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[shirohige-pirates]

A Truly Mythological Christmas

Cisfem!Reader x Marco the Phoenix

Also on Wattpad // Ao3

18+ - this story is going to get steamy in ways not allowed for your holiday Lifetime specials. Swearing, cheating, assassins, intrigue - you know, all that simple small town stuff.

Chapter 4: Handy

Breakfast the next morning was a stark reminder that you were, in fact, not still a child.

Being nearly thirty was by no means old, despite what the advertisers would like you to think, but it was three times more than the ages of the boys, and you were not meant to keep up. Your face is flat against the table when Dadan brings you a cup of coffee.

“When did you finally get to bed?”

“Luffy hit a wall at midnight, but it took Ace and Sabo another hour to settle, and it was 2am the last time I remember being conscious.” You mumble into the old oak table before the sweet scent of bracingly bitter and robust coffee moves you to action.

“The boys would let you sleep if you needed it.” She asserts with a smile as you take a sip. The three boys were in the kitchen, making breakfast for you and Dadan. Your mother left them to it, so you hoped it was because they could, and not because she was up for a spot of entertainment first thing in the morning.

“I’ll survive.” You assure her, wincing against how strong she likes her coffee. At the least it’ll help you wake up. “I still got a solid five hours, and it hasn’t been that long since the last time I pulled an all-nighter. Did we keep you up?”

“Nah. The only noise that wakes me up anymore is a very quiet ‘oops’, or ‘oh no’ when someone does something they didn’t mean to. Those little rascals keep a good eye out for one another.” She takes a drink of coffee, looking over at them for a minute to make sure they’re not setting the kitchen on fire. “I try not to dwell on what they must’ve endured to be so self-sufficient at that age.”

“Mm.” You agree, downing the maybe too warm to gulp coffee in a few heavy swallows. “Eaugh.” Your face twists and Dadan smiles.

“One day, someone will make you a good cup of coffee and you’ll start appreciatin’ it.”

“Doubtful.” You grin. “Nothing better for waking up, though.”

Ace, Sabo and Luffy bring breakfast in the dining room, on three big platters. One with toast on it, thanks to Luffy, which had quite the selection from practically cold to completely burnt, and everything between. Sabo’s platter was an impressive mound of identically fried eggs, and they all looked delicious. Ace had a plate of bacon, and you learned quickly to grab what you wanted from that before the boys made sure there was none left.

Afterward it was decided you’d go into town with Ace and Sabo to get food and soap and other provisions. It was hard to have much more than a few days worth of food at any given time, given the voracious appetites of the household, but you were really just there to help in case anything was forgotten. Luffy was at home with Dadan, helping her clean up after breakfast and get everything organized for the things you were going to be bringing back.

Luffy was quite pleased to be Dadan’s Little Helper.

You were sure it had at least a little to do with the fact that he’d be getting snacks, while she shuffled through left overs that didn’t have enough left to be used over again. You were glad she had a full house again. No matter what she might try to say, a quiet, peaceful life didn’t suit her.

Parking the car in what was probably the biggest lot in the town, you’re amused to know that some things really don’t change. Pops’ Stop was still called that, and the sign was still lacquered wood, and the little white whale mascot was still stylized to the point of almost looking more like a ship than a whale. The deals of the week where still painted onto the windows in bright waxes that would be easy to remove when the new deals needed to be posted.

“Alright, this is Sabo’s part of the list,” you say, handing him a list that was mostly food items. “And this is Ace’s part of the list.” You hand Ace the part that has the soaps and such on it. “I’ll get this part, and I’ll have the cart. So when your hands get full come back and drop things off. That’ll give me a chance to mark them off and double check we didn’t miss anything.”

You’d been selling Sabo and Ace on your plan of attack since you left the house, and were relieved to see the boys easily on board. The rules of engagement were that they had to get the middle of the road on expiration dates - the house went through food so fast there was no reason to take things that weren’t going to go bad for weeks, leave those for other people - and to not cause issues for other shoppers.

Points would be scored and kept and you’d let them know if they beat their high score on subsequent errands. Like a video game. Lots of points were lost for disturbing the other shoppers, so it would help the boys stay conscious of their actions.

“Alright,” you say grabbing a cart. “Im going to start on the left and work through the aisles. The store’s not too big but we’re all shorter than the aisles, so don’t panic.”

“We’re not gonna panic.” Ace grumbles.

“I was pepping myself up.” You say with a big smile, making Sabo smile and Ace’s ears go pink as the three of you went inside. “Just remember -.”

“We’re not in a hurry.” They say it together before heading off to start on their lists.

You only hope the day doesn’t end with the store on fire and half the town wondering why you had to come back home. Not that anyone thought you were a curse upon the town or anything like that. It just felt like that was your luck lately.

“Ah, don’t be so hard on yourself,” you mutter, working your way through the aisles. You slowly check things off on your own list, careful to place things in the cart, in a way that wouldn’t have you rearranging it later, trying to make sure everything fit.

Dadan’s tight pack cart filling style was something you’d whined about as a kid a little bit, but it was useful.

Ace and Sabo brought their first few items, putting them into cart in line with what you started. Dadan had apparently already gone on enough trips with the boys in tow that they knew the drill. But you had a new issue now.

Stretching as much as you could, you had no hope of reaching the item you needed on the top shelf. You’d need someone to fetch a ladder, but you didn’t want to look for an employee and end up scaring the boys by not being at the cart.

You were considering climbing up a shelf or two when someone reached over you, grabbed what you needed and brought it down.

“This what you needed, yoi?”

“Yes, it -.” Your brain stutters and you pause, looking up at your savior in shock.

Tall. Really tall. He was really tall. Blonde hair, shaved close on the sides and tossed about in longer lazy locks atop his head, relaxed and hooded eyes. Teal and gold feather earrings and a pair of red-rimmed glasses frame his face, and recognition comes into both your faces at about the same time.

“Marco?!”

He smirks. “In the flesh. I heard you were coming home for the holidays, but I didn’t expect you so soon, yoi.”

“Yeah, I had,” you shake your head. “You’re so tall!”

“Little over two meters.” He confirms, chuckling at your reaction.

“You weren’t any taller than me when I left for college.” You finally manage to close your mouth and stop gaping at him.

“Nineteen to twenty-one were a couple of really painful growth spurts.” He admits, a sheepish smile on his face.

 “It’s good to see you, I heard…” your expression wilts a little. “I heard the musketeers took over afterward. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“It’s okay, yoi. I’d much rather have a reunion because of the holidays.” Marco smiles and your heart skips.

Down girl. “Do you like it?” You question, the uncertain look on Marco’s face makes you realize you’d only gotten half a thought out.. “The work, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah.” He looks around a little before giving you a smile. “Not glamorous, but it’s nice to sleep in my own bed on a regular basis again.”

“Makino said you were doing a lot of traveling,” you turn back to your cart and he steps beside you easily, walking at a slow pace with you as you juggled the conversation and your list. “I bet that was as fun as it was exhausting.”

He laughs softly. “Yeah. I’d say it had its pros and cons, but I think everything does. It was good at first for keeping my mind off things.”

“Yeah, I can appreciate diving into your work to avoid thinking about other things.” You muse. “It’s not rude of me to ask what you were trying not to think about, is it?”

Marco shakes his head. “Nah. I’d say we got into enough trouble growing up, there’s no reason to worry about something like that, yoi.” He admits, and you can feel the flutter in your chest ease up a little.

“We’ll say the short version is that college was full of some poor extra curricular choices on my part.”

“Not so poor you had to drop out, at least.”

“Mm.” He hums in soft agreement.

Ace and Sabo come around the corner. “You’re still in this aisle?” Ace grumbles as the boys put more things in the cart.

“I said we weren’t in a hurry.” You quip back sticking out your tongue at Ace.

“We still gotta get back before lunch.” He fires back.

“It’s barely after nine, you— look, you and Sabo complete your lists and if I’m not done by then we’ll grab some extra snacks. But!” You put a finger up and it’s enough to prompt both of them.

“Don’t bother the other customers,” Sabo pipes up. “Right?”

“Right.”

Ace looks between you and Marco and glares up at him. “She’s our sister.” He declares, before he and Sabo go back down the aisle.

“… Have you already been here a week?” Marco questions and you laugh.

“I just got in yesterday. Dadan’s mad too, I was accepted as the big sister in five minutes.” You straighten up, preening a bit.

“Quite the achievement, for someone who passed the canned tomatoes that are on her list.” He teases, pointing to the list in your hand and stepping back to the cans to get them for you. You could feel the heat rise up in your face and just hoped you weren’t nearly as red as a tomato.

He sets the four big cans in the cart with a wink. “It’s my pleasure to help you, honorable big sister.”

“Outgrew all that dorkiness too I see.” You grumble trying to focus more on your list than the owner. “Do you straighten your hair, or did it relax on its own?”

“The curls fell out my second year of college. Thatch blamed the stress, but I keep telling him I didn’t want people to think I was trying to imitate his pompadour.” He explains and you snort.

“He still spends all that time on his hair?”

“Oh yeah. It’s gotten more impressive over the years.” There’s a hint of mischievousness in his voice. “Try not to gape, he’s gotten a bit sensitive about it.”

You grunt. “I can’t believe that. Was he dumped over it or something?”

“Thatchie boy? Nah. I think he’d shave his head bald if he lost a girl over his hair. He takes pride in it sure, but, I mean, it’s Thatch, yoi.”

“That’s fair…” Your voice trails a bit as you look around for the next item, only to have Marco reach over the cart, easily making it to the top shelf, and bringing down a can of olives. “I feel like she purposefully put items from the top shelves on this list.”

“Dadan’s almost as tall as I am, yoi. She probably didn’t even think about it.”

“Giants, the lot of you.” You huff, going around to the next aisle.

“How long are you here for?” He questions, leaning in a little and tapping your list. “We’re out of that, but the stock delivery’s tomorrow.”

Too tall. Too smooth. This was becoming unfair and you were pretty sure he was messing with you. Not about the stock, but just with how he was acting. Not that it was uncomfortable, but Marco had decided to stay.

You’d decided to leave.

That’s how it was.

“Uh, after - thanks - after the New Year. I’ll be going back on the 4th.”

“Oh, that’s a long time.”

“Yeah, lots of time to catch up.” You agree. “A lot’s happened, but I don’t know that all of it is really good for idle chatter in a grocery store.”

“General store.” He corrects. “Pops’ Stop is your one stop shop.”

You try to hold back your laugh and fail. “Alright, alright, general store, then. One that generally has groceries for sale.”

He grins and shrugs, pulling another item from the shelves, nearly at eye level for you, and puts it in the cart.

“Now you’re just showing off.” You grumble and he puts his hands up in mock surrender.

“A little, yoi.” He admits. “Anyone would want to strut for an honorable sister.” He teases.

“Oh, you can strut now, hm?” You question, giving him a catty look. “You fell off the log so much I had to start carrying you across when we were kids.”

Marco flinches, running an absent hand through his hair. “Still the little warrior, huh?”

Giving him a wide smile. “It’s half of how I think I ended up the honorable sister.” You admit. “I told them about the old bear.”

“That grouchy thing’s still around?”

“Yeah, guess so. Doing good with one ear, it seems.”

“Guess there’s a new generation of backwood warriors, yoi.”

“That steady march of time feels a little lighter that way, doesn’t it?”

He’s quiet for a moment and then nods. “Yeah.”

You turn down the next aisle in time to see the boys come down with another load of items. Ace is still giving Marco the stink-eye, but Sabo’s still on task.

“We have maybe one more trip left.” He warns you, and you smile.

“Alright, alright. You’re definitely going to finish before me. So get the last of it and then you can pick out snacks. Four, okay, one each for the three of you, and pick something nice for Dadan, okay?”

With agreement all around, Sabo tugs Ace, and the two head back out of view.

“I think that young man wants to fight me.” Marco muses.

You hum a sound somewhere between a laugh and a grin as you continue down the aisle. “Protective little guys, all three of them. They look out for the youngest so much I’m surprised there’s any of that protectiveness left over for anyone else.”

“They’re all good kids though.”

“Yeah. Good for Dadan too.” You muse. “I always worried about her being in an empty house.”

“I didn’t have to worry about that with Pops, but I can imagine.”

“Didn’t he adopt almost eighty kids?”

He nods. “The Spade kids were the year you left for college, and that made seventy-six. They’re just a little older than Ace and Sabo. The summer before this school year started the lot of them were impossible to keep track of. If not for Sabo and Deuce, I think Izou and Dadan both would’ve gone grey, yoi.”

You hold the list up for him. “Is anything else on this list up high?”

He looks over it and nods. “These two, I can go get them, and we’re out of these. Out of stock on two things, I feel like I lost a game or something.” He admits.

“One strike left, big bird.”

