#// tHE POPTART THING WAS STUCK IN MY HEAD...

[buckyalpine]

Sleepy Bucky

Overworked and exhausted beefy babie Bucky. He’s borderline acting like a toddler because he’s so tired and doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s beyond just sleepy, nearly delirious from a lack of rest after spending weeks on a mission. He’s all pouty and grumpy on the jet ride over, dragging his duffle back behind him as he trudges through the compound. 

“Hey Buck” You greet him from the couch where you were watching TV, only for him to wordlessly flop forward and face plant himself onto the sofa. “You okay?” 

He lets out a grunt while you pet his hair, coaxing him to at least lie on his back instead of suffocating himself into the couch seat. 

“What’s wrong Bucky” 

“Wan a poptart” 

You were sure you heard incorrectly, there was no way the super solder had requested the very treat he said was nothing but sugar and chemicals (though it didn’t stop him from finishing the whole box the first time he tried them). 

“A poptart?”

“Stwabewy poptart” 

You blink at his slurred words, watching him curiously as he rolls off the couch to slump onto the floor like a starfish, eyes wide open, arms and legs splayed out to the sides.

“Do you still want the poptart?”

“Ya” 

You nod, heading over to the kitchen to toast a poptart for him, occasionally peeking over to see what new pose he’d put himself in. You bring the poptart for him on a small plate along with a glass of milk, placing it on the coffee table where he’s still laying down. He pouts when you don’t put it on the floor within his reach, not bothering to sit up from his chosen position. 

“Feed me” He demands, looking at you with puppy eyes while you giggle, sitting down beside him and bringing the poptart to his mouth so he can take a bite. You’re not a fan of him eating in such a pose but it’s not like your strong enough to move him yourself. 

“Careful, don’t choke” 

“Save me. Give me mouth to mouth” He snickers to himself, while you roll your eyes, letting him take little bites.

“Wan milk” He rolls over onto his front, humming contently when you bring the glass for him to take a sip. You can’t believe you have to deal with this absolute manchild, letting him finish his snack. 

“Why don’t you get some rest” You see his eyes starting to close, but his body still too wired to actually fall asleep. 

“Don’t wanna” he rubs his eyes,  unsure of what he even wants anymore. 

“Alright, how about we just put your things away and change into something more comfy” Your reason with him, relieved when he nods and allows you to help him up, taking him to his room. He tosses his bag aside before starting to take off his gear, grumpily huffing when his zip gets stuck. 

“My zip” He pouts, dropping his arms to his sides, ready to crawl into bed with his tac suit on at this point. You giggle, gently tugging it till it easily slides down, helping him with the rest of the belts and buckles until he’s in just his boxer briefs. 

“How about your joggers and a tshirt?” You were about to go to his closet to grab his clothes but he has no interest in putting clothes back on. 

“No”

“But you’re just in your underwear Buck” You say incredulously while he starts making his way to bed, slipping under the covers. 

“M’not nakey. Just half” He shrugs, giving you grabby hands, hoping you’ll join him. You sigh, joining him under the covers, hoping he’ll go right to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

“Wanna sleep” He whines, and you can’t help but laugh because it’s very clear he needs it and no one’s stopping him from going to bed. 

“Go to sleep Bucky” 

“Okayyy” He drawls, shuffling around the sheets, huffing with each position, deeming nothing comfy enough for him to sleep. He reaches over for you, disregarding his pillow and replacing it with you instead. 

“What are you doing Buck” 

“M’a koala” He mumbles, burying his face into your chest and wrapping his arms and legs around you, his body starting to finally relax, all the tension in his muscles dissipating into thin air once hes wrapped around with you. 

“You’re a 6 foot super soldier” You huff, shifting against his wishes, trying to get air back into your lungs while he lets out a disgruntled grunt each time you squirm. “And you’re heavy”

“You movin’ too much” He complains, eyes still squeezed shut, hugging you tighter, starting to fall in and out of sleep at the feeling of your warmth. 

“Cause you’re squishing me bub” You snort, grazing his scalp and softly rubbing his temples while he purrs against you like a needy kitten. In his state of half slumber, he only registers bits and pieces of what you say. 

“M”not squishy” His voice is muffled as he keeps his face pressed into your chest. 

“No, I said you’re squishing me” By now theres no point in trying to tell him what you mean, he’s too sleepy to understand anything. 

“My squishy” He sleepily mumbles, letting out a content sigh when you pull the covers up over both of you. “G’night squishy” 

[simp-legend]

Drunk Confessions

Requested: No

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summary: One of Tony's parties leads you to become very close with a certain silver tongue God

Fic type: Romantic (ig) with a hint of spice at the end

Warnings: None

Words: 758 words

A/N: This is a really terrible oneshot that I've had in my drafts for ages, so apologies. Also I apologise for not being active that much I've been quite busy whilst struggling with mental health.

Proof-Read: No

"But I don't wanna gooo," I told Nat. "Why can't he throw a party some other day when I'm not busy. I need to finish moving in!" I said.

"Well, Tony is kinda throwing this party for you because you are the new avenger," Nat chuckled. 

"Then he should have thrown it two months ago when it was finally official, should I wear this dress, or the blue one?" I asked, holding up two dresses.

"The blue one, anyway, on the bright side, you-know-who will be there," she wriggled her eyebrows.

"Who, Voldemort?" I scoffed, turning away to hide my blush.

"No, Loki," she nudged my elbow. I rolled my eyes but had a smile on my face.

~Time skip~

I walked in excitedly but (tried and failed) to keep a straight face. I made my way to the avengers who were sitting around a table laughing and drinking.

"Y/n! Hello!" Thor yelled when he saw me.

"Hey Thor," I waved. I look at the spot next to him to see Loki eyeing me with a face that shows no emotion. Then, to break the awkwardness, Tony walked in with a box of alcohol.

"So I did a quick run to the bar and brought these so now we can officially PARTAAAAAY!" Tony pumped his fist up. After that, more people started to roll in. I got bored after a while so I went upstairs. I opened the doors to the living room to find Wanda watching TV.

"Hey Wanda," I said slumped next to her on the couch.

"Hello Y/n," she said, not looking away from the TV. She was watching some old black and white show. We sat in silence for a while, watching the show. After an hour I decided to head back downstairs and check on everyone.

While I was heading down the stairs when I bummed into Nat.

"Oh, hey Nat. What's going on?" I noticed she had an annoyed face.

"Stark convinced the boys to drink more and now it's chaos down there. The boys got crazy drunk. Even Bruce and Loki are drinking alot," she sighed.

"Oof. Well imma check it out!" I chuckled.

It was absolute chaos. Clint was singing while swinging from the chandler, Thor was wearing a poptart box as a hat while swinging his hammer at non-existent villains, Tony and Rodney were arguing weather the moon was made out of cheese, Steve and Bucky were having a throwing contest with his shield, which so far had resulted to several broken windows.

"Um, is everything ok?" I asked flustered.

"oH, helloY/n!" Loki slurred, waving franticly at me from his spot on the floor.

"Uh, hi?" I said, worried because when I walked in Loki was wondering aloud how long it would take to chop off all of Thor's hair blindfolded.

"Hey, did anyone tell you that ya look very pretty?"

"Um," I was shocked. "Thanks?"

Loki tried to stand up, but stumbled from all the achohal.

"Oof!" I said, as the god crashed into me, resulting us to fall down.

The next thing I knew, Loki was on top of me, and we were laying on the ground, our faces only centimeters apart.

I coughed nervously, and tried to get up but unLuCkY mE, a stool fell on top of us, so we couldn't get up because our legs were stuck. I was a stuttering mess.

"S-s-sor-ry..." I said, my face feeling like it was on fire.

"No worries, Darling," Loki said coolly. Wait... he didn't seem so drunk anymore...sus.

I felt my heart race faster and faster as I couldn't look away from Loki's face. His eyes were focused on mine, then darted to my lips for a hot second. Then he smashed his lips onto mine!

I laced my arms around his neck as he snaked his hands down to my waist, his tongue roamed my mouth as I lightly tugged on his smooth black hair. I wanted it to last for ever. Sadly, luck was not at my side.

After a couple of seconds, minutes, hours, I honestly do not either, nor or care, we broke apart.

Because Clint yelled, "Get a room!" after the chandelier gave way and crashed to the ground.

Blushing furiously, we managed to out of the stupid stool, and off the floor. 

"Would you like escape these idiotic Midgaurdians and continue somewhere else lady Y/N?" Loki smirked, turning to me.

"Of course" I grinned mischievously.

Please reblog to boost my page!

Constructive criticism is welcomed!

[ethannku]

fanfic ask game!

tagged by @satans-poptarts, tysm!!

