fitted shirt open.  You watch with wide eyes, so distracted by the action that you barely process what he’s said.

“Wait, what?” you ask in a daze.

“You want me,” he repeats casually, like it’s no big deal.  His fingers stop only a few buttons down, the tease -- but he chooses that same moment to pull his hair out of the loose knot he’s been wearing all night.  The dark strands fall into his face and you stare like a moron.

“What makes you say that?” you ask, weakly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jungkook teases.  “My vision is 20/20.  My hearing is pretty good, too -- though it would be pretty hard not to overhear the things you and your friends say about me.”

Dammit, Tifa, I told you to keep your voice down.

“Yikes,” you murmur on a shaky laugh.  “That’s embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he says with no hesitation.  “‘Cause I want you, too.”

You pull back from the bar so far, your stool nearly tips over. Jungkook waits for you to right yourself in amused silence.  Then he waits for you to speak.

“I’m, I  -- “ you sputter, searching for things like words and thoughts.  Jungkook’s brows lift as he awaits whatever is on the other end of that sentence.  “ -- I think I need another drink.”

Jungkook winks before reaching down to pull glasses from under the bar.  He sets a brown bottle with a familiar orange label down beside them.  You hold your breath when you see him walk out from behind the bar to slide into the stool next to yours.

“Fireball,” you say thickly, watching him pour the cinnamon liqueur into the shot glasses.  He nods, handing you your glass.

“Think this will help?” he asks, smiling wickedly.  

“No way to know but to do it,” you smile back.

You clink the glasses together before draining them.

You can almost feel the alcohol working its way through your veins.  The warm burn of it starts in your throat, slides low into your belly and spreads out through your arms and legs.  

“Think that did the trick?” he asks in a low voice, dark eyes fixed on your every move.  He leans closer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. He’s close enough now you can smell the warm cinnamon on his breath.  Between the booze and the hormones, you’re starting to feel a little reckless.  “That depends.  Are you trying to fuck me in this bar?”

“Absolutely,” Jungkook deadpans.  You suck in a breath.

“Then I think we’ll probably need one more.”

Jungkook chuckles as he refills your glasses.  His eyes glint with unconcealed mischief when you knock the second round back.  This time, the warmth that spreads down your throat seems to pool between your thighs.

You dip the pad of one finger into the remnants left in the shotglass, emboldened by the buzz you can feel coming on.  Jungkook watches rapt as you slip it between your lips.  You are weightless and shameless by now, more than prepared for the moment he slips two fingers under your jaw to tip your mouth up towards his.  

He tastes like the pleasant spice in the alcohol and he smells like sweat and bodywash and your senses are overwhelmed.  Your fingers dive right into his hair, desperate to feel the silky strands between your fingertips.

“Fireball was a good idea,” Jungkook groans between kisses, hands going to your back to pull you close.  You stand out of your barstool to position yourself between his thighs.  “I like the way you think.”

He pulls away to tug at the hem of your shirt. 

“Take this off,” he orders with a quiet authority that makes you desperate to comply. His eyes are heavy-lidded; glued to the nipples pebbling underneath the thin cotton.  You cross your arms across your body and lift the shirt over your head.

Jungkook doesn’t bother to take your bra off.  You jolt with surprise when he surges forward, mouth seeking the skin peeking out of the soft cups.  He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses across the heated flesh before leaning low to graze the outline of one nipple.  You jerk at the sensation -- at the way his lips and tongue and teeth make the fabric rub against the straining buds.

“Oh, God,” you hiss, “That feels good.”

Jungkook pushes the straps of your bra off your shoulders, eyes dark and focused when your breasts spill out of the cups and your nipples are exposed to the cool air in the bar.  You shudder.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, touching his tongue to your nipples now without a barrier.  You allow yourself to run your fingers through his hair again, anchoring yourself to him to keep steady in the onslaught.

It’s bad manners that you haven’t pulled yourself together enough to thank him for the compliment, but how can you be expected to think straight when his teeth are scraping against your nipples? 

Jungkook pauses to look up at you -- eyes smoldering, lips swollen with use -- and you squirm in his hold.  “You should take these jeans off,” he whispers, fingers slipping into the belt loops. He tugs at them gently. “I wouldn’t want them to get wet.”

Oh honey -- that ship has sailed.

You nod slowly and Jungkook leans back in his stool, eyes hooded as you unbutton the denim, slide it down your legs and step out of it.  

“You gonna take any clothes off, or am I the only one stripping tonight?” you tease, shivering at the loss of his body heat. 

A slow smile spreads over his face. “We’re getting to that, I promise.”

He reaches across the bar for the bottle of Fireball and your mouth falls open in surprise.

“Wait, are you gonna -- “

“Yeah,” he cuts in, dripping the cool liquid onto your breast.  His lips swipe at the liqueur that spills over your nipple and you groan out loud.  “I own this bar,” he teases, his warm tongue a stark contrast to the cold alcohol.  “I can do whatever I want in here.”

You certainly can.

He drips more of the liquid onto a nipple and watches with satisfaction as it slides down your skin.  He laps at the cinnamon taste as his hands roam the sensitive skin of your stomach and down to the band of your panties.  Your breath hitches in your chest.

“I can do whatever I want on here, too,” he smirks, nodding at the bar.  You laugh.

“You’re the boss, right?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook winks, before his hands drop to your waist. His grip is firm as he helps lift you on to the bartop. 

You brace your hands against the wood and watch as he slips his fingers under the satin seam of your panties.  In this position, you have a front-row seat to what is sure to be the hottest sexual experience of your life.  Jungkook’s brows knit in concentration and his tongue swipes across his lips as he pulls your soaking panties away from your legs.  The sight of him preparing to debauch you on top of his bar alone could make you come.

He steadies you with firm hands to either side of your hips before dipping his head down to test your taste with a light flick of his tongue.  You buck in his grasp and he muffles his laughter against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.  “You’re not allowed to fall off of my bar,” he teases.  “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you laugh, fingertips gripping the bartop for dear life.  

Jungkook pulls his mouth away from your aching center and you damned near whine at the loss of his warmth.  But in a split-second he’s back, and so is the Fireball.  

“Just a little,” he rasps, tipping the bottle to the side.  You hiss as the frigid liquid seeps down into the crux of your thighs.  Jungkook purses his lips and blows a puff of air against you, sparking an intense tingling sensation and earning a loud whimper.  He’s satisfied with your response, if the look on his face is any indication  --  but his wicked smile disappears from view when he lowers his mouth to your center again.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head dropping back between your shoulders. “God, that feels good.”

“Tell me what it feels like,” he whispers, slipping one long, calloused finger into your channel.  The added sensation makes you whine when he swipes his tongue against your clit.  

“Like --,” you gasp and try again to formulate a thought. “Like fire and ice.”

He hums his approval of that assessment right into your cunt and you nearly break your promise not to fall off his bar.  Your arms are shaking with the same tension that is building between your legs. Jungkook pulls back to drip more of the Fireball onto your sensitive center and you shudder.

The alcohol burns a bit, a pleasant pain that is somehow heightened by Jungkook’s warm, wet mouth.  He doesn’t rush, seemingly content to take his time as you slowly come undone. 

“I’m so close,” you whimper, elbows threatening to buckle underneath you.  Jungkook finally picks up the pace, tonguing you deep as your thighs tighten in anticipation.

“I can feel how bad you want to come, sweetheart,” he goads, finger crooking inside of you, stimulating that spot that makes you feel like you can’t see straight.  “Do it.”

The moans Jungkook pulls from you in those final seconds are made all the more obscene by the echoing inside this empty bar.  Every muscle in your body tightens and then melts as your orgasm hits with the intensity of a freight train.  Jungkook seals his mouth over your cunt to capture the wetness he’s earned, prolonging the sensations, prolonging your moans. 

It takes a moment for the roar in your ears to subside, for your ability to focus to return.  When you can hear and see and think again, you look back down to the space between your thighs and find Jungkook wearing a look of utter satisfaction.

“Believe it or not, that’s the first time I’ve eaten pussy on top of my bar,” he teases, dimples emerging as his lips quirk into a smile.  “How has your service been tonight?”

“Pretty good,” you taunt, a lot ballsier with a few shots and an orgasm under your belt.  “Would be a hell of a lot better if my bartender would take his clothes off.”

Jungkook feigns a wounded look as his fingers work the rest of the buttons on his shirt open to reveal a tight white tank underneath.  He pulls that overhead and reveals the body you’ve been fantasizing about for so long.  Whatever you’d imagined was lying underneath those clothes pales in comparison to the real thing.  His body looks cut from stone, his smooth skin the perfect canvas for the tattoos that run across his arms and onto his chest.

“Better now?” he chuckles.

“Not yet,” you say, savoring the power of your position on the bar.  You watch his one-woman striptease with the hint of a smile on your lips.  “The jeans have to go.”

“Bossy,” he mocks, fingers unbuttoning the dark denim.  Your jaw drops about the same time the jeans do.

“Well,” you laugh, slipping down off of the bar to stand in front of him.  “Your review has just improved.”

He smiles into the kiss you plant on him as your fingers snake between you to wrap around his cock.  He thrusts firmly into the tight grasp of your fingers as his tongue delves deep into your mouth.  He sucks in a breath when your thumb teases as the moisture gathered at the tip of his cock.

“My cock is gonna explode if I don’t bury it between those thighs,” Jungkook groans and you shudder from head to toe.  “Turn around for me.”

You do as you're told, turning away from him to brace your weight against the bartop.  You can see Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror that lines the back wall of the bar.  You watch as he grabs a condom from the back pocket of his jeans and makes quick work of rolling it down his thick length.

He presses the length of his warm body against yours, and you tense when the blunt head of his cock teases your entrance.  One hand lines up his cock and the other grips the soft skin of your hip.  He looks at you in the reflection of the mirror and your knees almost give out when he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

You arch back just as he sinks inside -- going to the hilt in one firm stroke.  

“Shit,” he groans between gritted teeth. “Fuck, that’s a tight fit.”

“Oh, God --” you gasp as he begins to rock against you.  After a few languid strokes he sets a steady rhythm, hips smacking against your ass with the force of his thrusts.

He leans over you, bracketing you in with one arm braced on the bar while the other helps guide your hip.  Your eyes fall closed and your head drops forward as you push back against him, rendered boneless by the thick slide of his cock.  The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoes loud in the empty bar.

Jungkook leans down to take your earlobe between his teeth and you whimper.

“Look at me,” he orders in a whisper.  “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes snap open to find Jungkook’s reflection and the sight nearly makes you come undone for a second time.  His damp hair is falling into his face, body covered in a sheen of sweat and his mouth is curled into a dangerous smile.

“That’s it,” he murmurs when your eyes meet in the mirror.  “I want you to see how good you’re getting fucked.”

Your rhythm falters at his provocation but Jungkook refuses to let either of you get off track.  He drops both hands to your hips and begins pounding into you with relentless strokes, huffing a laugh when you squeak in response.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he groans, thrusts going frantic.  “Can you come for me again?”

You nod -- completely out of words -- reaching one hand down to the aching button between your thighs.  Jungkook pulls your body back against his, angling deeper into your aching cunt at the same time your shaking fingers manage to apply a light pressure to your clit.  

That’s all it takes.

You come apart a second later and Jungkook pulls your hair back to expose the column of your throat as he rides you through it.  His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin of your neck as his own orgasm starts to ignite.

His fingers grip your hips so hard you’re certain there will be bruises in the morning.  But it’s worth it -- so damned worth it when you get to watch Jeon Jungkook come undone for you.  You’ve never seen anything sexier than Jungkook with brows knit in utter concentration, mouth slack with pleasure and coming for you.  Inside of you.

 You lean against the bar, legs like noodles as he comes down from his high and seconds later, he’s slumped over you, body lax against yours.

“Hey,” he says after a moment of silence, as you’re catching your breath.  He leans his chin against your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you manage, craning your head to face him.

“Come back tomorrow and we can break open my bottle of Goldschläger.”

*********************

You wake with an ache between your temples and an ache between your legs. 

The pounding in your head is your punishment for drinking way more than you should have last night.  

The pleasant soreness lingering between your thighs is an entirely different story.  That’s the only souvenir you get to keep to commemorate the best sex of your life.  And it’s not going to stick around.

You roll over in bed and reach for your phone.

Tifa picks up on the first ring.

“I’m not even going to play the game with you, girl,” she says, in lieu of a proper greeting. “I just wanna know how it was.”

***********************

[luvdsc]

mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged. 

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play. 

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode. 

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold. 

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you. 

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

[iluvyou-xoxo]

high

suna x reader

wc: 2.2k

you were completely in over your head. sure, you had the occasional blunt at a high school party or kickback, but never have you been to something like this.

your senior project about the film industry was just proven wrong as the girls next to you snorted a line off the kitchen countertop. in your suburban neighborhood, the parties portrayed in television or cinema were only that: something that directors and script writers created as they continued to fetishize the high school experience. your paper talked about how odd it was that films focused on the loss of innocence during those four years of hell and how extremely inaccurate the portrayal was.

but here you stand at your first college party since attending university for only about a month now. it was exactly as pictured in every movie that you once would have called “stupid as fuck", and now you wish you had paid more attention. 

everyone seemed to of had experience in these types of gatherings while you stood next to the sink with a red solo cup filled with only water. your roommate had dragged you to this frat house because she had to meet with her dealer and would much rather do it in a public setting. her smart decision was only your downfall as she had begged you to come too, yet ditched you fifteen minutes ago to go find him even though she said she'd be back in five.

a tall lean figure walked past you but it wasn't his perfect physique that got your attention, it was the strong scent of weed that clung to the cotton of his hoodie. once you looked up to see the ethereal face of rintarō suna, you immediately recognized him as your roommates plug and decided to ask him if he has seen your roommate that seemed to have gone m.i.a. while looking for the person only a foot away from you.

“excuse me,” you called out much louder than how you would usually speak, but the base of the speakers drowned out your voice. although suna had heard you, he didn't look around just in case you were trying to capture someone else's attention. when you timidly tapped the back of his arm with your index finger it was unmistakable you weren’t asking for anyone else.

he slowly turned around and looked down at you with a bored expression and a red flask in his left hand, “yeah?”

“i'm y/n, and I was wondering if you have seen himari; she's my roommate,” you quickly asked as you removed your hand from his soft hoodie that hid the hard muscle underneath.

“oh uh yeah...” suna said, unsure of what else to say.

“well, she said that she was supposed to meet with you quickly but it's been over fifteen minutes now and she hasn't responded to my texts.”

quickly he understood what you were asking, “we met up like ten minutes ago but right now I think she's hooking up with my friend aran.”

instead of responding, you looked down and a small frown pulled the edge of your lips in realization that the person that asked you to come for protection had left you even though she knew this was your college first party— hell, your first real party.

before you had the chance to decide on either waiting for himari to finish or to take your chances walking alone to your dorm room, suna lightly grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the kitchen. the two of you weaved through the bustling function until you reached the front yard that was littered with cups and bottles.

“aran said that he'd meet up with me as soon as they're done so we can just chill in my car ‘til then,” suna said slightly ahead of you with your hand still placed lightly in his as the two of you continued walking.

you were completely sober, yet his skin touching yours had your head spinning and all the danger signs that would have flashed in your head seemed of cut off when you were with him. although this was the first time you've ever conversed with suna, you had a slight crush on the middle blocker that you had seen in school games a few times.

the both of you approached a black car that flashed twice indicating that suna had opened the doors. to your dismay, he let go of your hand and walked to the driver's side as you made your way to the passengers. once inside he pulled out his phone to play some rap song that you had never heard of before and pulled up the middle console to reveal a mason jar with four pre-rolled blunts inside.

“you wanna smoke, doll?” the mysterious man asked.

“i don't have any money on me,” you responded quietly, shifting your gaze to the window next to you. a muffled chuckle interrupted your mile-a-minute thoughts and turned you to see suna show more expression than you had ever seen him hold before.

“baby, you don't need to pay if i offer it to you,” he explained with a light laugh at the end of his sentence. wow, his laugh is beautiful.

“oh, well okay then,” you reply timidly as you watch him take off the lid and reach over to pull a lighter out of the glove compartment.

he takes the first few hits, quickly putting your mind at ease in case it was laced or something, and then brings the joint to you. next, you take two pulls and pass it back, the cycle continuing until the car is filled with smoke and the blunt is near its end.

the silence between you two is comforting as there was no need for awkward conversation. it was just two people in a cloudy car, vibing to one of the many chill playlists that suna had. the weed had hit you full force and you suddenly started to chuckle while thinking about how happy you were that your annoying roommate ditched you, even though in any other circumstance you would be livid.

suna was just appreciating the calm that marijuana gave him until your laughter filled the car. his eyes that naturally hung low seemed to have deepened as he slowly looked over to you and poked your cheek with his pointer finger. “watcha’ laughin’ about?”

your smile didn't leave your face as you looked over to the most beautiful person you have ever laid your eyes upon. “oh nothing,” you said slyly as your smile seemed to only intensify.

“oh really?” he asked while slowly shifting towards you

“yep, really,” you said, but this time closed your eyes with a big smile still plastered to your face.

rather than saying anything else, suna only chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh while shifting in his seat so his head leaned back on the headrest. the small action made you're heart leap and eyes open again and you found suna with a calm look on his face with his eyes closed and head tilted slightly back.

his peaceful face made you realize that he has probably taken many people to his car for a smoke and called them endearing nicknames. rather than feeling dread, something you were sure to have experienced if you were sober, you came to terms that this would be your only chance to be close like this with him again. before you could even think twice about it, you reached over the middle console to grab his cheek and quickly brought his lips to yours.

either he had experienced this situation many times before or he had expected it, because he immediately kissed you back and not a single muscle tensed at the sudden move on your part. his lips slowly moved with yours and met your tongue with his own.

soon you got frustrated because even though you were making out he wasn't doing much else. you thought that by now he would understand that you wanted him to take you on the backseat, but he kept the pace slow and his hands stayed in safe places, one holding your mid-thigh and the other on the side of your neck.

you broke your lips from his and even though that pace had been slow, he somehow still managed to take your breath away. “suna, do you not want to touch me?” you asked with insecurity leaking into your tone unknowingly.

“baby, i don't fuck people unless they’re sober,” he said with a slight smile as he looked at you. although you completely understood where this was coming from, you couldn't help the frustrated whine that left your lips.

“then why did you offer to smoke if you knew we wouldn't do it afterward?” you looked down to his lap to he was definitely hard, but his face didn't give anything away.

“well i wasn't really looking to get in your pants just yet, but no need to worry babe, we can always pick up where we leave off,” next suna placed his hand on your cheek and began softly rubbing it.

three hard knocks on the driver's side window grabbed both of your attention. there stood a tall man with beautiful deep skin and you instantly recognized him as aran from the volleyball team.

suna rolled down the window and although most of the smoke had dissipated throughout your make-out session, the final bit remaining went out and drifted into the midnight sky.

“suna please tell me you're ready to go now. i can't keep stalling her forever,” aran said as he let out an exasperated sigh.

“where is she now?” suna asked with slight frustration.

“well, she was dancing with a few of her other friends so i decided to run out and see how you're doing out here. do you need more time?”

normally you would mind your business but now you seemed to let the thoughts you hold fall from your lips. “what are you guys talking about?”

“nothing baby, don't worry about it,” suna brushed you off quickly.

“c’mon suna, i can tell that this is going well since you’ve been in here for almost half an hour,” aran pressed. “i'm pretty sure you're going to have to tell her eventually anyway.”

“okay now i’m really confused” you replied.

suna stayed silent while glaring and aran, but aran only smiled at you while slightly shaking his head. “this boy has had me distracting your roommate while he tried to sneak in some alone time with you.”

the idea of suna, the most handsome boy in all of japan, creating a plan just to talk to you made you almost want to laugh at how farfetched it was. but shortly after glancing at suna to find him holding a slight blush on his cheeks and shooting his friend a glare, you understand that this was actually the truth.

there's an awkward silence between the three of you and aran was the first to break it. “well i'm gonna dip real quick, but i’m only stalling her for five more minutes so you better wrap this up.”

he quickly turns away and walks back into the party as suna rolls the window up again refusing to make eye contact with you.

“do you like me?” you cut quickly to the chase as your excitement can barely be contained.

suna has yet to meet your eyes but when he nods his head indicating yes you smile brightly at him and quickly place your hand upon his thigh to grab his attention. “you know, you should have just said ‘hi’ to me around campus or something; i like you too.”

when he looks up he holds a sheepish smile and is still dusted pink from embarrassment. “oh shut up and hand me your phone, we don't have much time and i need your number.”

wordlessly you hand your phone over once it's unlocked and on to your contact app.

“well your friend is waiting for you, aran should have already called an uber for you guys”

“well are you going to tell me how you knew id be coming tonight for this elaborate plan to seduce me?” you asked flirtatiously and in a teasing manner.

quickly, suna cupped your jaw and squeezed your cheeks together forming an adorable pout on your face, slowly making ‘tsk’ noises while swaying your head left to right.

“it's time for you to go now, sweetheart. i’m gonna text you later so we can plan a date and maybe ill let you know then.”

your eyes quickly light up at the word ‘date’ and you lightly nod with a smile forming on your face. as soon as he lets you go you lean forward to place a final kiss upon his lips and walk out of the car.

once you finally find himari, you get her into the awaiting uber, wave goodbye to aran, and tell the driver your address. the smile you hold doesn't seem to let up for the rest of the night and once you're tucked in bed at around three in the morning your smile only intensifies at the glow of your phone that holds two new text messages.

maybe: suna- hey, this is suna

maybe: suna- i have a game tomorrow and was wondering if you'd come..?

—————

date: march 18th, 2021

[bumackerman]

warnings: sfw, super light cursing.

@jenesaisquoi6

hiiiii :) i was wondering if you could do sfw h, x, and z for akaashi, suga, and oikawa if you can! thank you <3

a/n: i split this one into 2 parts because i do a max of 2 characters per post. <3

(1/2)

¬ h (hugs): do they like hugs? what are they like? how often do they hug you?

✦ akaashi isn’t the type of person to go out of his way to hug someone. to be honest, if you want a hug from this man, you’re gonna have to do it yourself. if you guys aren’t close, he would probably push you away from him and stare at you in confusion.

✦ let’s just say that you guys are close for the sake of this hc. still, if you want a hug, you’re going to have to initiate it. as long as he’s not busy, he’ll reciprocate the hug by wrapping one arm around you. he’s not the kind of guy who’s into too much physical affection (at first).

✦ don’t get him wrong, he’s not some kind of cold hearted killer, he’s just not used to outwardly expressing his emotions or admiration for people. heck, even for bokuto, his closest friend, he still rarely shows physical affection for him. he’s just awkward.

✦ although he doesn’t initiate them, akaashi doesn’t hate hugs. in fact, the more often you hug him, the more used to it he’ll get. he may even start to expect you to hug him. if you’re busy, or just didn’t think about giving him a hug, he might come up to you and stare until you get the memo that he wants you to wrap your arms around him. (cutie :3)

“what’s up, akaashi?” you look up from the game you were playing with kenma. there was silence. you cock an eyebrow at him as he continues to awkwardly stare at you. “you didn’t say hi to me when you came in like you usually do... are you mad at me?” your heart jumped as your eyes widened. “no, of course not! kenma just caught my attention as soon as i came in. he wanted to play a game together, that’s all.”

for a second, you could see the relief wash over his face, but still, he stood there and avoided your gaze. when the realization hit you, you smiled and giggled under your breath as you stood and wrapped your arms around his torso. his arms snaked greedily around your neck and leaned his head on top of yours.

air: we don’t need her here.

¬ x (xtra): random headcanon

✦ i think keiji is the type of person would want his s/o to play with his fingers. i don’t know why, but i just get that feeling that he would really enjoy sitting in front of his s/o while leaning his head on their shoulder, just watching them play with his hands.

¬ z (zzz): what is a sleep habit of theirs?

✦ akaashi is a very self-disciplined person. he has a set time to go to bed, and he sticks to it. once he takes a shower and puts his pajamas on, he’s laying in his bed and staying there until morning. he doesn’t watch tv, he doesn’t go on his phone, he doesn’t listen to music. it’s just lights out, and laying in silence.

✦ i know for a fact this man sleeps on his back, or his side. he doesn’t toss and turn very much during the night. maybe a couple times, but that’s about it. the position he falls asleep in is the position he wakes up in. most of the time.

✦ sadly, as cute as it would be, keiji doesn’t have a special stuffed animal, or sentimental blanket. he had plain white bedding and 2 pillows.

¬ h (hugs): do they like hugs? what are they like? how often do they hug you?

✦ short answer: yes

✦ long answer: hell yeah.

✦ do you think this man would pass up a free hug? hell no. if someone was holding up a sign that said “FREE HUGS”, suga would be the first (and probably only) person to run up and smother whoever was holding up that sign.

✦ if he would strangle a stranger with a hug, can you imagine what he’d do if his s/o went in for a hug? dear god. he will not let go of them if his life depended on it. the only way you’re getting him to release your poor soul is if you bargain with him.

“baby, please let go of me. you’ve been crushing me for five minutes already.” your muffled voice hummed in his shoulder, sending tingles throughout his body. “no~.” he says in a whiny tone as he melts further into the crook of your neck. his grip on your waist tightening in protest.

“ko, if you let me go so i can eat my snacks that we JUST bought, we can cuddle for as long as you want when we get home, okay?” sugawara’s soft grey hair brushed softly against your cheek as he moved to graze his lips against yours. he lingered just barely out of reach of you, nodding his head indecisively to and from your lips, making you lean in from the tension.

right as you’re about to get the satisfaction of pressing a kiss to his sweet lips, he mumbles lowly, “when we get home.” his voice was like rich honey flowing smoothly out of a pretty glass jar.

his deep brown eyes were partially hidden from you by his lashes as he looked hungrily at your lips. he finally released you from the once suffocating hug, only for you to want more of him. “no, i change my mind.” you quickly say as you get a firm grip on his collar. “i want a kiss...” you say with a pout.

the low, satisfied chuckle that escaped his throat rumbled your chest as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours without protest. “i thought you wanted to wait until we got ho-” his sentence was interrupted by another sweet kiss that completely discipated his cocky aura.