“Big bird?”

“Well, you’re like seven foot tall now.”

“Six eight.” He corrects.

“Don’t go swinging for that third strike already.” You grump and he smiles. “I could call you fineapple like back in the day.”

“Fineapple?”

“Pineapple!” Your voice nearly cracks at the correction and you put as much of your focus back onto your list as you can. “C-Clean out your ears, big bird.”

Marco hums and you can almost picture the smug look on his face. “Only if you call me pineapple instead of big bird.”

“F-fine—sure.” You correct. You can feel heat rolling off your skin and you’re only hoping it’s not half as obvious as you’re worried it is.

“Let me get those top shelf items, before I tease you so much Ace tries to fight me in the store.” He says, walking away before you can try to correct him.

It’s not fair for someone to grow so much after graduating high school. It’s certainly not fair for someone who had been so clumsy and goofy and dorky as a kid to be so infuriatingly smooth as an adult. You had always been the confident one, you and Izou mostly, Thatch and Marco getting pulled along in whatever shenanigans you concocted for that day.

Thatch went for a fake it until you make it kind of bravado, and you had pushed him into the lake because he was being an ass. He’d hit his growth spurt before the rest of you and was a solid half foot taller. Which was a lot for a bunch of kids. By the time high school rolled around he was the biggest softy to walk the planet, but Marco was still Marco.

Clumsy, kind of goofy, smart enough for good grades, and enough of a jester to get in trouble for clowning every now and then. Though never often enough for it to be considered a real issue.

Now all you could picture, desperately trying to focus on your grocery shopping, was being the one on his back, instead of him on yours, as he walked effortlessly along that old log bridge.

[leiawritesstories]

Ahaha, I have another because I’m greedy 🙈 But this prompt for Rowaelin, please??:

I put you down as my emergency contact because I don’t know anyone else in the city, and we literally only met in passing, please forgive me but I am stuck at the ER and they won’t let me leave without you.

Thank you!

hehehehe okay so both you and @tomtenadia asked for this one and I really really hope this delivers 😈😁🥰

500 followers celebration prompt fills

Word count: 2.2k oops

Warnings: some angst and hurt BUT ONLY A LITTLE BIT I PROMISE and it's followed by so much comfort

Enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin blinked back into reality and found herself in a hospital bed, her body covered in a cotton gown, aches and dulled pains creeping back into her consciousness as her head cleared. She shifted and found her left arm in a sling, immobilized. She shook her head gently, trying to bring up the memories of just how the hell she'd ended up in the emergency room instead of back at her hotel.

"Good to see you awake," a woman's voice said from her right. Aelin turned her head to find a nurse, about her own age, clad in the same blue scrubs as the other staff. "You've been asleep for a solid few hours, probably thanks to the medication."

"Wh-what happened?" Aelin croaked.

The nurse pressed her lips together. "Do you remember a car accident?"

Oh.

Just like that, the memories flooded back. Aelin had been sitting in the back of a taxi, heading from a coffee shop where she'd been at a casual post-session meeting back to her hotel in downtown Doranelle. As the taxi had driven through an intersection, a driver had run the red light in the opposite direction and hit the rear side of the taxi. Her memories got a little fuzzy after that, mostly just snippets of shock, confusion, flashing lights and sirens, and a vague recollection of being loaded into an ambulance.

"You remember?" the nurse asked. Aelin nodded. "Good. That's a good sign that you likely don't have a concussion." She scratched a few notes onto her clipboard. "Now that you're awake, we can finish discharging you. You're stable, so we won't need you to stay here."

"So I can go home?" Aelin signed the papers the nurse handed her.

"No."

"What do you mean, I can't go home?" Still a little out of it from the medication they'd given her, Aelin blinked at the ER nurse. "You just told me I don't need to stay."

"Let me clarify, then," the nurse replied. "You've been cleared to go home, but you have not been cleared to go home alone. You'll need someone to take you--and no, a taxi or an Uber doesn't count." A hint of a smile curled the corner of her lips at Aelin's disgruntled frown. "It's for your safety, Miss Galathynius. We don't want to see our ER patients back here within a few hours because they tried to do something they shouldn't have done."

Aelin sighed. "All right. You can call my emergency contact." She leaned back into the hospital bed. "I'd ask you to call my parents, but they live over a thousand miles away, so that isn't possible."

"As long as you have an emergency contact on file, that will be fine." The nurse placed Aelin's normal clothes in a small pile on the chair next to the bed. "I'll be back in a few minutes to let you know who's coming for you."

"Thanks." Aelin managed a half smile before tilting her head back and groaning. Gods. Of all the days and times to wind up in the ER, it had to be now, during her work trip to Doranelle. At least their healthcare system was well-funded and well-run; the staff who she vaguely remembered tending to her when she came in were polite, professional, and expertly trained. Muffling a grunt, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, gripped the handrail, and stood up slowly, careful not to put too much weight on her legs at once. Shakily, she managed to stand up and reach for her clothes.

There, she got stuck. She couldn't get out of her hospital gown alone because the damn thing was tied in the back and her damn arm was in a sling to immobilize her injured shoulder.

She'd just screamed a string of foul curses into the pillow when there was a knock on the door and the nurse reappeared. "Good news, Miss Galathynius! A Mr. Rowan Whitethorn is on his way to pick you up."

Ah, shit. The thought of Rowan Whitethorn seeing her like this was almost enough to make her wish she'd been kept at the hospital.

"All right," was what she told the nurse. "I hope he's bringing food, because I am bloody hungry."

The nurse laughed. "I'm sure he'll be able to get you all the food you want once you're out of here." She handed Aelin a small paper bag. "There is a small quantity of pain medicine in here. I'd recommend taking it once or twice a day, depending on how severe your pain is, for the next four to seven days. You can take over-the-counter pain medications as well. After seven days, stop taking the prescription medication. If there's any left, you can bring it to any pharmacy here and they'll discard it."

Aelin nodded along. "Okay. Thank you." She flashed a soft smile at the nurse, who'd been nothing but kind to her.

"Of course." The nurse offered her a small smile in return and left the room.

Aelin considered whether or not it would be worth attempting to get into her normal clothes before Rowan got there and decided that it wasn't. If he had to walk her out of the hospital still wearing the godsdamned gown, then he would. Damn shoulder.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Rowan Whitethorn pushed open the door and burst into the hospital room. His crisply pressed suit was disheveled, his tie loose around his neck, his collar undone, and his eyes were wild, almost panicky, as he crossed the room in two long strides and cupped Aelin's face in his hands.

"What the hell?!" She pulled away from him, hissing at the sharp twinge of pain caused by the sudden movement.

He stepped back, hands up. "You what the hell? Give me a fucking heart attack, why don't you, Galathynius?"

She rolled her eyes. "You barely even know me, Whitethorn. Shut it with the heart attack nonsense."

"No." He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. "Why the hell am I your emergency contact?"

"Because I'm a thousand miles from home, I don't live here, and you're the only person at this fucking seminar that's bothered to learn my name." The small rant spilled out of Aelin before she could stop it. "I needed to have someone on file, and your stupid face is the first name I thought of. You're lucky I had your business card, or I'd be stuck here until I convinced the nurse that I could Uber back to my hotel without dying."

Rowan's cranky expression morphed into mild shock, then concern. "So you weren't going to explain why in all hell your arm is in a sling and there's bruises all over you?"

"They're not all over me," she huffed. "There's some minor bruising on my clavicles, arms, and left cheek. And anyone who asks why I'm wearing a sling deserves to be told to shut the fuck up."

"Fair enough," he admitted. "Fine. I'll drive you back to your hotel." He offered one hand.

She held up her good hand. "Not so fast, Mr. Business. I need to change into my own clothes." She frowned. "But with this bloody sling, I can't get the gown untied."

To her immense shock, a blush spread up his angled cheekbones. "Um...should I call the nurse?"

"This is an ER, Whitethorn, not the regular hospital ward," she deadpanned. "I've been discharged, so as far as they're concerned, I'm no longer their patient. You can help me."

His blush deepened. "I..." He cleared his throat, schooling his face back into its usual impassive mask. "Fine. Tell me what you need help with."

She turned, presenting her back. "Untie the gown, please."

He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "she's trying to kill me" and carefully untied the gown, keeping his hands as far from her skin as possible. Which wasn't very far, since he was literally undressing her.

Aelin was still wearing her bra and underwear beneath the gown, and because she wanted to have a little fun, she let the gown drop to the floor instead of holding it up to herself. Rowan emitted a strangled cough and wheezed behind her. She smirked. "Is something wrong, Whitethorn?"

"Nothing," he grunted through clenched teeth. "Where are your clothes?"

"On the chair. Hand me my pants, please." He did, and she pulled on her slacks. "Blouse." The blouse was a little more trouble. Aelin got it halfway on and stopped, unable to wrangle her sling arm into the unbuttoned blouse. "Shit."

"Here." Unexpectedly, Rowan had picked up her sweater and draped it over her injured arm, careful to keep his touch light. He let her slip her good arm into the other sleeve, then buttoned the three big buttons on the front of the loose sweater. "Does that help?"

"Yes." She flashed him a small, hesitant grin. "Thanks."

He clutched his chest. "Polite words from Aelin Galathynius? What world is this?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be a jackass, Whitethorn, just let me grab my purse and we can get the hell out of here."

"Not so fast." He snatched her purse before she could reach it. "Are you supposed to be carrying this?"

"I still have one good arm," she sighed. "Give it to me." He raised one pale brow in disbelief. "Yes, Whitethorn, I can carry my purse. It's not too heavy for the limit they gave me."

Satisfied with that answer, he handed her her purse and held the door open as she walked out. "I'm parked kind of far away," he admitted as they left the ER building. "Couldn't find a closer spot."

"It's okay," she reassured him. "It's my arm that's injured, not my legs."

Her traitorous legs chose that very moment to wobble, betraying her strong façade.

"Mhmm," Rowan drawled, a smirk curving his lips.

She scowled. "Shut it."

He mumbled something indecipherable and, without warning, lifted her off her feet. "We'll actually get somewhere if I don't have to put up with your toddling," he teased.

Aelin's mouth dropped open. "Toddling?!"

His smirk grew. "Tell me you weren't as unsteady as a toddler and I'll call you a liar, Ae." The nickname fell from his lips as easily as his dry sarcasm.

"You're horrid," she grumbled, folding her arms.

"And look at that, we're already at my car!" he announced, triumphant. She sighed and let him help her into the passenger seat.

As they headed down the streets towards downtown Doranelle, Rowan flicked a glance over at her. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

"Remember the accident that blocked up half of downtown earlier this afternoon?" she asked. He nodded. "I was in the taxi that got hit."

If he hadn't been driving, he would have stopped in his tracks. "You--what?"

"Rowan." Instinctively, she reached over and placed her good hand on his forearm. "I'm okay. It wasn't a huge crash."

"It wasn't--Aelin, do you know what happened at that intersection?"

"I remember my taxi getting hit."

His throat bobbed. "The driver that hit your taxi skidded on black ice and T-boned another vehicle. It was...it was bad."

She gasped. "I had no idea."

"Of course not," he murmured. "You were injured, Ae." He shifted one hand off the steering wheel so he could wrap it around her good hand. "There were some serious injuries, but everyone made it to the hospital in time and it seems like they're all stable. Police arrested the driver for DUII and reckless driving." His thumb rubbed across the back of her hand. "It's been all over the news and social media."

"I had no idea," she repeated, softly. "I...I'm glad everyone seems to be okay." She leaned back into the seat and was quiet for the rest of the drive back to her hotel.

At the hotel, Rowan surprised her again by parking, helping her out of the car, and grabbing a small duffle bag from the backseat of his car before accompanying her inside.

"What are you doing?" she hissed under her breath as he walked beside her to the elevator, his steadying hand on her lower back.

"I've been given orders to see you safely home," he drawled, mirth lighting his eyes.

She frowned. "I'm at my hotel, in case you haven't noticed."

He nodded. "You are. And I'm going to make sure you get to your room safe and sound."

"You going to pat me on the head and tuck me into bed, too?" she griped.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind putting you to bed, Aelin," he whispered into her ear. The heat concealed in his lazy words barreled down her spine, awakening a part of her that had absolutely no business being so active when she was supposed to be resting and recovering.

She stepped out of the elevator before Rowan and led him down the hall to her room, where she stopped, took a deep breath, and pressed her key card to the lock. The small screen flashed green, the door unlocked, and with her hand on the half-open door, Aelin turned to face Rowan, her calm voice belying her thundering heart.

"Stay with me, Ro?"

More emotions than she could count flashed across his face. He followed her into the hotel room, closed the door, and leaned himself against the door frame, resting the weight of his gaze on her.