1. how many works do you have on Ao3? - 38 (40 if we count anonymous fics)

2. what's your total Ao3 word count? - 96,376

3. what fandoms do you write for? - my most consistent fandoms are pjo, hoo, and toa, but i occasionally write for semantic error and naruto

4. what are your top five fics by kudos? - give me one good honest kiss (valgrace 5+1) - i'm stuck with u (trans nico) - paris (youtuber nico) - what are the chances? (cartercy oneshot) - just the way you are (trans nico again)

5. do you respond to comments? - always!!! i love responding to comments! also i can't stand when my inbox has unread messages lol so i try to reply as fast as possible

6. Which of your fics has the angstiest ending? - oh thats tough... maybe no rest for the cursed, where jason is sent to valhalla? or still with you, a tsats rewrite where nico meets jason in tartarus instead of [redacted] and [redacted]. i don't really write angsty endings tho do i.

7. Which of your fics has the happiest ending? - literally no clue. i have so many fluffy ones + ones that never even had plot to begin with lmaooo

8. Do you get hate on fics? - thankfully no!!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? - stares at my current wip. ahhahaha. straight smut apparently.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? - i do not, tho i've wanted to write a pjo hogwarts au for ages

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? - i don't think so

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? - yes! someone translated a fic of mine into spanish :D

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? - yep

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? - for writing: valgrace. for reading: sasunaru, hands down, no competition. nothing comes close to them i fear

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? - i cannot handle posting things that aren't fully finished so thankfully i have no wips!! however i have so many drafts that will never see the light of ao3

16. What are your writing strengths? - i have no clue... i want to say descriptions? when i write i picture things in my head like a movie, so i can see which parts of the scene i want to point out to readers

17. What are your writing weaknesses? - outlining lmao, i cannot outline for the life of me...

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? - I LOVE IT. i don't think i've done it but i really should do a fic where someone speaks french...

19. First fandom you wrote for? - omg if we're talking first ever time i wrote within an existing universe then it was for the philippa fisher books in 5th grade, i think i wrote some for a school assignment? but if we're referring to first time i wrote fanfic and called it fanfic, then it would be haikyuu i think

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? - give me one good honest kiss always always always. i have never outdone it imo and i love it very much <3

as for tagging: anyone who wants to!

[dearamleo]

Number 9! Gimme dadfics pretty pleez 🥰

This one is just a mess of random snippets with no real plot yet, but I'm admittedly in love with it. I love Wolfstar raising kids.

Edit (9/4/24): it’s no longer random snippets, you can read the whole fic here!

Instead of saying any of that, though, Sirius shrugged. “Well, you know, things-”

Just then, though, his feeble reasoning was cut off by a small blur of blue fabric and light up shoes that slammed into Remus’s legs, nearly knocking him over.

“Daddy! I found them!” The small boy held up a box of PopTarts triumphantly.

“Good job, love.”

Sirius blinked from the boy to Remus and back again. He almost had to physically shake himself from the shock of the scene. “Remus, you have a kid.”

It was a stupid thing to say. Not only had the boy just called him ‘daddy,’ but looking at him, he was a carbon copy of Remus- down to every last bouncy curl and summer fading freckle.

“I do,” Remus said, a painfully fond smile pulling at his lips as he placed the PopTarts into his cart. “Sirius, this is Teddy. Teddy, this is my old school friend, Sirius. Can you say hi?”

The little boy stuck out his hand to Sirius. “Hello. My name is Theodore Edward Lupin.”

Sirius couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from his lips at the boy’s rather firm handshake. “Hello, Theodore Edward Lupin. My name is Sirius Orion Black. You’ve got a good handshake there, you a lawyer or something?” 

“No, I’m only four,” he said, holding up five slightly pudgy fingers. Remus softly reached over to press one of the extra fingers down and the boy grinned up at his father, using Remus’s hand to spin around in a clumsy circle before he dropped it. 

Sirius watched, bemused, as the boy pulled out a packet of fruit snacks from the little purse he had over his shoulder and proceeded to bounce gently from foot to foot happily munching, no longer paying attention to the adults and in his own little world.

Blinking at him, Sirius’s chest felt achingly tight with the barely suppressed urge to squeal. He looked over at Remus, his eyes feeling big and his face scrunched up.

Remus laughed a little. “Sorry, he has that effect on most people.”

“Remus, he’s so cute I want to die.”

“That he is,” he said with a tousle to Teddy’s curls.

“Wow, you have a kid. And a tie. You’re like a proper, full on adult now,” Sirius said, tugging a bit self consciously on his leather jacket. “Here I was excited to buy my first vegetable in a week.”

Remus tilted his head back in laughter. “Don’t let the child fool you, I still have no clue what I’m doing and haven’t had a real, unfried vegetable in at least a month.”

[pardonmydelays]

@meetmeatthemidnight and @tisthedamnseasns tagged me to answer some questions (ily guys 🩵)

relationship status: fucked in the head

favourite color: pink and purple

song stuck in my head: gracie abrams - rockland

favourite food: any kind of pasta and also pierogi

last song i played: nanna - disaster master

dream trip: new york city baby

last thing i googled: ac3 privateer contracts

np tags: @onlyyseedaylight, @fckthtgetmoney, @poptart-cat-78, @era-zona, @stoplookingupforheaven, @selcouthangel, @dearmirrorball 🩷

[swiftsuburbanlegends]

Blood Makes You Related, Loyalty Makes You Family

Sonny worshipped his father growing up. Seeing him work a con was like watching Picasso paint a master piece. He wanted nothing more than to become half the man his father was. And in that way, he had chosen his own path.

Because Jasper Delaney Sr. was a hard man to get to notice you, even if you were his only kid. So Sonny started running side hustles when he was seven. He’d host a game of 3 card monte on the play ground, earning most of his brownie obsession from the snacks kids had bet. And the day he switched to cash, and brought home 20 bucks, was the proudest day of his young life.

Until his father took him in the kitchen, and exchanged it for a five.

“That’s not even half,” Sonny protested.

Jasper winked at him. “The only way you get a full cut is by being in charge. And no offense kid, but you ain’t got the brains for that.”

Sonny was pretty sure his dad used the rest to buy beer and a pack of smokes. 

---

So as the years progressed and 3 card monte stopped pulling in the crowd, Sonny moved on to other things. He would pocket candy and poptarts at the drug store down the block, selling them to his classmates for half the retail price. And after the first time he tripped a kid for getting in his way, others started paying him just to be their muscle in the halls. It was a sweet set up, until he broke a kids arm in 8th grade and got sentenced to 14 months in juvenile detention.

Jasper only showed up to visit him once that first week. “Look Sonny, I’m headed out of town for awhile. Got a job to take care of in Vegas. Probably be gone the whole year.”

Sonny just nodded. He knew better than to ask for details. His father wouldn’t spill, and a place crawling with cops was the last spot for those kinds of talks. 

“But I’ll be back the day you get out. Hear me son?”

“Yeah, Pops.”

“Keep your head moving in here kid,” Jasper added as he patted his son on the shoulder and got up to leave.

---

It’s three days, three days in and Sonny is about ready to punch his way out. He hates his roommate, he hates the guards, he hates that his dad is off on some job while he’s stuck in there. All because his dad wanted him to lean a little on some guy’s kid. And Sonny being Sonny leaned a little too hard, and snapped the kids arm.

Some beefy guy knocks into his shoulder and Sonny is ready to haul off and deck him. But before he can take a step forward, a hand grabs his shoulder and pulled him back and around a corridor.

He’s greeted by a kid who’s about a foot shorter than him, and couldn’t be any older than Sonny himself. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Look I appreciate the move. Donnie is a dick to, well everyone, but if you make a move on him exactly two things are gonna happen,” he continued. “One, your sentence will probably be extended and he’ll get moved to the infirmary and two, if he gets moved then my planted contraband will not get discovered on him and my many weeks of planning will be for nothing. So either make him hurt for an hour or make him suffer for months?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rush Foster,” he replied with a smirk. “And you’re Jasper Delaney Jr. Got 14 months for aggravated assault, which if you hadn’t had such a shitty public defender could have been 6 with 6 months community service. Tough break on that one.”

“What is happening? How do you know any of that?”

“I pride myself on knowing things. Especially when it interests me.”

“Okay,” Sonny shook his head and moved to leave.

“If you’re interested, I could use a second pair of hands to take down Donnie’s sidekick goon. He’s been spouting crap for the last couple of months about getting a job with the Bertinelli’s when he gets out. But I have it on good authority that he’s made a deal with the DA to gather dirt on them in order to get his record wiped right after he turns over evidence.”