¬ x (xtra): random headcanon

✦ i think sugawara would like to be the little spoon sometimes. although he likes holding you close to his chest while cuddling, he kinda wants to feel... protected, in a way, as well.

✦ he likes to be kissed on the tip of his nose. for some reason, he feels really loved when he gets a gentle chaste kiss on his nose while his cheeks are cupped by his s/o. (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) he gets butterflies every time!

✦ while he loves holding hands with his s/o, he loves to lock arms with them as well. it makes him feel like a prince!

¬ z (zzz): what is a sleep habit of theirs?

✦ this is random, but i think suga would sleep on the floor. like, he goes to sleep ON his bed, but always ends up on the floor. he doesn’t know how, but he wakes up on the ground, or leaning halfway off the bed.

✦ he’d wake up and be like: (´-｀*) (* ´ -`) wtf

p.s, HE SLEEPS WITH SOCKS ON.

12/22/2020

[phoenixyfriend]

The “Momma Sturmvoraus was Literally Satan” AU

As requested by @spazzbot​. This AU was initially brainstormed on the GG fanworks server almost a year ago. Specifically, on the first day of 2020.

[ID: a truncated discord message by “Miss Nixy, Gay for RoboLadies” posted 01/01/2020. The message reads “I need to sleep but please for the moment consider:” and ends there.]

So. Let’s get to it.

Satan took a human form because why not see what's going on topside, live like a human, and “Oh shit is this pregnancy? This is pregnancy. Fuck, that's a tiny human. Which is now half demon. Am I supposed to take care it? Wonder if retconing this form into that Valois family was a bad idea. They do have SO much money though, I get to live like a queen. I suppose another child shouldn't hurt, it wasn't that bad. Oh, he's cute, this is actually making sense, why humans do all the sinning. Not counting dear Aaronev's murders, of course, those are just evil, but I did search out the worst of the humans to pair myself to...”

This is literally just "Tarvek and Anevka's mom was low-key Satan on a bored “let's be human for a decade or two to see what happens” jaunt, consequences happen because these kids are LITERALLY half-demon and arguably anti-Christs."

Also it's just Very Funny for Tarvek, ineffectual sexy lamp fashion twunk extraordinaire, to be an antichrist

Jeff thinks he’s pretty. Jeff keeps describing features that don’t entirely make sense. (Jeff’s canon name is Karl Thotep but they spent so long unnamed that the server collectively named them Jeff.)

This is not a crossover with anything, btw. Ambiguously Pop Culture Satan just got bored and went to have babies with a serial killer.

They’re just kids! That are vaguely demonic. So. Moreso than the rest of the Valois.

Sometimes "mom" comes back from the dead and visits Anevka and Tarvek to impart Wisdom and possibly magic lessons The rooms always smell faintly of sulfur after that...

They try to put Anevka in the machine but SHE isn't hurt and the MACHINE just melts

So that's the end of that.

It's very awkward for everyone, but the paperwork isn't too bad. It's very easy to write "incidental fire began during late-fugue experimentation, resulted in fire spreading through six rooms and several casualties, including Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus."

As per @atagotiak​, “I feel like if we’re going in any way dimensional weirdness with thing, Tarvek got so good at exploring bc he could just clip through walls.”

With image provided by @thisarenotarealblog​:

Tarvek in Paris: My dead mother keeps showing up in my dreams to tell me I need to seduce my way out of my problems and also she looks like Satan. Tarvek's Voltaire-Appointed Therapist: I still don't know what that means. Just like the last five times. Tarvek: I keep telling her that I can’t seduce Colette, if seduction is that important she should get Anevka to do it.

Like he probably wouldn’t say most of that in front of any Voltaire-approved individual, but still.

Tarvek is still very good at self control but there's a Special Edge to his rants.

(Derailed in the moment to me thinking about Anevka in a sfw-but-concerningly-deadly succubus getup, because... yeah.)

Aaronev dies and goes to hell and his dead wife is just there like "hi! Time to be tortured for eternity!" He wasn't a good husband so. He can't exactly sentimentalize his way out.

“In the sexy way?” “... not for you, no.”

Mostly I just want the BULLSHIT that is "Storm Mom was actually just Satan getting bored and going on vacation as a retconned Valois girl, the kids are half-demons and sometimes it Shows."

To clarify: the Satan bit isn't the retcon. Grandma used to have one daughter. Now there are two. (Seffie and Martellus's mother doesn't remember being an only child, but sometimes...)

Satan retconned a new daughter in, which included a Valid Valois Venusian Vestment, so the blood tests play out.

The subtle signs of wrongness would be fun too. Anevka tends to smile a bit too wide and sharp for a human face. Inexplicable uneasiness, here you can’t point at any specific thing that’s wrong but it’s uncomfortable. Uncanny valley prettiness, almost like the porcelain she became in other timelines. Skin isn’t supposed to be that smooth.

My brain's pre-nap contribution at that point was "Satan's pronouns when not pretending to Human are sin/sinself" which is! Certainly a thing.

Tarvek, at some nebulous future point: I mean, your ancestors were monsters, but my dad was a serial killer and my mom was literally Satan, instead of just figuratively like Lucrezia, so. I mean. I kind of get what you're going through.

Per @firebirdeternal: Tarvek and Anevka growing up with "you're allergic to holy water" and not questioning it until a little later because What.

And then they test it and it's like "yeah, no, there's a rash now. That stung. What the fuck."

It INFURIATES Gil in Paris when Tarvek tells him that's a thing, because there's nothing chemically different about Holy water and regular water. But no, this is somehow happening.

It gets logged in medical journals as a Valois genetic thing because, well, Mom was like that too, right?

One time they both go into a church for an Adventure and Gil is very annoyed to find that Tarvek is like. Faintly smoking. It smells like burnt hair in here.

Gil: What smells like burnt hairgel? Tarvek: [glares]

Gil decides that it must be something particular to the church, like a fungus or something in the stone, contaminating the air and water so it only LOOKS like the holiness is what's setting off reactions.

It is not.

Tarvek once got into an argument with someone and ate a slab of raw, completely uncooked meat as a power move.

SVV seems to work perfectly. Everyone is fine. We get the ‘you fight like ducks’ moment.

And then Tarvek bursts into flames, and everyone panics because no they fixed this what the fuck is he still infected with Hogfarb’s oh my god... and then everything settles down and he's perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him, no longer turning funny colors. Completely unharmed. He's in a nicely tailored suit and looks faintly stunned

"I just met my dead mom, who's apparently Satan. She told me that after I died the first time just now, I should be harder to kill later, especially with fire, because now there's more demon and less mortal and guys I think I'm going crazy." "Is that a martini?" Tarvek looks down. "Apparently."

Tarvek starts just. Randomly setting things on fire by glaring too hard and has to tone it down. Meanwhile, Agatha and Gil are having crises about how he's somehow getting PRETTIER.

Is he faintly glowing? Maybe!

Gil handles it by angrily sniping at Tarvek about how of COURSE he's an evil little rat with a background like that.

Tarvek just wants a nap and to forget this ever happened. Many people are sworn to secrecy. It's very awkward.

Still, SVV did something, for handwave-y reasons, and so they're linked now. Gil and Agatha both getting tiny flashes of the same shenanigans.

They get none of the powers. They just keep getting Weird Shit.

Other characters with divine influence are like "Did you.... did you make a pact with a demon?" "What no that's our boyfriend."

Tho tbh I wouldn’t be surprised if a Heterodyne did sign a contract with a demon at some point in exchange for like. Materials. A hundred souls sacrificed in exchange for some succubus blood. Thanks!

Tarvek and Othar: Falling out of CW as in canon. Tarvek: WHAT THE HELL SINCE WHEN DO I HAVE WINGS HIDE THIS BEFORE I GET BOOTED FROM THE LINE FOR THE THRONE

IDK where Anevka is during all this. I think she might have decided to go sleep her way through the courts of the Ice Tsars. Vacation, y'know?

Othar after he's decided to make Tarvek his new Heroic Apprentice: AH, my poor afflicted young friend, it's noble of you to go against the dark nature of your tragic heritage like this. Tarvek: I hate you. I wish I could hate you to death. But you have a point. I shouldn't let my father's blood limit what I strive for in life. Othar: I... I thought your mother was... Tarvek: I know what I said.

Tarvek: Also you can't tell ANYONE about that, I can't have them thinking I'm not actually in line for the Storm King's throne.

He does admittedly have to like. Explain things to Grandma.

Terabithia is Tarvek’s maternal grandmother so this is supremely awkward. That said...

Grandma fondly remembers her pregnancy cravings; bone marrow and sulfur.

"Yeah so, my mother, your daughter, was... maybe actually Satan? But retconned into your life?" "Tarvek, darling, please. I figured that out half a century ago."

TARVEK ACCIDENTALLY FINDS HIM HIMSELF WEIRDLY INTENSE AT CONTRACTS

I mean that honestly just Tracks about Tarvek anyways? But like moreso.

He just. Writes something up and there's things getting signed or shook on and then the person tries to break the contract and either suddenly catch fire or are deeply unlucky for a set amount of time.

And Tarvek's just standing there like "how in the FUCK did I do that?"

Severity of infernal punishment depends on the severity of the breach of contract.

Tarvek finds out that Anevka's been convincing rich people to sign their souls over to her. It's a fun challenge. She keeps them in jars.

They can still remotely pilot their bodies but like. They can't TELL anyone what happened.

Satan: I'm going to go make babies and now everyone else has to deal with the consequences.

Anevka's living up to that whole "princess of hell" vibe. Tarvek's just like "nope nope nope I want the storm throne, not the hell throne, BYE MOM."

Satan's just feeling sinself down in hell like "awwww look at my babies go, aren't they adorable?"

Tarvek: Anevka, what... first off, how did you figure it out? Anevka: Well, I temporarily died when father put me in the machine, and... I can't say that hell kicked me out because they were afraid I'd take over, but mother DID say she'd rather I play about with human governments instead of Hell's. Tarvek: Okay, cool cool cool. What after you planning to DO with all these souls? Anevka: They make for some lovely reading lamps, don't they?

(Anevka absolutely sets herself the goal of acquiring new titles that rival her old ones, or even surpass them. She just black widows her way through Europa.)

I just want someone (probably Snackleford) to ascend, take one look at Tarvek, and run SCREAMING.

Tarvek still needed to be anchored to Higgs, because Tarvek is Baby.

Gil is eventually in a relationship with an Eternal God Queen and the Literal Son of Satan.

Family dinners can include ALL the in-laws if you duck down to hell! - You borrow Bill from... probably heaven, maybe purgatory. - You have Lu and Aaronev and Satan already there, though the first two... well. Aaronev and Lu get invited to dinner but they have to eat by themselves at the kiddy table and nobody talks to them or acknowledges their presence. After all, this is hell, and what better punishment for Lu than to be completely ignored, and for Aaronev to see Lu at her worst and be reminded that he gave everything for this horrible, horrible person who isn't even pretending to care about him anymore. - Zanta and Klaus get invited via portal. - Anevka saunters in with a blood-soaked dress and a complaint about militant demon-hunters refusing to let her go shopping for a new pair of shoes. - Zeetha tagged along with the OT3. (She can't wait to see this situation explode.)

Oh God, Satan is actually second place as far as good parenting goes.

Well, actually, fourth. Because Adam and Lilith. But second as far as bio parents go. 1. Zanta 2. Satan 3. Klaus 4/5. Lu and Aaronev N/A. Bill

Someone (Anevka) decides to stir the pot and invites Von Pinn, Terabithia, Bang.

Bang is basically Gil’s older sister, right? Right.

This is Zanta meeting Bang for the first time! Zanta is just: "It's so nice to meet my husband's adopted daughter." Klaus freezes. Bang freezes. Gil is the only one who is just. "Yeah." Meanwhile Zeetha is crying with laughter off to the side because both of them deserve this. (Zanta would legit love Bang though.)

Agatha: Tarvek, I think DuPree is-- Tarvek: Hitting on my sister? I know. Agatha: On your mom, actually. Tarvek: NO!

Also I do love the idea of like. Nobody tells Bang they're inviting her. She just wakes up in Hell like. "Ah. Yes. Fair enough."

Satan: Oh no no no my dear, you're here as a guest. Besides as well as you'd fit you're not one of mine, you've got other things waiting for you. Bang: Okay, but I love the decor. And is that Cheesecake?

Bang’s family has their own evil god in the novels, but! Bang DID pick on Tarvek a lot in Paris. Satan cares more than Anevka does. Bang might get the sexy punishment.

I feel like the fact that no permanent damage was done and it taught Tarvek a lot of things means Satan isn't gonna be all that upset about it.

And let's be real, if there's a character in GG who could look the literal Christian devil in the eye and be like "Yeah I tortured your kid, what're you going to do about it?" it's Bang.

Even Satan doesn't know what to do or think about Othar.

He sure is here! As Anevka’s arm candy! Nobody knows what to do except Anevka herself, who just wants to be Smug.

(What's that scene from Phineas and Ferb that's the mad scientist trapping the platypus within the rules of polite dining at a fine restaurant? Like he can't make a scene because that would be rude?) (That. Othar would dearly love to start a fight, but it's a Family Dinner. You're only allowed to fight verbally at those.)

(Othar isn't even fighting Satan, he just wants to argue with Klaus.) (And maybe fanboy in Bill's direction a bit).

[delimeful]

you will see a better day

donation drive commission for @starrykid with the prompt: Remus dealing with intrusive thoughts and the others helping him through it.

warnings: canon setting, intrusive thoughts (a fair amount), gore mentions, implications of thoughts of self harm, Remus Going Thru It

-

Before, whenever he had a Bad Day, it was just more fuel on the trash fire that was his brain. 

It was routine: Remus would wake up with a litany of grotesque images on the back of his eyelids, present every time he blinked or squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. These thoughts weren’t the fun kind of gross, the type that was fascinating or funny. They weren’t fun because he didn’t choose them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of them if he didn’t like them. 

Guess that was how everyone else felt about you. Remus mashed a pillow over his own face as though it would muffle his own mind. What a stupid thought. He was a luxury few could afford, thank-you-very-much!

Back then, as soon as possible, he would find someone else in the Mindscape to bother, because if he had to deal with the awful thoughts carving and chipping away at the inside of his skull, it was only fair to share. 

That was before, when things had been black and white and he could be a monster all he pleased because it wasn’t like anyone else thought differently. It wasn’t like Thomas thought differently. 

Until he did.

And now they were all in one muddled up Mindscape and the others were trying, making an effort to clot their own bad habits and setting a place for him at the table. It was slow-going, like shoving a square peg into a circular hole, but it was also the most he’d ever had. Until something splintered, he was going to soak in every minute of it. 

Or at least, that was his plan, up until he hit another Bad Day like a semi truck hit thrice-dead roadkill. 

Same thoughts, same pounding (heh) headache. The difference was, now he couldn’t go word-vomit all over the nearest Side until he felt a little less like he was drowning. He was working to keep the delicate peace in his own way, and that meant not bothering the others with his… himself-ness on days like these. 

He couldn’t stay in his room all day, though. For one it was boring, and for two, ever since they’d all agreed to try and cohabitate, Patton and Janus in particular were insistent on checking in if anyone acted strange. Cooping up in his room and not being his usual fantastically sickening and outrageous self would definitely pop up on their radar. If that happened, there was no way he could fool Janus outright. He preferred his own brand of frank honesty anyways, so clearly the only solution was to behave normally enough that nobody looked twice. 

His version of normal, anyhow. 

He groaned loudly and then dragged in a breath, manifesting a pair of slippers that looked uncannily like dead fish onto his feet. He would just have to put his excellent acting skills to use. 

—- 

Remus’s willpower was put to the test as soon as he reached the kitchen. A new record of his ability to destroy plans, this must be why Janus never told him anything. 

Patton was spinning himself in circles on one of the round stools by the bar counter, humming a cartoon theme brightly to himself. At the stovetop, Virgil was sedately flipping pancakes, an easy set to his shoulders that meant he had probably recently taken a long-overdue nap in Logan’s room.

Normally, Remus would already be halfway into teasing the hell out of him, but now his brain felt scrambled with panic. Virgil was particularly susceptible to getting dragged into the cycle of intrusive thoughts on days like these, which meant the anxious Side was the last one he wanted to run into at the moment. 

Two birds with one brick, his stupid hell brain suggested slyly. Send Virgil into a spiral and then it’ll be him who gets nagged, his fault for ruining the friendly atmosphere. 

Stop it. Remus’s face twitched into a self-directed snarl for a moment, and he forced the thought away as Patton finally slowed his rotation to smile dizzily at him. 

“Remus! Good morning!” 

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, sending Remus’s heart rate briefly into the triple digits. Be normal be normal be normal. “Hey, Re. Morning.”

He didn’t even notice. So much for being your friend. If you’re subtle enough, you could sidle up behind him and smash his face into the hot burner—

“WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS!” Remus shouted, teeth spread in a too-wide grin. He bounced into the kitchen, depositing an assorted handful of teeth (his preferred currency) into the swear jar before Patton could say anything, and planted himself on the middle bar stool. 

Patton scooted one stool closer to be next to him, because of course he did. Remus resisted the urge to start prying out handfuls of hair, his own or— no. Toned down, he was keeping it toned down. Buttcheek on a stick, this was difficult.

“Want to spin with me?” Patton asked, shifting antsily from side to side with barely contained energy. 

“Whoever pukes first wins?” Remus replied automatically, and felt a bright burst of giddy joy when Patton giggle-snorted instead of recoiling. 

“I think upchuck is actually supposed to mean you lose your lunch and the spinning contest, kiddo.” 

Of course it did. You were designed to be the loser, even if you try to change the rules. 

Remus knew that this time Patton had spotted the way his lips twitched down into a grimace, but before the fatherly side could say anything, there was the clink of ceramic plates on the counter in front of them. 

“No spinning and/or vomiting if you want to eat my pancakes,” Virgil demanded, wielding a spatula threateningly at them as he clicked the stovetop off. “We’ll never hear the end of it from Princey if he has to reconjure all the furniture.” 

Irrational, heated anger burned through him. Like Virgil could do anything to stop you. Social interaction was enough to give the guy a panic attack, he couldn’t tell Remus to do or not do anything— 

“You good, Re?” Virgil asked, and he jerked, avoiding the other Side’s gaze as though eye contact would expose his thoughts. After a beat too long, his mind finally caught up with the plate in front of him. 

His pancake was covered in a truly disgusting amount of cheese and ketchup, the way he always requested it back when they’d all been Dark Sides. Despite the fact that he always made a face back then, Virgil had made a point to remember, had done it without asking. 

Like ravenous wolves, his thoughts instantly turned against him. 

Pathetic. How could you think things like that about people who trust you? You shouldn’t even be here, pretending to be a person. You deserve everything coming to you. 

His hand made it halfway to the fork sitting innocently next to his plate before he remembered himself. Virgil was still looking at him, clearly having caught the motion, and Remus lowered his hand, white-knuckled. 

“Me, good? That’s a funny one, V-mo!” he tried to joke, but the odd edge to his voice made it fall flat. Virgil was outright frowning now, and out of the corner of his vision Patton’s eyebrows were drawing together.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, his frame tight with tension and his gaze drilling into Remus. “Are you hurt?” 

“I could be!” Remus blurted, trying to keep his tone saucy but ending up with something closer to desperate. “You ever think maybe bashing my skull in would be better than having to deal with its contents?”

The two of them winced, and he knew he’d given himself away completely. Shit.

Virgil reached out, and then stopped himself before he could make contact. Can you blame him? Jumping into an electrified tank of leeches would be more comfortable than willingly exposing himself to you. 

Something of his internal diatribe must have shown on Remus’s face, because Virgil’s hesitant expression flickered into regret.

“Shit,” he swore, and this time Patton didn’t chide him. “I can’t-- I don’t want to send you into a spiral, Re. If I touch you, we’re just going to be stuck in a feedback loop of bad thoughts.” 

“Like how you’re perpetually stuck in 2009?” Remus offered, instead of listing all the ways he could feasibly remove Virgil’s eyes from their sockets. It would almost be fun, if it wasn’t his friend’s eyes he was contemplating prying out with a spoon handle. 

Virgil’s lips pulled up slightly. “Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna go get the others. They’ll be able to help you for real.” 

He sunk out, and Remus’s head started to ache more severely as terrible and often gory predictions for the future began to crowd his mind. He shoved his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged ferociously. 

“Hey, buddy, you shouldn’t pull on your hair like that,” a concerned voice chimed in. Remus had almost forgotten Patton was still there, sitting only a seat away. 

He pulled harder on his hair, both out of spite and to distract himself from the urge to summon a weapon and see if Patton would still look at you with so much pity if you shanked his ass and tied his intestines into little bows. 

“Hey, what do you call a seasick croc?” Patton asked, abruptly enough that Remus managed to shake his train of thought. He glanced up to look at the Heart, who offered him a tremulous mischievous smile. “A crocobile.” 

Remus snorted, and Patton’s smile seemed to firm up. 

“How about, why do ducks have tail feathers?” the moral Side asked in that same leading tone. 

Remus thought for a minute. “‘Cause otherwise they’d lose their balance in flight and go splat against the nearest window?” 

“I mean, maybe, but also!” Patton held up a finger for emphasis. “They have tail feathers to cover their… butt-quacks.”

There was a beat of anticipation where they both stared at each other, and then Remus threw his head back and outright cackled. Patton fist pumped in delight. 

“I thought you might like that one, kiddo,” he said, beaming. Before Remus could reply, possibly with an atrocious pun of his own, Roman strode into the room. 

There was a brief, awkward pause as the two of them made eye contact. Patton looked rapidly between them with concern, and Remus couldn’t blame him. Even now, their one-on-one interactions tended to end with vicious spats. They were too good, too practiced at pressing each other's buttons to settle into the newfound peace easily. 

“... Bad one?” he finally asked, as though he could spot the wrong-evil-awful all over Remus from a mile away. Remus felt his expression drop into an irritable glower worthy of Anxiety, but before he could retort, Roman was seating himself primly on the communal couch.   

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in a nervous habit Remus constantly teased him about, and then straightened his shoulders and patted the cushion next to him. “I’ll… like when we were kids. If you want.” 

Despite Patton’s confused head tilt, Remus got it immediately, and ignored the screaming violence in his head in favor of bodily throwing himself over the couch, jostling the hell out of his brother and eliciting a Grade-A Bitchface from him in the process. Remus grinned maliciously in return.

“Do the one that looks like a snake,” he demanded, running a hand through his hair and lengthening it. Of course, in addition, thick clumps of hair ended up falling out entirely, leaving weird-feeling bald patches that might have been interesting if he’d actually intended to create them. 

“On purpose or don’t want it?” Roman asked, echoing a familiar question from their childhood. It had been a royal decree, before they grew so divided, that one had to ask before ‘fixing’ anything the other did, just in case it was on purpose. 

“How are you supposed to braid what isn’t there?” Remus grumbled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he unwillingly imagined restapling his hair to his skull. “Don’t want it.” 

Roman dragged his fingers through Remus’s hair, lengthening it until it was long enough to do all sorts of stupid-complicated braids. He also made the new hair unforgivably glossy and apple-scented, but Remus could get him back for that later, when he was sure it wouldn’t be (nails through nasal cavities, a cloud of suffocating darkness, decaying hands pulling you down into freshly turned soil and burying you alive) disproportionate retribution. 

Two braids later, Logan appeared, rising up in the mindscape with his tie perfectly aligned but lab goggle imprints around his eyes. He only took a moment to absorb the scene, as though it was normal that everyone was crowding around Remus attentively. “Virgil informed me that you could use some assistance?” 

Remus snorted. “Maybe you can perform some impromptu brain surgery to stop me thinking? Hey, if you don’t use anesthetic, I promise not to squirm too much, doc.”

“I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school,” Roman quoted absently, still caught up in combining three braids together into one. 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Regardless of my unfortunately lacking PhD status, I believe brain surgery to ‘stop one thinking’ is also colloquially referred to as an induced coma.” 

“Perfect!” Remus cheered, and then yelped when Roman tugged on his hair harshly in retribution. Patton was making that half-pitiful, half-furious face that he always made whenever the emo talked bad about himself, strangely enough.

“There are plenty of adjectives I could use to describe such a solution, but none of them would be ‘perfect’, Remus,” Logan continued. “A more effective and patient-friendly answer would be addressing your irritating or harmful thoughts through the use of various mental health tactics.” 

Easy for him to say. “That might work for Tommy-boy, but I am the harmful or irritating thoughts, remember?” 

“Falsehood.” Logan declared, proving that no matter what aspect of Thomas they were, the Sides were all dramatic theater kid bastards at heart. “It has become increasingly clear that while we all formed to handle certain tasks or aspects, we are all increasingly complex at heart. None of us can be diminished to simply one trait. In the same way that Virgil is much more than the experience of anxiety, there is no logical reason to reduce yourself to the thoughts that you struggle with.” 

Remus shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what part of the assertion he was resisting. Logan folded himself into a sitting position and reached over for Remus’s hand, his touch grounding. 

“You’ve gotten through days like this before. You’ll continue to do so after,” Logan told him. 

“I got through Bad Days by making everyone’s day bad,” Remus retorted. “I’m not you, but I’m not stupid. Nobody wants me making it into a communal event.” 

“That’s what family’s for though,” Patton said, shifting closer from his own spot on the rug. “Listening. Helping. Having each other’s backs when things get tough!” 

Logan’s grip didn’t falter. Roman’s presence was solid at his back. Remus was beginning to wonder if he’d snorted something hallucinogenic recently.