"I'd love to."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

[renegadesfic]

In The Afterglow - Chapter 2

So this has actually been up on AO3 for a couple of days, but I forgot to post it here. Oops! Here it is now. NB people stay winning.

The first thing that Angel was met with when she stepped into the classroom was noise. A lot of noise. Classrooms were loud, she had expected that to a degree, but it was still a little bit of a culture shock - never having attended public school does make one more susceptible to being overwhelmed by the amount of, well, everything.

Cor must have seen her flinch at the loud chatter, because he put a hand on her back as if trying to steady her. “You okay?” He asked, seemingly unfazed. Well, he would be. He’d been in public school his whole life.

“Just… when you go to religious private schools… most classrooms aren’t this…” she paused.

“This rowdy?”

“Yeah. Rowdy’s a word for it.” She felt the pressure on her back increase just slightly and leaned into it on instinct, startling a little when she realized what she was doing. She attempted to pull away, but Cor didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he swung the backpack strap off his free arm, pulling away from her just long enough to get the other strap off and hold it in the hand that hadn’t just been pressing warm and solid against her back.

“Come sit?” He pointed to two empty desks on the opposite side of the classroom. “If you’d rather take a seat in the front, you’re welcome to, just thought I’d offer.”

There weren’t desks next to each other in the front.

“Sure,” she said, and made her way through the barely navigable mess of backpacks and extended limbs to the aforementioned seats.

“It’s not even quite eight, so we could be here a while. If you want to grab a snack or something, there’s vending machines down the hall.”

“I’m okay,” she said quickly. “I ate breakfast.”

“Well, if you want anything, I can spot you some cash.”

“Aren’t you basically homeless?”

“I told you I have a place. I just don’t live with legal guardians. Trust me, I have spare cash. Wasn’t sure if your family let you carry that stuff.”

“I have a credit card,” she shook her head, “but no cash. You’d be right on that one. It’s harder to get cash back than it is to freeze a card if something gets stolen.”

“I get the feeling your family wouldn’t miss it much, though…” he shrugged. “I guess it’s good they’re teaching you to be responsible with money?”

“Responsible is not the word I would use.”

“What would you use then?” He looked at her, meeting her eyes for a moment. She wasn’t sure if she looked away first or he did, but neither of them could quite hold the gaze. She might have hesitated a little too long before responding, because he tapped on her desk. “Earth to Angel?”

“Oh. Sorry. Um… I was…” she glanced nervously at him. He was looking at her again. And again, both of them looked away.

“Did you hear me?”

“I… did, but I forgot what you said.”

“I asked what you would call how they handle money, if not responsible.”

“Oh.” She grimaced a little. “They’re the kind of people who… flaunt wealth. Somehow they keep our house both pristinely clean - to the point of being boring - and filled to the brim with clutter. I guess they think having expensive stuff everywhere makes them look more important.”

“Lots of people think like that. Especially people like them.”

“Not everybody, though?” She tilted her head at him.

“Nah. Like I said, the people I live with have plenty. They just live well within their means. You wouldn’t have any idea they were loaded if you didn’t know them.” He looked down at the desk for a minute. “Unlike the people I lived with before.”

“You said foster parents. Not good people?”

“It’s astonishing,” he sighed, “how many people in the business of fostering are actually horrible to the kids they take in. A lot of them only do it for the social security checks.”

“So why did they let you leave, if they want the money?”

“Because part of the deal was that I let them keep cashing the checks and they leave me alone.” He scowled. “I’m not complaining, don’t get me wrong. I love living with Gwyn’s family - Gwyn’s my bandmate’s name, I don’t know if I mentioned. Just… it’s kind of a shitty thing for them to actually agree to, you know?”

“Yeah.”

There was a loud thunk as someone set a bag down on the desk in front of Cor’s. From a sitting position, Angel was craning her neck up to see the person - if Cor was almost a foot taller than her, this person had almost a foot on him, and that was kind of insane.

“Shit, do we have the same homeroom this year?” He nearly jumped out of his seat. The other figure turned - Angel caught his expression for a moment, stubble clinging to his chin in a manner far scruffier than how Cor maintained his appearance as he smirked - and immediately punched him in the shoulder. She winced instinctively - getting hit by someone that big was…

“You good, Angel?” Cor put a hand on her shoulder. “Did we scare you?”

“I… no, I’m fine. Sorry. Just startled.” She had a feeling he could tell she wasn’t being fully honest, but to his credit he didn’t pry, instead taking a step back and giving her a little pocket of open space around her desk.

“This is David,” he said, “my other bandmate. He’s kind of insanely talented.”

“‘S’up,” David looked down at her. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall.

“Um… hi?”

He looked at Cor. “You called her Angel? Is that her name or are you already hitting on her?” He grinned. Cor’s face darkened - Angel’s face went bright red.

“Not flirting. She’s new, she’s a transfer, nobody ought to flirt with her until she at least knows her way around the building.”

“So you’re saying when she knows her way around the building you’ll flirt with her.”

“I did not say that!”

“But did you think it?” David was grinning wide. Cor shook his head and sat back down.

“I’m sorry about… that.” He gestured to his friend. Angel, still trying to come back down from the cherry-red shade her face had taken on, took a moment to compute what he meant.

“It’s fine,” she finally managed. “I’m just not used to… attention. In general.”

“What, people weren’t into you at other schools you went to?” Cor looked confused. Was that genuine surprise?

… Was she seriously flattered by that?

“Not really,” she said. “Or at least they never said anything. It’s kind of… not discouraged, but… just wasn’t really a thing? Where I’ve been?”

“Well, welcome to real high school, where crushes are what like half the drama centers around. Sorry this is your introduction.”

“I’m not,” David said, sitting down at his own newly-claimed desk. “She’s cute.”

“You have a girlfriend,” Cor said, gritting his teeth a little.

“Yeah, and Brianna would also think she’s cute, I’d put money on it.”

“Just lay off, alright?” He scowled at his friend. “Give her some space.”

“Again, I have to ask - are you saying that because you care about her, or because you care about her?”

The emphasis on the second half of that was more than intentional.

“David, I will ask you one more time to shut the hell up, and if you don’t, I will fuck up every drum in your drum kit before you come over next.”

“That only hurts you, dude. I don’t mind the setup. You’re the one who gets impatient when I take too long.”

Angel caught herself just a little late, letting out a small laugh at the bickering between the two.

“What, is that funny?” David turned to her. “Cor, I’m gonna steal your girl. She already thinks I’m funny.”

“Stop it,” Cor glared.

“It’s… a little funny. But mostly… sweet? I didn’t… you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll get used to it.” She shrugged. “Plus, I think he’s only saying it to mess with you.”

“You would be right about that! As Cor so kindly pointed out, I have a girlfriend who I like very much. However, that does not under any circumstances stop me from looking at my other options.”

“You’d break up with her?” Cor looked incredulous. “I don’t believe you.”

“Dude, how many times have I told you Seung’s super cute? How many times have I told you Gwyn is super cute? It’s not about breaking up with anybody. You should know that by now.”

“Does she want you flirting though? Like, it’s one thing to call someone cute. It’s another thing to openly hit on someone you don’t even know?”

“Sorry, who are we hitting on that we don’t know?” Another bag was set down, this time on the desk in front of Angel’s - and with significantly less force. This person at least didn’t tower more than a foot over Angel if she were standing - they seemed like they’d be about the same height.

“Fuck yes, you’re in here too?” David turned. “Hey, Angel, this is Gwyn. Our third and final band member, the best bass player ever, and one of the coolest people I know.”

“Gwyn’s family are the ones spotting me a place to stay,” Cor offered the statement as a reminder.

“Yeah, he’s cool like that.” Notably, that was not a pronoun Angel would have expected either of the boys to use for Gwyn - for all intents and purposes he looked like a girl with a bit of an androgynous lean.

“It wasn’t my decision,” Gwyn said, and then, catching Angel’s confusion: “Right. Pronouns. That’s always weird for new people. You can call me literally anything you want, I don’t care.”

“We switch around lots, at her request,” David said. “It drives teachers insane - to be honest it drives most people in the school insane that we actually respect their stuff, but that’s everybody else’s problem.”

“So,” Angel tried to clarify, “I can call you she, or he, or they?”

“Well, technically there are other options,” Gwyn acknowledged, “but for now, yeah. Go with that.”

“You’ll catch on eventually,” Cor said. “And it’s patient.”

“It?” Angel looked a little taken aback. “Is that… okay?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean by other options. You can call me it, you can call me by the weirder stuff-”

“Weirder?”

“Like Cor said, you’ll get used to it. I literally looked up as many lists of potential pronouns as possible when I was first asking people to switch it up - there’s too many to list off. Even these two couldn’t memorize all of them, to be honest I’m not sure anybody could.” Gwyn shrugged. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. Call me what you’re comfortable with.”

“I will… try my best. To call you more than one.” Angel nodded, expression serious. “I’m not used to… that.”

“Her parents are like… mega rich. Religious private school rich - you said they were what, oil execs?”

“Jesus Christ,” David said. “Yeah, that’d do it.”

Angel nodded. “My dad is, yeah. My mom’s basically a trophy wife, but honestly I’m not convinced she’s not involved in some multi-level-marketing scheme or something.”

“If it helps, basically nobody in a Texas public school is gonna care too much about this stuff, so you’re already ahead on that?” Gwyn offered. “I’m surprised you’re not more turned off by it.”

“I don’t… want to be that kind of person.”

Cor, again, put a hand gently on her back, near the left shoulder. “Then you won’t be.”

David nodded. “Honestly, it’s pretty much that simple. If you try not to be an asshole, you’re already pretty good at not being an asshole. Most people like that don’t care, or actively enjoy being that way.”

“I’ve seen what people who enjoy acting like that are like,” Angel scowled. “One of my best friends in middle school came out as bi and I was kind of convinced they were going to burn her at the stake or something. They… sent her to what I kind of assumed was some sort of conversion therapy. I didn’t talk to her after that.”

“Fuck.” David said.

“Fuck about sums it up, yeah. It honestly seemed like the disappointment was less of a focus than the satisfaction of getting to show off that kind of power. It’s almost like its own ritual. If someone you know does something ‘wrong’, you get given extra credit for having the most brutal response possible.”

“There was a kid here last year who killed himself,” David said, “in the school bathroom. Because he was getting too much shit from people.”

“Fuck,” Angel said, because that really did sum that sort of thing up.

There was silence for a moment.

“Well, that was depressing,” Gwyn said. “I’m gonna grab something from the vending machine before we start the day. Anybody want anything?”

“I will pledge my undying affection to you if you bring me a bag of Doritos and a chocolate bar,” David responded, bowing his head in a dramatic show of faux respect.

“Sure, whatever. Cor, Angel? You guys want anything?”

“I said I was fine earlier,” Cor said, “but now that you mention it, bring me a Sprite or something.”

“Angel?” Gwyn looked at her. “Seriously, I don’t mind. If you want anything let me know.”

She thought for a moment, looking down at the desk. Someone had scratched two initials with a heart around them into the corner. The ultimate display of teenage affection - defacing school property.

“I wouldn’t mind a Sprite too,” she finally offered.

“Two Sprites, a bag of Doritos, a chocolate bar - do you have a fucking preference, David?”

“I dunno, like a fucking Snickers or something.”

“You’re not you when you’re hungry,” Gwyn teased.

“I am a dangerous person when I’m hungry, Gwyn, which is why you should go get me a fucking chocolate bar.”

“On my way,” it laughed, stepping cautiously over the still-disorganized rows of backpacks. “Back in a few. Save my seat.”

Day one could have started a lot worse, that was for sure.

[chungledown-bimothy]

LoL Worlds 2023 Finals Reaction Post

instead of a million text posts, i'm gonna just make this one extremely long one.

oh my god t1's first draft. they are not here to fuck around. but also if they don't get a solid early game advantage then uh. fear.

if that was damn near any midlaner other than xiaohu, that would have been first blood for sure. but SO well counterplayed by weibo wow

if i have to watch t1 lose worlds finals to jayce again i'm going to delete that goddamn champion from the entire game.

weiwei is doing WORK keeping weibo in this.

t1's neutral objective control my god

eyyyy atlus ty for the cloud soul

weiwei didn't die???? just maokai things jfc

what does this literally perfect neutral objective control mean if you can't fuckin win a skirmish though

XIAOHU DIDN'T DIE????

yeah okay lost the dragon and the stacking delay isn't great but the won fight is big. both gold wise and mentally

bengi isn't here D:

keria. the love of my life. guma looked dead to rights, but keria simply will not allow that.

i was so afraid zeus wouldn't be able to stand up to theshy. that really was my biggest fear for this series, and it is so reassuring that he absolutely is

god it's only 28 minutes into game 1 and i'm already struggling to stay awake

zeus fucking melted that dragon holy shit

hell yeah boys, 2 more games of that <3 <3 <3

DRAVEN!

yeah okay there's the yone ban lol

nocturne? oooh oner is feeling himself today

this is such a fun draft omg. still very scared about top lane, but the big picture t1's put together is fantastic. looove watching t1 play that clean, clean macro.

hmm don't love that start for the bot lane. not idea.

holy shit theshy (impressed) holy shit theshy (my dude you're throwing)

THE EXECUTE zeus is the only god i worship actually

wow i've got way fewer thoughts this game. the time is catching up to me and i'm too eepy for that much thought lol

lmao guma just looked at crisp and he exploded. and oner's ults have been so, so good this whole game

i know it's hope that kills you. and it's been very, very rough to watch t1's finals appearances these last few years, so i've not really let myself hope. but i can't help it at this point

zeus series mvp, but oner deserves it too

MATCH POINT LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

i really hope they stay together if they win. i don't want to have to divide my loyalties.