Sonny paused. His dad told him to never get in bed with Bertinelli business, why stay loyal to one family when you can do small jobs for many.

“Look i don’t care about them one way or another. But Donnie’s looking to make a name for himself when he gets out. If I can cut him and his friends off at the start, life on the outside is gonna be better for all. Trust me.”

“What did you say you’re name was again?”

“Rush.”

Sonny thought for a second. His father told him to follow his rules if he ever wanted to make it in the business. But his father also skipped town the second Sonny was locked up. Maybe he’d come back and maybe he wouldn’t. But Sonny was starting to think Jasper Delaney only had enough thought to look out for himself. And if he wanted to make it, he’d have to find people who had his back.

“Call me Sonny,” he replied sticking his hand out. “What can I do to help.”

After that moment, Sonny and Rush couldn’t be separated, gods help anyone who tried. 

[dreamywakes]

get to know me meme

I didn’t get tagged, I’m just bored.

rules: tag (10) people you want to get to know better.

relationship status: Taken

favorite color: Pastel blue and pastel purple.

3 favorite foods: Spaghetti, pizza, and soft tacos 

song stuck in my head: Blown Away by Carrie Underwood

last thing i googled: Little Misfortune playthrough (I was watching a streamer play it and was wondering how long the game was. I couldn’t really remember the length.)

last song i listened to:  I Hear a Symphony- Cody Fry

dream trip: Japan I guess

time: 8:17 AM

anything i really want right now: A chocolate chip Poptart would be nice right now

[thelittlestspider]

Hey there! I'd like to learn a little more about your writing process. Feel free to give as much or as little detail as you see fit.

What do you consider to be essential for a successful writing session?

Do you like to have a certain snack or drink on hand?

Do you have to listen to a certain type of music to get in the mood or do you work better in silence?

Do you like to work in the same location every time you write or do you like to switch it up regularly?

Do you need a detailed plan of where the story is going before you can draft anything or do you prefer to jump right in and make everything up as you go along?

-with love and ✨Good Vibes✨ from a friend

(sorry i haven't answered the other ask you sent. i haven't answered it yet because i'm trying to decide what wip to answer with, because i'm indecisive. and i also got bit by the fanfic bug.)

- i think a successful writing session is just being able to get down whatever scene is stuck in my head at the time.

- it really just depends on where i am. if i'm in my room i don't really eat or drink while i write (bc roaches), but if i'm at work i usually have a coke and lunch or cookies/candy/cake/poptarts. it just depends on what's on hand.

- normally what i do is listen to the wip playlist before i start writing to get in the groove, then i have to write in silence or i'll just end jamming to the music and nothing will get done lol.

- usually i just write at work or on my bed at home bc i don't really have anywhere else to write that's comfortable. i'd kill for like a room with an armchair to read and write in.

- i try to make plans/outlines, but they always end up changing as i go along. so i guess i just discovery write until i get it to where i want it to go. though i have to say, it would be really nice to just be able to plan the whole thing out, then write and finish the whole thing (adderall would fix me, i know it 😔).

[jakkumidoriya]

❛ Sorry I just have a quick question: What? ❜

[ SENTENCE MEME — ANIMATEDTEXT / ( SFW ver. ) ]

Wuh oh. That tone in Mikumo’s voice was all it took for Jack to start thinking that perhaps he’s done fucked up somewhere along the lines. Poor guy can’t even try to flee should things go south, he’ll just pass out trying.

“It’s-- Well-- Okay in my defense, my blood sugar was running low, see, and well, all Auntie Inko had on her at the time were just poptarts, so...”

[barry-j-blupjeans]

“Hello,” said a voice from Magnus’s right. He looked up and there was Kravitz, with two cups in his hand. A little umbrella stuck out of each of them. Magnus had never seen him look so dressed down, but it was a good look. Further out onto the beach, he could see Taako lying on a lounge chair. Lup, still in her lich form, was doing something to his hair. “Mind if I sit?”

“Go for it,” Magnus said. Kravitz sat next to him, passing him one of the cups. “What’s in the cups?”

“Pina Colada,” Kravitz said. Magnus took a sip. “Davenport made it.”

“It’s really good,” Magnus said. Even further down the beach, he saw Mookie running from Merle, his hands waving wildly in the air. He was headed straight towards Taako, which Magnus was sure would turn out great. “Is he still inside?”

“He went out back, actually,” Kravitz said, glancing towards Merle’s beach house behind them. “Needed to talk to Lucretia about something, I think.”

“Right,” Magnus said. He took another sip. “Uh, speaking of speaking about things. Sorry for like, threatening you? I don’t think I ever actually apologized for that.”

“Threatening me which time?” Kravitz asked and Magnus snorted.

“The time where Taako had you go get the salt shaker from his room,” Magnus said. “I’m not sorry about the other times.”

“That’s- that’s fair,” Kravitz said, smiling slightly. “Thank you. I’m trying my best to- to fit in and not upset anyone but it’s been kind of tough. You’d tell me if I did anything wrong, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Magnus said. “And I would not let you forget it. One time Barry ate the last Fantasy Poptart we had and I wouldn’t let it go until- well, uh. You know. But now I’m gonna start bringing it up again, so thanks.”

“On the topic of Barry,” Kravitz said, averting his eyes. “I know it’s not really my- my place, but I think you need to go talk to him.”

((continue reading on AO3!!))

[eliemo]

Call Me When You're Sober

Summary: Remus tells Janus he loves him for the first time. Or at least...Janus thought he had.

TWs: alcohol usage in the beginning and talk about being drunk throughout, misunderstandings, hangovers

Notes: Human au, loosely based on a drawing from @underdog-arts their art is amazing go support their patreon.

Established romantic Demus/Dukeceit and background (very background) Prinxiety

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

Janus frowned, something that could probably be considered a pout with how out of it he was. He chased Remus’s mouth as the other man pulled away, one hand still carded through Janus’s hair.

His frown was definitely closer to a pout judging from the way Remus laughed out loud, eyes softening in a way anybody else rarely got to see, and Janus felt his cheeks flush even further. They’d been tinged with pink since his second drink (Remus hadn’t stopped pointing out the color in his face all night, adorably smitten by it) but at this point there was no way to blame his blush entirely on the alcohol.

“I’m not gonna kiss you, Jan,” Remus repeated, grinning insufferably when Janus slurred an illegible plea. “Not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re drunk,” Remus said, moving his hands from Janus’s hair to keep him steady on the bar stool. “You won’t even remember any of this in the morning.”

“I will,” Janus protested, tongue slow and heavy in his mouth. “I always do.”

“Alright then, party animal.” Remus smirked, standing from the bar stool to drape one of Janus’s arms over his shoulder, helping him stagger to his feet. “Let’s get you home. Pat bought us an Uber.”

“But--”

“You can have a kiss when you’re sober,” Remus said, waving at a blurred shape Janus thought might be Patton. “Ok?”

Janus couldn't even make out his own reply, stumbling and leaning heavily against Remus’s side. He felt weightless, floating through the air, and it took him a moment to realize it was because Remus had picked him up and carried him out of the bar.

It felt like forever since he’d let himself get this drunk at a party before, and even longer since Remus had been the one sober enough to take care of things.

It was...nice. Really nice. Even if what rational thought he had left knew for a fact he would feel like shit tomorrow.

He was vaguely aware of Remus gently putting him in the backseat of a car and carefully following in after him, their hands loosely intertwined.

The driver said something before pulling away from the curb and driving off but Janus couldn’t make anything out, overcome by giddy exhaustion, and focused entirely on Remus.

He snorted when he caught Janus staring, and Janus knew he’d never get Remus to admit to blushing at the attention.

Janus leaned into the touch when Remus carefully framed his face, running his thumbs along his cheekbones, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Nobody else got to see Remus like this, thoughtful and loving and gentle. It was rare, but Janus always felt honored in some way. Even if he was so drunk he could barely comprehend it.

Remus suddenly leaned closer to press a gentle kiss to Janus’s forehead, slow and careful, one hand still cupping his jaw. He pulled back, just barely lit up by the passing streetlights, gaze soft as he looked Janus over.

“I love you,” he said for the first time, and Janus’s heart soared. “And I know you won’t remember this tomorrow.”

His face was beginning to ache with how much he was grinning, replaying the words over and over again in his head despite the fog weighing him down. Janus fell into Remus’s chest and shut his eyes to the sound of the car’s engine, trusting Remus to get them home safe.

---

Janus unfortunately did remember the night before, blurred and distant as it was, and that last conversation with Remus was the only thing keeping Janus from swearing off alcohol for the rest of his life.

His head was pounding, the light filtering in from the window felt like someone was poking knives in his skull, and every time he tried to sit up every single bone in his body violently protested, stomach lurching dangerously.