“The sentiment is admirable, if a bit hypocritical,” a familiar voice chimed in, and Remus looked up to see Janus leaning elegantly against the kitchen archway. Virgil elbowed his way past, ruining the dramatic pose and flopping down on the couch next to Remus. He bumped his shoe against Remus’s leg in quiet camaraderie.

“Hypocritical?” Logan echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Unless you’d like to tell me that everyone here has no problems whatsoever asking for help or expressing vulnerability on their bad days,” Janus proposed, smugly. 

Logan inclined his head slightly. “Point.” 

“Regardless, that doesn’t make Logic or Morality incorrect.” Janus looked at Remus intently. “None of us are allowed to simply suffer in silence, anymore.”

“I didn’t exactly suffer in silence before,” he pointed out, sounding uncannily sensible. Probably from the nerd’s proximity. 

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem now, hmm?” Janus replied. 

Logan sighed at them all, collectively, in general. “Look at it from this angle, Remus. Your previous coping mechanism was generally detrimental due to your lack of options and isolation. Now, you have neither of those holding you back. With knowledge and assistance, you can only improve from here on out.” 

Now, that was doubtful. “And what if I don’t, huh? What if I just get worse?” 

“Then we’ll still be here.” Logan squeezed his hand, and Janus confirmed his words with a nod, and even though his mind was cluttered and overwhelming, they were all still there at his side without complaint. 

Maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, after all.

“Well, what are we trying first?”

[itsallmightbitch]

Stitches (Part Two)

Ya’ll, I wasn’t planning on posting this yet but when I actually checked, I realised that if I didn’t- Part Two was going to be over 12,000 words. So I had to split it again. So, you can look forward to a Part Three! I also, sort of, accidentally maybe, wrote a teeny tiny lil’ bit of plot. 

Tagged: @kittygonyan​ @mrsreina​ (If you’d like to be tagged in Part Three, give me a shout!)

Pairing: Villain!AllMight x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Blood, Swearing, Threats of Non-Con (Not made by our boy All Might and not said explicitly though).

Word Count: 6800+

Summary: A phone call makes you question just how the biggest bad in Japan feels about you. You discover just how All Might was injured and things get just a lil’ bit steamy.

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

He was gone for over half an hour and you’d spent that time preparing the dressings you’d need for him. The wound was in a semi awkward place- just below the dip of his collarbone, so you’d had to dig out the gauze tape.

All the while, you attempted to calm the rapid, dizzying beat of your heart.

 Those damn breathing exercises that Ivy had taught you were doing jack shit, especially with the feeling of his hands still imprinted firmly on your hips.

 Were you really going to do this tonight?

 It wasn’t as though you hadn’t danced around him for months now, the unyielding pull of his orbit spinning you closer and closer until the inevitable collision. But as you stood on the precipice, feet towing the line and looking into the abyss… there was still some trepidation.

 Was he just doing this to prove that he could get into your pants?

 Where the hell would it even go? He was, at his core, a villain and nothing you could do or say would ever change his nature.

 Not that you would want to. You weren’t here to ‘fix’ him in any other way but physically.

 Yet, despite all of the reservations that swam in your head, you couldn’t deny the chemistry that had always bubbled between you. Especially in those moments that you forgot just who he was and he was just idling around your apartment with you. Those moments made you just as hot as when you saw him pummelling some wannabe hero on TV.

 Making him coffee while he fixed your kitchen sink. Actually… finding out that he could fix a kitchen sink had been jarring enough. Bickering over which movie to watch, when you knew he was going to win like he always did- but arguing with him for the fun of it anyway.

 That day you’d found out that he did a fucking wicked impression of Endeavor and you’d howled with laughter- then caught him looking immensely proud of himself afterwards.

 Even now, the memory of it made your lips quirk in a stupid smile.

 Seeing that side of him made it so easy to separate him from the man the rest of the world saw. They weren’t privy to all the things that made him unique. Would it really be so wrong of you to give in?

 The filthy promise he’d made still rang in your ears.

 Slow, hard and all night long. Your thighs clenched in anticipation.

 Your phone buzzed cheerily on the side table and the coffee you’d made for yourself in his absence sloshed against the side of the mug when you jumped.

 An unknown number usually meant one of two things. Either All Might was calling you to ask how to perform some horrible mutilation on a person without them losing too much blood- or Ivy was calling for a chat.

 Since the former was currently using up all of your hot water- seriously, thirty five minutes now- you correctly guessed that it was the latter. You answered, immediately perking up at the sound of her voice.

 “Babes, is that beefy idiot of yours there? His little henchmen have been tearing apart half of the city trying to find him,” she said, not even bothering with hello. You tutted. Of course he’d just up and vanished without giving anyone a hint that he was okay.

 “Hi Ivy,” you said pointedly and you could almost hear her roll her eyes at your insistence of politeness. “Yeah, he’s here.”

 She grumbled.

 “Ugh, will you please tell him to call off his goons before I have to kill any more of them for disrespecting me,” she said, like murdering henchmen was all too taxing for her. You knew differently. She was probably enjoying the change of pace. You half smiled, shaking your head.

 What exactly was your life? Passing messages between villains like some kind of sentient answering machine.

 “Hold on. He’s in the shower,” you said, escaping the soft light of the living room and heading in the direction of the still -goddamn it- running water. His clothes were piled where you’d told him to leave them and you were oddly touched to find that he’d arranged them in a way that the bloodied parts weren’t on your carpet.

 He could be considerate when he wanted to be.

 Biting your lip, you eventually worked up the courage and knocked on the door. You knew that he was grinning from ear to ear, probably expecting you to barge in and simply toss your panties over your shoulder while you were at it.

 Hmm. There was plenty of time for that later.

 “Did you miss me already, sweet thing? Am I that irresistible?” he said, his tone all deep and buttery and the image of him stark naked and soaking wet stole your voice for a moment. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was taking so long because he was- taking care of himself.

 Your stomach whirled pleasantly at the thought of him stroking a hand along his thick-

 “Hey! Don’t forget to tell him that they have like, zero manners. I’m appalled at how rude they all are. This is no way to treat a lady!”

 Ivy’s irritated voice turned away from the phone for a moment. A crunch and a half-halted scream told you that she was more than handling herself against All Might’s minions.

 You licked your bottom lip, squeezing your eyes shut and trying not to picture him behind the damn door again. Otherwise you’d never get out the words you needed to say. You’d get your chance to join him later, when your dumb obligation as his doctor wasn’t coming first.

 “Um, Ivy says your little minions are out of control again. You might want to deal with that, big guy,” you informed him and you heard him swear loudly, a colourful mix of words that would have made a sailor blush.

 The water, at long last, shut off.

 You hadn’t really considered what would come next, despite the fact that he’d clearly left his pants- and by extension- phone right next to where you were standing.

 The door opened and you suddenly had a face full of muscular, soaking wet chest. You barely even noticed his smug expression, too busy trailing your eyes down and focusing with laser like precision on the trail of blond hair that started at his bellybutton and vanished underneath his towel.

 All Might had a fucking happy trail. How had you not noticed it earlier?

 Oh yeah. All the blood.

 You had died. You were dead and buried and this was Heaven and of course your version of Heaven would have a soaking wet, naked super villain in it.  

 Every brain function ceased and all you could register was the heat of the steam billowing out from behind him and the aching urge you now felt to catch the lone water droplet that was rolling down along his abdomen with your tongue.

 It dipped into his bellybutton then out again, before soaking into the towel that he’d slung low around his hips.

 “You know, as much as I’m enjoying your reaction sweetheart,” he rumbled, openly amused by your gaping, idiotic staring. “I do need my phone before I lose any more men to the sewer rat.”

 “I fucking heard that, you jackass!” Ivy screeched and you were brought back to reality, aware that your face was now glowing red.

 He leaned down past you and fished his phone from his pants pocket and you could feel the sweet, water warmed heat of his skin as he passed so close to you. You resisted the urge you suddenly felt to throw your legs over your head.

You didn’t even know if your legs could do that and Ivy might not appreciate having to wait any longer for a reprieve.

 When he straightened up, he grinned at you and it was… different than his usual cocky smiles. This one was toothy and almost soft and his free hand came up to your chin, gripping it much like he had earlier. Except this time, it wasn’t to threaten you.

 It was to bring your lips to his in a nipping, hard kiss that took the air out of your lungs.

 Hnnng.

 “Soon kitten,” he murmured, biting your bottom lip once more playfully. “Don’t forget, this was your bright idea.”

 He winked at you before retreating back into the bathroom. You remained standing on the other side of the door for a long moment, cursing yourself for being so worried about him when you could be splayed out underneath him right now- morals be damned.

 You only remembered that Ivy was still on the line when you heard her voice asking if everything was okay.

 Fuck, it was more than okay. Not long from now, you were going to have that between your legs. More than ever you wished you hadn’t skipped all those yoga classes because this was going to be... challenging. 

Said legs carried you shakily back down the hall and away from the temptation to break the door down while you waved your bra over your head. 

Sexy.

 “He’s um- he’s calling someone now,” you cleared your throat, choosing not to sit on your bloodied couch and instead canting your hip against your dining table. “Sorry Ives. If I’d have known he was AWOL I’d have made him call sooner. I know what those idiots are like…”

 His henchmen were notorious for running riot without him there to rein them in. He was, surprisingly, like seventy three percent of their impulse control. It was a shame he lacked any himself.

 “You know, I’m not even surprised any more,” she tutted. “He could have at least let one of his lackey’s know before he went and squared up against- wait-” Her voice paused just as she reached the bloody good bit and you fought the urge to interrupt. “Maybe he’s been too busy to phone anyone… Wanna tell me what you’ve been up to?”

 Ivy knew what had gone down tonight by the sound of it. But she was also distracted and you knew you would get nowhere without indulging her curiosity first.

 “Oh yeah, he’s been super busy getting a big ass gash on his shoulder stitched up. Not much time for phone calls,” you hedged slyly. Ivy didn’t need to know he’d also been busy with his mouth on your neck while you attempted not to moan like a a porn star. Definitely a detail that could be left out.

 “Not going to lie sweets, I was convinced you were going to say getting a blowjob.”

 “Fucking hell, Ivy.”

 “What!? There’s nothing wrong with getting busy after a life threatening situation. I’m amazed that you both have so much restraint,” she said and despite your irritation over these villains all up in your personal life, you couldn’t find it in yourself to disagree with her out loud. “You said he was all sliced up? Did he tell you how he got it?”

 Interest?

 Piqued.

 “No! He’s being really secretive about it,” you said hurriedly as though Ivy would hang up on you at any second. She wouldn’t but you were far too eager to hear this story and your brain refused to function normally. “Do you know?”

 “I’m not technically supposed to, but well… henchmen talk darling, especially under the threat of pain…”

 “Ivy spill,” you said, dragging the word out into a whine. Ivy loved to tell a tale but you were impatient now. You wanted to hear what had happened before he came out of the shower. Not just because you didn’t want him to catch you snooping in his business but also because there was the promise of fantastic sex to come too.

 “Oh sweets, do I have a story for you,” Ivy squealed gleefully. Your heart beat hard in your chest in anticipation and you hoped that she wouldn’t drag it out too much. “I hope you’re sitting down for this because it’s just, mwah-” she made a kissing noise and you snorted.

 “Ivy, come on. While I’m still young.”

 “Tut tut, there’s no rushing a good thing. Or do you like it fast?” she teased, flirtatiously.

 You rolled your eyes and tutted into the phone, not in the mood to be teased. At least… not by Ivy.

 You checked over your shoulder- in case All Might had snuck up on you or was lurking in the doorway. He had a habit of doing that, just to make you jump. But he was nowhere to be seen, probably still on the phone, berating one of his second in command for their bad behaviour.

 You hoped it was Shigaraki getting a talking to. That guy gave you nothing but bad vibes.

 “So, I take it you remember last week, when you and I dished about that weirdo you treated? You know Hinata Cash?” she said his name almost cautiously as if worried that being too quick would bring back the memories before you would be able to handle them.

 You made a strangled noise that could have been agreement as your brief but memorable encounter with Hinata Cash came rushing back from the deep, dark part of your memories that you’d shoved it into.

 A chill raced along your spine.

 “Are you okay, sweets?” Ivy asked cautiously.

 “M’fine,” you said, clearing your throat. You wouldn’t let the mere mention of the creep make you uncomfortable. Ivy still paused until you reaffirmed that you were okay with talking about him though. “What about him? Is he still being a disturbing son of a bitch?”

 Your bravado was all show. You both knew it, but Ivy continued like she bought into your act.

 “Well, it turns out he was quite the talking point in some circles... Not enough to play with the big boys like your honey bun,” she said, probably giving the phone a shit eating grin. You didn’t even berate her for it and the teasing tone she’d aimed for fell away awkwardly. “But he was doing enough to get himself noticed. He’d started coming in to the Golden Cat on weekends. A few of the girls there told me about him…”

 “All good things, I bet,” you said, rubbing your arm nervously. There was really no reason to feel nervous, not with your door locked and All Might in your bathroom, but that didn’t stop tendrils of unease winding around your neck.

 “He started going by Scissorhands- Ugh, it was tacky if you ask me,” she sniffed primly. Never let anyone tell you that Ivy wasn’t a class act, you thought fondly. Still, the name made your insides twist uncomfortably. From what you’d seen on the snippets of news reports that day- he’d certainly lived up to his chosen name.

 You had never been truly frightened in all the years that you’d been treating criminals. Even during that first meeting with All Might, you had never felt like you were in any immediate danger- so long as you kept your mouth shut and remained respectful.

 But Cash…

 He was the type to cut your throat because he didn’t like the colour of your curtains or some shit.

 His entire visit had deeply unsettled you and set you on edge for days afterwards. Even now, despite the fact that he hadn’t delivered on his ‘promise’, you couldn’t really settle.

 Every movement he’d made that day, every little twitch of his hands had caused your body to recoil and had it not been for the tight hold you had over your Quirk, you might have done more harm than good.

 Thankfully, it had been a straight forward procedure but from the way your body trembled, you’d have thought it was your very first time all over again. He’d picked up on your nerves from the moment he’d sat down, leering whenever you flinched.

 Glass and debris had become embedded directly under his left eye from the bank robbery he’d partaken in, just hours before. It had been on the Channel Five news, which was partly why you were so on edge. His fingers had still been bloody from the security guard he’d literally torn apart.

 Heavy set, with wide shoulders and contrasting sharp features, you knew that had he made a move that day, you wouldn’t have had a chance to fight him off.

 The shaking of your hands had thankfully been negated by your Quirk.

 Precision wasn’t the most amazing Quirk in the world but it was particularly useful in your line of work. Being able to hit your target despite the shaking of your hands had saved you precious time.

 Quick, yet terrified, you’d cleaned up his face and as politely as you could, tried to see him out. But his hand had clamped down on your thigh, too high for comfort and your whole body froze- your eyes staring unseeingly past him.

You couldn’t breathe in anything more than quick, frightened gasps. He seemed to revel in them.

 You felt like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, seconds before the deadly bite.

 He’d leaned in close, his breath repulsive and sour and you’d thought of a million ways to escape in those few seconds- none of them even remotely useful.

 “I really appreciate this, Doc. It’s hard to find a woman with steady hands like yours...”

He had lifted one of them, examining it. 

“Wonderful quirk. So useful... I can see why All Might likes you so much. I think I quite like you too.”

 You had prepared for the worst. Mentally written your last will and testament and prayed to God that when he was finished with you he would just leave Marco be- the thought of him harming your cat suddenly far more prevalent in your mind than what was going to happen to you. 

Strangely though, he’d simply gotten up from the chair, stroked your cheek as you sat there like a statue and then let himself out. Not before throwing his parting remark over his shoulder, though. The one that had been haunting you all week.

 “I’ll see you again real soon, honey.”

 Naturally, you hadn’t gone after him for the payment he’d skimped out on.

 Hell to the no. Instead, you’d locked your front door, hyperventilated for a good fifteen minutes on your living room floor and then much to your embarrassment… you’d called All Might. 

For the first time ever.

 You had passed the call off as some dumb suggestion that he come over for pizza and a movie, like you were best friends and not potential-fuck-buddies. You hadn’t even had the strength to hide the tremble in your voice, nor the will to throw in any bravado. It had been a brutally honest call- one that you had never wanted to make.

 It was like letting him see the real you. Removing that final barrier between you that might hold you back from feeling anything real. That conversation had changed something, you thought. Something deep.

 “H-Hey! I know I never call like this but... I-I… Could you come over?”

 Your voice had been small and shaky, with you on the verge of tears- even though you would rather die than let them fall over someone so vile.

 There had been a pause on the other end, mid-way through whatever sarcastic thing he’d been about to berate you with.

 “Please?”

 You had added that without even thinking about it, voice catching and the grip of Cash’s hand still burning on your thigh. You had thought, in that silence, that he was going to brush you off. Either that or demand to know what was wrong. Thankfully, he did neither.

 “Ten minutes.”

 The longest ten minutes of your life. He had found you pacing a hole in the floor of your living room and petting the ever-loving bejesus out of Marco- stressed to the max. You’d locked eyes with him and he hadn’t even had to ask if you were glad to see him. Your face said it all.

 He hadn’t asked what had happened and you hadn’t told him… but he’d stayed anyway. A real villain, that one.

 “Sounds about right to me,” you scoffed, tone disgusted at the thought of that… that man. “Ives, I don’t scare easily, you know that... but I know full well what he wanted and it wasn’t a back rub. What does this have to do with why All Might turned up injured?”

 You felt unsettled at having him brought up out of the blue. You’d been quite happy to forget all about him and the way that his gaze had made your skin crawl.

 “Everything. The word should be getting out any minute now, about our dear departed Tim Burton knockoff.”

 You paused, startled and unsure if you’d heard her right.

 “Departed?”

 “Oh, he’s very, very dead darling,” Ivy said lightly, as if she was just telling you the weather for the day.

 The relief that washed over you was momentous and almost made your knees give way, causing you to grip the table for support. He was dead. You were free of the lurking shadow of fear that plagued your days and nights. The one that robbed you of decent sleep because you were jumping at every little noise in your apartment.

 “Is it bad that I just wanna say ‘Oh thank God’?” you replied, breath knocked from you. Ivy laughed. She sounded just as pleased as you felt.

 “You won’t be the only one, I’m sure. He must have put up a halfway decent fight, if it took you that long to stitch up a little old cut,” she said, pointedly as though waiting for you to work things out. She was probably disappointed that she didn’t get to see your reaction when you did.

 Oh. Holy shit.

 “All Might killed him!?” you squeaked, then lowered your voice drastically in case he heard you. “Are you fucking with me right now, Ivy? Because that’s not cool.”

 You didn’t really know how to feel about it, if it was true. You were more than relieved that the looming shadow of Cash was gone forever but regretful that somehow, All Might had found out what you’d tried to keep from him and had gotten himself hurt in the process of doing something about it.

 “It’s true,” she said, confirming it. “You and I both know I hate giving that overrated blowhard any credit… but something had to be done about him. Cash had it coming, either way. There are plenty of girls at the Golden Cat who’ll be glad to see him gone.”

 You swallowed hard. Your silence was more you being concerned over All Might’s well being than over the fact that he had killed a man tonight. He’d killed plenty of people in the time you’d known him.

That wasn’t about to destroy the image of him that you had.

It was more the deep seated worry that always gripped you when he was involved in something dangerous. Usually, you could worry yourself sick over the news broadcast and at least then, if anything happened, you would know.

But tonight, he’d gone out there and gone one on one with a man who could rip people apart from the inside out- and you hadn’t even known. What if he’d never come back? What if he’d died because of you and word would get back to you, weeks down the line that you would never see him again?

Something horrid lodged in your stomach.

 “Won’t he get heat from other villains?” you asked to distract yourself, rubbing the top of Marco’s head as he trotted past- blissfully unaware of your minor breakdown. “Isn’t there some… I dunno… Code of conduct or something? Honour among thieves?”

 Ivy snorted, obviously amused at your blatant lack of knowledge. You would think that someone as deep into the criminal underworld as you were would at least know a little about how things operated. But no. 

You chose to remain blissfully ignorant.

 “Hmm, well here’s the thing. The King makes the rules and All Might, well… as much as I’m loathe to admit it, he wears the crown babes. Who the Hell is going to argue with him?” she asked and you bit your lip, the fear of retaliation lessening.

 It was no secret that he was both feared and respected- enough to keep even the toughest of the tough under his thumb. There wasn’t a Hero or Villain in the world who could realistically take him on, one on one, and win.

 That thought relaxed you and the horrid sensation lessened. It didn’t leave entirely, but it receded enough that you could breathe again.

 “Anyway, to cut a long story short… Cash wasn’t exactly secretive about what he liked to do to girls. He was always running his mouth and tonight, he came in absolutely singing about some pretty little Doctor that he’d fallen head over heels for…” Ivy said sourly, obviously not enjoying this part of the story.

 You enjoyed it even less. It didn’t take a genius to work out just who that Doctor was. Your hope that he’d just been trying to scare you when he threatened to see you again had been futile, apparently and you were suddenly so glad that you’d asked All Might to stay that night.

 “ You’re pretty well known yourself around here, sweets. Did you know that?”

 You hadn’t known, no, but you kept quiet.

 “It didn’t take long for a few of the regulars to work out just who Cash was talking about. Word got around like wildfire and eventually got to old Shigaraki himself. From what I’ve heard through the grapevine tonight, it took five and a half minutes from Shigaraki calling his boss, until All Might was storming the Golden Cat.”

 Damn, there had been you, badmouthing Shigaraki not ten minutes ago in your head. If it hadn’t been for him telling All Might, who knows what would be happening to you right now?

 You made a mental note to be extra nice to him the next time you saw him.

 The thought that Cash had been interested in you made you shudder, sickened at the thought of him even thinking about you like that. Your body felt grimy and you resisted the urge to run to the bathroom and scrub yourself clean.

 All Might was officially your fucking hero and he could pry that word from your cold, dead hands.

 Sure, he would be horrified at the implication but that didn’t make it any less true. Maybe that’s why he’d brushed off your questioning earlier, being difficult when you wanted to know how he’d been injured.

 You caught yourself grinning stupidly, attempting to hide it by biting your lip. You realised that there was no point. Ivy couldn’t see you anyway.

 “So, I think the message is officially loud and clear. No-one fucks with the good Doctor,” she laughed, all angelic and sweet and you beamed down the phone, laughing along with her. You felt a heady sort of rush as the realisation that you were safe again sunk in. That the villains you had helped and minded and treated like people over the years had heard that you were in danger and had come to the rescue in their own way.

 The realisation that… that he cared. Deep down, past his angry and irritable nature, he really cared.

 “Ivy, I-”

 Without warning, two large, muscular arms wrapped around your waist from behind and you might have jumped had All Might not buried his face into your neck and rumbled a low, lazy growl, like a bear waking up from hibernation. He nuzzled you with a deliberate slowness, lips pressing warm against your throat.

 “You still talking to the sewer rat?” he murmured, sounding annoyed because he knew you wouldn’t hang up on her just because he said so- and so he would have to wait as patiently as he could until you were done.

 On the other hand, it was an opportunity to rile Ivy up as much as possible.

 “It’s Vagabond, you overgrown man child,” she hissed down the line, all previous goodwill towards him gone from her voice.

 All Might ignored her, choosing instead to tug you back until you were plastered against his chest and he could lay his kisses along your shoulder- even though he still had to stoop down to reach. How did he even get so tall? Your breath caught in your throat, longing and gratitude fighting for the number one spot.

 He wasn’t going to stay patient for much longer and neither were you.

 “Listen, I gotta go, Ives. Love you, babes,” you said quickly and she cackled manically, well aware of where you were rushing off to in such a hurry. This was only proving her right. She would be insufferable for weeks now.

 “Love you too, sweets! Try not to break anything. Like the building.”

 You hung up to the sound of her laughter and turned in All Might’s arms, surprising him when you pulled him down for a kiss. You were long past the point of worrying about morals and right and wrong. There couldn’t be anything wrong in wanting him like you did. In knowing that he protected you and cared about you in his own way- no matter if he never said it out loud.

 He broke away, smirking.

 “Someone’s eager,” he ground out, hands sweeping up along your sides. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast and you pulled in a shaky, uneven breath. “I bet you’ll be fucking soaking…”

 Well, he wasn’t wrong. Those intense eyes trailed over your face, lingering on your lips until he locked his gaze with yours.

 “Thank you,” you blurted out, without meaning to.

 One of his eyebrows quirked, amused.

 “You’re thanking me for making you wet? That’s a new one on me sweetheart but sure. I’ll take the credit where it’s due,” he laughed cockily, one hand on the back of your head as he dove forward again and kissed you roughly. This one was all teeth and tongue and your knees shook, suddenly feeling thankful that he was holding you up.

 You moaned softly, powerless but confident under his touch.

 There was no pushing him back, no sliding your tongue into his mouth because the man was a force of nature and practically every inch of him was pure muscle. So you were content to let him take what he wanted from you, for now. Later you would find a way to turn the tables- to make him the quivering pathetic mess.

 Right now, all you wanted was to find out all of the ways he kissed.

 The angry ones, the lust filled ones, the sweet ones. The good morning kisses and the I’m happy to see you kisses and all the fucking kisses in between. You were off to a great start. You sighed, tangling your fingers in his hair and stroking your thumb in a circle on his scalp.

 He melted under your touch and deep down you revelled in the fact that he was just as affected by you as you were by him.

 “I um,” you stuttered, swallowing hard when you reluctantly pulled away from him. He looked as though he wanted to follow your mouth but for a change he let you speak. “I didn’t mean thank you for- for that.”

 “For what?” he asked knowing full well what you meant, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

 “For…” Your face heated quickly, without you even realising it.

 Without warning, a hand was shoved between your already shaky legs and he pressed upwards, cupping your pussy and dragging a half halting, surprised moan out of your throat. He almost took you off your feet and your fingers wrapped over his biceps to steady yourself.

 “For. What?” All Might asked again, applying pressure in all the places you needed pressure applied. Oh you were well and truly fucked and he hadn’t even gotten you naked yet.