...oh god what if they win and then faker retires.

BENGI'S NOT THERE OH NO i'd forgored D:

xayah rakan ^_^ ^_^ ^_^

brad is fun but like. weird choice so early on imo

akali! lee sin! you fucking love to see it

lmao imagine picking kennen into zeus. the aatrox is a ballsy choice, but he's absolutely earned that at this point

oner and zeus own this series.

awww man that grand entrance was so good it's tragic it wasn't quite enough

i have so many more thoughts about this game than i have the energy to make coherent let alone type oop

damn that herald just isn't gonna die good for them

FAKER TRIPLE KILL and he's so focused it doesn't even register on his face

and he just. keeps. going. then zeus cleans up with the double kill.

fuck i have to pee so bad but i can't miss a second of this live

that should have been a pick onto keria. but no, 2 kills for t1. jfc

this is it. they've done it. oh my fucking god.

we've hit hitting them with their wallets territory. idk maybe there's some miracle somewhere but not really. not with t1 playing like this. not with their lead.

HOW DID ZEUS NOT DIE

oh my god they did it they're so cute i cannot see what i'm typing through the tears

the first professional league i ever watched was the last time t1 won worlds.

AND THEY'RE IN KOREA FUCKING HELL

holy shit they did it. fuck i'm so fucking proud of them

faker was so casual about the win, too. that boy i swear to god i have never wanted to suck a dick so bad in my life

[iamnot-theboynextdoor]

well i read some more spoilers and i have been wrong since my very first post. in fact my first post seems pretty much the opposite of what really happens. big L for me

so gabe/beez had their meetcute on the tarmac, fell VERY QUICKLY in love, and then when heaven started gearing up for Armageddon 2.0 gabriel protested loudly on account of not wanting to go to war against his precious lil wubbubbubbub, and so as punishment heaven wiped his brain with a squeegee and dumped him

(heaven wiping an angel’s brain as punishment for denouncing armageddon and dumping him in the middle of nowhere is my backstory for my WIP a/c cute neighbour next door human au just kidding it’s an amnesiac!aziraphale au so uh i don’t know if i can write that now (not that i could finish a planned big multi-chap like that). i mean i could but like. do i post screenshots of me vomiting my pitch to einzel (hi einzel<3) a year ago as proof i’m not just rewriting s2. not in a “turns out i thought up the exact same idea (just with characters swapped) as Acclaimed Author Neil Gaiman at around the same time so i must be a fucking genius” way! more like a “i thought about how does an angel end up with amnesia and why- well this is the most logical plot i could think of [for aziraphale], but this is just a silly au- oops and now i have proof my logic was solid because that’s exactly what happened”)

speaking of in-character (WARNING I AM ABOUT TO BE EVEN MORE FUCKING SELF-INVOLVED but i worry that my character motivations are often all over the place so i am trying to validate myself by going SEE. IT WAS IN THE SHOW. yay, my writing’s in-character- OH NO, MY WRITING’S IN-CHARACTER). and the last ten minutes of ep 6 (which i’ve read so much meta on and am still too fragile to watch), and people debating aziraphale’s motivations. i wrote this in an rp last year and i’m-

(for context, aziraphale and crowley got a bit tipsy in rome 33 AD, kissed, slept together, confessed feelings, cried about it a lot, and cuddled each other to sleep)

[TRANSCRIPTION: arin — 19/02/2022 14:27 When Aziraphale leaves, he leaves a note.

He wakes up before Crowley does, when the sun is barely peeking above the horizon. Aziraphale lies there for an hour, savouring every second of having Crowley pressed up next to him, trying and failing to convince himself to get up.

Eventually, he lifts Crowley's arm off him and slides out of bed, praying for Crowley to stay asleep. Forgive my cowardice, he thinks, as he dresses. I'll never leave otherwise.

He lingers over the bed, watching Crowley dream, more peaceful than Aziraphale has ever seen him before. Crowley is so heartachingly sweet, and it's killing Aziraphale to walk away.

He does, though. Aziraphale will do anything to keep Crowley safe. He will leave, he will push Crowley away, he will lie to him, he will break both their hearts if it means Crowley will be safe. END TRANSCRIPTION]

(the note said “Until we meet again <3 Burn after reading.”)

the inital reactions i saw for ep6 end were all “WTF WHY WOULD AZIRAPHALE DO THIS, THIS IS SO OUT OF CHARACTER, WHERE’S ALL HIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT GONE, IS HE BEING MIND CONTROLLED BY THE METATRON TO ABANDON CROWLEY????” but it isn’t out of character if this is how you interpret aziraphale’s motivations. aziraphale would rather them be separated and miserable but alive than going out in a blaze of glory. and crowley would rather go out in a blaze of glory than be miserably separated from aziraphale. and they can’t fucking communicate for shit, hence incredible misunderstandings, unresolved cosmically-huge heartbreak, and a cliffhanger for us until 2026 AT EARLIEST. and i think that’s what people are really upset about

a greenlight for s3 won’t even be confirmed for a while, plus the WGA and SAG strikes (which yes i believe should take priority!) mean neil gaiman can’t even start working on potential scripts (but s3 was the part that he planned out with terry pratchett - about the Second Coming of the jeebus man - and the studio is paying the costs to store the sets and set-pieces). the fandom is desperate to see a resolution and a happy ending (which means the writing is good! if it makes you feel things that strong!) and being told right at Peak Heartbreak Point (for both the characters and the audience) “now you have to wait three/four years at least to see what happens next!” yeah i’m not surprised people started frothing at the mouth and going “WTF THIS ENDING IS BULLSHIT WDYM THAT’S HOW IT ENDS?????”

three days later, after everyone’s had time to calm down, the general opinion has seemed to shift from “HE WOULD DO FUCKING DO THAT WTF” to “no wait he would absolutely fucking do that. don’t get me wrong i’m still upset with him but the logic is solid”.

this post is just a very long essay-note TO MYSELF to remind myself not to be all “WTF THIS ENDING IS BULLSHIT HE WOULD NOT FUCKING DO THAT” when i am brave enough to see it, because i already said he would, so i’m not allowed to act all shocked pikachu when he does!

theory because i've only seen ep1: amnesiac gabriel is a ploy, and beezlebub already knows where gabriel is because ze put him there. this is all an orchestration to get michael to enact the Extreme Sanctions.

i'm thinking beezlebub erased gabriel's memories on purpose (with him being In On It), and sent him to aziraphale, knowing that michael would Extreme Sanction/Book of Life/erase aziraphale from existence upon finding gabriel there.

and they'd know that the first thing aziraphale would do would be to tell crowley. so beezlebub makes crowley the offer and tells him about the Extreme Sanctions. of course, crowley runs off to help aziraphale hide gabriel, and now beezlebub has justification to get michael to Extreme Sanction crowley too.

because if aziraphale and crowley are both erased from existence, then Armageddon will have happened as planned.

(what is the in-universe reason for beezlebub having a new corporation, anyway? were zey punished/tortured/discorporated by satan for both failing to convince adam to start Armageddon and failing to execute crowley? crowley brought up zeir new face, and maybe it's just a wink to the audience, but maybe there's more to it. my point is that beezlebub is in satan's bad books, hence this plan to erase a+c, have Armageddon run as planned, and never be in satan's bad books in the first place.)

(why can't they just Extreme Sanction them right now for stopping Armageddon? ...because then there wouldn't be a story, idk, i'm bullshitting this)

only gabriel could have had his memories erased, because he's the only one Important Enough, and only beezlebub could do it, because the rest of heaven Cannot Know that gabriel's memories were wiped on purpose, they have to make heaven believe that aziraphale did it in order to Extreme Sanction him.

as seen on the tarmac scene, gabriel and beezlebub respect each other; and presumably collaborated on aziraphale and crowley's planned executions. so either there's a tentative trust going on between them, or beezlebub is masterminding it (thanks for meeting me here gabriel hey look over there real quick /BONK), confident that ze won't get Found Out and Extreme Sanctioned zemselves.

so zey are sending little fly spies to make sure amnesiac gabriel stays put/doesn't do anything too stupid. the Something Terrible that would happen to gabriel is him not getting his memories back if beezlebub gets found out and erased.

[yeojaa]

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween.  What he loves more than that?  You.

pairing.  gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating.   idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded.  it’s just that fluffy.  (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings.  established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower. 

wc.  9.7k

beta reader(s).  the lovely @kerikaaria​​​ read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy.  tysm!  💛  i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif​ gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly.  oops... 

author note.  this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo​‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves.  while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside.  i hope you enjoy it!   

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened.  You remember, faintly, the mention of a party.  Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc.  He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought.  If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway.  Win-win or whatever.  

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge.  Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean. 

“Zarya’s one!  Zarya’s one—“  You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen.  You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too.  There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch.  “Zarya’s actually one!” 

No one cares.  She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map. 

“Jesus—“  Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue.  You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.  

I need healing!  I need healing! 

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way.  Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though.  There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point.  Stupid.  You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support. 

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked.  So infuriating and yet— nope.  Just infuriating. 

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise.  Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise.  He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face.  You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru.  He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team.  A silver lining, you suppose.  

Your second round starts well enough.  Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta.  Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana.  You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn.  Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost.  (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado.  The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong.  Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter. 

“You winning?” 

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction.  You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.  

(It’s not your own fault.  He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!”  You want to be more mad.  Really, you do.  You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long.  Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn. 

“What?”  Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime. 

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves.  All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.  

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder.  You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days.  You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery. 

It’s a little distracting;  he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual.  You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck.  Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see;  it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over.  You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication.  (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.) 

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so.  You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words). 

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet. 

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya?  She has grav.”  Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon.  Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock.  If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game. 

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void.  Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces.  Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next.  Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,”  says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head.  He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match.  It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.  

“Rip is right,”  you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map.  If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms.  Jungkook chuckles at that.  

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well.  There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested.  Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”  

You don’t turn your head.  Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you.  Sometimes, you love it;  other times, you hate it.  Most times, though, he’s right.  He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame). 

“Can we go top left?”  You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main.  Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team.  Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited.  “You should be back right by the stairs.  You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point.  Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav.  She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you.  As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen. 

“Told you,”  he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore. 

“I was going to say thank you.”  Just not right now.  You can’t multitask quite like he can. 

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display.  “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock.  Thank freaking god.  You can win this, you think.  Easy.  No problem. 

“Go Ana on defense.”  At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth.  You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin. 

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time.  He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Do you just want to play?”  You don’t mean it seriously.  You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you.  It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship. 

“Nah, I’m snacking.”  He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.  You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon. 

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions.  He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do.  He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do.  He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t. 

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.  

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair.  You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears. 

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game.  There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back. 

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie.  “We won,”  you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug. 

“Of course you did.”  He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you.  He’d been a great coach. 

“What’re you doing here?”  It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest.  He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair.  (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines.  You don’t care.) 

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.  

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.”  You remember, because you’d been disappointed.  Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,”  he states, like he’s talking to a moron.  You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.  

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen.  Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena.  It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it. 

“Yeah, we,”  Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker.  “Halloween party, baby.  Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises:  (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party?  You didn’t think idols had those.  Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no.  Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.”  It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach.  It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day. 

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face.  It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way.  Why’s he looking at you like that?  Why’s your memory so bad?  Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions? 

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance.  It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage.  A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns. 

“I— don’t remember that.”  You’re lying through your damn teeth.  Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass. 

“But you did!”  He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal.  It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me!  You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate. 

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here.  It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia.  “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular.  You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish. 

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs.  (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs.  You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.)  It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing.  The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames.  Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them;  Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.  

“I don’t think I can pull this off,”  you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious.  (You were, once.  Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.) 

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places.  Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest.  You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it.  (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention.  Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you.  You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp.  A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue.  “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance.  It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway.  “You have to say that.  You’re my boyfriend.” 