But he couldn’t even be annoyed at any of that right now.

Remus had said he loved him for the first time last night, holding his face like the most precious thing in the world, and that was the only thing on Janus’s mind.

He’d known Remus loved him. Or at least, he’d assumed. Remus tended to show love every way except verbal. It had taken some getting used to, insecurities Janus refused to voice always making him doubt that Remus actually felt the same, despite them dating for months and being friends for longer.

But Remus had said it last night. Remus had kissed Janus’s forehead and looked at him with soft fondness and told him he loved him.

He loved Janus.

And he had assumed Janus would be too drunk to remember, which meant he got to mercilessly tease Remus for the rest of the day about it.

Janus forced himself out of bed, noting with a small smile the water bottle that had been left on the bedside table. He could hear some commotion from the other room, probably Remus looking for food in the kitchen.

He sipped at the water, untangled himself from the sheets and slowly stumbled to his dresser to get a change of clothes. As uncomfortable as sleeping in jeans was, he appreciated Remus not changing him into pajamas while he was passed out.

When he felt human enough to leave his bedroom, wrapped up in sweats and a flannel, Janus slipped out of his bedroom and padded down the hall where Remus was sprawled out on Janus’s couch with a half eaten poptart on the coffee table.

“You could have slept in the bed, you know.”

Remus grinned up at him, disheveled and probably a bit sore. “Yeah well, you smelled gross.”

Janus knew Remus would never admit he just hadn’t been sure he was allowed, if Janus would be comfortable with someone sleeping next to him without clear permission.

Remus had a brass sense of humor, he was forward and grossly affectionate in public, but he was always so careful with Janus. There were so many unspoken questions, silent searches for approval, and private check-ins.

“You’re cute,” Janus said, grinning when Remus stuck his tongue out. “Do I get my kiss now?”

Something unreadable flashed in Remus’s eyes, and Janus assumed it was the realization Janus hadn’t been drunk enough to completely forget the night before.

It was gone in an instant, and Remus pushed himself up off the couch to shuffle across the small room, gather Janus in his arms, pull him close and kiss him just like he’d wanted the night before.

Remus pulled away with a wink that made Janus scowl playfully, and made his way to the connected kitchen. “I can’t figure out how to work your coffee maker.”

“If you break anything else in my kitchen I’m killing you.” Remus had managed to break his old toaster when they’d first started dating, and Janus never planned on letting him live it down. “I’ll make you some.”

Remus jumped up on the counter, watching Janus refill the pitcher in the sink and grab the coffee grinds from the counter, eventually distracted by scrolling through his phone while the pot brewed.

“Hey,” Janus called when it was done, smirking when Remus hummed nonchalantly. “Did you tell me you loved me last night?”

Remus jumped and nearly dropped his phone, fumbling for a second before managing to put it down on the counter, hands ridiculously unsteady.

Janus expected the momentary surprise, but he didn’t expect Remus to bark out a panicked laugh and shake his head.

“What? No.” He scoffed, swinging his legs over the side of the counter. “I didn’t say that. Jeez how much did you drink, Jan?”

Oh.

He’d been ready for a bit of embarrassed denial, some teasing and flirting that had become normal between them. Last night had made Janus stupidly happy- happier than he remembered being in months- but Remus had jumped straight to denying it, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the entire world.

He suddenly felt cold, and a little bit like someone had shoved him to the floor. He quickly averted his gaze so Remus wouldn’t see how much that had hurt.

“Right,” he said, sliding Remus his mug of coffee. “Yeah, duh. Sorry. I was...super out of it.”

“It’s cool.”

Janus didn’t know what he was supposed to say now. There was a lump growing in his throat, something a little more crushing than simple disappointment weighing down on his chest.

“I’m...gonna make some food,” he said after a few seconds of unnatural silence. “We still have those frozen waffles, you want any?”

“Sure.”

Remus was being abnormally curt and dismissive, and Janus could practically see him searching for an excuse to escape the tense atmosphere that had never existed between them before.

“I, uh, have a change of clothes in my bag,” Remus said, waving a hand at the hallway. “I’m gonna go get dressed.”

Janus nodded, not trusting himself to speak as he went to rummage through the freezer to hopefully distract himself with making breakfast once Remus disappeared.

This wasn’t a big deal. He could blame his suddenly blurry vision on the hangover.

He’d...really thought he remembered last night. He could still feel Remus’s hands in his hair and that stupidly sweet smile on his lips when he refused to kiss him when he was drunk.

He remembered the pink blush on his nose when he’d said those three words, quiet like they were in their own little world that night. The scene had been replaying over and over in his head until he fell asleep, and had picked right back up when Janus had woken up.

It had felt so real. He’d thought...he’d thought it was real. He thought he’d finally be able to say it freely without worrying about moving too fast for Remus.

It was possible it could have all been a dream, but...

But Remus had answered so quickly. He’d been so adamant about how he hadn’t told Janus he loved him. Like he would never even consider doing such a thing.

Which...which was fine. Janus wasn’t going to hold Remus’s feelings against him, and he certainly wasn’t going to make a big deal about it.

He’d just been mistaken assuming he and Remus wanted the same kind of relationship. Janus loved Remus and Remus...didn’t. Janus wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted, but he’d made his feelings on the matter pretty clear today.

Janus had just been too blind to realize it after months of spending nearly every waking moment together.

That was fine. It was a stupid misunderstanding. Janus wasn’t going to cry like a heartbroken idiot just because Remus didn’t love him back.

He hissed out a curse under his breath when almost immediately there were tears slipping down his cheeks, and Janus pressed a hand firmly to his mouth to muffle the sobs that tried to escape.

He was so stupid. It wasn’t like this was the first time this had happened, Janus figured he would have been able to see the signs by now. People just didn’t want him like that.

He’d just...really thought Remus was different.

He didn’t think he would ever laugh off the idea of loving Janus.

Janus wrapped his free arm around himself, swaying slightly in the middle of the kitchen as he stared blankly at the toaster, trying and failing to get himself to suck it up and stop crying.

He was being ridiculous- shaking with the force of trying to hold back his sobbing, blinded by endless tears gathering in his eyes and flowing down his cheeks- and he needed to get a hold of himself before-

“Woah, what the fuck?”

Janus jumped, refusing to look at Remus standing in the hallway as he quickly tried to wipe his tears away with the palms of his hands. “Do you want syrup?”

He heard Remus move closer and kept his head down, staring resolutely at the kitchen tiles until he could see socked feet step into the room.

He still didn’t touch Janus, still so focused on his comfort (was any of it even for Janus’s comfort? Maybe Remus just hadn’t wanted to touch him this whole time) but he moved as close as he dared and lowered his voice.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Janus said automatically, choking on another hiccuping sob. “I just...have a headache. Stupid hangover.”

“Oh.” Remus hesitated, and Janus could feel him staring. “Did you take an ibuprofen? I can get you a couple from the bathroom. And like...gatorade. You still have some, right?”

Janus nodded and took a shaky breath, hating the way the tears still wouldn’t stop falling. “Yeah. In the fridge.”

“Good,” Remus said, and Janus still couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eyes. “I don’t want you hurting.”

“I’m fine. Just drank too much.”

“You were pretty drunk.”

“I don’t remember last night at all,” Janus said, more bitter than was probably necessary. “Clearly.”

It was enough to give Remus pause, plunging the kitchen into heavy silence. Janus crossed his arms and risked a glance up when he awkwardly cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Anyways, gatorade—”

“I can get it.”

“No, I got it,” Remus said, and Janus watched warily as he pulled out a chair from the table. “Sit down.”

Janus hunched his shoulders, tears still sliding down his jaw just as fast as before, but he did as Remus said and shakily made his way over to the table, lowering himself carefully until he could curl up in his chair.

Remus returned almost immediately with a bottle of blue gatorade from the fridge and two painkillers from the bathroom medicine cabinet. He handed them over silently, standing awkwardly by the table while Janus took them.

Janus did his best, carefully swallowing the pills and sipping the gatorade with shaky hands. But he couldn’t get himself to stop crying, or even slow his tears, wracked with seemingly never ending sobs no matter how hard he tried to get a hold of himself. Remus standing there just made it so much worse.

He saw Remus crouch down to Janus’s level, breaths only coming out more frantic when Remus frowned and moved to hold Janus’s face in his hands.

“C’mon,” Remus said softly, brushing Janus’s cheeks with his thumbs. “What’re you crying for?”

Janus couldn’t answer. Remus sounded so gentle and adoring and it only made him cry harder, choking on a pathetic whimper as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hey, hey, you’re ok.” Remus kept wiping Janus’s tears, his touch light and grounding. “It’s just me, Jan. You can tell me.”