 “Cause if you’re blushing now, kitten, then I can’t wait to see what you’ll be like when we really get going,” he continued, nuzzling along your cheek and rubbing his palm over your aching pussy. “M’not a mind reader. You have to tell me what you want. Where you want me. How hard you want me to pound into you. I wanna hear you sobbing my name like it’s the last fucking thing you’ll ever say tonight. Think you can do that for me? Hmm?”

 You were gripping his arms for dear life, trying to focus on the steady heaving of your lungs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 “Yeah, yeah, I can do it,” you promised, almost without hearing the words come out of your mouth. “I promise.”

 “Good girl,” he purred encouragingly and you just about lost your shit for a few seconds, along with any sense you might have had left as the praising words repeated on a loop in your head. “Now, I’ll ask again. What weren’t you thanking me for?”

 He was grinning wickedly against your cheek, eyes boring into yours.

 “For making me wet,” you responded finally, when your tongue no longer felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and you remembered how to speak actual words and not just garbled syllables.

 He groaned- actually groaned like you were the one touching him, instead of the other way around and it sent a shivering wave of heat spreading out at the base of your spine. Your clit throbbed mercilessly under the heat of his palm.

 “Christ kitten,” he said, voice hoarse. He didn’t pull his hand away like you thought he would though. You were still sensitive from your little dry humping session earlier and the pressure he was applying was agonising torture for so many reasons.

 You both knew he would pull away though if you even tried to set the pace. He’d made it perfectly clear that he was in charge.

 “Now, what were you thanking me for? You’ve got me all curious.”

 You felt dizzy and the words didn’t exactly come easily. The heat radiating off of his bare chest was intoxicating and so was the sight of all those well defined, rippling muscles so easily within reach. You indulged yourself, seeing as you hadn’t been able to earlier. You lightly trailed the pads of your fingers over his pectoral muscle and down at a steady pace, over the hardness of his abs and then to the tempting, glorious V shape that led under-

 Your smile came unbidden to you and he noticed, knowing immediately what you were grinning like an idiot about. He was wearing the pajama pants you’d gotten him.

 They were simple, nondescript pants like any guy would wear but… you’d gotten them in his favourite colour and he’d actually put them on.

 You’d expected him to either stay in his towel or well, just get the clothes out of the way entirely.

 “Yeah, yeah,” he snorted, releasing you when he realised that he’d gotten your attention in an entirely different way. The loss of sensation between your legs was more than worth it to see him standing there, a little awkwardly, with his arms crossed. “Don’t be a jackass about it, for fuck sake. I just didn’t want to have my dick out when I was eating dinner.”

 “Like that would bother you,” you beamed and he grunted something petulant that you didn’t hear.

 “You gonna tell me what you’re thanking me for, or what?” he said after a moment, ignoring the obvious erection that was tenting the front of said pants. You found it very, very hard to ignore but dragged your eyes up to his face after a moment anyway. His self assured smirk was expected.

 He knew how attractive he was and what it was doing to you. Damn him.

 “Cash,” you managed to say after a moment and it clearly didn’t answer his question. He looked at you like you were an idiot.

 “You… want cash? Here was me thinking you weren’t a whore,” he cackled, pleased at his own cleverness. You were less amused, punching him lightly in the arm. The shaking of his shoulders didn’t stop but at least he was no longer laughing out loud.

 You were trying to spill your heart to the big jerk and he couldn’t stop mocking you for more than five seconds.

 “Come on! Stop being a dick,” you scowled, arousal now tainted with annoyance. He rolled his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his slicked back hair, his laughter dying after a moment.

 “Alright, alright! Explain yourself, woman,” he swept his hands out, metaphorically giving you the floor.

 “Hinata Cash,” you elaborated, expecting the penny to drop. But when he continued to look lost, it slowly dawned on you that he’d never even bothered to learn the guys name. All he’d known was that he was going to do something to hurt you and… that had been enough for him to go on. Your heart thrummed in your chest. “Um, Scissorhands?”

 Much like they had earlier, his eyes darkened, flashing a sudden warning that it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. Unlike earlier though, you ignored it. Answers to your question were just out of reach.

 “Why are you bringing up that motherfucker?” he asked gruffly, then swept past you almost dismissively before you could answer. He disappeared into your kitchen, his back to you. Not the reaction you had been expecting. The heated air had vanished- as had the playfulness he’d exuded moments before. “Way to kill a mood, doll.”

 You suddenly regretted opening your mouth. He hadn’t told you- and if he hadn’t told you, there had been a reason for it.

 “Shit,” you hissed softly to yourself, listening to him stomping around the kitchen behind you.

 You turned and followed him, pathetically useless against the part of you that longed to be near him. Besides, there was no taking it back now and you were burning up with curiosity.

 Why had he killed Cash? Why had he even bothered himself at all?

 Most of all, you wanted- no needed to know.

 Had he done it for you?

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

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

[deathbecomesnerds]

“Girls Night” -- Raymond/Astrid

Just some fluff that I’ve been working on between Raymond and Astrid Smith. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna start posting all the ficlets I’ve done onto my A03 soon so everything is on the same outlet. 

She got comfortable with her third cocktail of the night; Astrid and her brood of friends had left the disco behind and went two doors over to the pub that they’d wanted to try but never got around to.

As they sat around the booth, drinking, Celeste started a game of ‘Truth or Dare’ which Astrid didn’t even know was a ploy to test her drunkenness.

“Astrid, truth or dare?”

Astrid thought for a moment “Truth.”

Celeste smirked “What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done?”

Astrid thought about it, brushing hair away from her face as she did before chuckling to herself “…I licked Peanut Butter off my husband's dick.” She said confidently.

The girls gasped, and Celeste blushed--she didn’t know her friend and boss went that hard when it came to her husband; Celeste immediately turned to the bartender and smiled “Can we get 12 more of those cocktails?” she pointed to the drink in Astrid’s hand.

The others turned back to Astrid, Monica tried to stifle her laugh as she looked at her friend “And...was that something Ray agreed to, or wanted you to do?” she asked.

Astrid laughed out loud “You guys are so perverted,” she said, taking another sip of her drink “He went to this work dinner, and he got back really late and he brought a new jar of Peanut Butter and a spreader with him and said that he was going to lick it off of me--so I said: oh, okay--so you want to play that game tonight? Why don’t I lick Peanut Butter off of you!?” she explained.

“...and?” Celeste asked.

Astrid looked at Celeste “AND...we licked Peanut Butter off of each other all night. I thought we were gonna…” she grinded her hips against the air as she sat “...after awhile, but he said not until we used up the whole jar.” she explained.

They all laughed, and Amanda, who sat next to Astrid, blushed hard.

“It took three and a half hours.” Astrid said.

The girls gasped in shock again--nobody knew what to say as Astrid smirked and took another sip of her cocktail while the waitress came with four more cocktails and rested them on the table before leaving.

Amanda grabbed one and licked her lips, glancing over at Astrid “...what’s Ray like?” she asked.

Astrid glanced at her friend, before seeing the other three nodding in agreement with mentions of ‘seeing’ Ray, but now really knowing who he was. Astrid couldn’t help but let out a smile as she had forgotten the mystery that Ray had to him--since she knew all the facets of the man, she usually thought nothing of his broad and terrifying frame when he would come into the cafe with Mickey.

“He’s a bit of a perfectionist. OCD-borderline, seriously. Not in the cutesy way, but the actual: if I don’t do things this way, then bad things are gonna happen. He’s very giving, and very loving...it’s weird how people assume that I’m just a possession to him.” Astrid explained, finishing her cocktail--Celeste immediately passed her another.

Celeste nodded in agreement “He definitely is obsessed with you in a Gomez Addams sort of way.” she admitted.

Monica grabbed a cocktail “Yeah, he’s definitely scary when he comes in. The thought of seeing him smile makes me nervous.” she admitted.

Celeste snorted “I’ve seen him smile, it’s a trip!”

Astrid just shook her head at her friends and took a sip from her next drink, letting go of the conversation and enjoying her evening when out of nowhere she then lost count of her cocktails and sat with her feet up against the booth they were all sitting at.

Her friends all glanced at each other: time to call Ray.

Celeste watched Astrid giggle while playing with her cocktail straw as Celeste used Astrid’s phone to call Ray, who was referred to as ‘Raymond ❤️’.

As the dial tone rang, she almost didn’t expect an answer when the call was finally picked up and a voice could be heard in the background.

“Hello, my love.” Ray cooed.

Celeste blushed “Oh, this is so awkward. Uh, hey…Ray, it’s Celeste!”

“Is she alright?” His voice changed, the sultry lover going now full protective, and Celeste wasn’t going to lie—she was turned on by it.

Celeste shook her head “Yeah! Of course! She’s just a bit…no, she is completely three sheets to the wind.” She admitted.

“Are you at the club?” He asked, she could hear him moving around.

“No, we are actually at a pub, two doors over. They’re going to close soon, so the bartender keeps giving us the stink eye.” She explained.

Ray gently grunted “Alright, I’ll be there in a bit. Don’t get into trouble.” He said before hanging up.

Celeste blushed again—now she understood completely as she glanced over at Astrid, Monica, and Amanda. This was going to be good.

He must have been around the corner, or possibly even speeding, because in five minutes on the dot—Ray pulled up to the pub. He walked in with swagger and confidence in his Mustard Yellow sweater and a pair of jeans which made all of Astrid’s friends swoon.

“Ray!” Celeste called out, getting his attention.

Ray turned to the table of drunk girls, and Astrid…who was being force fed water as Amanda put a straw to her lips. He sighed heavily as he approached the table.

“How much has she had?” He asked.

The girls looked at each other before Monica sighed “We lost count at 8.” she admitted.

“Oh, Astrid.” he murmured.

Astrid looked up at him and smirked “You remind me a lot of my husband!” She giggled.

“Oh, do I now?” Ray asked, before he motioned for Amanda to get out of the booth so he could retrieve his wife.

He laid a gentle, single hand on Astrid to scoot her to the end of the booth before Astrid got an attitude. “Hey—do you know who the fuck I am??! Get your hands off me!” She slurred, Ray couldn’t help but smirk.

“Star, it’s only me. Relax!” Ray said softly.

She grumbled, slowly getting out of the booth before Ray scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the car “Do you feel like you’re going to vomit at all?” He asked her softly as they left the pub, Astrid shook her head.

“You’re sure?”

Astrid nodded “Yes, Raymond.”

Her friends followed them out and watched the cute scene unfold where Astrid reached out for the drive side door and opened it, while Ray sighed heavily.

“Love, no! We’re not in the states.” Ray said.

Astrid glared at him while he opened up the backseat door “We’re not? Then where the hell are we?” She asked.

Ray chuckled “Don’t worry about it, we’re going home.” He said while maneuvering her into the backseat and buckled her in, stroking her cheek gently before closing the door and glancing at her friends.

“How bad is the tab?” He asked.

Celeste shook her head “Don’t worry, we handled it.” She said before handing Ray Astrid’s clutch.

Ray nodded as he took it “Thanks, Celeste. Goodnight, ladies!” He waved before getting into the car and driving away.

The ladies sighed with relief, getting ready to go back into the pub to grab their things.

“He is so fucking hot.” Monica murmured.

He managed to get her home and carried her inside before Astrid said she was going to throw up and wobbled her way into the downstairs bathroom and luckily made it to the toilet on time.

Ray slowly walked in to see his wife gripping tightly to the porcelain bowl that he was going to have to clean later—but it didn’t matter at this moment as Astrid slid in her heels and fell onto the floor, still gripping the toilet.

“Oh, my love, what are we gonna do with you?” He asked, kneeling down to remove Astrid’s high heels.

Astrid pressed her head against the cold bowl “Wait for the sweet relief of death, probably.” She whined.

Ray chuckled “Maybe,” he muttered to her.

He looked her over, still worse for wear as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “You think you can stand up?” He asked.

She shook her head.

Ray understood, gently picking her up after flushing the toilet and carried her upstairs into their bedroom suite where he immediately sat her down by the toilet “I’ll be right back.” He said, quickly walking out of the bathroom to retrieve a glass of water.

Astrid groaned as she rested her cheek against the toilet seat, knowing that she would probably throw up again, but wasn’t sure when as she waited for Ray to return with a tall glass of water, and a Gatorade.

“Where did you get that?” Astrid muttered with a chuckle.

Ray smiled “I just found it in the back of the fridge--I guess one of us bought it awhile back and forgot about it.” he said as he rested both drinks on the counter and Ray kneeled before sitting next to Astrid “...do you still feel sick, my Star?” he asked her.

She nodded “I’m sorry, Ray.” she muttered.

“Why are you sorry, my love?”

Astrid shrugged “Cause I drank too much and you had to come get me…”

Ray stroked her hair “Nothing to be sorry for. Did you have a good time?” he asked.

Astrid nodded.

“Good.” he smiled at her.

Her face changed again, her pale skin going completely colorless and Ray knew where it was going as he practically leapt forward and pulled back Astrid’s hair from her face as she threw up again. Ray rubbed her back gently as his wife’s face was completely in the toilet before sitting back again and sighed heavily.

“Do you feel better?” he asked her.

She nodded “Yes,” she told him “Can you get the mouthwash?” she asked him.

“Absolutely!” he said cheerfully as he stood up and grabbed his bottle of mouthwash and handed it to Astrid.

He watched as she poured an amount into the cap and shot it before swishing it around in her mouth for a bit and then spitting it into the toilet before slowly starting to stand up with the help of Ray.

The room was spinning as Astrid fell into Ray’s arms and her knees gave out, Ray panicked for a moment as he looked at Astrid.

“Are you going to be sick again?” he asked her.

“I don’t think so,” Astrid admitted.

Ray huffed, scooping up Astrid into his arms and hurried her towards the bed and laid her down “Don’t worry about a thing, my love, I will take care of you.” he said before taking off her glittery top and unbuttoned her pants before peeling them off.

Astrid groaned, feeling the cold air against her skin as she wrapped the comforter around her body and maneuvered her head to her pillow; Ray couldn’t stop himself from smirking as he was planning on dressing her in her pajamas, but it was obvious that the drunk American had other plans.

He quietly walked into the bathroom to retrieve the water and bottle of Gatorade and moved them to her night table, not wanting to disturb her before he looked her over one last time before gently backing out of the bedroom to finish a quick task in his office before returning to bed to be with Astrid.

[mcwriting]

sweet home alabama (1)

Here’s chapter 1!!! I hope you all enjoy!

Story Masterlist

Word Count: 2178

Warnings: Really mild language and mentions of alcohol consumption

∆

“Tom! Tom! Over here, Tom!”

The 23 year old actor tuned out the voices of the paparazzi and ignored lights flashing as he walked up the sidewalk.

For the first time in 5 years, he was finally headed back to where it all began: his tiny hometown in Alabama. With his private charter leaving at noon, Tom had known the paparazzi would be unavoidable, but he was still annoyed by their insistence.

When his team finally made it in the doors, he breathed a sigh of relief, but still felt a turning in his stomach at the thought of returning after all these years.

He hadn’t exactly left everyone on the best of terms.

He chose not to dwell on it though, instead saying a few goodbyes and loading up with his younger brother, Harry, who had been back and forth since his own high school graduation and knew what to expect back home.

One could tell by the way Harry’s accent stuck and Tom’s hadn’t, taking on a more neutral midwest sound to hide his roots. He wasn’t necessarily proud of it, but it sure did keep him from being typecast.

With one last sigh, he turned and waved to his agent and bodyguard, getting a quick glance at the city around him before stepping inside the cabin.

This was going to be interesting.

∆

Y/n took in a deep breath as she dug a spade into the earth, just beneath a cotton plant. 

She was out in the middle of one of the hundreds of rows on this particular farm. The soil she had collected was scooped into a small plastic jar, which she then labelled with the date and location. 

It was the beginning of summer, early June, and already pretty hot. Even though it was starting to become dusk, y/n guessed around 5:30, the stiff jeans and long sleeved button up she wore to protect from any excess pollen, as blooms were beginning to form, made her hot and thirsty. 

She stuck a little dowel with a pink flag tied to it in the hole, filling in the dirt around it so it stood up straight before she got herself up.

When she stood, her unbuttoned shirt allowed some airflow over her tank top, but her back was still wet with sweat. Although her hair was pulled into a bun, the wispies that fell from it also stuck to her neck uncomfortably.

She began the walk back up to her truck, which was parked in the driveway of Melanie’s home, one of her childhood friends. 

As she was organizing the fresh jar with the multiple others in a cardboard flat on the floorboard, Melanie stepped out onto the front porch, leaning over the railing.

“Hey, y/n!” she called. Y/n shut the door and turned around, wiping her brow as she leaned against the old pickup.

“What’s up, Mel?”

“You comin’ to Alan’s tonight? I gotta feeling you’ll want to.”

Y/n furrowed her brow. Alan’s was the town diner where everyone liked to convene on evenings, when it would transform into a bar. Friday nights were especially popular with those in their 20s and 30s. It was predictable who would show up each week, but Melanie’s tone indicated something unexpected was to happen tonight. 

“Oh yeah? And why d’you say that?”

“I won’t spoil anything,” she answered, hands up in mock surrender as she stepped off the porch. “So you in or not?”

“Melanie, it’s a Friday night… I wouldn’t miss it for nothin’,” she replied with a wink, both girls laughing. “I just need to drop this box at the S.H.E.D. and clean up a little. Is 7 good?” 

“I’ll see you then I guess. But don’t do too much work before you come have fun, alright? I need my pool partner to be on her A-game!”

They both laughed again as y/n waved her off, hopping into the cab. As she drove towards home, she couldn’t help but ponder on what Melanie had said.

∆ 

“Aw come on now, y/n! We can’t all be good at math and angles and all that!” Harrison exclaimed, annoyed that she had won yet another round of pool.

“Haz, I don’t know when you’re gonna give up. I’ve beaten you about a hundred times now and I don’t think I’m gonna stop any time soon,” she replied, earning a cheer from the crowd around her. It probably didn’t help him that she wasn’t even buzzed yet.

Once y/n had rinsed off at home, she’d changed into some skinny jeans, boots, and a tight sleeveless top to meet Melanie for dinner in. After dinner, the sun had finally set and the bar was hopping, as usual. Y/n’s friends always packed around the pool table when she went up against someone, especially Harrison. 

Someone went up to a chalkboard nearby, marking another tally by her name in the record for most wins so far in the year. Harrison had the next highest number, which was still 15 behind her.

It was all in good jest, though, as the close friends clinked beer bottles and drank to officially finish the game. 

Just down the street, Tom and his younger twin brothers, who’d somewhat recently turned 21, walked towards Alan’s. 

“Man, the last time I was in here I was swiping a couple beers for me and…” he trailed. The happy memory ended when he remembered who it was with.

“Yeah well now we’re all legal,” Sam cut in. “And you’d be surprised at who you see around these parts.” He stepped forward and opened the door for his brothers, allowing Tom to step inside first.

Y/n, Harrison, and Melanie were laughing and talking when the usual bar chatter got louder, with a few “he’s back!” and “welcome home!” shouts ringing out. 

Her friends were facing the door with eyes wide, already knowing that Tom was coming, but unprepared to see what might go down when y/n realized it.

“What the hell has gotten into you two?” she jokingly asked, but her face fell serious when the pair pointed their heads to the door and raised their brows.

When she turned around and saw his face, it was like the world stopped.

∆

The whole “we’re gonna be in love and get married” thing had worn off by the time y/n and Tom got to middle school, but they still remained closer than ever, trying to fight the new territories that came with puberty.

There was a few months’ period when the two couldn’t handle the emotions that came with growing up (and being best friends with the opposite sex), but eventually they came around and chalked any “crush” feelings up to hormones.

Who would have guessed the feelings would stick?

But it takes a long time to figure that kind of stuff out. 

Instead, they began the journey of exploring what it meant to grow up with other people; new friendships and school crushes forming, awkward dances and learning what it meant to have a real “boy-girl party.”

Y/n and Tom had thought it would be just like any other hang out that they liked to have, just with more people. 

Playing 7 minutes in heaven at a friend’s barn changed that. 

They both acted disgusted at the idea of being shoved in a closet full of horse tack to make out, but curiosity got the best of them and they ended up being each others’ first kiss. It was only a peck, but neither could stop blushing until they got home. 

It wasn’t the beginning of a story, but it definitely wasn’t the end either.

And this was only one of the hundreds of memories flashing through y/n’s head as she looked at her former best friend across the bar.

∆

Y/n gulped heavily, staring at the actor who had come in through the door. 

“What is he doing here?” she asked quietly, looking between her two closest friends. They averted their eyes. “Y’all knew he was coming, didn’t you? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“We didn’t want you to skip coming tonight. It’s been five years, y/n. Maybe he’s changed?” Melanie replied gently.

“Well he’s definitely changed,” y/n added as she looked him up and down, her tone indicating a different kind of change than Melanie had implied.

Tom was looking around waving as everyone greeted him, Harrison brushing past y/n to greet his childhood pal and blocking Tom’s view from her. 

“Thank you, guys. You all didn’t have to do all this!” Tom said, everyone noticeably taken aback by his accent. Sure they’d heard him in movies, but not many people in town knew he had officially dropped his southern twang. He also wore skinny jeans, an expensive brand-name tee, and most noticeably, tennis shoes rather than boots. 

Y/n leaned back on the pool table’s edge and swigged on her beer, trying (and failing) not to roll her eyes.

“Oh Lord, he thinks this is a welcome home party. There’re more people here last week than tonight,” y/n commented, causing Melanie to elbow her and laugh.

“Don’t talk too loud, now,” she giggled. 

Tom hugged Harrison excitedly. He had flown the guy out to a couple premieres, but now it had been over a year since the pair had seen each other. When they separated, Harrison slung an arm over Tom’s shoulder, motioning his hand around the bar.

“Miss this place?” he asked as Tom scanned the room.

Tom couldn’t answer straight away as his eyes suddenly met y/n’s. His face lit up and he smiled, y/n offering back an awkward grin and wave, turning around to answer something Melanie said.

“Uh. Yeah, you bet I did,” he finally said, eyes still trained on y/n. 

“Just go talk to her,” Harrison said, knowing exactly what Tom was thinking as he pushed the actor forward a bit. 

After straightening out from Haz’s shove, Tom came up to y/n.

Melanie was mid conversation with y/n when she saw Harrison’s move.

“He’s comin’ this way,” she warned y/n, who took one last deep breath, rolled her eyes, then plastered on a smile before turning around.

Tom was taken aback when y/n turned to face him, a warm smile on her face. 

“Uh… h- hey,” he said apprehensively. “Funny seeing you here.” 

“Hey, where else would I be on a Friday night?” she asked smoothly, chuckling. “Sooo… how’ve you been? You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself these days.”

“Yeah, yeah I have been. And what about you? What have you done for the past 5 years? I never hear anything anymore.”

Probably because you don’t care to look y/n thought.

“Oh, well. You know. Finished college last year. Been workin’ ‘round the farms in town. Pretty boring stuff, I’m sure.”

Tom nodded, eyebrows raised. Y/n could see right through his feigned interest. She always could read him like a book. 

“So what are you doing back here?” she asked him after a pause.

“You haven’t heard? I got cast in a role about farming so what better way to get into the role than to come do it for real at home!?” Tom answered excitedly.

“Oh, I see. That’s great. You gonna drive your granddad’s cattle or collect eggs or something?”

Tom’s parents had never been farmers in his lifetime, his dad owning the local town grocery store and mom running a clothes boutique across the street. There were other places to buy goods, too, if you wanted to make the 45 minute drive to the nearest Walmart, of course. 

Y/n’s, on the other hand, were. They raised livestock in conjunction with her mom’s parents and siblings, something that ran in the family and would one day be passed on to her cousins.

“I might help him out some, but my brothers have a lot of that handled. Maybe Haz’s fam will let me do some work on the peanut farm.”

“Doin’ what? They just planted a couple weeks ago, Harrison ‘n Charlotte just finished spreading straw, and harvest ain’t till September at the earliest. There’s nothing you could do.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. 

“Oh. What about cotton?”

“If you’re lookin’ to work cotton, blooms are startin’ to form and it’s lookin like we might have an early harvest in August this year. I’m sure daddy would love some extra hands to water everything while I’m at work,” Melanie piped up. Y/n looked at her smug smile with wide eyes.

“Really? You’d do that for me? Thanks Mel. That’d be amazing. I’ll even work for free.”

“Well if you’re gonna work for free then I don’t even gotta ask him. You’re hired! We’ll see you bright Monday mornin’?” she asked, getting an affirmation in reply. 

“You know, it was nice talking to you guys but I should probably visit with some other people,” Tom started to say, then turned directly to y/n. “Hey we ‘oughta catch up some time. Whaddya say?”

Y/n gave another tight-lipped grin and nodded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Once he stepped away towards the guys again, y/n let out a deep sigh and turned her back to him again, looking at Melanie.

“What was that! You know I’m still in the middle of research at your farm!”

“Look, he needed a job, I gave him one. Hell, he’ll probably quit after an hour of hard labor and gettin dirt on his precious little hands,” she laughed, causing y/n to crack a smile. “And what was that smile you had on your face, huh? I thought you hated him still.”

“Oh believe me I do. Can’t no one say Tom’s the only actor to come out of this town,” y/n said, causing both girls to laugh as they went back to their drinks.

∆

A/N: ahhhh here’s ch 1! Posted a little later in the day than I was hoping but I’m glad I got it out there! Hope you all enjoy!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, @mortallythoughtfulgurl, @onebigolemess, @justafangirlduh

[curiousconstellations]

The Price of a Bean and the Cost of Love

Summary: With no clue how to defeat a villain the town can’t remember, Hook and Emma venture to the Enchanted Forest to retrieve some magical items from the Evil Queen’s castle. Along the way, they rediscover the connection they shared before they were separated by worlds a year ago. 3B canon divergence, Rated T, 8k, also on AO3 here

A/N: Happy Holidays @phiralovesloki​ I’m your CS Secret Santa! I hope this little fic will bring you some cheer to this wild year :) Honestly I had so many ideas after revisiting season 3 that I’m definitely down to write more S3 renaissance/divergence fics from now on!