“I don’t have to say anything,”  he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten.  It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot.  It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart.  “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then.  He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened.  He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom.  How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure.  All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up;  yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug.  You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.  

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson.  They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay—  that was scary.  I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.”  A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees.  It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?”  You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there.  He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms;  he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh.  His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised;  Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer.  (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.”  Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end.  It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature.  You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee.  Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact.  A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious.  You look—”  You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose.  A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon.  “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it.  Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders.  You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!”  You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself.  All part of his plan, you suppose.  “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.  

“Okay!  Sorry!”  Except he doesn’t look very sorry.  More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you.  You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”  

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie.  You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment.  (Not that you really mind.)  

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip.  It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting.  Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks.  It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love. 

Today, it comes after the fourth count. 

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.”  Well, of course you will.  As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas.  It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams. 

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times.  “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins.  It’s unfairly adorable.  Still, you push.  Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you.  From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted. 

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot.  You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum.  A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to.  You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you;  rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.”  By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful.  The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday. 

It turns out to be the opposite:  one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend.  He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger.  You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another.  For tonight, they’re one and the same. 

“Joker?  Seriously?”  You can’t hide the delight.  It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction.  Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask.  “Don’t sound so excited.”  It’s an actual concern of his.  He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.  

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more.  He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting. 

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky.  You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises.  It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently.  You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared;  you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.”  You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes.  It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes.  It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling.  Bastard.  “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker.  You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter.  He’s dressed this way because you like the character.  

“Oh,”  you say, because there’s not much more to say.  Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it. 

“Yeah,”  he parrots back, a little smug.  

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life.  He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set.  You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better.  (You suppose he is.)  

“Angel, come here!”  He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side.  Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love.  There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).   

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.  

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball.  You don’t mind.  You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.  

“I’m winning,”  he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.  

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh.  Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst.  Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.  

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.”  You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element.  He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some.  It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is).  “How many games have you won?”  Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.”  God, his ego.  You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best.  Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck.  He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you.  To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.  

“Can we play?”  Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks.  You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.  

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs.  Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend.  (How fitting.)  “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch.  “No, you’re just bad at games!”  He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes.  Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink.  In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus.  (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?)  You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily.  Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.”  And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.  

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond.  He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life. 

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”  

“Ahhhhhh, stop!”  It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own.  Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads.  “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!”  You know it isn’t true.  Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines).  But together?  It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.  

You absolutely loved it. 

“Sure, sure,”  the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot.  One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins.  A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour.  You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one.  Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour.  “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.  

“Drink this!”  

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?”  You’re incredulous.  Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl.  It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless.  Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!”  The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too.  “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy?  It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?). 

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it.  Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body.  “Don’t die!”  He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”  

“No, you’re fine.”  He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up.  You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement.  “Your face, oh—  Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane.  You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together.  It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor.  Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms.  You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?”  It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies.  He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile.  “What’re you doing down there?”  

“Just hanging out,”  you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft.  A modern day olive branch.  “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close.  Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like.  It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like.  Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away.  You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness.  “You sound drunk, angel,”  he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek.  It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin.  It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves.  “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,”  comes Jimin from beside you.  There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.  

“That’s the plan,”  Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment.  It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him.  He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation.  When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case.  “Want to head home?”

You do.  You really, really do.   

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are.  Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—”  There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet.  “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway.  “Sorry,”  you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused.  It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.”  He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh.  Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away.  “Here, let me.”  

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time.  (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,”  you tease, clinging to him like a koala.  You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven.  “Or are you the court jester?  That’s what Joker is, right?”  It’s a joke and a bad one at that.  Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.  

“You’re drunk.”  He says it more kindly than you expect.  Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve.  You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded.  There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare.  It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought.  You have to tell him.  Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it.  “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down.  As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands.  (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.)  “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?”  You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon.  You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.”  It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that.  You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style.  You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression.  “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does.  You pout, as you so often do. 

“Okay,”  you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder.  You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings.  “Will you wash my hair?”  You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.”  Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).  

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck.  When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips.  You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat.  Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.”  As if that’s meant to stop you.  He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention.  He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,”  you mumble into the expanse of his chest.  He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable.  You think you could live in the feeling of his arms.  (You’re lucky you get to.)  You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most.  “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation.  You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless.  It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.  

He’d explained it to you once.  Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first.  Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t.  JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm.  Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that.  You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.”  You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon.  You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure.  “Gotta get undressed to shower,”  he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises?  It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”  

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.  

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care.  Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow.  You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep.  He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle.  His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck.  You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight.  You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits.  There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest.  He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.”  The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. 

“We are, angel,”  Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back.  It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame.  “Just need to get you warmed up first.”    

“The shower’ll be warm,”  you say - or think you say, anyway.  It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).  

“Do you want me to stop?”  It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off.  Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat.  “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.”  Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern.  You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.  

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise.  “I never want you to stop.”  

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair.  He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted.  “I love you,”  he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.  

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment.  He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off.  You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders.  You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.  

“Start the shower.”  

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that.  You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away.  The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,”  he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream.  He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip.  You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does.  You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside.  It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you.  You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.  

“Hair?”  You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder.  It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.  

“Patience, baby.”  It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess.  He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue.  (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—”  The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand.  Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it.  It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips.  A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit.  The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump.  Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.  

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair.  “Patience,”  he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist.  He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue. 

“Kook,”  you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess.  There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest.  A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.  

“Relax for me.”  You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.  

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more.  You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish.  (You wish you could see him.) 

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him.  (It was.)  He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense.  Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.  

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures.  With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,”  comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care.  Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls.  He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.  

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard.  Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot;  it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.  

“K-Kook.”  It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.  

“I’ve got you.”  And he does - hook, line, and sinker.  He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave.  It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go.  He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn.  See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service.  Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him.  You should recognise the look on his face.  “Kook?”

“My turn.”  It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward.  There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you.  It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in.  “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.  (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed.  In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine.  It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat.  His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear.  It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure.  “Oh fuck,”  he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.  

“Always so good for me.”  Another thing he says, often and without prompting.  It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet.  “Always so perfect for me.”  

“Because I love you,”  you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.  

“Love you too, angel.”  He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway.  He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted.  He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart.  Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust.  An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision;  it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard.  He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high.  You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings. 

“Kook,”  you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower.  The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm.  You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing.  It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.  

“P-please, Kook.  Please.”  You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his.  He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation.  “Come for me, Kook.  Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars.  Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you.  It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs.  You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.  

“I love you,”  he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.  

“I love you,”  you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours.  “But I still need you to wash my hair.”  It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days.  “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.”  Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements.  He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery.  Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.  

“I thought I was an angel.”  You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks.  Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline.  Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice.  “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”  

You can’t argue with that. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​

[elliewritessometimes]

hello! me n @mattieswheelers wrote another fic!! tiff is the most incredible writing partner and i- i just love them???? thanky so much for writing with me you are a stunning writer aaaa (y'all there will be a second chapter stay tuned fdhhddh aLSO we are posting this on ao3 it will be there at some point)

in other news: this was originally a request!! @notsomightymightytiger it may have taken me uh- a good couple of months but here is your fic!!!

for reference, these numbers apply to these tropes: first kiss/flowers of romance/blind date

LOVE YOU KIERA AND TIFF AAAAA HOPE YOU LIKE

tw: swearing, alcohol and drunkenness but not in an angsty farrah way just in a silly oops first date way, as per usual if there's anything at all you want me to tag let me know :D

---

Eva thought she was doing perfectly fine without a romantic partner. Her life was normal, one filled with work and friends and scrolling through Pinterest.

Apparently, in the eyes of her best friend, this was not a normal life. Farrah had always been a bit extra, that one kid in highschool who always seemed to know where the best parties were, or who was known by name to the baristas at the local Starbucks, and by the ripe old age of 22, she believed that a romantic partner was crucial to living a fulfilling life.

Or, at least, that you should at least try romance once before becoming a hermit in the woods, especially if your name was Eva Sanchez.

(“Look, normally I wouldn’t be like this,” Farrah drawled, leaning against a counter, “But deep inside  you are nothing but a useless gay at heart-”

Her phone buzzed.

“-and you haven’t dated anyone, like, ever, and if I have to be the only one constantly dragging you out to social gatherings, I’m going to die early. So do me a solid, will you?”

“Hey-!”)

Eva did not agree.

But, she was a loyal friend, and that was how she found herself sitting in an overly posh restaurant on some random blind date with some random person that she’d never even seen before. It would be an understatement to say she was a little bit nervous, but then again, whenever Farrah was involved, that was normal.

***********: hi sorry i got your number from the blind date place thing but uh are you the person at the table in the corner

***********: ???denim jacket ?? pride pin??

Eva smiled, glancing up at the door. There was another person looking a little lost in the entrance, very obviously trying not to draw attention to themselves, their phone held close to their face as they squinted around at the restaurant. They were pretty, dark hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, obviously not dressed for a restaurant as upper class as this one. Eva liked them immediately. Raising a hand, she waved in their direction, laughing as her date gasped dramatically, hurrying over and nearly overturning a tray of drinks on their way.

“Hello.”

“Look-” Eva’s date slumped in the seat opposite, one hand awkwardly held behind their back. “I dunno about you, but I certainly did not willingly sign up for this. You see, my friend wanted me to apparently live a more interesting life and stop relying on Tumblr as my only source of interaction with anyone, and my friend is very persuasive, so here I am.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so I wanted to get that out of the way before we even introduce ourselves. I am here out of spite only, so, uh, I hope you’re not too desperate.” They paused, finally taking a breath. “Right. The more I think about this, the more embarrassed I get.”

“It’s okay.” Eva gave a noise which sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Let’s not think about it then. I’m Eva. She/her. It’s nice to meet you, unwilling datemate.”

They grinned. “Kate. She/they.” She gasped a little like she’d forgotten something. “Oh! I brought flowers. Chess said it would be romantic.”

Eva accepted the offered flowers with a blush. This date was going better than expected. Farrah was going to lose her shit when she heard about it. “Wait- You have a friend called Chess?? Like, the game???”

Kate rolled their eyes, casually snatching a bright pink cocktail off a passing waiter’s tray. “Duh. You didn’t really see me walk in this fucking posh ass restaurant in my flannel and converse and think I’d be normal, right?”

Eva laughed then, properly. It had only been a few short, chaotic minutes, but she was already warming to this mystery person and, God, they had good taste in flowers. Even if Eva’s nerd hermit brain did helpfully choose that moment to remind her that this particular bunch of flowers presented a meaning that translated almost exactly to ‘fuck you’. She wondered if Kate was aware of that. However, perhaps that was a fun fact for the second date.

-

“Hey, Eva?” Kate was slightly tipsy. Only a little bit! Really not that bad. Not at all. Definitely not too drunk for a first date. Shut up. “Hey! You’re- so cool.”

Eva giggled - she was equally as drunk, but not quite so intoxicated as to stop wondering why the restaurant hadn’t thrown them out yet. “Noooooo. ‘m a nerd.”

“Yeah, but a cool nerd.” Kate twirled the decorative candle between her fingers, drawing stares from disapproving patrons. The flame reflected in Eva’s glasses, making her just a little bit more smitten by the second. They enclosed their hand around the candle holder as best they could, standing up just a little shakily. “Eva-” It was like they got a rush from just saying her name. Eva thought it was endearing. “Hey- we- we should go…”

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes, also standing up, her long-discarded denim jacket slung over one arm, the other naturally slipping to link arms with Kate.

“....Arson.” Kate sounded entirely serious, still twizzling the candle in one hand. Eva blinked dumbly at her, mouth slightly open. They pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Eva’s mouth, giggling uncharacteristically at the motion. “I’m jokingggg! Don’t look so shook, my dude.”

Eva stuttered a little, letting Kate pull her finally out of the restaurant, marvelling at the fact she’d only known this incredible, crazy person for a matter of hours. Who knew where tonight would take them?

-

They found themselves in a park, gazing up at the stars, now dim in the reflections of the city lights. Kate’s phone flashed 11:46 in the dark, the lock screen filled with notifications from a contact who’s name consisted only of a chess piece.

Eva lay down on the grass, spreading her arms out towards the stars. “Do you ever think about life?”

“Sure. All the time. I’m alive, and so are you, and I think you’re really pretty. Does that count?” Kate flopped down beside her.

“I- I mean, yeah- um,” Eva tried not to sound flustered, thankful for the darkness that hid the color rising in her cheeks. “But like, life. Scientifically. Relatively.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I totally do. Um. Do I?”

Eva laughed, turning her head slightly to gaze at Kate. Under the light of the stars, they looked… ethereal. And really, really, really beautiful. And-

Eva coughed slightly, turning back towards the night sky. “Just… think about it. I’m lying here beside you, on a giant marble that hurtles through space. Relatively speaking, our orbit and path are unique, and all around us, the other planets are… swirling in harmony, and we’re just. We’re just here to see it.”