Janus shook his head, weakly clutching at Remus’s sleeves. “N-no, I’m just...I’m being an idiot. Go get your waffles.”

Remus didn’t move, and Janus could practically feel him staring. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m being stupid,” Janus insisted, because he was. He knew he was. “I sw-swear I just...you don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“I’ll be fine, Jan. Tell me what happened.”

Remus kept brushing his tears away, warm and gentle, and Janus couldn’t catch his breath. Maybe there was a way he could fix this, get Remus to change his mind, or at least understand how he’d misread everything so horribly.

Janus finally managed to take a shaky breath, loosening his hold on Remus’s arms. “Did...did I do something wrong?”

“Wh- no?” Remus frowned, straightening a little to try and look Janus in the eyes. “You didn’t do anything.”

“You just,” Janus hesitated, wondering if it would be easier if he just gave up and dropped it. “You answered really fast when I asked about last night.”

Realization dawned on Remus’s face, and Janus’s heart dropped when he suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Oh.”

“I get it,” Janus said quickly, because now Remus was the one refusing to meet his gaze. “I do, it’s fine. I just...didn’t know if I had done something, or—”

He cut himself off when Remus suddenly pulled back, taking his comforting warmth with him, leaving Janus feeling frigid and empty.

He curled in on himself, wondering if at this point it would be a better idea just to kick Remus out of his apartment so they could start over and pretend none of this ever happened.

“It’s not...you- you didn’t...” Remus was stumbling over his own words, shuffling uncomfortably where he stood, and each attempt to explain only crushed Janus further. “It isn’t—”

“Yeah, no I get it,” Janus snapped, any venom overshadowed by the misery in his tone. He was hurt and tired and he just wanted to go back to bed. “It’s fine, Remus.”

“No, I’m—”

“I said I get it! It’s ok, I...I shouldn’t even have asked.”

“I lied.” Remus wasn’t looking at him, his back turned to Janus as he pulled and fiddled with his chain necklace. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” Janus...suddenly wasn’t sure what to say. “That you...loved me? Or that you didn’t say it.”

“That I didn’t say it,” Remus confessed, and Janus’s tears started to slow. “I, uh...I did. I said it.”

Janus didn’t move, terrified that he might somehow break the illusion and Remus would turn around laughing again, waving off any silly ideas of love or commitment.

“Did you mean it?” he asked carefully, hating how shaky his voice was. “If you were drunk we can just drop it.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Remus said. He sighed, running a hand over his face, still turned away. “Yeah, I...I meant it.”

“Oh.” Janus expected to feel relieved, but now Remus was shaking too, and he still wouldn’t turn around, and Janus just felt scared and numb. “Why did you—”

“Because I wasn’t ready,” Remus blurted. “I don’t...I don’t know if I’m ready, and I don’t know if you...I didn’t think you would remember. It’s...it’s a huge jump, Jan. And usually I’m all for being impulsive, you know that, but you just...this is different. You deserve better than that.”

Janus wiped once more at his eyes, but something had loosened a bit in his chest at Remus’s words, the other man still tense and refusing to look up from the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, rubbing his sleeve over his face until his eyes burned. “I shouldn’t have pushed, I just thought...something else.”

“What?” Remus finally turned to face him, but his confusion only lasted a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh, fuck I didn’t even...I didn’t think about your feelings. Shit, I’m- I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, Remus it’s fine—”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Remus pressed, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“I jumped to conclusions,” Janus said, trying to sound casual despite how his face was stained with tears and it felt like he’d just been punched in the chest. “It’s ok.”

Remus nodded, though he still seemed a little frantic. “We can just...ignore this. If you want to.”

Janus wasn’t sure how he felt about that solution, but he wasn’t going to push Remus out of his comfort zone any more than he already had today. “Is that what you want to do?”

“I don’t want to make you...uncomfortable,” Remus said slowly, and he smirked at the irony of his own words. “Not with this, anyway. Feelings are fucking gross and dumb and I know you don’t want any part of that, and I’m really sorry.”

“What?” Janus sat up a little straighter, wondering how he’d managed to find someone just as stupid as he was. “No, Remus—”

“I understand!” Remus kept going, barrelling over whatever Janus had been about to say. “Like, obviously I understand. I’m awful but I’m not gonna—”

“God, you’re such a dumbass.” Janus scrubbed a hand over his face, smiling into his palm. “I was upset because I thought you didn’t love me.”

Remus froze, staring with wide eyes like Janus had just said spoken in a foreign language. “Oh.”

“You answered so fast when I asked you,” Janus explained. “I thought I did something to fuck this up. Or that I’d just...misunderstood your intentions.”

“You didn’t,” Remus said. “I was- you know. Just scared.”

Janus nodded, forcing himself to take a deep breath and look Remus in the eyes. “I know. I...I know. I love you.”

Remus’s head snapped up. “You do?”

Janus actually laughed outright at the shock on Remus’s face, like a child that had just been told he was getting his first puppy. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah of course I do, Remus.”

“For real?” Remus asked, even as a huge grin began to take over his face. “Like no joke? You’re not fucking with me?”

“Well, I did think it was obvious,” Janus said, and he couldn’t help but match Remus’s smile. “I love you, you idiot.”

“Me? Shit, Jan, you need higher standards, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Janus took another sip of his gatorade to hide his obvious smile. “I literally just confessed to you.”

“You confessed to having horrible taste.”

“I love you,” Janus said again, because Remus was blushing and he was absolutely using this to his advantage. “Obviously. I’m sitting here crying at ten in the morning because I thought you didn’t.”

Remus had the decency to look embarrassed, another thing almost no one besides Janus got to see. “You could have been crying because you were hungover.”

“No. I was heartbroken, dumbass.”

Remus made a face like he’d tasted something sour. “That’s gross.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Janus scoffed, capping and pushing away his drink. “You said you loved me first.”

“Gross, don’t bring it up,” Remus said, and Janus smirked as he pushed himself to his feet. “I sound like a sap.”

Janus laughed, moving to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s (Boyfriend? They’d have to talk about that one later) waist and rest his head in the crook of Remus’s neck. “You told me you loved me. While I was drunk.”

“You cannot tell anyone.”

Janus scoffed, having no intention of honoring that wish. “Why not?”

“Because,” Remus said. “It makes me sound gross and gay.”

“You’ve always been gross and gay.” Janus pulled back, just enough to grin at him. “Besides, you’ve been teasing Roman about Virgil for months.”

“He deserves it,” Remus declared. “He needs to get over himself.”

“At least he doesn’t confess to people while they’re drunk and then lie about it the next day.”

Remus’s blush deepened and Janus finally relented. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of Remus’s lips- which quickly turned into something deeper when Remus moved to capture the rest of his mouth and pull him closer.

He only pulled away when he realized he'd started crying again, the relief that Remus loved him, that he hadn’t been wrong, that he wasn’t losing what they had, hitting all at once.

Janus shuddered and struggled to catch his breath, his breathing coming out in quick gasps again, and he clung onto Remus’s shirt like a lifeline.

“Oh, shit.” Remus’s eyes went wide in panic, and Janus found himself laughing around the tears. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“You’re ok,” Janus assured him, leaning forward again to rest his head on Remus’s shoulder. Remus didn’t hesitate before wrapping his arms around him. “I just...really thought I was losing you.”

“You’re not. I’m still here.”

“I know,” Janus said. He was overwhelmed and exhausted and he’d never been awake this long with a hangover. “The ibuprofen didn’t help either.”

Remus had one hand carding through his hair, the other cupping his jaw as he pressed a kiss to Janus’s forehead. Just like he had last night when he’d told Janus he loved him.

When he’d told Janus he loved him and meant it.

“We should get you back to bed,” Remus said, every bit as adoring as he’d been when Janus was too drunk to stand. “How about I bring you your waffles and we can put on a movie?”

“You’re going to get crumbs in my bed again.”

“No I’m not.” Janus didn’t even get a chance to protest further before Remus had his arms around his waist, hoisting him into the air and over his shoulder. “And you’re too hungover to stop me.”

Janus couldn’t argue with that, relaxing into Remus’s hold as he carried him down the hall and back into the dimly lit bedroom, the darkness already soothing his pounding head.

Remus set him down on the bed, kissed him again for good measure, and returned a moment later with the waffles Janus had left in the toaster. He put the plate on the nightstand beside the half empty water bottle, and settled in beside Janus.

He didn’t even pay attention to Remus’s laptop opening, or the waffle that was offered to him. Janus just wrapped his arms around Remus and rested his head on his chest.