Thank you @cssecretsanta2020​ for another great event!

-/-

The more frequently they host these hushed conversations by the fireplace, the more Emma grows to despise the décor of Granny’s B&B, however cozy it may be. It’s difficult to keep Henry safe whilst also keeping him away from these discussions of the Enchanted Forest and curses and magic, so the common area of the B&B is the best option when she knows he is tucked away asleep upstairs.

Her parents and Regina are going back and forth at each other while Hook stands by the fire, raising an eyebrow every time Regina fires an insult or her mother shoots down Regina’s suggestions with judgement.

“Well, even if we could figure out who did this, they’ve done a spectacular job of making sure I can’t fight back by stripping my entire vault of anything magical that could help. I bet it’s all just sitting back at the castle, wilting away like this damn town will under this curse.” Regina bites out angrily.

They all silently reflect on her words and Emma can’t help but wish she were back in New York right now. At least then her issues would be about prying Henry away from his video games long enough to sleep and do homework, not trying to protect him from some unknown fairy tale villain who had cursed their family and friends and was turning people into flying monkeys. God, what is her life?

“What if we could retrieve some things from your castle?” Hook asks, everyone swinging their heads up to look at him curiously.

“What the hell do you mean, pirate?” Regina demands. Hook sighs and pinches his nose; a gesture Emma finds herself sympathizing with when dealing with Regina.

“I mean that I have a way of returning to the Enchanted Forest. I can use it to fetch your magical goods and then you can do your thing with your little bottles and jars and we can resolve all of this.”

“And how exactly do you have a way of getting back there?” David asks suspiciously. Hook fishes in his jacket pocket and reveals a magic bean, rolling it between his fingers slowly.

“I procured two beans, the first I used to get to Emma in New York. The second, well let’s just say I had it saved for a rainy day. Now, this cursed business is really only a slight drizzle for me, but if it will help, the offer stands.” The offer had mostly been made to Regina, but Emma finds Hook’s gaze on her. She’s pretty sure he was not offering this bean for Regina’s sake.

“Well, I don’t trust you to go alone.” Regina shrugs. Hooks rolls his eyes upward in frustration and Emma’s lips twitch a little. The man is not particularly good at hiding his emotions.

“I’ll go too.”

Her words are met with immediate disagreement from her parents, but she patiently waits for them to finish their complaints before speaking.

“Look, you’re all cursed. As far as we know, you can’t leave town let alone jump through a portal. Hook and I are the only people not affected by the curse. He brought me here to help, so this is something I can help with. I’m the saviour after all.” Emma sighs, glaring at her parents until they surrender.

“Is this even necessary? Regina, I’m sure you can cope without your things for now. We can find another way to figure out who cast the curse and defend ourselves if need be.” Snow says firmly, David backing her up with an affirmative nod and a squeeze of her shoulder.

“Isn’t it better to have and not need, than need and not have?” Hook interjects.

“See? The pirate gets it. He’s willing to give up a bean for this. What would the town say if they find out their royal highnesses didn’t do everything they could to protect them?” Regina says smugly.

“Look, guys, enough. Hook and I will go get Regina’s magical crap from the castle, end of discussion. I don’t like not having all the tools possible to face who or whatever this is.”

“Thank you, Miss Swan.” Regina says, her tone indicating it was more of a dig at her parents than actual gratitude.

“Fine. But how will you get back? You only have one bean.” David asks. Emma looks to Hook for answers, considering this was his plan to begin with. He catches her eye and clears his throat with an awkward scratch of his ear.

“I can get another bean from the same seller. I know where he is.” Emma knows he’s hiding something, and she plans on pushing him on it later, but for now she lets it slide.

“Well, how do you know that he has more, or that you can get one from him? It’s a bit of a precarious plan, especially now my daughter is coming.” David replies roughly.

“I trust that Hook will get us back, okay. We should probably get going soon and I want to say goodbye to Henry first. I know you’ll all take care of him, but he’ll think I’m leaving him with strangers, and I don’t want him to worry.” Emma heads upstairs before more disagreements break out, exhaling with relief at the tiny amount of peace the dark, quiet hallway provides.

She wakes Henry to explain that she needs to go somewhere else for work, but she will be back in no time. He’s sleepy and confused, but he smiles when she says he will be treated to all the ice cream from the mayor he wants and some lovely meals from her friends (yes, the one that was apparently her cellmate). Emma hugs him tightly and says goodnight once again, watching over him for a moment before turning off the light and closing the door.

“You don’t have to come along, Swan.” Hook says softly from behind her as he exits his own room.

“And let you have all the fun trashing Regina’s castle? I don’t think so.” She scoffs. They share a brief look, and, in this moment, she is particularly grateful for this uncanny ability they seemed to have developed of understanding each other with a single glance. It’s simultaneously terrifying and comforting to know Hook can read her so well.

Emma says goodbye to her parents while Hook gets strict rules from Regina about what to do in her castle and he looks like he’d rather switch places with her and be hugging David right now. She’s hoping they will be back pretty soon but and she’s putting all her faith in Hook’s suspiciously vague plan to get them another bean home, but her trust in him grows each time he does something selfless, chipping away at her suspicions with his surprising decency and kindness.

They head out the back behind the B&B, the frosty air nipping at her skin as she shivers. Hook’s breath comes out in clouds when he offers her one last chance to back out, but Emma simply shakes her head, and he tosses the bean on the grass. The portal swirls in front of them and a second later they’re jumping through in a dizzy haze of flashing lights and crackling sounds.

With a rough landing in between some trees and a distinct shift in the atmosphere, Emma knew they had made it to the Enchanted Forest. Well, running back to New York wasn’t exactly an option anymore.

-/-

“I walked around the Enchanted Forest in my normal clothes last time, I don’t see why it’s an issue now.” Emma grumbles, fighting with the heavy material of the skirt they had nabbed from a clothing line. Hook had already explained it to her, but he indulges her complaints nevertheless.

“We don’t know what or who has been left here after the curse. Looking like you’re from another world is a sure-fire way to gain attention, and we want to get in and back as soon as possible, right lass?” He smirks at her grumbled response as they continue down the path in the forest, squinting at the peak of the castle ahead of them. They had been walking for some time; unfortunately, the bean did not let him pick an arrival spot closer to the castle. He had thought that perhaps this time alone with Emma would be pleasant, perhaps even a time for them to reconnect after being separated for a year, but so far Emma appears to be preoccupied with her own thoughts.

“Did you miss going on adventures with me while you were in New York?” He asks teasingly, glancing over at Emma as she scoffs.

“You bet. The Big Apple had nothing on trekking through trees and beanstalks in strange lands with a pirate.” She replies humorously.

“The Big Apple?”

“It’s a nickname for New York.”

“Your land never ceases to confuse me, Swan.”

“Yeah, well, staying in New York would have meant not having to deal with the confusion of curses and villains.” He can sense the shift in Emma’s attitude with her bitter words and he sighs.

“So, you would have preferred it if I had left you alone in your new life.”  

“I’m glad you came and gave me my memories back, but you have to understand how hard it’s been for me leaving that life of blissful ignorance to the existence of…all of this.” Emma waves her hands around, gesturing at the land they’re in.

“You act like knowing of the existence of magic and fairy tales is a burden. But don’t you ever think about what it has to offer, what it’s already given you?”

“When magic was the entire reason for me growing up alone? For my parents being cursed twice now? For Neal’s crappy childhood and Regina killing a bunch of people and countless other shitty things? Sorry, I’m just a little preoccupied dealing with all of that that see the beauty in it.” Emma speeds up her steps and Hook strides to match her pace. She’s clearly jaded, and she has every right to be, but he feels like he should be doing more to reason with her. He suspects that her dismissal of magic and this world will cause a chasm soon enough, pulling her further away and back into the noisy streets of the city she seems to love so much.

They continue along the path in relative silence, jumping into the trees when they hear the odd carriage or footsteps ahead as a precaution to avoid potential foes or having to explain who they are. Hook can feel the air cooling as the day progresses and he’s concerned about the few hours of daylight they have left. He hadn’t thought that they could achieve everything in a single day, but Emma’s cold demeanor had put him off broaching the topic of resting come nightfall.

The castle soon becomes visible as the trees thin and the path becomes wider. Hook is surprised that no one is around. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he had wondered if some strays left behind from the curse would ransack it or something. From appearances, it had been left alone, which was a good sign for collecting all of the necessary items Regina requested.

“The way Regina talked about this place I thought it would be beautiful, but honestly it’s kind of ugly.” Emma comments, making eye contact with him for the first time in over an hour. He smirks, nodding in agreement and pleased they can at least mock the architecture together.

“Aye, her taste is indeed questionable.”

“It’s weird to think my grandparents lived here, that my mom grew up here. I feel so disconnected from all of this.” Emma admits as they walk up the stairs to the main entrance. It’s so eerily quiet that Hook is reminded of the curse that hit everyone here, snatching them away to the land without magic. Their trek to the castle and his concerns of Emma’s longing for her old life had almost made him forget why they were here in the first place.

“Perhaps that is something you could discuss with your mother. Maybe hearing stories of her childhood and your grandparents will help you appreciate this part of your life more.”

“So that I won’t want to go back to New York you mean?” Emma asks flatly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that, like you said, you are disconnected from your history here, and maybe understanding it more will help you better accept magic being in your life.” Hook shrugs, trying to pass it off as nonchalant. Emma hums suspiciously and he realizes he really has no ability to pretend anything other than the truth with her.

“And perhaps I don’t want to say goodbye again.” He adds boldly. Since Emma regained her memories, he’s been dancing around his feelings for her, prioritizing her return to town and figuring out the business of this new curse. After all, she was juggling her cursed parents and her son’s own sheltered memories, she hardly needed him making things more difficult.

“There is a lot of New York you haven’t seen yet. There’s more to the city than the inside of a jail cell.” She jokes, giving him a lopsided smile. They’ve reached the main entrance now, the doors grand and intimidating in their aggressive spikes and bolts as deterrents. Hook pulls on the large handle, the door creaking loudly in the otherwise quiet entrance. The immediate hall inside is empty, no guards or thieves in sight, and they step in apprehensively.

“Are you suggesting I should come to the city with you, if you were to return?” He asks as Emma glances around in wonder.

“Well, I-” She starts, but she suddenly stops and slams into him, knocking them both to the floor as streaks of fire blaze above them. The fire singes the floor right where they had stood, fizzling out after scorching most of the entranceway. Hook looks around frantically, not seeing anyone around to cause balls of fire to hurdle at them. Emma’s heavy skirts and cloak are draped over him, her hair tickling his face as she moves off him with a groan.

“I’m sorry, it just came out of nowhere and I reacted.” She sits up awkwardly, looking around to see if any more fire could come their way as she shifts her cloak back over her bodice correctly and puffing out her now red cheeks.

“No worries, lass. I’m impressed by your quick reaction.” Hook replies as he stands, offering her his hand to help her up.

“I deal with some shifty people at work, I’ve got to be fast.” Emma shrugs. He delicately moves a curl of her hair back in place, catching her eyes as he does so. It’s the softest she’s looked since he found her in New York, a look he hadn’t seen since they said goodbye at the town line a year ago. It lasts only a moment before she looks away, but he’ll hold onto it as a sign that whatever formed between them in the cruel humidity of Neverland still lingered in her soul.

They cautiously proceed through the castle towards Regina’s tower, both on the lookout for other apparent protection spells that were still in effect. He wondered if they would find some hint of what happened before the curse, but everything seemed normal, at least for the castle of the Evil Queen. Once they find her room, they quickly grab bottles and books and trinkets from the vanity, tossing them into a sack he had in his pocket.

“Regina said she has a room where she keeps more things, but it’s sealed with blood magic so this will have to suffice.” Hook tells Emma as she sniffs one of the bottles and grimaces.

“And no doubt she will blame us if this stuff isn’t what she needs.” Emma scoffs. The setting sun reflects off the vanity mirror and Emma’s hair shines in the hazy orange glow. He admires her for a moment before stepping away to stand at the balcony, looking out the stretch of land ahead and the pastel colours of the sunset. Emma soon joins him, and they stand together and watch the changing colours of the sky in silence.

“I don’t know how Regina could stand here and see something so beautiful out there and want to retreat into this cold, dark palace.” Emma says quietly.

“Maybe she was scared of the potential life outside of this, so she retreated to something familiar.” He replies, glancing over at Emma to see his meaning was not lost on her by the way she shakes her head. He thinks she’s ready to launch into another defence of her wanting to go back to New York, but she doesn’t say anything. To his surprise, she shuffles closer and rests her head on his shoulder. They stay like that for a while, until a chill settles over them and Emma sighs wistfully.

“So where is this bean seller?” She asks, pulling her cloak around herself with a shiver.

“He should be down by the water. But we should rest for the night. It’s a bit of a walk to the port, even longer and more hazardous in the dark.” Hook replies, his stomach sinking at the thought of the next part of their quest.

“Okay, but I don’t want to stay here. I’m sure the beds in the guest rooms are nice but this place freaks me out. Is there an inn or something close by? Preferably somewhere we could find some kind of food.” Emma laughs lightly when her stomach rumbles mid-sentence.

“Aye, there’s a tavern in a village close by, if we leave now, perhaps we can make it by the light that’s left of the day. I have no idea if anyone will be there, but there may be something left behind we could salvage to eat.” Hook grabs the sack of magical items and swings it over his shoulder, ushering Emma ahead as they quickly descend from the tower.

He keeps close to Emma as they walk in the dusky light, glancing ahead as the individual trees of the forest become indiscernible and form an ominous tunnel of darkness.

“Why did you have two beans?” Emma asks, her voice breaking the quietness of the night.

“Well, why not?” He evades with a cheeky tone.

“You said you were saving it for a rainy day. I get being prepared for the worst, but it seemed like you had a specific purpose for it.” Hook thinks for a moment, deciding whether or not to tell the truth. He thinks of her head on his shoulder earlier and the way it felt so simple and easy to stand by her side in peace.

“I got a second one in case you wanted me to leave.”

“Leave?” Emma asks incredulously.

“You had a life in Storybrooke with the town and your family, and then again in New York with your boy. I came to bring you back to them, but I never had a place in that life of yours. I have stayed for the possibility that I could, but if you wished that I didn’t, I would return here and never burden you again.” Hook tugs on the sack awkwardly as they walk, almost wishing he could see her face but also relieved to be shielded by the darkness.

Emma is quiet, and the longer she doesn’t speak, the more anxious he becomes. She could easily turn around right now and tell him she does want him to leave her life, and the thought makes his chest ache.

“You’re not a burden, Hook.” She says quietly. He takes that as the smallest of victories and relaxes a little. He thinks she’s about to say more when she suddenly trips, slipping onto the ground with a painful groan.

“Swan!” He tosses the sack down and kneels beside her, widening his eyes in the dark as if that would help him see better.

“I think I hit my…” Emma mumbles. Hook gently touches her face, feeling blood already forming at the cut at her temple. He kicks around and feels a rock on the path just as Emma turns on the ground and retches.

“Concussion.” She mutters, slumping against his chest.

“Aye, that was a nasty hit to the side of your head, lass.” He says softly as he brushes her hair away from the cut. She’s in no state to continue walking, but there’s no way they can stop here for the night; she’ll certainly need food and water to ease her discomfort. He reaches for the sack and loops the string over his hook before scooping her up in his arms, much to her disoriented chagrin.

“Down, I’ve had this loads before.”

“Doesn’t matter how often this happens to you, Swan. I’m not having you wander about in the dark in this state. You’ll end up knocking me out too with your stumbling.” He teases lightly. She grumbles something unintelligible, but he takes her burrowing herself against him as resignation. Hook watches her close her eyes and furrow her brows and he hopes he can reach that damn tavern soon.

-/-

 A wave of nausea hits Emma when she opens her eyes, the image of the room feeling like a puzzle her brain is too slow to piece together. A candle flickers on the other side of the room, the dancing flame making her unsteady vision worse. She slides up the bed she lays in, wincing in discomfort. Looking around the room at the simple décor, she assumes this is the tavern. To her left is another single bed, the sack of Regina’s things sitting on top along with Hook’s jacket. There is a cup and a pitcher of water on the small table in the middle of the beds and she clumsily pours some and takes a slow drink, her dry lips and throat relieved to feel the liquid.

She tentatively reaches up to touch her head, feeling a small bandage across the cut on her temple, her hair damp from what she hopes is the water used to clean the wound and not blood. The door creaks open and Emma is relieved to see Hook.

“Ah good, you’re awake.” He says softly. She notices the plate he’s carrying and practically salivates at the thought of food, but he puts it down on the table and stands beside her bed, gently lifting her chin up with his fingers.

“Your eyes look alert, I’m sure some colour will come back to your cheeks once you’ve eaten.” His fingers are warm against her skin and she feels cold as soon as his hand slips away.

“I was able to bring up some cheese and a small amount of bread, but Sylvia won’t allow any hot food in the rooms. If you are feeling well enough, we can go down a bit later for something more.” Hook explains as he passes her the plate of the ration sized portions of bread and cheese.

“Sylvia?” She asks before tucking in, happy to have a least something to put in her stomach.

“The owner of the tavern. Turns out, the curse left a few people from different villages all over. A lot of them gathered here after the curse hit and made their own sort of village. It’s a lively little place.”

“Does anyone know what happened?”

“Not in any great detail. Some were outside of the boundaries and saw it descend, but they didn’t know why. They said it was a green fog that seemed to appear from Regina’s castle. They’ve all been too scared to go there in case its dangerous, but no one knows who cast it or why.” Hook sits down on the other bed and slides out the flask from his jacket pocket. She watches him take a drink and longs for the pleasantly warm feeling of his rum.

“Have you eaten yet?” She asks, swallowing the last of the bread guiltily.

“I had some bread and cheese downstairs.”

“We should go get some warm food now. I’m still hungry and I bet you are too.” Emma says firmly as she moves off of the bed. Hook jumps up to stop her, his hand gently holding on to her shoulder like she’s going to break.

“Are you well enough?”

“Hook, I’m fine. It was a concussion; I’ve gotten them plenty of times when a skip is rough on the run and I still catch them every time.”

“Aye, but head injuries can be fatal. Just because you feel fine doesn’t mean you are.” He replies with concern. She rolls her eyes and tugs on his arm as she feels her stomach grumble in desire of more food, pulling him towards the door.

“And if I faint it could easily be from hunger. Come on.”

Hook leads the way down the stairs to the common area of the tavern, the old place dimly lit with candles scattered about, leaving pools of melted wax around them. Emma hears the buzz of chatter from the front room and is surprised to see so many people here. Hook ushers her to the table closest to the fire that was fortunately free and she hums in appreciation at the warmth. She sees him gesture to the woman behind the bar she assumes is Sylvia, who gives her a once over and smiles before leaving through the door behind her.

“The food will be here shortly, Swan.” Hook reassures her as he sits down on the bench beside her. They both soak in the heat of the fire eagerly, Hook holding out his hand in front of the flames for warmth. Emma subtly looks over him, noticing his tired eyes in the gleam of the fire and his tense shoulders. They hadn’t been able to see the light from the tavern before she hit her head, so she assumes they had still been a fair distance from it, which meant that he had walked all that way with her in his arms in the dark. He must have also tended to her wound and made sure she had a soft place to lie down when they got here.

“Hey, um, thanks for making sure I was okay.” She says awkwardly, reaching out to give his arm a squeeze. He seems surprised by her gesture, raising an eyebrow and quickly looking back at the fire.

“Of course, love.”

“And you’re not some stray dog I’m going to get rid of by the way. You’ve helped me and my family out a lot. I said that you could be part of something, and I meant it.” Emma speaks quietly, aware that they had attracted some attention from the other patrons when they came down. Hook nods and puts his hand over hers on his arm with a soft smile.

“Some warm stew for the lovebirds.” Sylvia says loudly as she comes towards them with two steaming bowls and some water. Emma gives Hook a questioning look, but he responds with his own vague expression that tells her to play along. They thank Sylvia and tuck in, Emma too grateful for the warm bowl of food to even care what’s in it. Her body instantly relaxes at the taste of food and she practically inhales the whole bowl, realizing the last warm meal she ate back in Storybrooke felt like days ago. Hook grins at her and asks Sylvia for seconds for both of them. Four bowls of stew later they turn back to the fire, feeling full, warm, and surprisingly relaxed.

“Lovebirds?” Emma murmurs to him, knocking his shoulder with her own teasingly.

“I told her you are my wife. I thought it the easiest way to explain a passed-out woman in my arms that I needed to stay with.” Hook explains sheepishly.

“I’m surprised she gave us a room with two beds then.” She scoffs.

“It was the last room left.” Hook says humorously. Emma hums in understanding but starts gnawing on her lip at the fact that a mild swell of disappointment fills her chest. She hadn’t given much thought to their sleeping arrangements beyond finding a bed outside of Regina’s castle to lie on for the night, but now that they have a room with beds of their own, she thinks about what it might have been like had there only been one. It’s ridiculous and she puts it down to the overwhelming craziness of the past few days making her yearn for some comfort and that is it.

“Disappointed, Swan?” Hook smirks, flashing her the smoldering gaze that obviously gets him a lot of attention.

“Please.” She rolls her eyes; glad her cheeks were already flushed by the fire. The heat of the fire and the tension simmering between them brings her right back to Neverland and she licks her lips at the thought of their kiss. Emma finds herself feeling the same desire to throw caution to the wind and kiss him again. It seems fitting that they are in another world again and away from her home that she can lock these moments away in the compartments of her mind that separate reality and these fantasy experiences.

Loud cheering from across the room breaks the intense gaze between them. Emma exhales and takes a drink of water, watching the group of men begin to play music. They tease each other about their singing voices as they start a song off-key, a couple of the rowdier ones getting up to dance with no coordination. The other patrons clap and cheer them on, some of them joining in with the dancing.

“Go on loves, join in!” Sylvia encourages them with a wink as she clears away their bowls. Hook grins wickedly, taking great pleasure in the way she groans with dread.

“Nope. You can’t get me up there, I have no idea what this jig type thing even is.” She says firmly, watching a couple shake their legs in strange ways as they twirl around.

“Then it’s a good thing you have a partner who knows what he’s doing.” She can’t help but stare wide eyed at Hook as he stands up, offering with his hand with a warm smile. With a wince, she puts her hand in his and lets him lead her to the middle of the room, holding on to him as he positions them for the dance.

“Remember I have a damn concussion, Hook.” Emma grumbles, breathing in sharply when he brings her closer to his chest.

“I’ll go easy on you, love.” He whispers in her ear as his stubble grazes her cheek. He guides her through some basic moves, and she feels laughter bubble up in her chest at the absurdity of the situation. They manage to jump and twist in time to the music a few times, both of them laughing at her lack of coordination despite him practically leading each of her body parts that needed to move. Emma finds herself enjoying it, giggling happily when she eventually starts to pick it up. When the music begins to pick up in tempo she sways into Hook, feeling a little overwhelmed by the fast movements. He responds by holding her waist and tucking her against his shoulder as they sway slightly. They’re no longer moving to the music, but she finds that she doesn’t care that they’re swaying slowly near the rowdy crowd still skipping about.

“How do you know how to dance like that?” Emma murmurs close to his ear.

“The crew and I would frequent taverns like this and picked it up. We even danced on the Jolly some nights, especially in the summer when the air was warm and smelled sweet.” She hears the sadness in his voice, and she realizes she doesn’t know what happened to Hook during the missing year or where his ship was.

“What happened to the Jolly?”

“An illustrious bean seller has her.” Hook says quietly, and Emma leans back to look at him. She searches his eyes, and it dawns on her what he means.

“You traded your ship for me?”

“Aye.”

She’s overwhelmed by this revelation and for the first time stops overthinking and just reacts, her lips finding his with relief. It feels warm and comforting to be in his embrace, and for the first time since leaving New York, she truly feels the spark of her old life reignited. It’s then when she feels the stir of passion and peace swell inside her a wave of exhaustion hits her and she sinks into him weakly.

“As much as I love a woman swooning at my feet Swan, you need to rest now.” Hook teases, kissing her forehead gently. They leave the boisterous fun of the tavern for the quiet chill of their room for the night and Emma practically collapses into bed, her limbs screaming out for rest. She’s already slipping into sleep when she feels Hook kiss her cheek and she dozes off to the burn of desire from the high of their kiss.

-/-

Hook wakes up to a pressure against his right side, twitching his nose at the tickle of hair. It takes him a moment to adjust to the dim light of early morning before realizing it’s Emma, pressed against him and deeply asleep still. She must have climbed into his bed at some point in the night, but he has no memory of being stirred in his sleep (he most certainly would have remembered Emma Swan coming into his bed).

The beds were small and certainly not made for two people, but he’s far from mad to have her body against his in the morning. Their kiss last night had been unexpected to say the least. Hook had been well aware that the truth of his ship’s whereabouts would come to light at some point given that they needed to find the man who had it, but he thought perhaps Emma wouldn’t realize what exactly had transpired. For the sake of their relationship, he was glad she had seemed to know the gravity of it. Hook stays in bed for a while, holding Emma as she sleeps. He dozes in and out until she begins waking up.

“Morning, Swan.” He says warmly, watching as she frowns and takes in her surroundings.

“Um, hi. I’m sorry, I was freezing.” She says all flustered, wriggling out of bed quickly.

“No worries, I was too.” Emma nods apprehensively at him, rubbing her eyes sleepily. They awkwardly dance around each other as they splash water on their faces and shrug on their cloak and jacket, ready to leave as Hook hoists up the sack. Sylvia convinces them to grab breakfast before they leave, shoving bread rolls in their hands as they head out. The port isn’t too far, but it’s another decent walk there and he’s grateful for the sustenance.