Kate hummed. “You sound like those philosophical people, all ‘if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, did it really fall?’ and ‘relatively speaking I am relatively here, and I’m relatively certain… blah blah blah.’”

“Huh. Do I?” Eva shrugged, putting her hands behind her head. “I dunno. I’m drunk. I think. Oh, no, I’m relatively drunk, ha ha- okay no, I’m just drunk.”

“You are,” Kate nodded wisely. “We both are.”

“Do you know what Albert Einstein said once?” Eva asked abruptly, closing her eyes. “He said, ‘When you’re courting a nice girl, an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder, a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.’ And if that isn’t the most relatable thing he’s ever said, then, well- okay yeah I’ve lost my train of thought.”

“Wow,” said Kate. “Did Albert Einstein court lots of nice girls?”

“Pfft.” Eva rolled onto her side, laughing openly in Kate’s face. “Sure. Why not.”

They rolled to face Eva, curling up into a ball, softer than the 22-year-old had seen her all evening. “Not as nice as the one I’m courting right now.”

“Even though neither of us really wanted to be here earlier?”

“Yeah. Y’know, I’m fucking glad our best friends basically set us up. It’s very pog of them.”

“You did not just say ‘pog’. You did not.” Eva groaned into the slightly damp, slightly disgusting grass, listening to Kate cackle next to her.

“Shit, dude, my secret’s out. I’m just as much of a nerd as you.” She leant their head on Eva’s outstretched arm, burrowing into her side.

Eva paused then, draping her other arm around Kate, thinking quietly. It was stupid, really, that they were cuddling in the openness of a park at almost midnight. Dangerous, definitely, especially when you took in the candle still flickering far too close to Kate’s now loose hair. Some more sensible people, maybe Farrah’s sister, would say that it was stupid how close they’d grown in so few hours. But Kate and Eva weren’t sensible people, not really, and maybe this was completely normal for them. Nerds lived life differently. “We’re not like other girls… we’re nerds.”

Kate barked out a laugh again, pressing yet another small kiss to the top of Eva’s head.

Eva thought she might melt into a puddle right then and there.

God, she was so in love.

Kate looked up at the sky. “Y’know, for all your philosophical talk, you should be an inspirational speaker. Be on goddamn TedTalks or something, blow the crowd away with all that ‘the future’s in the palm of my hand!!’ bullshit.”

“Well,” Eva said, trying to sound completely sober (and failing), “I think all I could ever want is in the palm of my hand, right now.”

Kate paused for a moment, registering the fact that Eva had just cupped her hands around their face. “Wow. That was smooth.”

“Right?? I’m honestly impressed and I was the one who said it. Wait, is that hubris? Oh shoot, am I developing an ego? Or maybe I’m just drunk?” Eva’s head was seriously starting to hurt.

“You deserve an ego,” Kate nodded sagely. “You are so amazing. Seriously. You should have an ego. Dab on the haters and all that jazz, right? Right.”

Eva giggled, unable to take her eyes away from Kate’s. “What the shit?”

“Dude! Dab on the haters. ‘m fuckin’ right, and you know I am.”

“Mkay.”

“Lit.” Kate dragged her gaze from Eva’s, instead staring up at the stars. “If we weren’t drunk right now, I’d be kissing the hell out of you.”

Eva pouted. Apparently Drunk-Eva was limited to the facial expressions of a twelve year old. “Who’s to say you can’t kiss me now.”

“We’re drunk, Eva.” They waved their hands, casually flipping off the moon. “Consent.”

“If you think about drunk...ness. Drunkenness? Drunkness. Whatever.” She coughed. “If you think about it like maths, then because we’re both drunk, it cancels out, right? Like, drunk you minus drunk me equals zero drunks overall, yeah?” Pausing, she ran a hand over her face, watching Kate smirk and wriggle closer out of the corner of her eye. “What I’m saying is, yes, I give you permission to kiss me-” Kate leaned closer and Eva laid a gentle finger on their lips. “But only if I get to kiss you back.”

The two met in the middle, naturally coming together. Some might describe them as magnets, two poles attracted, unable to stay away from each other. Others might say soulmates, meant to find each other from birth. Or, just maybe, stars, gravitationally pulled together, ready to explode into another plane of existence, one so different from our reality that we can’t even begin to imagine the wonders that they’ll find.

However, this is reality, and somehow Kate and Eva are still grounded on our Earth, stars maybe, but ones made of ancient stardust no longer free to travel the universe. They found themselves pulling apart after two worlds collided, an unknown period of time passing as it happened. Eva’s fingers didn’t untangle themselves from their comfortable seat amongst Kate’s hair, the closeness making their noses brush, spouting giggles from both young adults.

“Well, that was fun.” Kate brushed hair out of Eva’s face, one arm still wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her closer as she shivered in the night air.

“Yeah?” Eva pressed her forehead to theirs. “Why don’t we try it again, huh?”

---

“I told you so,” Farrah smirked, picking at a freshly baked blueberry muffin. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Eva huffed, failing to come up with an argument.

Over by the kitchen counter, Mattie snorted. “I find it kinda funny that the single girl insists that love is the answer to anything.”

“Well- it’s not like I’ve never dated!”

“Suuuuure,” Mattie rolled her eyes, hopping off the counter and snatching a muffin. “Anyways, at least Eva has a significant other now. That’s the biggest victory, right? Other than the celebratory muffins, of course.”

Eva sighed. “Is it really that big of a deal that Farrah’s plan worked?”

“Yep!” Farrah grinned, taking a bite of muffin.

“Technically, my plan, but okay,” Mattie shrugged.

Eva almost dropped her muffin. “What.”

Mattie grinned, a devilish glint appearing in her eye. “Believe it or not, I am also friends with none other than the amazing Chess, and since her friend Kate- who is also my friend, by the way- was being a mopey mess around the same time as you, I just had to take it upon myself to play matchmaker! So I’d like at least 50% of the credit and reward, please and thank you.”

“I- what-” Eva sputtered, trying to come to terms with the new information. “Mattie- you- oh my God.”

“Oh my God indeed,” Mattie bit into her muffin and swallowed. “So anyways, you’re welcome for getting you a girlfriend.”

Eva stared at the younger girl, mouth slightly open and muffin hanging loosely in her hand. Farrah clapped a hand over her mouth as she wheezed through a mess of sugar and blueberries, earning herself a death stare from Eva. Phone in one hand, Mattie continued eating her muffin as though nothing had happened, the teasing look on her face only exaggerating as her phone pinged with a message. “Oh! Speaking of, Chess is outside-”

She was cut off as the door burst open, the handle crashing into Eva’s bookcase, knocking her alarm clock to the ground and presenting two dishevelled figures in the doorway. One of them, a tall student probably in their last year of uni, puffed out a breath, a hand tightly clinging to a much shorter student squirming angrily. “Before you say anything, I tried to prevent any of this happening. Wheeler, I’m blaming you entirely for this.”

Mattie only laughed, offering Chess a muffin with her free hand, “Dude, it was totally your idea.”

Eva tried very hard not to stare as Kate finally freed herself from Chess’ grasp with an indignant yelp. “Fuck off! Eva, babe, sweetheart, love of my life, tell me you didn’t fucking know about this beforehand or I will break up with you.”

“No! God, no! You know I didn’t want to be there just as much as you did.” She rested her head gently on top of Kate’s, arms draped over their shoulders. “Believe you me, I’ve also been sorely betrayed today.”

Farrah gagged across the kitchen. “Ew. We should never have set you two up.”

“Bitch.” Eva grinned affectionately at her best friend, batting Kate’s hand down as they sent a middle finger in Farrah’s direction. Conversations carried on for a while, Chess finally being introduced to Farrah, with a muffin being forcefully placed into her hand. Kate whispered to Eva for a second before going out to take a call. Eva smiled knowingly, leaning on the counter to address Mattie, “So…”

Mattie made a face as Eva raised an eyebrow in her direction. “What are you thinking, Sanchez, I don’t like that face.”

“I don’t know…” She feigned thinking, sticking her tongue out as Kate re-entered the room. “Maybe, a little thank-you gift?? Y’know, me and Kate were thinking just now… Seeing as you set us up so nicely, how about you try a blind date yourself?”

Chess and Farrah stifled a laugh in unison, choking a little on their muffins as Mattie’s eyes got wider in horror. “You didn’t.”

Kate smiled sweetly. “Yup! Tonight, seven thirty. It’s payback time, kid.”

“I hate you.”

[olivarryprompts]

Fanfic Friday #10

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 here 

{peter stark and a no good very bad day}

Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Steve Rogers & Peter Stark

Warnings: swearing, fluff otherwise :)

Wc: 3,984

Today, everything had gone wrong. He stayed up way past his bedtime the previous night and had gotten barely three hours of sleep by the time he arrived at school. He forgot his Spanish homework in the lab and that was the one grade he needed to pull from an A- to an A. He chugged a couple shots of espresso, and his usual store on the walk to school was closed. Meaning he had no redbull to sustain him through his classes.

Also, guess which class was straight bangout first, Spanish. So he hadn't done the homework and had no time to do it. Great. Fortunately, he made it through first period Spanish, only getting slightly scolded for not handing in the assignment. Then he had a break, and the kid desperately needed a pick me up coffee and muffin. He went to the closest cafe, one he’d come to love, only to find the whole football team there. Which would have been fine, if he wasn’t so goddamn awkward. He stood there for a solid five minutes before he asked the jock in his way to move so he could order.

Then, when the kid did get to ordering they ran out of fuckin chocolate muffins. What kinda cafe runs out of chocolate muffins at ten am? This one apparently. So coffee and blueberry muffin in hand, he headed back to the student lounge to get some work done.

The next portion of his day went as planned, a welcomed change of pace. Well Flash was a bitch, but what was new there. And his senses were through the roof. But other than that. That was all until the last period. To start, he got a text from his boyfriend, explaining that he’d no longer be arriving this Friday, but instead the following Saturday. Peter wanted to cry. He missed his boy. Leaving Harley on read, he tried to focus on chemistry, but he’d done the stuff they were going over about 100 times with Dr. Banner. He zoned out the entire class.

Finally, the bell rang and put him out of his misery. He quickly texted Ned asking if he was coming in the following day. He had been sick that day. He went to leave, but the class was stopped by the announcement of a test and more homework. For fuck sake.

He did get out, though. And he got straight in the car, barely pausing to say hello to Happy. Noticing the boy's unusual quiet, he didn’t press for more details about Peter’s day. Happy, though he’d never say it, enjoyed hearing about the kids day. He had come to really care for Peter, and his accomplishments made the older man happy. Ironic, he knew.

They had arrived at the tower in almost record time, and Peter was glad to have avoided extra time in the car. What he really craved was a couple hugs from his dads, a chat with his boyfriend, and to get through the stack of busy work that weighed him down.

Happy went round to the private entrance, wished the kid a good day, and headed off to some other errand. Peter exited, scanning his pass at security and being recognized and let through by Friday. So, he’d finally made it upstairs and there the sofa was, filled with a few avengers. Luckily his parents were among them. The two were sitting close to each other, as normal.

Peter simply put his head in his pops lap, and he laid his feet on his dad. Neither Steve nor Tony said anything, but they gave each other the look. Steve ran his hands through his son’s hair lovingly. “Pete?” Tony asked, “What happened kid?” “Nothin’” Peter replied, still buried in his Pop’s lap. “You sure about that?” Steve pressed. “Just a bad day,” Peter mumbled. “What happened паук?” Nat spoke up. She is very protective of Peter. “What didn’t happen?” he sighed dramatically. “Well you mope for as long as you like, Pete,” Tony joked. “Thanks dad,” he said, closing his eyes again in search of sleep. “Teenagers I tell you,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “Fuck you Barton,” Peter mumbled before falling asleep properly. “He really is your child, Tones,” Clint laughed. “Hey Peter just said a bad language word,” Nat remarked. “God I hate all of you,” his Pops groaned. Then Peter fell into peaceful, safe sleep.

“Pete?” his Pops said, entering his room. He moved around, noticing he’d been moved from the sofa to his own room. He groaned. “Hello to you too.” “Yes, Hi, father, Captain America, Leader of the Avengers, Man of Strengt-” “Ok relax,” Cap rolled his eyes. Peter sat up, smirking. “Wanna tell me what actually happened today?” “J-just everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong.” “Did that start with you staying in the lab way past a normal sleeping time?” “Perhaps. How did you kn-” “You are aware that your dad designed that whole lab situation, right?” “Fair enough.” “Do we have to initiate Insomnia protocol again?” “God no, it was one night.” “Promise.” “Swear. Just an awful day. Spidey senses all acting up, being annoying, no chocolate muffins. Speaking of which, can I have the day off tomorrow? I have basically no classes.” (he wasn’t sure why, but all but one of his classes were cancelled.) Steve thought for a moment. He knew the kid had been through a lot always, and a day off never hurt anyone. Also, he was far too smart to be there anyway. “Yeah. Let me just double check with Dad, okay?” “Thanks.” “We’re eating dinner now so get cleaned up?” “Yep. Coming.”