“You’ll stay with me?” Janus asked, already drifting off to the smell of waffles and the clicking of Remus’s keyboard.

“I never planned on leaving,” Remus said, muffled from where he’d pressed his nose into Janus’s hair. “And I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Janus muttered something even he couldn’t make out, letting his eyes slip shut, breaths steadying in sync to Remus’s own.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when he must have thought Janus was already asleep, that Remus began running his fingers through Janus’s hair again, leaning forward to press one last kiss to his temple.

“I love you too,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I love you, Janus.”

Janus smiled, content with letting Remus believe he’d fallen asleep before he could hear the words. Just this once.

People who asked to be tagged for this one:

@self-taught-mess @hannahdra-ws

[olivyh]

TWST FAMILY HCS PT2) Savanaclaw and Octavinelle

Feel free to tack on your own Hc’s too!!! I love reading what other people think and how their view of the characters and of Twisted Wonderland in general change from person to person!!!

Savanaclaw:

Leona:

-Farena: We already know Leona describes his brother as being carefree and relaxed, but deep under that I think he’s a deeply intelligent man (how can you run a kingdom and be stupid?). He tries his best to make time in his schedule for his wife and child, and even try to get bonding tike with his younger brother (which never works out well). He tries to teach Cheka as much as he can, often giving him little life lessons while they play games. He’s a very kind and straightforward man, often being blunt when he doesn’t mean to. He stands a little taller than Leona, with Orange hair similar to Chekas. He keeps his hair tied out of his face as much as he can.

-Sister-in-law Kingscholar: A strong and confident woman, not afraid to speak her mind when she wants to. She’s blunt and she’d let you know about it. She’s also very kind in her own way, often dragging Leona off and trying to have serious talks with him, which he appreciates but doesn’t show. She adores Cheka and often spoils him without meaning to, and will spoil Leona too (but indirectly in a way similar to Ace’s father’s). Also very intelligent and good at reading people. I think she stands a little shorter than Leona, but she holds herself higher, and he slouches, so it looks as if they’re the same height. She has long yellow hair (again, similar to the ends of Cheka’s) that she often ties back as well.

-Cheka: We already know him, so heres a few Hcs!: He sometimes asks his mother to do his hair the same way as Leona’s, and tries to do everything like him (such as standing like him, trying to deepen his voice to sound like him, throwing sand at various objects in the castle yelling “King’s Roar!!”)

Ruggie:

-Grandma Bucchi: As he said himself, a stern and prideful woman. I think she’d be on the stricter side, having to teach Ruggie how to survive rather than him having to face those hard truths alone. She likely stands a lot shorter, likely 5’0 (sorry to anyone whos that height), than most other beastwomen. She’s a lot physically stronger than she looks, often still trying to pick Ruggie up at his age. She tries to spoil him when she can, trying to make him relax after working and taking over the household chores (which he declines, still cleaning up when she’s not looking- which earns him a smack to the head with a broom). She’s also a prankster, quietly jumping out from corners and scaring Ruggie or one of the other children. I think she feels a lot of regret over seeing Ruggie grow up so fast in the environment that he had, but she’s the proudest grandma ever. Whenever he sends pictures back she boasts to everyone at home (“See that! That’s my grandson’s school! See that there! He plays magift and is one of the best on the team! Look there! He’s got those nice ceremony robes!”), and even boasts about him with what little baby pictures they have (“See him walking at such a young age? Isn’t he so strong?”) Will never stop talking about her grandson, ever.

-Neighborhood kids: I think they’re like little siblings to Ruggie, so I’m adding them. They try to tale over what Ruggie did when he was at home, helping people fix up their houses or entertaining the baby hyenas when their mothers have other things to do. They also leave gifts to Ruggie when he comes back, between little dolls they made, bracelets they thought he’d like, charms, or pretty rocks and leaves. He keeps all of the gifts, no matter how small.

-His mom (bc the poor woman deserves a spot)(Poor meaning unfortunate)(The more i think abt it, both. It means both. Bad time?): I think she looked a lot like him, but with brighter blue eyes than his. She was definitely a prankster at heart, leaving clever traps behind for any poor soul to get stuck in. She was a very hardworker much like her son, taking on any task she could find to help out her mother. I think she’d try to leave as much behind for Ruggie as she could, which would include little notes and scribbles about how she was feeling throughout her pregnancy and how excited she was for him. Ruggie also kept all of those safe and sound, in a small box he keeps in the corner of his room.

(Can you guess who my fav chara is?)

Jack:

-Grandma & Grandpa Howl: A very loving couple, who always make time out of their schedule for their grandchildren, whether it be for school events, emergencies, or if any one of them want to come by and talk. They met when Grandpa Howl got lost and wandered by Grandma Howl’s family’s cabin (which happens to be the one they, and the rest of the family, still live in to this day) and he spent the night. I think they fell in love at first sight :’)

-Mama Howl: A very soft and loving beastwoman who is willing to sacrifice anything for her children. She is often strict, and sometimes a chatterbox, but she always reminds her children to stay safe and that she loves them. She always pats their head or cheek when she walks by, even if she has to reach a little to plant a kiss on Jack’s forehead. I think her hair would be a little darker grey, and she’d definitely be a little more muscular and taller, reaching six ft one when standing straight up. She’d have the same yellow eyes as Jack, and her hair would be cropped shorter due to her still moving around a lot.

-Papa Howl: Very similar to Jack personality and appearance wise. He stands an inch or two shorter than Jack, but is still very muscular due to working around the house and in the woods (chopping wood for the campfire, dragging around tools, carrying three wolf pups at a time in his younger days (only one now wants to be carried, which hurts the poor man’s heart a bit)

-Baby brother Howl: Huffy and a little moody, but a hard worker even if he complains while doing it most of the time. That’s often with his parents, but when he does something with Jack he doesn’t complain a bit. He’s very attached to his older brother, looking up to him for his strength and strong morals. He often compares him to superheroes and star athletes in his mind, but sometimes it slips out, resulting in one very embarrassed wolf boy and another very flattered wolf boy, ignore their wagging tails, it means nothing. I think he stands pretty tall for a preteen, around 5’7-5’8 and growing taller by the day. Same hair and eye color as Jack. Acts like he doesn’t like to play games with his younger sister but will never turn down a game of tag.

-Baby sister Howl: An absolute sweetheart. She just wants the best for her family and will do whatever she can to make what they want happen. Jack is hungry? Good thing she made her special dessert (it’s a poptart with whipped cream messily piled on top with sprinkles and literal sugar cubed wedged in it, but don’t tell her you don’t like it, please she’d actually bawl). Her other older brother is tired? She can get him extra blankets! Mama needs help cleaning? She can mop (she really just throws water on the floor and praises herself for a job well done). Papa need to cut wood? She can- no, she can’t. Please don’t give her an axe. She’ll cheer him from the sidelines with a song she made up just for him instead! She has their mother’s grey hair and father’s dark brown eyes, and loves to do her hair like the princesses she sees on Tv! (Yes, Jack will wear a too-small dress and Tiara if his sister wants to play princess. No, he will not let anyone take pictures.)

Octavinelle:

Tweels:

-Mama Leech: At first glance, a very kind woman with soft eyes. Willing to open her arms to anyone who might need help. Then, a terrifying grin similar to Floyd’s as that poor unfortunate soul realizes the trap they’d been thrown in. She’s very kind and patient towards both her boys and husband, as well as their friends (even of she is on guard near their friends, throwing a few hollow threats to see if it’d scare them away)(She doesn’t like to share her babies). She dotes on the tweels as much as possible, indulging im whatever curiosity they may have. Floyd wants to know what going through riptide is like? They leave tomorrow to find one. Jade wants to know more about life on land? She’ll find as many books as possible and ask (threaten) people for their land belongings. She knows when too far is too far though, and is very skilled at reeling the boys back in if they get to that point. Will always call them her little guppies, no matter how big they get. I think she’d have a teal bob on top, with the underside of her hair being black (which makes her hair look color changing when she swims). Im her human form shes only a few inches shorter than her boys, ranging around the same as Jack’s mother.

-Papa Leech: The definition of old Hollywood New York mob boss. Strict and blunt about his interests and problems, and not afraid to cause any problems if provoked. When the tweels were younger and they’d wrestle and bite at him, he’d throw them off him easily, telling them they need to work to beat him, even if he was impressed by their teamwork at first. Will die to protect his family, and was likely put in that position many times in the past due to his uh… business. He values his wife and children more than anything, and has done everything in his power in the past to protect them from harm. When they went to NRC at first, he felt defeated and almost wanted to beg them to stay safe with him (not that his pride would allow it).(Both the tweels can see through his facade easily)

Azul:

-Grandma ‘grotto: A very stern and prim octomermaid. What she says goes in the Ashengrotto house, and she often catches herself making unnecessary comments. She does apologize. Also a very loving grandmother towards Azul, often babying him whenever possible (doing the classic “you’re not eating enough here take some more” grandma move)(She will smooch his face whenever possible when there are no business clients nearby). Tries to boost his confidence since she knew about what was happening to him (Chances are she went through the same thing- being an octomer as well) and dod her best to protect him and make him happy. She taught him how to write with his tentacles and encouraged him to do his best in everything he does.