This walk feels more comfortable between them than the one to the castle and despite the awkwardness after waking up, Emma seems more relaxed now. He teases her about watching out for rocks on the path, laughing when she playfully shoves him into the grass. He feels these moments from Emma are rare, so he cherishes the sound of her laugh and the curve of her smile. They hadn’t broached the topic of New York again, and Hook thinks it best to leave it until they return to Storybrooke. Perhaps their little quest will help defeat this new foe quickly and Emma can appreciate her exposure to the magical world. Or perhaps she will decide to still go, but he can go with her. The noisy, busy streets of her city would be bearable if it meant still having her in his life.

The brilliant blue of the water rests ahead and before long he recognizes the Jolly, his heart sinking at the thought of his home belonging to another. He had wondered if he would ever see it again, which may have been the less painful scenario than seeing another captain at the helm.

“I’ll do the bargaining, lass. This is personal between Blackbeard and I, so it’s best you stay back.” Hook warns Emma as they reach the ship, still glorious and majestic in comparison to the other ships around her.

“I can hold my own, Hook. This is my bargain too, is it not?” Emma retorts. He shakes his head, wishing she hadn’t taken his words as a dismissal of her strength.

“Aye, but Blackbeard is cruel. If he sees how important this is to you, he will do something vindictive. And quite honestly, I’m concerned he will hurt you if he knows how much you mean to me.” Emma opens and closes her mouth but doesn’t seem to find the words to respond and simply nods.

She hangs back while he walks up the ramp and onto the ship, surveying the small changes made here and there. He did not see a familiar face in the crew, but most of his had been loyal and left when he did, some finding other crews to join and others venturing off elsewhere.

“Hook, as I live and breathe! I did not expect to see your sorry soul standing on this ship ever again.” Blackbeard bellows, an arrogant smile on his face.

“I’m in need of another bean.” Hook says curtly.

“You blew through the two I gave you already? What the hell are you playing at, mate?”

“Do you have another or not?”

“Aye, but the cost…do you even have anything of value left to trade?” Blackbeard inspects him, his eyes landing on the sack of Regina’s things. Hook tosses it to him, watching him catch it with intrigue.

“Take your pick.”

Blackbeard rifles through and snorts obnoxiously.

“Trinkets? Jars? What fool do you take me for? You must be desperate coming to me with this junk in search of a bean. Why do want one so badly?” Blackbeard stares intensely waiting for him to crack. Hook matches his gaze silently, but he sees Blackbeard’s eyes wander to the harbour and with a sinking feeling, Hook knows by the grin on his face that he has seen Emma.

“A woman, of course. The very same woman you needed the first bean for perhaps? She’s a beauty, that’s for sure. Well, in that case, what is she worth to you?” He challenges, smug that he has Hook in such a position.

“Name your price.” Hook grits out.

“Oh, you love her. In that case…your life of servitude for a bean. She gets the bean; I own your soul.”

Hook feels the colour drain from his face. This had been a risky plan all along, but such a bargain was so painfully steep he was taken aback. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been considering he truly does not have anything else to offer beyond his own life. But this was his plan, and he would be damned if Emma suffered because of it.

“Fine. Deal. But I get to give her the bean myself and say goodbye.” Hook says wistfully. Blackbeard actually looks surprised for a moment, but he shrugs and gives Hook the precious bean from a little pouch in his pocket, along with the sack of Regina’s apparently worthless items. He heads back to Emma, trying to keep a neutral face but struggling.

“So, you got it, right? What was the trade?”

“Here it is, Swan. Take it. You’ll be home in no time.” He evades as he curls the bean into her hand, clicking his tongue when Emma glares at him.

“Hook, what did you do to get it?”

“I’ll remain here and work for Blackbeard.”

“Okay…for how long?”

“The rest of my life I suppose.”

“No. Absolutely not, we can find another way to get back.” Emma shakes her head vehemently.

“The town needs you too much. We don’t know what has transpired while we’ve been gone, and you need to get Regina her things and be with your boy.” Hook says softly.

“They need you too.” Emma replies, reaching for his hand when he shakes his head.

“Killian…I need you.” His chest aches at the way she uses his name. Her words both fill his chest with happiness and break his heart; of course she expresses such a sentiment when they must part once more. Her fingers are laced between his and he holds her gentle hand tightly, not ready to let go.

“You don’t, Swan. You did just fine without me the for the past year.” He replies with a short humourless laugh.

“Because I didn’t remember you. If I did…I don’t think I would have started seeing Walsh. Maybe I would have-”

“No use speculating now, lass. It’s in the past, but right now you need to worry about your family and the town. Don’t worry about me.” He makes sure she has the bag of Regina’s things and kisses her cheek softly, smiling sadly when she dips her head and brushes against him.

“Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.” She whispers.

“Good.” He responds, wishing that perhaps this goodbye will only be temporary like the last turned out to be, but the reality of Blackbeard’s bargain weighs heavily on him and Emma already feels a world away from his damned soul. They linger for a moment longer before separating, Emma exhaling and looking at the bean as she walks away from him and out of the busy docking area, turning back with a wistful smile only once. He waits until he sees her go through the portal in the distance before heading back onto the Jolly, ignoring Blackbeard’s taunts to retreat below deck.

He’s home, but without his freedom and without the woman he loves. A more sensible man would also be without hope, but when he meets the crew, he sees a few familiar faces, and the way they call him captain in hushed tones stirs something in him to fight to get back what he has lost. He’ll bide his time, but after being around the heroes, their penchant for hope has certainly inspired him.

-/-

Things never seem to slow when Emma returns. In the time that she had been gone, Regina had discovered that it had been her sister Zelena who cast the curse and she had been masquerading as Snow’s midwife. She had barely been back a day when they finally found Neal, but she lost him again just as quickly as he had come back. The reasons for returning to New York only grew with every painful and dangerous thing that happened. She even tried working on her magic and learning from Regina, but when Zelena took her newborn sibling in an attempt to cast a ridiculous time travel spell, Emma had had it.

She would be leaving for New York once her parents were settled with her brother, and not a moment later.

But the reported sighting of the Jolly Roger down by the harbour had her pause her exit plans.

Emma had avoided speaking of Hook, simply telling people when she returned that he had decided to remain in the Enchanted Forest. No one seemed convinced, but thankfully didn’t push her on it. In some twisted way she had been pleased to have so much to deal with that she didn’t have time to think about what his absence meant for her, but in quiet moments of respite, she longed for the warmth of his presence in her life.

When she gets the text about the Jolly, she races down to the docks, wishing she had taken her car as she carries Henry’s book with her rather awkwardly. She finally gets close enough to see the little figures of people walking about the deck, and if she squints really hard, she thinks she can see Hook.

It’s unmistakably him when she reaches the ship and she calls his name, smiling at his reaction as his eyes find her. She hurries up the ramp and throws her arms around him so hard the book slams into his back, causing him to chuckle into her hair.

“Hi, Swan.”

“Hi, I’m sorry I just didn’t think I’d ever really see you again. How did you get the ship back from Blackbeard? Did you use another bean to get here? How the hell does he have so many?” She rattles off, tucking the book under her arm after their embrace.

“I’ll explain all later, but more importantly, what happened here? Did you figure out who cast the curse?” He asks with concern, looking over her to make sure she was okay and frowning at the book.

“It was Regina’s sister, the Wicked Witch of the West. It was some sibling rivalry crap, but she wanted my baby brother for a time travel spell and mayhem ensued. We’ve stopped her but…I’ve lost my magic and we lost Neal.” Hook reaches out for her and she leans in to his touch, relieved to feel the spark of comfort she usually feels around him.

“I’m so sorry, Swan.”

“Look, I know how you feel about it, but I just really wanted to go back to New York after all this. Henry gave me his book to remind me of the magic that makes up our family history, and I’ve been trying but I’m just…exhausted.” Emma sighs, sinking into him when he reaches his arm out to embrace her.

“Well, I just got here, you can’t leave now.” Hook jokes softly. Emma is about to respond with a quip of her own when she sees a beam of light flash in the distance.

“What the hell is that?” Emma mutters, trying to figure out where the light was coming from. She has a horrible suspicion that it may be coming from the barn and she groans, tugging on Hook’s jacket sleeve to follow her as she heads over there.

“David left a message, Zelena died and somehow triggered the time portal.” Emma yells over the loud noise of the magic when they reach the barn.

“Emma, perhaps we shouldn’t get too close.”

“We need to close it!”

They swirl around in a magical portal once again, being thrown into another unexpected and unpredictable adventure. But, as always, Hook is by her side, and she’s realizing that despite the pain magic has caused in her life, it has also brought him into her life, and maybe it’s about facing the hardships together.

“You don’t have your magic, it’s too dangerous."

"But-"

She’s interrupted by the sheer force of the magic pulling them toward the portal and they cling to each other as they tumble on the ground roughly. They both struggle to avoid falling in, Hook using his appendage to grip onto the ground. Emma holds on to his hand, but she feels herself slipping away and she’s worried he’ll leave her to fall into the unknown hole of time. She meets his eyes, and he lifts his hook to fall in with her.

And so she decides to do just that. When their little adventure in the past comes to an end, after witnessing her parents fall in love, attending a ball, almost losing her mother, and maybe falling in love with Captain Hook along the way, she decides to make Storybrooke her home. There are the occasional foes in town, but it is a place full of family, friends, and love, and they can face anything together.

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter four: cham-pain

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.4K

A/N: hey, you.  yes, YOU. has anyone told you that you’re pretty today? well, if not let me be the first. i can’t help but feel lovey-dovey about the love you guys have shown me on this story. thank you so much for everything.  i hope you like this chapter and i hope you’ll reach out and let me know either way.  big shoutout to the baes @ladyartemesia​ and @taetaewonderland​ they know why.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

********************

At what point do you stop calling them shorts and start calling them panties?

That’s the question Hoseok ponders when he walks into the kitchen to find you precariously perched on tiptoes, straining to reach for something in an overhead cabinet.  He lets his gaze linger over the soft skin of your legs, up to your thighs, up higher to where he can damned near see the swell of your ass peeking out from that obscene little scrap of cloth.

What he does next is probably unwise.

What he does next is approach silently from behind, pressing one hand into the small of your back as he reaches over you to get a hold of the jar you’re struggling to grab. And if he enjoys the way your body jolts with surprise beneath his fingertips or the way your hair smells when he’s this close, then that’s his business and no one else’s.

“Thank you,” you murmur, avoiding his eyes and for a moment Hoseok thinks you’re going to scold him for being so bold.

But you don’t.

*********************

Hoseok shouldn’t be toying with you right now and he knows it. It’s not like you’ve ever been an open book with him, but these past few days you’ve been even more withdrawn -- more in your head than ever before.  

Not that you don’t have your reasons.

Shit is off the rails with your case and you’re living with a complete stranger and someone left a live fucking snake in your bedroom a few nights ago.  

So if Hoseok has noticed that you walk around in a fog — that the fire he used to see inside of you from time to time seems extinguished — well, that’s certainly understandable. 

But he can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to your melancholy. He can’t help but wonder if you actually hold a candle for that idiot you left reeling at the restaurant.  

Hoseok can’t stop thinking about that guy.  

There is a feeling he can’t shake and it’s not just the urge to beat Kang Donghyuk to a pulp. Hoseok can’t shake the feeling that beneath the dopey smile and the lazy charm and the overall benign affect, there’s something more.  

Something Hoseok is determined to figure out.

So he leaves you to your cooking in the kitchen and retreats to the privacy of his room to phone Seokjin.  If this piece of shit is up to something, Hoseok is going to make it his personal mission to find it.

And if he finds something?

Then Hoseok will make it his personal mission to make him pay.

***********************

YOU

“Amsaja -- with Hoseok.  Try being nice.”

You think back to your brother’s words as you stand just outside the door to Hoseok’s room, fist raised to knock.  But you don’t, at least not right away.  

What is your fucking problem?

You remind yourself that you are a grown woman, not some skittish little girl.  You remind yourself that Jung Hoseok is just a man.  

And then you get a grip.

The door opens after one light knock.  You don’t mean to stare, truly you don’t -- but Hoseok is wearing one of those goddamned tank tops again.  What happened to suits all day and all night?  Suits are a hell of a lot less distracting.

“What’s up?” he asks cautiously.  

Your eyes dart from his face to his chest to his arms and finally settle around his neck, where a pair of dog tags hang from a silver chain.  You had nearly forgotten that Jung Hoseok made a career of the military before he was one of your brother’s right-hand men.

“I made some Samgyetang,” you say lamely, gesturing to the bowl of soup in your hands.

I made it for you. 

“And it’s uh, supposed to be good for a cold,” you add, when he says nothing.

Which you have.  

“So, I -- ” you clear your throat, shift your weight back and forth on your feet, “ -- made some.”

For you.

Hoseok stares at the bowl like you’ve brought him a grenade instead of a meal.  The puzzled look on his face makes you feel awkward, makes the entire gesture seem silly.

“Never mind,” you say under your breath, turning on your heels.  

“Wait --” Hoseok calls quickly, stepping out of his room to follow you,  “ -- I didn’t -- I was just surprised, that’s all.” 

“It’s just soup,” you say over your shoulder, trying like hell to sound casual and not at all offended.

Hoseok keeps pace behind you into the kitchen; commands your attention with one firm hand on your arm.  You turn to face him, averting your gaze from the sweatpants that hang low on his hips and the thin cotton that grips every muscle of his lean chest.

“I didn’t mean to make that weird,” Hoseok says quietly. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had homemade Samgyetang.”

You pull your arm out of his hold.  

“Well, it’s there if you want it,” you shrug, brushing past him.

It’s a relief to trade the charged air of the kitchen for the uncomplicated quiet of your room.

*************************

Hyejin takes her reading glasses off to rub the bridge of her nose.  

“I’m not even kidding about my eyesight being shot,” she sighs, reaching for her coffee cup.  “It gets worse every day and the print on these depositions does not help.”

“I know,” you mumble, highlighter flying over your own set of fine print.  “Sorry.”

“Hey, at least we’re in this together,” she smiles. “Right?” 

Her face falls when you don’t return the gesture.

It’s not exactly a secret that you haven’t been firing on all cylinders lately.  You are so worn out from the shit going on at work and the shit going on at home that it feels like you don’t have much more to give.  You just want to climb into bed and sleep for a week straight.

If only you had that luxury.  

Instead, you’re back at it with Hyejin today, trying to figure out a way around the missing digital evidence you so desperately need.  The loss of those files was a terrible setback, but you refuse to let it be the end.  You still have an entire warehouse full of confiscated guns under lock and key.

Now you just need to get your head in the game.

“You still going to the gala tomorrow night?” Hyejin asks, sipping her coffee.

So much for getting your head in the game.

“Not sure,” you murmur, underlining a key part of the testimony.  “Lots of shit going on right now.”

“Yeah, I know things between you and Donghyuk got weird,” Hyejin says carefully.

You stop yourself from laughing out loud. 

Donghyuk is so far down your list of fires to fight, you’d nearly forgotten him completely.  You probably could forget him if you weren’t subjected to his dirty looks every time the two of you cross paths at the office.  You’ve made at least two very awkward cups of coffee standing side-by-side in the past week alone -- but honestly, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“That’s -- “ you start and stop before continuing, “ -- not really an issue right now.”

“Okay, sure,” Hyejin concedes. “Just don’t forget that I’m here if you need someone to talk to, alright?  You don’t always have to take everything on by yourself.”

You stop your incessant highlighting to look up at your friend and colleague.  

Concern is written all over her pretty face and for a moment you entertain the thought of opening up to her.  The idea of talking about what’s going on is tempting -- like if you could share just a piece of your burden you could relieve some of the pressure inside of you.  But there’s another part of you that worries that you are too pent up to let go of any of this.  A part of you that feels like all it will take is one tiny crack for the entire dam to give.

You finally manage to muster one weak smile for your friend, who seems relieved to see any display of emotion out of you.

“Thanks, Hye.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

***********************

You almost skipped tonight.  Almost.

But you’d already bought a dress and the tickets were paid for and Hoseok didn’t even flinch when you told him you had to go to a black-tie event. 

If only you could say the same for the moment you saw him in the living room.

When Hoseok turned at the sound of your heels on the marble floor, with hands tucked into the pockets of his bespoke black tux, you nearly forgot to breathe.  All of the coordinating details, the slim-cut jacket and the perfectly-styled hair and the carefully-crafted bow tie felt like a gut punch.

You’d silently prayed that Hoseok didn’t catch the way your eyes lingered on him for just a beat too long -- or that he didn’t spot the heat you could feel creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. The color that must have been made all the more obvious against the rose shade of your gown.

“You ready?”

Hoseok interrupts your thoughts with his usual business-like tone.  The one that tells you that this inner monologue about how incredible he looks tonight is painfully one-sided.  

You nod, not trusting yourself to use your words.

All things considered, the situation with Donghyuk couldn’t have gone south at a better time.  He would have been your date for the night were it not for the blow up at dinner -- and it certainly would have drawn unwanted attention to have two men at your side all evening.  

Though with the way Hoseok looks tonight, you imagine the attention will come anyway.

*********************

There are few things in life rich people enjoy more than pretending to give a shit about poor ones. 

They make sport of it, jockeying for position in front of the cameras, gladly shelling out hundreds of thousands of won a plate to prove just how much they care.  They spend their evenings drinking top-shelf liquor and eating top-notch catering and convincing themselves that they’re making some kind of sacrifice for the greater good.  

A string quartet plays softly in the background as guests mill about, grabbing drinks and hors d'oeuvres off of passing trays.  Hoseok is at your side, a glass of water in hand.  He is just close enough for you to take in his heady, masculine smell -- but not too close.

You hate that he smells this good.

You hate that he looks this good.

You have tried -- and failed -- to ignore the appreciative stares he’s gotten from some of the gala guests.  You already caught one woman ogling outright, gawking unrepentantly while at her own date’s side.  When a cocktail server walks by with a carefully-balanced offering of champagne flutes, you grab one right away.

Hoseok, as usual, takes nothing.  

You sip your champagne and watch him watching the room.  

He certainly looks the part of a society player tonight in his tux, the occasional wrinkle of his nose the only indicator of his disdain for the men and women drinking and dancing around him.  When a woman bumps into him while carrying a plate of appetizers, he holds out a hand to help her keep upright and she damned near melts at his reassuring smile.  

“Oh, thank you,” she breathes deeply before her eyes dart in your direction.  

You look away.

Not once have you ever seen this man smile, and he’s certainly never smiled at you.  You turn to slam the rest of your champagne and put the empty flute on a nearby table just as another cocktail server passes with a full tray of drinks. 

How fortuitous.  You grab another.  

There’s a few more minutes of mingling before the guests are asked to take a seat at their assigned tables.  Hoseok holds out your chair and you accept. 

The interaction, like always, is silent.

You look up from the perfectly staged spread to spot Donghyuk two tables away.  Even from a distance you can tell his cheeks look ruddy — like he’s already had way too much to drink. He narrows his eyes when he realizes you are looking and you lift your champagne flute to tip a sarcastic salute in his direction.  He scowls back.

“Miss Kim,” a deep voice interrupts your petty exchange. “What a pleasant coincidence.”

You force a smile when your boss and his wife unexpectedly fill two empty seats at your table.

“Mr. Park,” you return quietly. “Nice to see you tonight. And Mrs. Park, of course.”

Mrs. Park’s answering smile is warm and genuine, but the same cannot be said of her husband’s. Of course, the last conversation you had with him one-on-one, he’d practically thrown you out of his office. The smile on his face right now is a bit watery.

“It’s so nice to see you dear,” Mrs. Park says sweetly.  “And who is this handsome fellow?”

You falter when you open your mouth to answer, but Hoseok smoothly interjects.

“Yi Sang, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”

You close your mouth and turn to smile woodenly at Hoseok, who doesn’t bother to look back. 

“Mr. Yi,” your boss extends his hand for a firm handshake, but a strange look passes over his face.  “The pleasure is ours.” 

Hoseok’s mouth pulls into a tight smile and you down what’s left of your champagne.

A couple you don’t recognize join your table before dinner is served.  You do your best to appear engaged in the small talk; nodding when appropriate, smiling during the awkward pauses.  But there is an emptiness in you tonight.  You spend the entire meal pushing the artfully-arranged dishes around your plate because you find you have no desire for food.

The same cannot be said for the champagne, though. That’s going down quite nicely.  Your server dutifully brings another flute as soon as yours is empty.

“I must commend you, Miss Kim, on forging ahead with this case,” Mr. Park says, when the plates have been cleared and after-dinner coffee is being served.  “I know it hasn’t been easy after the theft of your files.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat. “Yes, well -- I’m doing my best with what I have left.”

“Of course. It’s important we do what we can to bring these low-lives to justice,” Mr. Kim says slowly.  He looks from you to Hoseok with an expression that stops just short of a challenge and the champagne in your stomach seems to come to life. “Organized crime in this city is out of hand. We can’t allow Seoul to descend into chaos because of the trash making a living off of guns and drugs.”

Trash like your brother. 

“Right,” you say quietly, swallowing past a lump in your throat. “I’ll do my best.” 

Hoseok remains composed at your side, but you don’t miss how his knuckles go white as his grip around the water glass tightens.  

Trash like Hoseok.  

You swallow another mouthful of champagne.  

The couple sitting next to the Parks -- oblivious to the friction at the table -- strike up a conversation about the dessert selection and you’ve never been more glad for small talk.  The tension in the air slowly dissipates.

But you keep drinking.

Hoseok leans into you, lips so close they nearly brush the shell of your ear and your entire body goes still.  Goosebumps bloom all over when you feel his breath against your skin.

“You should eat something,” he murmurs.

You could almost laugh at the way your stomach seems to fall with disappointment.  What were you expecting him to say? Something complimentary? Something reassuring?  

What a joke.

All at once you decide you need space, you need air, you need a break from the bullshit you seem to be taking from all sides tonight.

Hoseok’s eyebrows lift as you stand from your seat.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you announce to the table, “I need to visit the powder room.”

The champagne seems to hit you the moment you stand and you have to work hard at keeping your steps steady as you make your way out of the ballroom.

You would never admit it, but Hoseok is right. 

You really should eat something.

***********************

hoseok: text me or i’m coming in [11:02 PM ]

You stand in the mirror and stare at your reflection in the dim lighting of the ladies’ room. You’ve been to dozens of these events over the years and it’s never felt as pointless and unnatural to you as it does right now.  A part of you hates how much you’ve tied yourself into knots seeking the validation of these pompous assholes.  So desperate to be chosen by the chosen few. 

hoseok: last chance [11:06 PM ]

Another part of you hates Hoseok.  

You hate his constant presence and his constant silence and his constant judgement.  It always feels like he’s punishing you for some transgression you don’t even know you’ve committed.  Your phone buzzes with a reminder of the waiting texts and you sigh, unlocking the screen to fire off an answer before Hoseok makes good on his threat to storm his way in.

you: i’m fine. be right out [ 11:08 PM ]

You take one last look in the mirror.  Have you always looked this tired? 

Before dinner -- after you’d meticulously primped for tonight -- you’d been satisfied with what you saw in the mirror.  Now all you can see are the shadows under your eyes, the grim set of your mouth.  Is this what other people see when they look at you, too?

A knock sounds on the door and you blow out an exasperated breath.  Hoseok must be tired of waiting for you to wrap this pity party.  You yank the door open with more force than intended, fully prepared to tell him to fuck off.

But it’s Donghyuk on the other side.

You stare at him.

“What do you want?” you hiss, stepping out into the hallway.

“I just want to talk,” Donghyuk says coolly, standing just a bit too close. You grimace at the smell of liquor on his breath.  “You still haven’t given me a chance to thank you personally for making me look like an asshole at dinner the other day.”

“Oh, honey -- you don’t need my help to look like an asshole,” you fire back, pushing more space in between you with a firm shove of your fingers to his shoulder. “You do a fine job of that all on your own.”

His laughter blows whiskey-tinged hot air in your direction and you make a face.

“I see you upgraded the bodyguard to dinner date.”

“Shut up, Donghyuk, honestly,” you seethe.  You try to step around him to leave, but he blocks you with his body.  

“You fucking him now, too?”

You barely register the movement of your own hand before it’s connecting with the side of Donghyuk’s face.  You barely register Hoseok’s arrival before he’s between you both, pulling you away and practically shoving Donghyuk to the floor.  You barely hear Hoseok’s whispered threats and you nearly miss the way he unbuttons his jacket to ensure Donghyuk sees his gun.

The whole debacle is so fast and so surreal you could almost convince yourself you imagined it.

But there is no imagining the sting still throbbing in your palm.

*****************************

HOSEOK

The trouble tonight started long before you smacked the shit out of Kang Donghyuk. 

The trouble started when you walked out of your room in that goddamned gown. Hoseok had not been entirely prepared for you in that dress.

He had only a split second to make sure he wasn’t staring.  He jammed his hands into his pockets and forced the most casual demeanor he could muster, but fuck it wasn’t easy.  There were a hundred things he could have said in that moment, would have said in that moment -- if you weren’t you and if he weren’t him.

Of course, dinner was a bit of a clusterfuck, too.

Playing dress up with the city’s elites was somehow less enjoyable than Hoseok imagined it would be.  The stares from tipsy society girls and the critical looks from their dates were bad enough but your boss laying it on thick with the white knight bullshit at the end was the real icing on the cake.  The coded language and the veiled threats that made loud and clear he knew exactly what Hoseok was but wouldn’t say it out loud.  

Hoseok saw the way you seemed to retreat even further into yourself during the exchange, silent and thinking.

And drinking. 

Hoseok has only ever seen you enjoy the occasional glass of wine with meals.  Tonight was an entirely different story. You were on a mission to get wrecked from the moment you sat down; forgoing food for an alarming amount of champagne.  Hoseok counted four glasses down before he decided to say something. 

Of course, that went over about as well as he’d expected -- and seconds later, you were walking away.