The next day

Peter awoke at 10 with a smile on his face. He’d peacefully regained energy. He’d finished his school work the previous night, and he was happy to just relax for a day. He pulled on some SI sweatpants and a hoodie he’d stolen from Harley awhile back.

“Hey parentals,” he greeted, still holding his smile. “Morning,” his Pops said as he cooked breakfast. “Morning? Is it already?” I bet you can guess who that came from. “Tones,” Steve said, voice full of its normal concern. Peter just laughed, taking a stool at the bar. “What? I’m fine. I’m having fun.” “You promised you’d at least take a nap.” “Oops,” he smiled, heading back in the direction of the lab. “You’re a great role model to our son!” “You really are dad!” Peter added. “Love you both dearly.” Steve rolled his eyes and Peter chuckled. “Where’s the rest of the team?” Peter inquired. He’d come to realize that saying team was easier than naming all the residents of the tower. “Nat, Clint, Wanda, and Pietro are training. Thor and Loki went back to Asgard last night, and Bruce is in his lab.” “Oh, Loki didn’t tell me he was going back.” “Some emergency. Sorry kid.” “Yeah, i-it’s fine.” “He told me to assure you they’d be back soon.” “Good.” “Keaner getting here soon?” “Nah coming tomorrow now. Something about something, I don’t really know.” “Ok. Made grilled cheeses and tomato soups. It's almost done,” Steve offered. “Thanks,” Peter said. “What’s with Loki leaving that's got you so down?” “I just miss him a lot.” Steve knew that his Kid and loki had come to get on surprisingly well. They were as close as he and Nat. Not even Clint had managed to get that close.

Peter practically inhaled a couple of sandwiches. “I’m going to go work with Dad.” “Have fun!” “I will.” “Love you.” “Love you, too.” He sped down to the lab, where he could hear his Dad’s ACDC blasting as usual. “Heyo, what you working on?” “The suit nanotech. Wanna give your old man a hand?” “Always. Bring up the blueprints. What adjustments have you made so far? “Just the molecule distance and expansion weight. Trying to help stabilize the structure.” “What about the build construction stacking?” So they dove into work, Peter easily keeping up with the genius.

“Nicely done, getting too smart for me. What are you even doing in high school?” “Being bored and failing my humanities classes.” “You're not actually failing your classes are you? Grades are not everything bu-” “Relax father, I’m doing well in all my classes.” “I should probably know that. In fact I’ll actually show up to your next parent teacher conference.” “Please don’t,” Peter smiled. His father was generally very embarrassing. “Friday, make sure I’m at the kid’s next conference?” “Reminder set.” “Thanks, Fri.” “Anytime boss.” “God Fri please remind me to not show up for my next conference.” “Heyyyy,” Tony said, faking offence. “Dad, you can be very overbearing.” “I know, but-” “No.” “Fine, guess I’m not coming. Trying to be a good father and parenthood isn’t for me.” “I beg to differ,” Steve said, coming in to check on us, “realise you're no match for Peter’s intelligence yet?” “No fucking way. I’m a genius. Many PHDs. Kid hasn’t even finished high school, plus he has an A- in Spanish,” Tony laughed. “How did you-,” Peter rolled his eyes. “Friday just sent them to me.” “You’re awful.” “Hey watch it, MIT is still your dream school?” “I fucking hate you so much,” Peter really did loved this kind of banter with his father. “Maybe I do agree that parenthood isn’t for you, love.” “Capsical, you are a traitor. You’re supposed to always be on my side.” Steve kissed Tony’s cheek and ruffled Peter’s hair before saying, “Pepper needs you. Something about important business.” “Really important?” “She says if you don’t come she’ll lock you out of the company.” “That important then. Fri, tell Pepper that I’m coming.” “She has been notified, sir.” “Thank you. Bye then, Peter don’t fuck anything up.” “The same to you Mr. Stark.” Tony left the lab with a chuckle. “You two will be the death of me.” “Almost certainly.” “You staying in here?” “Nah, I have some projects in my lab waiting for me.” “You know your dad was joking about the grades right? Because grades really don’t mean anything, and they don’t define you. Nor does your intelligence. You are so much more than all that. And all these suits and mechanicy genius things-” “Pops. I’m fine. I know,” he smiled at his dad. “I just read in this parenting book that something smart or gifted kids can feel like th-” “Pops, you and dad are the best parents a kid could ask for. Stop worrying too much or you’ll turn grey like dad.” Captain America just smiled at his kid because he was the best. “Right. Good. Have fun.” “Will do.”

He messed with the design for the 100th millionth time but he couldn't get the vibrainim to synthesize with the web fluid. “Fri, get me another cup of coffee, please.” “For fuck sake, why isn’t this working,” he said to himself. He began to mess with the 3d hologram again. He typed in Mock 32 for the design and started trying again. “Pepper Potts is requesting access to the lab.” “Access granted,” he said to Fri. “Hey Pete, how’s it going?” “Badly, but it's fine. IS THAT COFFEE?” “White mocha latte, triple shot espresso,” She said, placing it down on the desk. “Ok..back up. What do you need?” “What, I can’t just bring my favorite stark a coffee?” “Aren’t you busy?” he asked skeptically. “Yes. Incredibly. So it is a peace offering. I allowed a tour access to this lab to look around, and see what a higher ups lab looks like in action. Fri will hide all of the classified things, and I thought you’d be at school. Tony just told me you weren’t so, here we are.” “He actually showed up to your meeting?” “Yes, and it wasn’t my meeting. He just needed to be there, and I didn't.” “I take your peace offering. It’s fine, I don’t care. So long as they don’t touch my shit.” “Good. Greet them, let them look around. Smile your cute smile. They’ll be up in five.” “FIVE MINUTES?” “Yep. Sorry, Hun, got to run. Thanks.” “You owe me one!”

As promised, the class showed up in five minutes. He was fine with the concept of a class showing up, he was not, however, good with his class showing up. “Is that Penis Parker?” He heard Flash. “Holy hell that is Park?” “IS THAT PETER?” “Did Peter break in?” “How is Peter here?” He couldn’t exactly kick them out. So, embracing his inner Tony Stark charm and Steve Rogers kindness, he opened the lab door, stepping into the corridor.

“EVERYONE PLEASE BACK UP AND BE QUIET!” The tour guild, Aliah, yelled. They were a kind person who Peter knew a bit. The classes quieted down.

“Hello, Aliah.” “Hi Peter,” they greeted, “Sorry, I hadn’t realized you’d be in today. I’ll just take them to our next stop.” “No, no it's fine. If it’s alright, I’ll give them a little tour sorta thing. I don’t mind, plus I kinda promised Pepper.” “That’d be really cool. Thanks.” “Yeah. Call ‘em over.” “Yeah. We’re just waiting on their teacher, he’s in the restroom.” “Course.”

Mr. Harrington showed up, questioning Aliah about the next stop. Then, he saw Peter. “Mr. Parker!” he exclaimed angrily, “How dare you show up here without a permission slip and claiming to be sick. What is this? We will be speaking with the principal and your parents about this! I am so sorry Aliah. Peter shot Aliah the “I got this” look. “Hi Mr. Harrington, I was unwell this morning, but I felt better so I came into work. Yes, I do have an internship here,” he said, loud enough for the class to hear. “The next stop on your tour,” they said, “is to Peter’s lab. He’s been so kind to give us a run-down.” Peter simply point at the door which read “Lab #55: Peter Parker.” “Right, uh, um, sorry Mr. Parker, please let us continue.” Peter smiled through his nerves. “Right, hello there class! I will be giving you a tour of my lab. I do some pretty important work, so I’m going to ask Friday to activate the ‘Guest Protocol’ to hide the classified stuff. It’s also very dangerous, so please do not touch anything.” There were nods from the class. “Right, Fri complete guest protocol and allow tour of Aliah to enter.” “Yes miniboss.” He re-entered his lab. “So, most of the time I work here,” he said, pointing to the biggest holograph table, “I work on designs, changes, and any mockups that need to happen. I then make them a reality. I can also run simulations on any formulas to see if they would be successful.” “Fri, please pull up the WFV project I was just working on for Spiderman.” “Right away mini-boss.” “So as you can see I’m trying to get the vibranium intertwine itself with Spiderman’s web fluid. This would allow the webs to be almost 47 times stronger, and also would allow them to conduct electricity, which has many uses. Anyone have any questions?” Ava raised her hand and Peter nodded at her, “Hey, so how did you learn all this? Like, it seems really complicated and you're in my chem class, so.” “I’ve worked a lot with both Mr. Stark and Bruce Banner, who’ve taught me most of what I know throughout the years. I also took a few online courses to solidify some subject matters I didn’t quite understand,” Peter, satisfied with his answer, asked if anyone else had inquired. “How did you get an internship here?” “Mr. Stark found me on the internet and took a liking to my projects. He met me and decided I’d fit right in here,” Peter explained simply. It was a lie of course, but it functioned as their cover story. “Anyone else? No. Cool, so moving onto some other sections in the lab. Over in that corner are the testing rooms. I have some more equipment scattered around for certain projects or just overall help on making things. Feel free to look around for 5-7 minutes and ask any questions you may have.” Some kid, Peter wasn’t sure of their name, raised his hand. “Why do you have cars in here? Are they yours?” “Some of the cars are mine, courtesy of Mr. Stark, who claims no lab is complete without some collection of cars. I can’t even drive them, to your point, but I guess I will when I’m eighteen. Some of the cars are Mr. Harley Keener’s, who I occasionally share my lab with. He doesn't do Avengers related projects, but he does love to tinker here and there. ‘Specially on the cars. See that red one, yeah he bought it for 5k and fixed it up. It’s actually an electric car, he just likes the old timers look. Guess that’s on him and da-Mr. Stark.”

No one seemed to have any other question, so he allowed them to look around. MJ nor Ned seemed to be in this class. He guessed they were in another group that wasn’t coming up here, or they went to a different location.

The tour went smoothly, and Flash seemed too shocked to say anything. “Peter! Peter!” Bucky came in yelling. Peter ran over to him. “Please keep it down uncle Buck.” “Oh shit your class is here!” “Yes now please don’t embarrass me.” “Won’t do! Just wanted to ask where Loki went.” “Asgard official business,” I said with a frown. “Really? He didn’t say a thing!” “I know.” “That little shit.” Peter laughed alongside Bucky. “Did you need anything else?” “Yeah, my arm's a little fucked up. Need a hand.” “Happy to give it a look. Dad in a meeting?” “To all our shock, yes.” “Ha. Give me a sec to get my class outta here.” Bucky nodded. “Right everyone, thanks for visiting. Please head towards the exit. The lovely Aliah will take you to your next location. They are awesome!” A murmur of “thanks Peter” and “is that the winter soldier” spread through the room. “See ya round,” Aliah said to him personally, “And thanks for this.” “Anytime. Bye!” They smiled a warm smile before leading the class out.