-Mama ‘grotto: Another businesslady in the front absolute softie in the back situation. Adores her son and is incredibly proud of how far he’s come.I think she looks identical to Azul, but more heavyset and, of course, female. She coddled Azul as much as possible, which worked out well with baby Azul’s clingy nature. She had no shame in walking around with the little guy stuck to her (unless he smacked a tentacle to her face when she was working on her restaurant), and made sure everyone knew what a good boy he was. She would show pictures to everyone (similar to Ruggie’s grandma), but respects his wishes in wanting to hide pictures of his past. She still shows anyone who asks pictures of him at NRC (compliments to the twins, who send her updates when her son is busy), and will tell everyone how smart he is and how much he’s grown.

-Step-Papa grotto: A very professional man in every aspect of his life, which stretches to his relationship with his stepson. When he learns about the contracts and Azuls UM, he’s over the moon with how happy he is. He swam around with a little more pep than usual, flicking his tail and flaring out his fins the more and more Azul told him. He helps him reword and format his contracts to his advantage, and is always willing to talk with him about Mostro Lounge or (on rare occasion) some memories before Step papa Ashengrotto met Mama Ashengrotto (which always make him happy that Azul trusts him enough). I think he’d be a pretty generic looking Mer, with an average looking tail and such

[rosecoloredbi-writes]

3 am

This was originally written for @buckysknifecollection 's writing challenge from about a year ago. Prompt is 'I can't sleep' and is bolded.

Warnings: Swearing, bad dreams, sleep deprivation.

Fem reader x Loki

This is also a fix-it, Loki isn't murdered by Thanos :)

You sat on the cold marble counter while you waited for the toaster to pop, legs gently swaying. Looking out the large floor-to-ceiling windows, you focused on the stars hovering just above the outline of pine trees that bordered the edge of the compound’s grounds. Some song stuck in your head that you quietly hum - better that than allow the thoughts and images that plague your nightmares to run rampant.

“I don’t want to frighten you, Y/N by not announcing myself, so,” Loki clears his throat before bowing. “It is I, Loki, the God of Mischief.”

You look up to see the handsome god approach you from the dark hallway, now illuminated by the moon and stars through the large windows. “Hey, Loki,” you said with a light chuckle. “I appreciate the announcement, heaven knows how much longer I would have lasted from you sneaking up on me.”

Loki finished his approach and glanced at the toaster to your left. “I believe those have to be plugged in for it to do its job properly, yes?”

“Goddamn,” you mutter, reaching to plug the toaster in and pushing the lever down.

“What are you doing awake, my dear?” he asked, tucking some hair that had come out of the messy bun behind your ear.

You shrugged, eyes on your bare toes. “Can’t sleep.”

A slim finger is placed under your chin, and blue eyes meet your now misty eyes.

“And what, my love, is plaguing you?”

Loki had a tendency to call you pet names and overtly flirt with you, however, you were absolutely positive it was just because it was Loki. He flirted with everyone.

You sighed before jumping out of your skin as the toaster popped. “Shit!”

Loki chuckled as you quickly grabbed your food, setting them down on a paper towel you had on the counter. Once you thought it had cooled down enough you picked up one and held the other out to Loki.

“Have you ever had a poptart?” you asked, as he took it from you.

Loki shook his head as he took a bite, “What in the nine realms is this?” Loki asked, a confused look on his face.

“It’s a poptart,” you replied simply.

“This is not tart, although I do understand where the pop comes from,” nodding his head towards the toaster.

You just shrug and watch as he tentatively takes another bite now that he knows what to expect.

“You did not answer my question, darling,” Loki said after another moment.

You nodded, and Loki watched as your shoulders slumped.

“I keep having nightmares,” you replied after repeating the answer in your mind a few times, pushing yourself to answer him. “Thanos,” you say, assuming his next question.

“Ah, I see,” he replies, setting the poptart on the paper towel.

“I should be fine though,” you say, hopping off the counter. “I think I’m gonna go try to sleep some more.”

“Y/N,” he calls after you’ve successfully forced yourself to take a few steps towards your room. “Should you find you are not ‘fine’ after all, I could help if you’d like.”

Your eyes find your bare toes again and you bite your lip, “Thanks, Loki.”

You continue to cross paths with Loki throughout the day and you knew that he knew you hadn’t been successful, so you avoid giving him the opportunity to bring it up. This is how the next few days continued and Loki could see you visibly deteriorating due to lack of sleep, yet you kept pushing yourself forward.

Loki had had enough during training one day.

You were sparring with Steve who had a tendency to push you past what you believed to be your limit and oftentimes, good things came out of it. This was not one of those times.

“Come on, Y/N!” Steve yelled, “Get back up! Get on your feet!”

You drag your hands underneath your body and struggle to push yourself off of the mat.

“Steve,” Loki���s voice was low and dangerous. “You are pushing too hard.”

Steve ignored Loki’s warning and you used it to fuel yourself back up to your feet just to prove him wrong.

You sway, trying to keep your balance and raise your fists, squaring up. Steve does the same and throws a punch but it’s like things are moving in slow motion before his eyes. He looks to your face and finally sees the dark circles under your eyes and the dead weight in your eyes, but then his fist is making contact and he does his best to pull back but it isn’t enough.

You wake up in your bed, body sweating, your mind racing, and your body is in pain. You struggle to move to a sitting position and notice the man sitting beside your bed.

“Please don’t say-”

Loki cuts you off, “Normally, I’d take the opportunity to make some mischief but you are far past the point where it would even remotely be fun. So please, rest.”

You let the weight of Loki’s words rest on your chest before turning your face towards him and nod.

“That’s all I have to do?” you ask Loki. “I thought this was going to be more complicated.”

“This is in fact, it,” he says as he runs his fingers through your hair soothingly. “You rest and I will be in here with you,” he taps your forehead.

Loki does something to make it easier for you to fall asleep and you begin to see the cursed images form before your eyes.

Thanos has his large hand wrapped around your neck while simultaneously forcing you to watch all of your teammates die. You are sobbing, desperately trying to breathe and your heart keeps breaking as they all die over and over and over and ov-

“Y/N,” You hear Loki’s voice and you follow with your eyes to where he is standing off to the side. “This is just a dream and it cannot hurt you.”

As the words leave his lips Thanos’s hand is no longer cutting off your airway. One by one you stop Thanos from torturing and murdering your family and soon you are standing in the sun with Loki brushing tears from your cheeks.

“Loki,” you whisper, “Can we just, stay here a little longer?”

“Of course, love. We can stay here as long as you’d like,” Loki mumbles as he tucks some hair behind your ears.

When you wake up you find yourself in Loki’s arms, his nose nuzzling your hair.

“Good morning, pet,” he greets you, a smile threatening to slip onto his lips.

“Thank you, Loki,” you whisper, tilting your face up and brushing your lips against his.

[wicked1will0sparkles]

Oh, thank you for the tag @your-mxnd-is-mxne ! ^^ Your answers are good, don't be sorry! Does your demon boyfriend have to be a specific demon boyfriend? XD

Rules: Tag 10 people who you want to get to know better.

Relationship Status: Single and I have no intention to change that ^^

Favorite Color: Green! 💚💚💚💚💚

Three Favorite Foods: Cheeseburgers, hot chips, choc chip muffins? I'm easy to please XD 😅

Song stuck in my head: I'm currently listening to music, so nothing in my head right now.

Last thing I Googled: Easy pancake recipe and how to boil an egg. I was preparing snacks for the day XD 😅😅

Last song I listened to: Bad Things by Summer Kennedy (Listening to a Villain Playlist on Spotify)

Dream trip: ... Probably Disneyland. ON HALLOWEEN.

Time: 12.29pm

Anything I really want right now: I've been watching Gilmore Girls so I would love some poptarts!

Tagging: @disney-android-foundation , @colt-redfield (Hey! ^^ This is SlashingDisneyPasta- just a different account ^^), @marinerainbow , @bubblyparaside and @assortedvillainvault

None of you have to of course- just giving you the option if you want to! ^^

Get To Know Me

I was tagged by @shadestepping a bit ago but my dumbass forgot. Anyway, I'm here now😅😂

Rules:  Tag (10) people who you want to get to know better.