Hoseok hadn’t planned on following you to the bathroom. He hadn’t planned on overhearing the nasty back-and-forth in the hall . And he hadn’t planned on threatening to kill Kang Donghyuk at some ridiculous charity dinner.  But when he saw the man get up from his seat to follow you -- Hoseok moved on auto-pilot.  

There was no avoiding what came next.

**********************

You don’t utter a single word on the ride home.  

You don’t say a word when Hoseok walks you upstairs, unlocks the door to usher you inside.  He’s still securing the new deadbolts when he hears your bedroom door slam shut.

Hoseok scrubs a hand over his face and sighs deeply before loosening the bow tie and slipping it off.   

Then he pulls out his phone to text Seokjin.

hoseok: you on him? [ 11:48 PM ]

seokjin: sleeping it off in his car right now. what a slob [ 11:49 PM ]

seokjin: you’re welcome btw [ 11:49 PM ]

hoseok: thx [ 11:50 PM ]

Seconds later, your bedroom door swings open so hard it bounces back off the opposite wall. Hoseok looks up from his phone just as you are storming into the living room, hands still securing the belt to the short robe you’ve just changed into.  

You are positively vibrating with a dangerous energy Hoseok can feel clear across the room.  Maybe you’ve been sleepwalking through these past few days, but you are definitely awake now.

And angry.

“I don’t need you to win my fights,” you fume, pointing one hostile finger in his direction. “I took care of myself long before you came along and I can take care of myself now.”

Christ, do you have any idea how little you are wearing right now?  

Hoseok focuses on that accusing finger because it keeps him from staring at your legs. It also keeps him from opening his mouth and making you madder than you already are. 

“I don’t need you or anyone else swooping in with that macho bullshit,” you hiss, bringing your body within inches of his.  “I have had enough of men running and ruining every aspect of my life.”

Shit, do you have any idea how close you are right now? 

Hoseok can smell the perfume that lingers on your skin when you’re this close.  He can see how your pupils are blown wide and your cheeks are flushed with heat when you’re this close. 

“Say something,” you demand, jabbing your finger into his chest.  “Do something.”

Fuck, you are playing with fire.

You want a fight and Hoseok is this close to giving you one.  He has to summon every ounce of his self control to keep his voice and breathing steady. He fists his hands at his sides to keep them from moving.  

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he replies with careful calm.  “You should go to bed.”

“Or what?” you challenge, fingers reaching to unfasten the top buttons of his dress shirt.  Hoseok’s entire body tenses under your touch. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he says between gritted teeth. 

“Checking for a heartbeat,” you murmur. “Looking for signs of life.  Is there a real man in there?”

There’s a real man in here, alright, Hoseok thinks darkly.  Keep pushing me and you’re going to find out.

“Of course not,” you whisper to yourself, snaking one hand into the collar of his shirt. He flinches when your fingertips brush up against the cool metal of his dog tags. “You’re some kind of robot.”

You pull the tags out from under his collar and Hoseok swallows thickly.  

“Just a machine programmed to follow orders, right?  My brother’s orders. The Army’s orders,” you pause to read the embossed letters on his tags.  ‘Isn’t that right, Captain Jung?”

You gasp when Hoseok’s hand comes up to seize yours.  His fingers circle the delicate bones of your wrist and he doesn’t let go, applying a pressure that sure as hell gets your attention.

“People like me follow orders so people like you don’t have to,” Hoseok seethes.  “People like me do the dirty work so people like you can impress rich assholes at stupid parties. People like me stay behind and handle our responsibilities so people like you can walk away from yours.”

Your stare at him for a moment, eyes wide at his outburst.  Then you jerk your wrist out of his hold so violently you nearly fall back with the force of it. 

Hoseok freezes when your robe slides down off your shoulder. He stares when his eyes settle on the jagged scar that runs deep across your collarbone.  

Fucking hell. 

Hoseok traded one bloody business for another when he gave up his rank in the Army for his rank in the Gajog. He’s seen more than his fair share of vicious cuts and nasty wounds. 

Whoever did that to you wanted to make sure you’d have to carry it with you for the rest of your life.

********************

Tomorrow morning, Hoseok is gonna regret a lot of shit that happened tonight. 

He’s going to regret not telling you how beautiful you looked when you walked out of that room.  He’s going to regret going out of his way to hurt you with his words. 

But most of all, he’s going to regret the moment he looked into your face and saw the anger in your eyes change over into pain.

You yank the robe back over your shoulder, cinch the belt tight — and walk away without another word. 

********************

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[imaginetonyandbucky]

(Give Me A) Reason To Live

Chapter 3

by @dracusfyre

“Are you sure about this?” James asked. He was methodically checking his weapons as he distributed them around his body, putting knives in sheaths and guns in holsters. With his cleanly shaved face and newly cut hair – the better for Steve to recognize him – in that stolen SHIELD tactical gear, he was so goddamn sexy that Tony could barely look at him.

“I’ll be a lot safer than you will,” Tony pointed out. “All I have to do is fly around and blow up stuff until you give me the word.”

“Unless they scramble jets or attack helicopters on you,” James pointed out, but Tony waved off his words.

“They’re not going to fire on me in the middle of the city, and once I’m out of the city they won’t be able to keep up,” Tony said confidently, 99% sure of the first part and about 80% sure of the second part. For obvious reasons he’d never tested the suit in a one-to-one matchup with a fighter jet, but he knew their specs and felt good about his chances. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” James said.

A funny note in his voice made Tony glance over, only to see that James was looking at him intently, with a look in his eyes that Tony couldn’t interpret. But it made his heart trip and his mouth dry and before his brain could intervene, he said, “Kiss for good luck?” The look in James’ eyes turned to surprise, and when he took a step forward and opened his mouth Tony panicked. “I’m kidding, obviously,” he babbled, backing away. “Probably should get started, don’t want Steve to wake up without us.”

James narrowed his eyes in a way that promised that he wasn’t going to forget about this, but only said, “We’ll do a comms check on my way to the SHIELD facility.”

“Yep,” Tony said brightly, starting to shove his hands in his pocket before realizing that his flight suit didn’t have pockets, then crossing his arms over his chest instead. “Meet you guys back at the cabin, right?”

“Yeah. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” As James turned to leave, Tony started to give him a stupid little wave goodbye; he turned it into just a gesture of running his hand through his hair before James could see it. It felt weird and wrong to split up, knowing that he wasn’t going to see James again for at least a week, maybe longer if they had to shake any pursuit. It would be the longest they’d been apart since he’d rescued him from Hydra, and Tony just now realized how much he was going to miss him.

“Bye,” he said softly as the door closed behind James. “Be safe.”

                                         ~~~~

James paused inside the garage, turning to stare at the door he had just closed as he wondered if he’d heard what he thought he’d heard. He wanted to go back inside and say goodbye properly, maybe take Tony up on that kiss he’d offered and then taken back, but Tony had been right – the timing on this mission was unforgiving, and if he went back inside he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave again for a while. So instead he just said, “You, too,” to the door and got in the car, anonymous black SUV bought at a police auction with stolen government tags. He took a deep breath as he cranked it up and opened the garage door, trying to set aside his worry for Tony. As good as his suit was – and it was fucking good, James was impressed and proud of how Tony always seemed to find a new way to make it even better – it didn’t make him invincible. James could think of at least three ways off the top of his head to take down the suit and prayed that the element of surprise would keep them from occurring to anyone else.

“Man in a Can, are you there?” James said when he was almost there. The SHIELD facility was near Times Square, for some reason; maybe they’d thought that since Steve had grown up in New York, it would be a good place to start his reintegration, as if the city hadn’t become unrecognizable in the last sixty years. It would be more unsettling than if Steve had woken up in the middle of nowhere, or even still in fucking Greenland.

“Hearing you loud and clear, Terminator.” James rolled his eyes but let himself smile at the call sign. He found a parking spot on the block behind the SHIELD facility, near an alley that would eventually dump into the building’s loading docks.

“I’m in position,” he said.

“Alright. It’s go time,” Tony said, voice barely betraying a hint of nerves. It suddenly occurred to James that he hadn’t really asked what Tony was planning for his distraction, and he had just enough time to feel like maybe that was a mistake before he heard the distinctive whistle and pop of fireworks. Craning his head to see the sky out of his window, he saw streamers of brightly colored smoke appear and heard Tony say something through the speakers in his suit, the echoes of the city making it hard to understand from where he was sitting. But people were starting to hurry away from the building, and the unmistakable sound of flash-bangs going off were his cue. He pulled on his helmet and got out of the car, rifle in hand.

“Building is under attack!” He shouted at the security guards as he approached. “We need to get this place evacuated!” Between the stolen uniform and the air of command – and probably also due to the sound of explosions – they believed him and ran inside to start getting people outside.

James strode through the chaos inside, directing people towards the exists as he made his way to where Steve was being held. He had to go through metal detectors and jump over turnstiles, but everyone was too busy to challenge him as he wove his way deeper into the labyrinthine building. SHIELD had gone with a ridiculous farce to try to ease Steve into the 21st century, setting up a stage inside a warehouse sized room like Steve hadn’t spent enough time on movie stages to recognize one when he saw it. Guards were posted outside, and word of Tony’s distraction must have reached them because when James approached they were talking to each other in low tones, probably deciding whether they needed to get Steve out of there or stay at their posts.

“Change in plans, guys,” James said as he approached, trying to sound breathless and worried. “The director wants us to move him, building is under attack from an unknown assailant and he’s worried for his safety.”

“Move him? But-” James punched him in the face with his metal arm and elbowed the other in the solar plexus before hitting him in the temple with the butt of his rifle, glad that these poor assholes hadn’t been issued helmets.

Then he opened the door to Steve’s room, and despite the fact he’d known what SHIELD had done, the sensation of stepping into the past made him stumble. The sound of the radio, tuned to a Yankees game, was disorienting, as were the images of an older New York being projected outside the windows.

And then there was Steve, laid out on the bed like a man on a stretcher. James pulled off his helmet and approached slowly; seeing him was the most jarring of all, because he looked exactly the same. James felt suddenly felt old, seeing Steve’s face relaxed in sleep; he felt every single one of the sixty years he’d been with Hydra, even if he’d been frozen through most of them. Christ. Waking him up would eventually mean facing those years, in a way he’d been able to avoid with Tony; Tony had known everything already, so James hadn’t had to talk about it at all, just shove it away and forget about it. No awkward conversations about nightmares and insomnia, since Tony had those too. It wouldn’t be like that with Steve, though. Steve would want to know, wouldn’t take no for an answer, would want to know about the arm and the scars and the nightmares. The blood on his hands. He wouldn’t judge, not Steve, but he wouldn’t get it, either, not like Tony did.

Tony had been right. This was going to change everything.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, James sat down on the edge of the bed. The simple motion was already pulling Steve out of sleep; James saw his breathing change, heard his heart speed up and eyes start moving behind his eyelids.

“Steve,” James said softly. “Time to get up, you lazy fuck.”  He hadn’t known what he was going to say until it came out of his mouth, but when it did, James found a new memory; calling Steve a lazy fuck was an inside joke from the war, since Steve had always been up at dawn and bursting with energy.

That made Steve’s eyes fly open. “Bucky?”

James stood as Steve sat up suddenly, eyes glued to his face. “Yeah, it’s me, Steve.”

“What- you-“ he started, before settling on, “How?”

“Long story.” Hell of an understatement. “I’ll tell you when we’re safe.”

“Safe? What do you-” Steve’s eyes flew around the room, and he picked up on all the false elements, the wrong notes and mistakes in the room that James had noticed when he’d walked in. “Where are we?”

“Not a place where we want to stay,” James said. He pulled off the small backpack that had been strapped to his back and pulled out a janitor’s uniform for Steve. “Put this on.”

Even though Steve was still confused, he obeyed, clearly still trusting James. And why wouldn’t he, James thought. He didn’t know what James had been doing the past sixty years. “I’m ready,” Steve said as he zipped it up the front. Standing there, shoulders squared and jaw tight, he didn’t look like a janitor, he looked like goddamned Captain America wearing a janitor’s uniform, but this was they best they were going to get right now. James chucked his helmet and the body armor with the giant SHIELD patch on it and stripped down to a plain burgundy shirt with dark pants to blend in with a crowd.

“Let’s go.” As James led the way out, he turned the mic on to Tony and said, “I got him. We’re heading out now.”

Thankfully, Steve was stubborn but not stupid; as soon as they got out to where there were still streams of people trying to leave the building, he understood immediately what the plan was and his shoulders slumped, making him look shorter and smaller. Explosions outside the large glass windows meant that no one was paying attention to anything but evacuating, so they managed to mingle with an unsuspecting crowd of SHIELD employees to a safe point a few blocks away. They slowly made their way to the edge of the crowd, then just walked away, heading towards an empty NYC cab that James had acquired for their escape. James was just thinking that he was surprised that the mission had gone off without a hitch, when something flashed over his head with a load roar.

“What the hell is that?” Steve said. James looked up in time to see the bright red and gold of Tony’s latest suit disappear down the street, then another loud roar came up from behind them - a quinjet, hot on Tony’s heels. Fast as a jet and as maneuverable as a helicopter, the quinjet was SHIELD’s latest baby, and James cursed because he hadn’t known they were ready to be deployed yet.

“You okay?” James said to Tony on the comms as he herded Steve into the back of the taxi. Not that there was much James could do about it if he wasn’t, since he still had to get Steve out of the city. The thought of Hydra getting their hands on Steve, of getting him into the chair, had been the cause of more than one sleepless night.

“I’m good,” Tony said back. “Still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

James nodded, though Tony obviously couldn’t see him, and got in the driver’s seat of the cab. “One of those guys is with you?” Steve asked from the back, having clearly overheard his conversation.

“Yeah, the one that looked like a robot,” James said as he pulled into traffic. “His name is Tony. You’ll be meeting him back at our safe house.” Thankfully, New York was used to cabs driving aggressively and honking, so he didn’t draw any undue attention as he made his way out of the city. Whenever he looked in the rearview mirror, he could see Steve staring out the window, looking dismayed and baffled by what he was seeing, but he knew better than to distract James by asking questions while they were trying to escape. Soon enough they were out of traffic and into the relative safety of Newark, where James drove the taxi to the airport then hustled Steve into yet another car, this one a beige sedan.

“Are we clear?” Steve asked as James pulled out of the long-term parking lot, pulling the ballcap James had provided him farther down over his face for the parking lot security.

“Clear enough for now,” James said, shoulders finally starting to relax as they got onto the highway heading west. He hadn’t heard from Tony, but that had been part of the plan; the less communication, the better, because SHIELD and the military and Hydra would all be scanning the airwaves trying to get a lock on them. In fact, that reminded him; he pulled the comm device from his ear and crushed it before tossing it out the window. He knew in his head that Tony could take care of himself, but he also knew that he was going to get back to the cabin as fast as possible so he could make sure he was ok.

“Good,” Steve said. “Now are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

                                                      ~~~~

Tony barrel rolled through the canyons made by New York’s skyscrapers, feeling almost giddy as he fled from the quinjet. The fact that this SHIELD facility had a quinjet was a surprise that he should feel embarrassed about, but to be honest, he was actually having fun. He never really got the chance to push the suit to its limits since they’d mostly been doing stealth operations against Hydra; he’d even been too afraid of being seen to give it a good test run unless they were close to the open ocean.

“JARVIS, turn me on some tunes,” Tony said, and saw his playlist pop up on his HUD before he heard AC/DC blast out of his speakers. The quinjet was able to keep up with him, but obviously they couldn’t fire on him, so for now it was just a fun game of can’t catch me while people gawked from the streets and sidewalk. As big as the quinjet was, that pilot had amazing reflexes and nerves of steel to navigate through the city without damaging any of the buildings. “What’s the word with the Air National Guard?”

“ETA twenty minutes.”

Tony pulled up to hover, and the quinjet, unable to stop so quickly, shot past him. He got a glimpse of the pilots as they flew by and was surprised to see a flash of red hair. He watched as they pulled into a vertical loop to turn around and come back for another pass. “Do you know James’ position?”

“His communicator is going over the George Washington Bridge now.”

“Great. Do we have any more of that smoke?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony made sure that the quinjet was facing him as he flew east, dodging and weaving through the city, the red smoke streaming behind him laying an unmistakable trail. He blasted over Brooklyn, no doubt tangling air traffic over the city as he went past LaGuardia then turned south. He did a loop around the Statue of Liberty, just for fun, before heading east again. When he saw the Atlantic through the maze of buildings, he put on more speed and released the last of the smoke so that for a solid thirty seconds the quinjet didn’t have visibility on him, then dove into the water. 

“Did it work, JARVIS?” Tony asked as he let himself sink into the murky water, making his way slowly out towards the open ocean.

“It appears so, sir. They are attempting to find you on radar now.”

Tony turned on the helmet lights for him to navigate the river, wrinkling his nose at the trash and watching the fish dart around him. The pilot of the quinjet must have suspected that he went into the water because they circled for a long time looking for him, making sweeping passes as they tried to pick him up on their sensors. But Tony had prepared for this; the rebreather in his suit was good for twelve hours before it needed to be replaced so he stayed under the water as he headed north until JARVIS couldn’t sense any signals for miles, radar, radio, or otherwise. GPS said he was somewhere off the coast of Maine, so he climbed to a good cruising altitude – high enough to not be seen by a casual observer, but low enough that he wouldn’t ping off of any air traffic control towers – and headed back west by way of the US-Canadian border.  

It was a long, tiring flight, especially as he went through an adrenaline crash somewhere over South Dakota, but a few hours later he was landing in front of the safe house. He’d know that he’d be back well before James and Steve, but it was still jarring and lonely to walk into the dark cabin all by himself.

He stepped out of the suit and packed it up as he unlocked the door, then he flipped on the lights and froze when saw Stane. “Hello, Tony,” Stane said. “Welcome home.”

[redhawtriot]

Sole Mates 🦶❤️🦶(Bakugou x Reader)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞 

Part 1, Part 2

Part 3:

“Stupid Deku and his bitch of an ex-wife can die for all I care,” Bakugou angrily grumbled to himself as he threw his hospital gown away from him. He took to changing a lot more aggressively than normal as he tore on his hero costume.

He made sure to toss his gown in the designated clothes bin before storming out of his hospital room. His movements, however, felt robotic as the series of the day looped in his mind over and over again. He tried to pick the day apart piece by piece.

What was that kid’s name again…? His hag of a mother had called out to him a few times. Hiro…? No, that’s not it…

Bakugou’s concentration was abrupted as the sudden commotion of the hospital halls came to a sudden halt in his presence. The nurses all became deathly silent as he marched passed them. He felt their wide eyes trailing his every move like deer watching a predator.  

The man scoffed, “The hell are you staring at.” He said very lowly, causing the hoards of people to promptly avert their gazes, returning to their activities.

As soon as he walked out of the hospital, he was swarmed by a barrage of news outlets,

“Ground Zero! Do you have underlying health issues you’re not telling us about!? You seemed to pass out out of seemingly nowhere!”

“Mr Ground Zero! Are you familiar with Deku’s ex-wife? Were you pulled to the scene by personal relations?”

“Are you the reason for their divorce?!”

His face immediately shriveled up at the last question, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU BUNCH OF SCAVENGERS!” he screamed, causing the herd of anchormen/women to  instantly hush and part out of his way. He stormed past the terrified crowd as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and noticed a few missed calls from some of his ‘friends’: Kirishima, Kaminari, and Jirou.

No doubt that they probably saw what had happened to him on the news. Fucking naturally. Everyone saw him faint like a punk bitch on the live television. Bakugou growled angrily— the grip on his phone tightening before he heavily huffed and began typing a contact name into his device.

He held the thing up to his ear after pressing call, “Hello? Mr. Aizawa.”

The other man gave a tired sigh, “Just call me Aizawa, Bakugou. You’re not in high school anymore,” he replied very flatly.

“I. know. that,” he forced through gritting teeth—a stream of more vulgar choice words threatening to spill from his tightened lips.

“I saw your fight from this evening on television. I am assuming you want to talk about it?”

“Tell me everything you know about bonding quirks.” He spat very hastily.

——————————————————————

‘Stupid Deku and his bitch of an ex can die for all I care.’ You felt the thought creep into your mind like an unwanted house guest—giving you slight pause as Izuku kept his hand firmly wrapped around your forearm.

You looked back up at the green haired man as he waited for you to give him some sort of response to his question, but words failed to make their way from you as you dwelled on Bakugou’s intrusive thought.

Die? We can read some of each other’s thoughts, feel each other’s pain, but if one of us were to die… would the other?

The thought sent a chill down your spine. The feeling of helplessness accompanied that chill until it settled into your tight chest.

No matter how much you couldn’t stand the raging furball of a man, the two of you would have to depend on each other from now on. Yes, whether you liked it or not, your paths had now intertwined with each other for an unpredictable period. You would need to find him and figure this out together.

You reluctantly found yourself grabbing Izuku’s arm and guiding it back away from you, “I-I don’t…” you prepared to decline his self-invitation; however, one look into his emerald eyes completely melted your resolve.

Seriously?

C’mon, Y/N. You are a whole fucking mother. If you can handle Koko’s adorable puppy dog eyes after an entire day of not seeing her, then surely you can handle this. You shook your hesitation away before opening your mouth to firmly speak up,

“Izuku. I don’t think that’s a good—”

“I understand that you’re scared about your situation, but I promise that we will figure it out,” he softly interrupted you, “Together… A-as friends of course,” you weren’t so sure about that part, but you listened to him as he continued speaking anyways, “I do have a few ideas of who to contact, and we can pull some of the street surveillance videos, and grab a witness or two to ask them what happened. We will figure this out—t-the bonded thing.”

You fought the heavy urge to roll your eyes, and settled for crossing your arms instead, “Well, do you have to be at my house to do that?”

“N-no, of course, but It would be easier for me to focus on this, plus my everyday work if I didn’t have to worry about switching Koko between the two of us every day,” he argued, uncertainty written upon his expression.

He so obviously just pulled that outta his ass.

‘Well, he never really was too good at hiding his emotions’ you sighed, “Okay....” you agreed, your eyes shifting away from his own, “...just for tonight…” you trailed off as you looked to your ex-husband’s brightening expression—instant regret filling your mind as your heart fell with his contagious joy.

The upbeat man immediately took to gathering up your belongings for you, excitedly chatting about how he was excited to see what you’ve done with your home, and how Koko was telling him all about how you changed the dining room into a spare office. And how you changed the spare bedroom into a playroom for her.

You listened to all these things that your ever so sweet child had told him from the other side of the bathroom door as you changed into some clothes that he had brought you.

Fuck. She probably tells him everything about your days. Does he know you don’t cook anymore? Damn, he probably does. He probably knows that you put her to bed early on Thursday nights so you can have conference calls with your global investors and everything-- more ammunition for his judgmental fire, “I gotta talk to her about privacy…”

“What did you say, Y/N?” he called from the other side of the door.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” you replied as you opened the door revealing Izuku’s flustered expression. He had brought you some of his spare clothes, and the sight of you in them after almost a year sent an unexpected surge of emotions to his heart.

“Uh.. um. T-t-the n-nurses said that we can go out of a back entrance to avoid the media swarm outside…” he finally spat out as he averted his gaze from you.

Damn, you had almost forgotten how he was basically a celebrity. He was climbing up the ranks towards being the number one hero after all. And his ex-wife was just hospitalized, probably on live news, “Okay…”

After successfully making it out of the hospital with little disturbance, You found yourself in Izuku’s car. Alone. Just you and him.

God, try not to think about it. Don’t think about it like that. For God’s sake DON’T—

“So this is the first time we’ve ever been alone like this since last year, huh…?” He suddenly broke the silence.

“…Yeah…” you trailed off with an uneasy tone of voice.

The rest of the ride pretty much followed this exact script: an awkward silence where you were practically dying internally, followed by him opening his mouth to spout some meaningless conversation, followed by you giving a half-assed reply and then starting the cycle all over again.

And a vicious cycle it was.

Soon enough, however, the two of you found yourselves at Inko’s apartment. Praise whatever omnipotence was listening to your prayers, because Izuku decided that he would stay inside of the car to keep it warm and running while you grabbed Koko.

You, of course, had your own key to the place since this was the usual buffer between you and Izuku. As soon as you began to open the front door to the apartment you heard rapid shuffling on the other side, shortly after followed by a high voice, “Daddy’s home! He’s back!”

You scoffed, ‘Mommy’s here too, brat,’ you spitefully thought to yourself before swinging the door open to scoop your daughter, who had run to the door to help you unlock it, into your arms, “Hi, my baby!” you cooed as you squeezed her small frame into yours. The girl hugged you back for only moment before going stiff,

“Where’s daddy? He said he’d be back tonight,” she whined.

“Oh, he did, did he?” That fucker had this planned the entire time! The sweet face and freckles did wonders for the man-- you gravely underestimated his plotting nature. Shit!

“Hi sweetheart!” you heard the schemer in question chime from behind you in the entrance, causing you to snap your head back in shock. You were met with an apologetic expression as if he wanted to say ‘I changed my mind, sorry.’

You took back what the fuck you mentioned about ‘whatever omnipotence is listening.’

“DADDY!” Koko snatched herself from your arms as she shuffled over towards Izuku. Her arm and leg prosthetics heavily clunked as she fumbled his way. She practically fell into his embrace as her foreign limbs tried to keep up with her excited body.

You heart dropped at the sight, settling in a deep pit of guilt at the bottom of your twisting stomach. You would never get used to seeing her struggle with her two prosthetics. You tried to hide the obvious discomfort on your face and offer a slight smile at the otherwise warming scene in front of you.

“Be careful, honey. You don’t want to hurt yourself,” Izuku warned your daughter, however the young girl was too busy fumbling with pieces of his hero costume,

“When I make my hero costume, I want it to be just like yours,” the five-year-old randomly spit out.

That pinge turned into full fledged heartbreak at her words. Izuku seemed to feel the same way as the two of you made eye contact with one another; however, as you opened your mouth to say something and break the thick silence, Inko walked in,

“Oh, good! You’re back! How are you Y/N, sweetie? You doing okay?! I saw the attack on the news! Of course, and then when Izuku called—”

“I’m fine, Inko,” you interrupted the frantic woman. She tended to over worry about things and work herself up. You guess Izuku had to get it from somewhere, “Thank you so much for watching Koko,”

“You know it’s no problem at all! We had dinner of course and washed up for bed already, so you're all set to go tonight!” she sang.

Both you and Izuku once again thanked Inko and as soon as you all said your good-byes, you headed back to your apartment. The drive there was much louder with a five year old in the back seat, however the conversation mostly stayed between her and her obvious favorite parent. It’s okay. You weren’t bitter. Not at all.

Izuku, much like he promised, found himself touring your apartment and commenting on little things you had changed here and there as Koko and him hung out for about a half an hour before she went to bed at around 11 pm. Sadly, that was her normal bedtime.

By the end of the night you found yourself drowsily plopping down onto your living room couch and turning on the TV to unwind. Ironically, around this time of night when you watched television, dramatic reality TV was what you found yourself absorbed into. Viewing people get wound up was the perfect way to wind down.

Watching a ho get dragged by her hair and seeing glasses of citrus vodka being thrown across dining room tables was just the relaxing conclusion that you needed.

And god, was that the understatement of the century! Koko was always a pain in the ass to get to sleep, but Izuku being there made it a lot worse! Eventually you stepped into the situation and put your bad guy pants on to help you put your foot down. Izuku never really was the best at giving the girl stern orders. She practically had him wrapped around his finger. Especially since her accident…

He felt the burden of guilt you supposed...

You were snapped out of your thoughts as Izuku came to sit down next you on the other far side of the couch. You immediately threw him a suspicious side eye; however, concluded that if he stayed way over there you would permit this intrusion.

Still, every now and then when you would look back over to the green haired man, he seemed to be inching close and closer, until eventually, here was less that a foot of space between you.

“Ughhhhhh,” you threw your head onto the hard back of the couch as you bellowed a loud, annoyed groan.

“What? What’s wrong?!” he inched even closer to you as his voice pitched in worry.

You snapped our head back upright to toss him a soft glare, “What do you think you’re doing Izuku?”

His eyes darted around your expression as if he were searching for the right thing to say “Watching TV...?” he hesitantly trailed off.

“Mhmm,” you deadpanned as you swiftly stood up from the couch, “I’m gonna head to bed.” Reality Tv night was ruined by his stupid broccoli head ass. You regretted letting him stay here in the first place. How could you have possibly thought that this was anything even resembling a good idea after everything that you two had been through?!

“Wait…” he called out to you has he jumped int from of your path. You angrily eyed the green flashes of light accompanying his body. You looked up to him with wild eyes—he knew how much you hated it when he used his quirk when it came to you.  He held up two apologetic palms to you as if he wanted to reach out but stopped himself letting them fall limply by his sides, “I just… this is the first time we have really talked in months. I know that I have already said this, but I am sorry… I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I think about it every day and if I could take it back I would. You know I don’t really mean those things.”

“Oh you mean the part where you called me a… hmm what were your exact words” you tapped your finger on the bottom of your chin in feign thought,  “A selfish bitch? Or maybe you’re referring to when you said that I was a bad mother?” You finally released your urge to roll your eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” he sadly repeated.

“Ya fucking think?” you dropped your head into a scowl, “’Night.”

“Wait. Y/N wait! Please. Let’s fix this right now,” he begged as he tried to keep up with your retreating form.

“Ummm, it’s a little past that isn’t it?” your voice carried higher in frustration as you continued walking, trying not to make eye contact him as you rushed toward the sanctuary of your room.

“No, I mean. I want to be close to you,” Izuku finally grabbed the courage to jump in front of you and place his hands on your shoulders, as if he were trying to steady you on the edge of a cliff, “Things just aren’t the same without you. We can be friends,” he promised.

Your faces were dangerously close to each other as he gazed deeply into your eyes with his pleading expression. You bit your lip in uncertainty. It seemed like minutes had passed by with the two of you staring at each other until you finally broke the stalemate, “Friends, huh?” you raised an eyebrow at the man before the distance between the two of you seemed to shorten ever so slightly.

It was still enough for Izuku to notice, “Y-Yeah,” he stammered as his eyes quickly shifted towards your lips and then back up to your eyes.

“Friends?” you softly whispered as the distance between the two of you shortened even more, as if by some magnetic force.

“Friends…” the words barely floated out of his mouth before your lips pressed softly against his. You pushed deeply into him and allowed the heat of the moment flow between the two of you, your lips moving perfectly against each other when suddenly, you ripped yourself away from him,

“You can’t handle being friends,” you spat, glaring at his at his clouded eyes. Your words seem to phase straight through him as he quickly grabbed your face once more and pressed his wanting lips back onto your own. You tensed up at first.

Since when was he so fucking bold?!

Despite every logical thought in your brain, you eventually fell into his warm embrace— melting against his familiar touch.

On the other side of town, Bakugou was also having a very heated night as he fought against a villain with meteor quirk.

“KACCHAN! On your left!!”

The explosive man immediately weaved to the right and only narrowly missed getting slammed by a flaming ball of rock. Most people in this situation would say thank you, however Bakugou was not like most people, “SHUT UP, YOU IDIOT!! I saw it coming! Also, call me that again if you wanna get set on fire!”

“I see you’re still the same…” Kaminari trailed off before shooting a line of lightning toward the villain.

Bakugou gave slight pause, “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be dumbass?!” he barked.

“You know what they say about near death experiences. They change a man. I guess it doesn’t apply to gremlins,” the other blonde smirked as he teased the short fuse.

“Shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you, sparky!” Bakgou bellowed just as Kirishima came into the mix,

“Hey guys, we are kinda in the middle of a major villain fight, here! Could you save the bickering for later?!” he yelled before slamming his hardened fist into an incoming meteor.

“He started it!” Kaminari laughed.

“I’ll fucking finish it t—”

Bakugou’s threat suddenly paused as his face became bright red. Both anger and embarrassment accumulated in his cheeks as he flashed a furious glare behind him. Who the fuck just grabbed his ass?!

However, his face immediately fell as he found no one behind him.

That’s when it hit him like a meteor—the bond. That fucking bitch must be slutting it up!!

WAIT… she was with … does that fucking mean…?!

The man felt the sudden urge to through his entire body into a bleach bath.

Deku was indirectly copping a feel on his ass.

“DEKUUUUUUUUU,” Bakugou screeched at the top of his lungs as the redness in his face intensified by tenfold, “YOU BASTAAAARD!”

Do you keep going with Midoriya?? or slam the breaks??

YOU DECIDE!

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[indiavolojones]

Diavolo glances at his employer for the night, corners of his mouth turning up in a lazy smile at the other's presence.

“You’re still here?” Lucifer asks, standing by the side of the grand piano with his own glass, looking out into the crowd, “Your set is over. I’m not going to pay you for an encore.” 

alternate summary: classy lounge owner lucifer flirts with pianist diavolo! hahaha, you thought dialuci hour was over? think again, baybeeee.

2kish words, G, dialuci, #swanky lounges are tres sexy, y’all.

this fic is served best with some soft jazz and idk, maybe imagine a sepia tone over everything?

-

As the final notes of his song fade, a hand sets a glass of amber colored liquor on the folded lid of the piano. 

(On a coaster, of course. The beautifully made and maintained grand piano is easily worth $80,000 and Diavolo is doing well in his field, but not that well.) 

The hand belongs to none other than Lucifer, infamous owner of The Fall, the swankiest lounge in town, and for the last two hours of Diavolo's set, his boss. Diavolo glances at his employer for the night, corners of his mouth turning up in a lazy smile at the other's presence. 

“You’re still here?” Lucifer asks, discreetly polishing an imagined scuff on the pristine surface of the piano, “Your set is over. I’m not going to pay you for an encore.” 

In a sharp suit befitting his status, Lucifer is always dressed to the nines when he’s at work. The man is devastating to look upon, cutting a striking image as he looks out into the crowd. Honestly, Diavolo doesn’t think he’s seen Lucifer in anything less than a sports jacket… 

But he’d like to. 

(Maybe a cardigan. Oh, he’d love that.) 

Diavolo hums a few notes from the song still ringing in his head, the soft melody tapped into the rim of the glass. 

“And yet you’re buying me drinks?” Diavolo grins, an ungodly amount of satisfaction on his face from the almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Lucifer’s mouth. He’s not sure if it’s a frown or a smile, but it’s something. 

“If I’m getting a free show, I can probably afford to offer my musicians a drink or two." Lucifer says — dismissively, as if his standing near Diavolo is not a result of the unavoidable attraction between them, Lucifer drawn to Diavolo like Diavolo is drawn to him. Diavolo cocks a brow as Lucifer realizes his choice of phrasing.

“A free show –” Diavolo’s flirtatious tone is badly concealed as he speaks, interrupted by Lucifer's curt growl.

“Don’t.” 

Lucifer would be glaring at him, Diavolo is sure, if not for the casual bustle of the lounge’s patrons. In lieu of an answer that would likely get him kicked out, he raises the glass to his occasional employer, bringing the crystalline glass to his lips. 

The burn of the vapours numbing his mouth is familiar, almost like an old friend that still likes to roughhouse, but what really sticks out to Diavolo is the flavor. 

Diavolo’s not a whiskey connoisseur by any means, but he’s had enough of a variety of cheap and disgustingly expensive liquor in his life that he can tell immediately. Vanilla. Caramel. Dried fruit. Woody spice. A smoothness as he savors it in his mouth, licks the drops of it off his lips. Jack Daniel's tastes like sickly sweet maple syrup in comparison to the several drams of high quality liquor swirling around his glass. 

It's a damn good liquor, aged at least ten years, if his hunch is correct. Top shelf. Easily.

Diavolo glances down at it, something warm like the whiskey (but not quite the same) settling in his belly. 

Diavolo knows he shouldn't comment on it. He shouldn't tease Lucifer over a glass of what is likely a thirty dollar (at least!) glass of beautifully aged whiskey, because then Lucifer will abruptly stop as if he’s gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. Lucifer is a successful business owner, he has the means to be generous like this if he so chooses… 

But that's just it. If he so chooses. 

Diavolo loves that he chose to do it. For Diavolo! He could shout that off the rooftops, he’s so damn elated. 

Lucifer isn’t the type to spoil his employees in such a way – or his family, honestly. Lucifer’s a tough love kinda guy, and Diavolo’s definitely about that. He has to focus on not letting his stupid heart work itself into overdrive with delight that Lucifer is spoiling him so, after months of toeing the line between amusing himself by riling up a hot guy and not getting fired by his most lucrative gig. 

The universe both helps out, and ruins it all, with the nearby distraction of someone lighting a cigarette, harsh smoke filtering into the air. 

The acrid smell of it makes Lucifer’s nose twitch with displeasure – ah right, he’s been in the process of trying to quit smoking for pretty much as long as Diavolo’s known him. It must be hard when Lucifer’s in charge of a place that actively allows smoking indoors but… Lucifer has more willpower than most people Diavolo knows. 

The action does, however, seem to break the moment between them, jarring Lucifer out of the suspended tension of their chat. Diavolo stifles the flare of disappointment as Lucifer clears his throat, gaze flitting away as he sips from his own glass. Unwilling to let the conversation fade into awkwardness, Diavolo sets his glass back down on the coaster. 

“Well, I’ve got nothing else to do tonight but drink myself silly at your overpriced bar, so…” 

Diavolo stretches his arms up in the air and rolls his neck side to side, ignoring Lucifer’s scoff at overpriced. After an exaggerated shaking out of his hands, he places them back on the keys, before glancing once more at Lucifer, “Kick me out whenever your next musician is ready to go, yeah?” 

“Of course,” Lucifer hums, but there’s a slight quirk to his mouth when he heads back into the crowd. 

His departure is followed by the beginning notes of a song Diavolo makes up on the spot, inspired by Lucifer’s long fingers wrapped around clear crystal, and by the soft bite of the whiskey on his lips.

-

-

-

He plays the entire night, despite Lucifer’s loud denouncement of any further pay since his set is technically over.

Lucifer probably has another musician booked to cover the last few hours of the night, but no one disturbs Diavolo, lost in the mindless melody dancing over the keys. It is no hardship for Diavolo, especially when Lucifer requests no set playlist from him. Their clientele doesn’t seem to have a preference or notice, too caught up in being rich bastards, most likely. 

Diavolo loves his craft; he loves music more than anything else in his life. There’s something else here, something about his desire to mash the new and the old, to bring life into the classics – he hasn’t told Lucifer about this yet, but he thinks Lucifer would understand. Lucifer’s hired him more than once, so Diavolo knows that Lucifer likes how he plays at least. Diavolo wouldn’t have crossed over that threshold into The Fall a second time if Lucifer hadn’t been impressed with his skills.

Lucifer may look like the stereotypical hot, repressed business type, but Lucifer owns a jazz lounge. 

Sure, it’s swanky and pretentious as hell, and all of the drinks are stupid overpriced if you ask him – but jazz, at its heart, is filled with an inescapable, overwhelming joie de vivre that makes the countless hours of practice worth it. 

Diavolo knows that it’s late, probably around two in the morning.  In his peripherals, he noticed the patrons progressively filter out in their expensive suits and shiny cocktail dresses, swaying with contentment from the good food, great drinks, and even greater musical accompaniment. He doesn’t have a watch and, because he’s a professional, his phone is somewhere at the bottom of his backpack in the employee break room, but he keeps playing anyway, simply because it’s easy for him to do so.

Lucifer shows up again, probably wondering how to kick Diavolo out so that no patrons try to linger past closing to listen to his music. Diavolo senses his presence lingering at the edges of the small performance floor, but allows himself to lean into his music rather than acknowledge Lucifer. 

With Lucifer there, Diavolo blatantly puts on a bigger show. 

A performer through and through, Diavolo likes to add a flourish to his performances regardless, but with Lucifer standing at the edge of the polished wooden floor that separates the performer’s area from the general floor, he bumps the obnoxiousness up a few levels. 

Slow, sustained notes are held longer for the effect, hands moving fluidly as they sweep over the keys. He curls his shoulders in, curls them out, sways as if the music is guiding him, instead of the other way around. Tilts his head back, exposing the long line of his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone in a way that tends to make the older women in the crowd breathless and… 

Lucifer lets him, which is the funniest thing of them all, really. 

(He’s been so indulgent with Diavolo lately. He’ll get spoiled if Lucifer keeps this up.)

Gracious man that he is, he allows Diavolo to finish his song, a mindless melody led by his bold, sure right hand, gratuitous ease as his left hand follows instinctively. He switches his chords from the first inversion, to the second, never following a set decision and only choosing what feels right at the moment. 

He’ll never play this song the same way again, and he’s glad that Lucifer is there to hear it. 

“I hear you’ve got a lovely voice.” Diavolo says, once his foot lifts off the sustain pedal, notes fading. Diavolo turns to Lucifer, who seems (well, he’s stoic, but it’s Lucifer, so it’s subtle) surprised. 

“Like an angel.”

“Who told you that?” Lucifer asks, likely already narrowing down the suspects in his head. It’s Mammon, obviously, but Diavolo won’t throw him under the bus and Lucifer will figure it out anyway. Diavolo tries for a mysterious smile, and Lucifer tchs under his breath.

“Mammon.” Lucifer says, but Diavolo mumbles I plead the fifth with his hands held up placatingly, sending an unspoken prayer to the heavens for Mammon’s fate. It really wasn’t his fault, Diavolo’s just nosy.

“You should perform for your customers one day, they’d love it. I can be your accompanist.” Shifting gears, Diavolo leans back on the bench, one hand propping himself up on the edge of it as he tilts his head invitingly at Lucifer. “I’ll even give you a returning employer discount for my services.” 

Lucifer quirks one regal, haughty eyebrow, and Diavolo is startled with the sudden urge to kiss the arch of it. 

“An accompanist.” Lucifer says, a master at saying few words for maximum effect, “You.” His gaze flutters to Diavolo’s hands, clear disbelief that Diavolo could ever manage to behave. They seem to linger longer than intended, and Diavolo’s so, so glad he rolled up his sleeves a few hours ago. 

Diavolo allows himself to look mock-offended, pressing one hand to his chest, “You doubt me?” 

“I have always been under the assumption that being an accompanist means to follow someone else’s lead. Are you saying that you’d be amenable to that?”

It’s a clear reference to Diavolo’s fluid style of playing, loose in structure but full of excitement. Diavolo’s music denies what’s written on the sheet music, instead seeking out chaos and harmony in equal shares. An accompanist, traditionally, is not as much of a wild card as Diavolo’s style advertises. 

The laugh that bubbles from Diavolo’s chest is warm, inviting, and it shakes his shoulders with mirth. It holds him hostage for a bit, until it mellows out into a chuckle. He wipes at an invisible (read: nonexistent, for dramatic effect) tear from under his eye. 

“You got me,” Diavolo huffs, before allowing him to fully take in the sight of Lucifer at the end of a long night, the weary look in his eyes of someone that still has plenty of work to do. Lucifer should take more time off, Diavolo thinks, having an inkling of what Lucifer’s hectic schedule tends to look like. Maybe he just needs to blow off some steam.

“Maybe there just hasn’t been someone I’d like to take charge,” Diavolo settles on, words heavy with an offer, but vague enough to lend a way out. He turns to look back at the piano, lightly dragging his fingers along white keys in a soft, half-attempted glissando, but the smile still plays at his lips. 

Silence. 

Willing himself to not look up, Diavolo tries to catch Lucifer’s reaction in the polished black grand’s reflection. Of course, it’s a piano, and only offers a blurry, warped image that shows he hasn’t immediately run away at an obviously charged offer.  

“And there is now?” Lucifer asks. 

-

The liquor Lu serves Dia is a macallan 18yo triple cask single malt whiskey which is a fun $261 USD per bottle! don’t think too hard about my descriptions of jazz, i got lazy.

[spoiler-alert-i-love-bats]

Jason Todd & Stephanie Brown

“—so basically, it’s not that Jar Jar is a bad character, it’s that the directors did him dirty.” Stephanie finished, her arms settling behind her head. She was lounging in the family room on the couch nearest to the fireplace. The pillows formerly on the couch had been scattered across the room from her passionate tangent, leaving her sprawled out, legs spread across the entire sofa in a position that most would deem uncomfortable. Hearing no response, she continued. “Hmm. I take it from your silence that you’re impressed, I know, I would be too. I know my Star Wars. People usually expect Tim to know this stuff because he’s the designated nerd of the bunch, but why do you think I’m dating him?” Steph yelled, her hand shooting up from behind the sofa. She answered herself in a harsh whisper, “My nerd skills rival his. Tim excels at knowing stuff about Star Trek, which is an absolute shit show by the way, but I am the god of Star Wars.” She looked up over the top of the sofa at Jason, and frowned. He wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was browsing the book shelves of the room with a bored look, his fingers occasionally hovering over a title, only to move on. 

Steph snapped her fingers, “Jason.”

“Hmm?”

“Are even you paying attention?”

“Nope.” He said, popping the ‘P’.

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” Steph said, flopping down on the couch.

“Apparently.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I was joking.”

“What didn’t you mean?” Jason said, turning away from the books with a crooked smile.

“I was messing with you.” She said, her head popping up from behind the sofa.

“What didn’t you mean?” Jason pressed, a cocky tone seeping into his words. Steph groaned.

“You’re really gonna make me say it.”

“Oh,” Jason laughed, “I really am.”

Steph’s features muddled into a sort of pout, before she let out a long, dramatic sigh. Her head disappeared back behind the couch before she said quietly, “You aren’t the worst. Jeez.”

Jason let a smile grace his features at the sound of her adorably indignant tone and let out a light laugh, “Well, you’re the first in this house to think so.”

Stephanie frowned. Sitting up she looked at Jason pointedly, “Don’t say that.” Jason rolled his eyes.

“You know it’s true. That’s literally why we’re here. They’re in there,” He pointed to the other room, “talking about what I just did, and you’re in here with me because you’re the only one who can tolerate me.”

“Okay, first of all that makes me sound like a weird-ass babysitter.” Jason snorted. “Second of all, I’m pretty sure they’re just upset because tracking you down took a while and you shot Bruce.” Steph smiled lightly, trying to offer some form of comfort.

“Yeah, I’m never hearing the end of that.”

“Jason, just because you messed up doesn’t mean you’re the worst.”

“Bruce would disagree.”

“And Bruce’s impossible standard is what we’re aiming for?” Steph slurred, sass dripping off her tongue.

“Look, Stephanie—”

“It’s Steph.”

“—I don’t care. Here’s the thing. They never cared about me, right? They only cared about how I benefit them. Therefore, they don’t want anyone running anything without their approval, especially the fucked up robin. For fucks sake, Bruce put a goddamn tracker on my arm to make sure I didn’t leave!” Steph  glanced at his arm and frowned.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my call.”

Jason scoffed. “I’m sure it wasn’t. I bet is was the precious replacement, he’s the tech savvy one after all.”

“Don’t call him that.” Steph snapped. “Just because he became robin after you doesn’t mean you get to attack his pride to make yourself feel better. It was four years ago. Get over it.” Steph stood up from the couch to face Jason, willing her breath to steady. “Look, I‘m sorry about what happened to you. I truly am. I wasn’t there for it, but I was here to see the side effects. They care about you,” Steph looked over the the door to the other room before looking down, “more than they ever cared about me.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steph’s head snapped up.

“Oh yeah? Pretty sure you weren’t there.” Steph leered. “I truly think Bruce mourned more for you than he ever mourned for Tim and Damian after they died.”

That made Jason perk up, his brows furrowing. “What are you—”

“He was a shell afterwards Jason, he hardly even acknowledged me coming into Tim’s life. Hell, he didn’t even talk to me. I was pushed to the sidelines, along with Barbara and Kate, and he knew them longer! And Dick wasn’t the person he is now--he wasn’t as happy and carefree. He was off with the Titans more times than not because he felt like he failed you as a big brother and couldn’t face Bruce alone.”

Jason opened his mouth to deny her words but she waved him off. She wasn’t going to listen to him insist that they weren’t brothers. Jason was a terrible liar.

“And Tim? Don’t get me started. He sacrificed his soul to live up to your legacy and he still feels like he hasn’t done enough. Bruce didn’t help either—he never loved Tim like he loved you.”

“How on earth would you even know that?” Jason yelled.

“I looked around!” Steph shouted, her arms outstretched.

“You don’t know shit.”

“I’ve seen how Bruce acts around Dick, how he acts around Damian. I’ve seen how he acts around you, and how he acts around everyone else in comparison! All you need to do is watch Alfred when Bruce talks to Tim. The old man is heartbroken over it.”

“For god’s sake...”

“It’s not like I’m not smart Jason,” Steph spat. “You can’t get into this family unless you have something to offer.” Jason stepped back, confusion settling over his features. Steph pressed on. “Now listen closely, Jason. You’re here because the people behind that door, your father and brothers, care about you. They give a damn about your future in this family, and don’t say they don’t because you’re a lot smarter than that, Jay.”

Jason looked down, unable to hold her gaze and scoffed under his breath. He swallowed, the silence in the room making the air seem thick. “That was quite the speech.”

“We aren’t all as difficult as Bruce,” She seethed, “and now that he’s come around—”

“Took him four fucking years.”

“Better late than never. I had to get a few good hits in but he got there.”

Jason looked up at her, shocked. Did she really? He looked her up and down scanning for tells, and searching her eyes. Jason had seen her lie before and this wasn’t it. Her words were cold and sure, not bubbly and awkward. Jason could see why Tim liked her now, she was almost as two faced as that little bastard. Meeting her glare, Jason was pretty sure it could rival Bruce’s.

“Damn, blondie,” Jason whispered. “Bruce has got nothing on you.”

Steph gave him a hesitant smile. “It’s Steph.”

“Nah, I ain’t buying it.” Jason said, a small laugh slipping through his words. “You okay now?”

“Yeah… I’ve said my peace.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Jason hesitated before letting out a long sigh.

God, I cant believe I’m doing this.

“I should probably apologize.”

“Yes, I think--wait, what? Are you actually?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Wooooow, an apology from the great Jason Todd?”

“Oh my god.”

“Am I dying?”

Jason rubbed a hand over his face, “See this is why I don’t do this.”

“This is the greatest moment of my life! Here, lemme get a camera—” Steph started in the direction of her room, but Jason quickly stopped her and picked her up as she squealed in delight. He held onto her waist firmly, refusing to let go amidst her laughter and pleas.

“No fucking way am I letting go.” Jason cackled, “If you tell anyone I did this I swear—”

“I won’t!” Steph giggled, as she squirmed. “I wont tell anyone. Look, I won’t even tell Tim.”

Jason thought about it for a moment. Keeping a secret from the smartest member of the family sounded slightly appealing. “Promise?”

“I promise!” she snickered. “Now put me down!”

Jason smiled at that, gently lowering her to the ground. Steph smiled back as he set her down. “Now, I’m only going to say this once.” Steph nodded, looking so sincere it made Jason pause. He hadn’t had someone look that way towards him in a long time. He smiled, then shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “I’m sorry, blondie. I shouldn’t have pressed the Tim button.”

Steph felt her cheeks start to burn. “It’s okay.”

“Tim’s lucky to have you.” Jason said, turning to leave. “Now I’m going to head to the kitchen before this whole situation gets even more awkward.”

“Wait!” Steph said, “There is one more thing.”

Jason turned around just to be attacked by Steph, her arms wrapping around his torso, her face pressed against his chest. Jason froze. Steph giggled. “It’s called a hug, dummy, and you aren’t leaving until you hug me back.”

 ------

 “Master Jason.” Alfred greeted.

“Hey Alfie.” Jason said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“You seem quite happy, considering the situation at hand.” Alfred noted.

Jason smiled, “Yeah. Yeah I guess I am.”