Relationship Status: Extremely fuckin single

Favorite Color: Crimson Red

Three Favorite Foods: Alfredo pasta, Pork chops & gravy, and Mac'n'cheese

Song Stuck in my Head: Shameless by Camila Cabello (blame tik tok)

Last Thing I Googled: "Frame Sliders"

Last Song I Listened To: Six Pills by Rosendale

Dream trip: I honestly just wanna travel overseas. Haven't gotten the chance so I've never even been out of the US. (And it fuckin sucks here)

Time: 21:23

Anything I Really Want Right Now: Cuddles and an 8 month nap

If you're tagged, I wanna get to know you better but I'm scared to reach out first so I just suffer in silence-

@writercels @rain-on-kamino @metalhusbands @amyroswell @zoeykallus @kaminocasey @soliloquy-of-nemo @maulslittlemeowmeow @madameminor

[welllpthisishappening]

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible. 

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims. 

Whatever, really. 

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies. 

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though. 

She’s positive about that, at least. 

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie. 

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect. 

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers. 

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the  oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate. 

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why. 

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does. 

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too. 

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really. 

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so. 

She’s happy for Scarlet, really. 

They won the game. 

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks. 

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier. 

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse. 

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times. 

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers. 

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five. 

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold. 

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day. 

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face. 

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go. 

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously. 

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person. 

And yet. 

He sticks his hand out. 

It’s disarmingly earnest. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date. 

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind. 

She takes his hand. 

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later. 

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work. 

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably. 

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason. 

When the Yankees make the postseason. 

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face. 

Much like the goddamn fireworks. 

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault. 

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either. 

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened. 

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions. 

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off. 

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them. 

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand. 

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information. 

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that. 

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter. 

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart. 

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least. 

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs. 

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted.  An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open. 

They both jump.

So, that’s something. 

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume. 

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there. 

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works. 

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of. 

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being. 

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her. 

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be. 

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby. 

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected. 

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed. 

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead. 

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together. 

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first. 

She does her very best to memorize the movement. 

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable. 

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself. 

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division. 

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate. 

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him. 

Emma included. Emma, especially. 

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins. 

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then. 

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now. 

Got drafted, technically. 

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back. 

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.  

[emmanelson]

Heatwave

She hadn’t realized that to be able to relish in his warmth, she had to endure the frost that followed his departure. An alternate Season 2 in which Devi agrees to tutor Paxton, but he has a whole other arrangement in mind.

The first time it happens, it’s a few days after he starts doing his schoolwork on his own. He comes to her with the idea and at first, she thinks it’s a joke. Him suggesting a friends-with-benefits relationship? Her having sex with the Paxton Hall-Yoshida?

“I’m sorry, what?” Devi had glanced up at Paxton in shock, trying her hardest to stop her mouth from dropping open from his request. She had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming up this scenario.

“You doing my homework for me, that was weak okay? I can admit that. It didn’t actually do me any favors because when it came time to take the exams, I still didn’t know shit. I do my own work from now on, but you are going to be my stress relief.” He could find other ways to punish her, something that benefited the both of them. Actually, he wanted to punish her, so what if had the chance to bring pleasure to her at the same time?

"So what can I do?"

"Think of it as incentive for me doing well in school." He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He wanted Devi, but he didn't trust her anymore. How could he crave her touch when his heart literally ached at the sight of her? This was the only logical solution he could come up with. "Isn’t this what you wanted to begin with? No strings-attached, only sex?”

Yes, initially she did only see him as a sex object and hastily wanted him to take her virginity. But things changed, first for the better and then for the worst. “That was before we were friends. Before we kissed, before...” I cheated on you . It hung in the air as Devi’s heart hammered in her chest.

“I’m not interested in being your friend. Not right now anyway. And I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”

He would never admit it, but finding out Devi had cheated on him with Ben Gross? That was one of the lowest points in his life.

“Won’t this get complicated?”

“Why would it? You already told the entire school that we slept together.”

Her faces flushes at the memory and she bites down on her lower lip as her cheeks threaten to turn scarlet. It only makes him want to see that look when he’s on top of her, her body withering underneath his, emitting sounds from her by his touch and his touch alone. He has to shake himself out of his own thoughts and remain nonchalant.

“Again, sorry about that.”

“Unless you’re all talk?” He raised an eyebrow, staring at her in amusement.

“Me? All talk. No, you’ve got it all wrong. This was my idea to begin with. You were the one that called it off, I was all ready to go.” She wasn’t sure if she even believed the words coming out of her very mouth, let alone if he did, but she was able to sell it the first time, why should this time be any different?

“So you’re in?”

“We can’t right now, my grandma’s home.”

“That’s part of the fun though. Seeing how quiet you can be with your grandma or mom right downstairs. If we do this correctly, you won’t even need to take off a single piece of clothing.”

Her body clenches at his words, moisture already traveling to her core.

“You could have any girl you want, what do you need me for?”

“You ruined my swimming career, caused everyone at school to give me these looks of pity, cheated on me, and worst of all with Ben Gross?”

Her silence said more than anything else so he continued, fighting back a smirk.

“Not that I give a shit, but even you could do better than that.” And then to her surprise, he leans across the kitchen table and kisses her. It had been a while since they kissed, since her party, and the accident. It hadn’t been too long that she forgot what his lips on hers felt like, but long enough to miss the sensation. Long enough to crave it in the pit of her stomach when she’s laying awake at night scrolling through his Instagram.

When they pulled away, Devi almost wanted to pout at the loss of contact. Yet she tried to stay neutral and instead shook her head. “Shouldn’t this only happen if you actually see an improvement in your grades? How is that going to work if I’m actively giving you the thing that you want?”

“I’d have an easier time forgiving someone if I wasn’t forced to only associate them with turmoil and pain.” Okay, so he was starting to be a little more than dramatic, but as her face fell, Paxton felt a satisfaction in her reaction. It served her right.

So he would actually forgive her in a quicker manner if they had sex? It sounded like a load of bullshit, but Devi chose to see the positive.

“So that whole being your overbearing Indian mother tactic won’t work?”

“Why would I want to fuck my mother Devi?”

“Let’s see how you do on your next test okay?”

“Please, you’re going to be the one begging for me to come back with a higher grade just so you have an excuse to jump me.”

“Maybe I’ll want to jump you even more after you’ve earned it.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Devi’s stomach fluttered, she honestly hoped that he would.

When Devi lets herself into his garage the following week, PopTart in hand, Paxton actually seemed happy to see her.

“Is that my reward for doing better in school?”

“It could be.” She handed it to him, expecting him to tear into the package as she set down her backpack but instead he put it down and motioned for her to side beside him.

“What if I’m craving something else.” He showed her his newly graded history test with a glint of something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. His eyes couldn’t help but travel to her lips and she gulped.

“You did raise your grade two whole grade letters.” Their eyes met and Devi suddenly felt a flash of heat scorch her entire body. She wanted nothing more than to rid them both of the layers of clothing that stood between them. If he was a fire, she didn’t mind getting burned.

This time, she was the one that closed the gap between them and pressed her lips against his. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer as their tongues slowly met. Her body flush tightly against his as they leaned back into the couch, Paxton pressing himself on top of her.

His hands were lightly gripping her hips, inching near her thighs, lips moving to the side to trail kisses down her neck, her body shivering under his touch. Their legs tangled together as they sank further into the couch, she didn’t know where she began and he ended. He almost wanted to leave marks on her body, just to see the look on Ben’s face when he sees them, knowing that he wasn’t the reason why. But Ben would be the least of their problems if her skin even looked a different hue, this much he knew. Not wanting his attack on her neck to last long enough to give her a hickey, their lips met once more as his tongue invaded her senses. Breaking apart for air, Paxton looked at her so intensely that she thought she would melt.

“Devi...tell  me to stop.” He panted, eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation or refusal. Instead she peeled off her bomber jacket and dropped it below them, kicking off her shoes in the process.

“I don’t want you to.” She returned his gaze, a sly smile slowly forming on her lips which only made him to want to kiss her until they were bruised and red.

"Are you sure?" He asked, wanting to make sure she wanted to do this and wouldn't come to regret it.

"Unless you rather take care of that little problem yourself and take a cold shower." Internally, she was basically a puddle, ready to swoon that he was being so considerate. Yet she had to remind herself that this was some kind of sick punishment Paxton thought of. He probably just wanted an excuse to get laid.

"You don't need to tell me twice." She smirks against his lips when he kisses her again and soon her doubts are swallowed by his kiss. This arrangement really could benefit them both.