“What’s not working so well?” Peter asked. “Just some tightness in the finger motion. “Alright, okay. Fri, get me an update of the schematics, please.” “Yes, sir.” They appeared on the holographic table Peter was working at. “Right, can I please get a current scan of Uncle Bucky’s arm?” “Yes. Shall I place them next to the schematics?” “Yep. And highlight all differences.” “Yes miniboss.” “You gotta stop with that Fri.” “Name unable to be changed under the authority of Tony Stank, Badass Boss, God of Mischief, and Fiance.” “Glad the whole team is against me living a good life,” Peter remarked with an eye roll. “You drama queen.” “Thanks,” Peter smiled. “You know what’s wrong yet?” Peter opened up the schematics, looking at the highlighted section of the 3d arm model. He didn’t speak for a moment. “So I reckon, you fucked up the wiring and section T4’s minigears. None of the important tech is messed up, it’ll be fine. Maybe a half an hour fix. Max.” “Good, good. Thanks kid,” Bucky said with an appreciative smile. He nodded, disconnecting the arm carefully. He placed it onto his table next to the holographic model. He gave a skeptical look. “Something bad?” “No, no, I was just thinking. Thinking, hmn.” “Care to share with the class?” Buck said with a sense of humor lingering in his voice. “Well, you’re not on mission all that often, and this is quite a bulky arm. Ever think about getting one that’s your skin colour, lighter weight, more, I don’t know, arm like. Less hydra murdery vibes. Help get rid of that, that time.” “I have…” “So can I make it?” Peter said excitedly. “You mean it?” “Of course Uncle Buck! No clue why dad hasn’t offered before!” “Guess he never thought of it. Maybe thought I liked the scary metal thing,” he suggested weakly. “Well that’s stupid,” Peter said casually. Bucky never understood how the kid could be so compassionate so easily. “Thanks. Really.” “No worries. I’ve been looking for a new project to throw myself into. It'll be fun. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need to work on my smaller scale mechanical work.” All Bucky could do was smile his beaming smile. “Bucky!” the voice of the Black Widow shouted. “Hey Nat,” Buck replied. “Wanna train?” she asked. “As much as I want to,” he said, pointing towards the area his arm would have been. “Oh, what happened this time?” “Nothing to major, some gears and wires,” Peter filled it, “Give me twenty minutes I’ll be done.” He’d already opened the arm and gotten to the section where the wires were screwed up. “DAN-E get me the soldering kit, please,” he asked the robot, “Oh and some new T6YU wires. Red and purple.” The robot gave a vaguely human nod. “Right, I'll be waiting. Test the adjustments out on me?” She suggested. “Alright,” Buck said. “Oh and I’m in charge of ordering food. What do you want?” “Burgers?” “You boring, bland little boy,” Nat scolded. “Thai?” Buck requested. They looked over to Peter, “Sure, yeah.” Nat headed out, greeting Tony with a “Hey Stank” on the stairs out of his lab. “Yours is so much smarter than mine, why is yours so much smarter than mine,” Tony fake (real) whined. “I’m the superior mechanic, father, deal with it.” DAN-E, almosting proving his point, dropped the materials on his desk, and he continued to work. “I’m donating DUM-E,” Tony glared at him, “What happened to the arm Buck?” “Stiff fingers isall.” “Oh, ok. Pete, need a hand?” “Nah, I’m good. Not much to do. Some wires got fucked up, just replacing them now. Going to look at the minigears in the palm too, just to make sure the oil regulation and gear’s aren't broken. I think one of the gears is, but it's one of them that's easy to replace,” Peter replied, not looking up from his work. “Right, sounds good. Your pops and I are going out for the night. Be back around 12 let’s say.” “Cool. Can I borrow some vibranium from your lab?” “Sure thing kiddo. Call us if you need anything. Fri, give Peter access to vault B3 in my lab.” “Thanks,” Peter smiled. “Anytime. Good luck with ya know.” “Shouldn’t he ask you what you're going to do with a substance that costs 10,000$ a gram?” “Something about trusting me.” “Parents trust their kids with going out later or or doing their homework not fucking multimillions of dollars.” “Uncle Bucky, my parents are Iron Man and Captain America. There was never a shot at normal.” “Fair enough.”

Peter finished up the adjustment on the arm by changing a gear. “Thanks a lot kid.” “Of course. I’m going to work on your new arm now.” “Alrighty, I’ll get out of your way.” “Oh could you ask Auntie Nat what time she’s ordering dinner for? So I know when to head up, just get Fri to tell me.” “Will do.” “Thanks.”

So Peter was left to making some blueprints and drinking many red bulls. The red bull mini-fridge was actually a gift from Shuri, and his fathers had many words with him about it. He managed to convince them that he should keep it, god knows how. Well, he used the whole Princess of Wakanda and making peace and Stark Industries relationship with Wakandan products and companies as well as international relations and blah blah. It worked, who cares.

After a few hours he was called up for dinner, and he sat there and enjoyed the absolute chaos of his family.

Save/comment on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/33320938

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

I hate to be an asshole, but I see this a lot and I'd like your take because while we have differing opinions on some things, your metas are spot on (and I binged half your stories last weekend, oops) and I know you'll be straight up with me on this. What "chemistry" between Zuko and Katara? I keep seeing that and not getting it? The chemistry when he roughed up her grandmother and threatened her village? The chemistry when he tied her to a tree and violated her boundaries? (1/3)

The chemistry when he hired a trained assassin to stalk her good friend and if collateral damage happened, oopsie? The chemistry when he stabbed her in the back after she was nice to him in the crystal catacombs? The chemistry when he demanded that she accept him? Or the chemistry when he showed he didn’t know her at all? The chemistry when both of them were grossed out being thought a couple? Or is it the chemistry when he saved her and Katara couldn’t wait to kiss another guy? (2/3)

I dislike r/eylo from Star Wars fandom. I think it sends the wrong message. But as much as I hate it, there was chemistry there from the first. Rey is attracted to him and Kylo is attracted to her. They don’t want to be, but they are and it plays out in the next two movies. There was none of that in ATLA and I can understand z/ks saying it but other people? What am I missing? Where am I not looking? I’m not even that huge on Katara/Aang but Zuko/Katara chemistry where? (3/3)

Obligatory disclaimer: this is my personal response to anon’s questions and my personal thoughts on Zvtara’s chemistry. I’m not going to put this into the main tags - much less the Zvtara tag! - because while I believe this is a genuine question, I don’t doubt there’s at least one person out there who will misconstrue it as “hate” because the A:TLA fandom is, uh, aggressive in its ship wars lol. However, if I have any Zvtara shippers following me, I encourage you to reblog this post with your own thoughts! Please refrain from sending your commentary on anon unless you’re going to be friendly about it, lol; I like to keep my blog positive and welcoming! Thank you :)

Firstly, I am EXTREMELY flattered that you enjoy my metas so much and binged half my fics!! I was grinning so gleefully as I read that part of your asks,, y’all are too sweet to me. 💛

Okay. Moving on.

So, the main question here seems to be this: What chemistry exists between Zuko and Katara in A:TLA?

Short answer? None, in my opinion.

Longer answer? For all the reasons you outline in your asks, I do not perceive any romantic chemistry between Zuko and Katara within the series run of A:TLA. Note the qualifiers: “romantic” and “within the series run.” I’ll try to break down what I mean!

“no romantic chemistry”

For one, a romantic interest with anyone in the Gaang would have undermined Zuko’s entire redemption arc, full stop. Yes, I mean anyone. For Zuko to have joined the Gaang because of romantic interest* would have been… counterproductive. Zuko joined the Gaang because he realized - to put it very simply - that the Fire Nation was wrong. He realized how he’d been indoctrinated since birth. He realized that he could help the Avatar (instead of trying to, uh, kill him lmao) by teaching him firebending. He realized he could help Aang defeat the Fire Lord and bring peace to the four nations. Zuko realized he could help end the war. He could help break the cycles of violence and abuse that had in part made his own life so miserable. For him to join the Gaang because of romantic interest? Completely takes away from all of that. A key theme of A:TLA is dismantling imperialist power, propaganda, rhetoric, etc. Zuko’s decision to fight against Fire Nation imperialism is crucial to his redemption. He could not have been redeemed without making that choice. Thus, if Zuko had joined the Gaang because of romantic interest, it would have been completely counteractive to his redemption.

(*That is, the relatively popular [? I think?] implication that Zuko and Katara’s moment in “The Crossroads of Destiny” was romantic-coded and thus Zuko should have joined the Gaang at the end of Book 2 because he had romantic interest in Katara and she in him. I genuinely am clueless how people interpret that moment as romantic - like to me it’s honestly heartbreaking! Katara offers Zuko tentative sympathy only for him to stab her in the back minutes later - so if someone would like to share some thoughts, please feel free to do so!!)

On a similar note, for Zuko to take the lightning for Katara at the end of the series because of romantic interest would also undermine his redemption arc. Please note: this does not mean Zvtara shippers cannot interpret the Agni Kai as being romantic-coded. Of course they can! That’s what fanon is for! Transformative works! But in terms of canon, Zuko did not try (and fail, rip) to redirect Azula’s lightning because he was romantically interested in Katara. (I mean, in terms of canon, Zuko and Katara were both romantically interested in other people, too, so… Moot point, lol? But I digress.)

Zuko taking the lightning is about him learning to earn forgiveness and accept unconditional love from his family (both Iroh and the Gaang). It is a selfless act, and it directly parallels Zuko’s selfish act in “The Crossroads of Destiny” to stand silently while Azula strikes Aang with lightning, thus becoming complicit in Aang’s death. The point of his “sacrifice” is that Zuko would have taken the lightning for anyone (and don’t get me wrong - the moment is doubly powerful with Katara, as she’s a primary protagonist!). Zuko did not attempt but fail to redirect the lightning because it was Katara he was protecting; he took it because it was the right thing to do. Zuko has learned to differentiate between “right and wrong” on his own. To at last put others before himself. To make his decision about romantic interest? To make Zuko’s most selfless act in the series (not to mention one of his only 100% selfless acts!) about out-of-the-blue “romantic love”? That not only lessens the impact of his decision, but it is also reductive to Zuko’s entire character and arc. There’s no romantic chemistry there.

Again, of course, fanon exists for purposes such as interpreting Zuko’s failed misdirection of the lightning to protect Katara as romantic. Go wild!! I’m talking strictly about canon.

So that pretty much summarizes why romantic interest with anyone in the Gaang would have been detrimental to Zuko’s redemption, hence why Zuko doesn’t have any canon romantic chemistry in the Gaang. It just ain’t there! It would have screwed over his arc! And again, because of all the reasons you outline, I cannot comfortably interpret any romantic chemistry between Zuko and Katara within the series run of A:TLA. Personally, romantic Zvtara would have been too sudden, too unexpected, and too… well, as I said: uncomfortable. Why would Katara have romantic interest in a guy who’d hurt her so many times? Who she’d only just forgiven? Why would Zuko have romantic interest in Katara, a girl he barely knew for most of the series? Especially when he already had feelings for a childhood friend? I, personally, just don’t get it.

But. You know what Zuko and Katara do have in canon?

A phenomenal platonic bond.

It develops very late, admittedly; Katara has only forgiven Zuko for the last five episodes of the series (5 out of 61… Katara was only on good terms with Zuko for 8% of the series, lmao). But Zuko and Katara are very, very similar personality-wise, so it follows that (eventually) they’d be great friends! Yeah, Zuko acts like an entitled dick for a good portion of “The Southern Raiders” lmao, but he ultimately respects Katara’s decision to spare Yon Rha (love that scene so much 🤧). Katara recognizes that Zuko is trying his best (if sometimes falling short) to redeem himself and earn the Gaang’s trust, and she also understands how - while she is completely justified in her anger! - holding that hatred close to her chest isn’t good for her. So she offers him a third chance (and honestly, Zuko should be forever grateful for that lmao!).

So what can a strong platonic bond lead to? Well, if it’s in your taste, a romantic relationship!

“within the series run”

As aforementioned, I don’t see any romantic chemistry between Zuko and Katara within the series run of A:TLA. I think Zuko has hurt Katara in too many ways - and again, she has only just forgiven him by the end of the show - for there to realistically have been any blossoming romance between them. I think romantic interest for anyone in the Gaang would undermine Zuko’s redemption. I also think M@iko and K@taang are well-implemented romances into A:TLA, so romantic Zvtara would not have fit into the narrative. (Doesn’t mean someone has to ship them!! I just mean they made logical sense and had narrative purpose within canon. That’s all.) But again, Zuko and Katara have a great platonic bond. So while I don’t see romance within the series run, I can understand why people might be attracted to Zvtara in post-canon!

Post-A:TLA (disregarding LOK, which I haven’t even seen lol) Zvtara has some solid potential. I’m personally intrigued by the idea of how they’d navigate their relationship amidst all the politics! Basically, any relationship with a strong platonic bond can have potential for “more.” That’s why people ship T@ang, that’s why people ship Zvkaang, Zvkka, M@ilee, etc. So while Zvtara may not have romantic chemistry within the show - in my opinion! - they’ve got one of my favorite platonic bonds, so I can totally get people wanting to explore that bond in post-A:TLA and possibly translating it to romance.

So for some people, then, it might be less about “chemistry” in A:TLA itself, but more how their relationship could grow and change after the end of the series!

Quick sidebar: I mentioned that while I do not interpret the final Agni Kai as romantic, I’m fine when other people do. It’s fanon! Ain’t no big thing! But also, Katara has forgiven Zuko by that point. I, personally, am not comfortable with reading any of Zuko and Katara’s TSR-and-earlier interactions as romantic because of the imbalanced power dynamic. Example: I don’t think Zuko tying Katara to a tree and manipulating her with her mother’s necklace was romantic, and I don’t like the resulting implications when people do treat it as such. Zuko was still so indoctrinated by Fire Nation propaganda… Yeah, from Book 1 to about halfway through Book 3, I personally don’t feel comfortable shipping Zuko with anyone outside of the Fire Nation. Pre-redemption Zuko was not the most fun person to be around if you were non-Fire Nation.

But as I’ve said, these are all just my opinions! Again, if I have any Zvtara shippers following me, please feel free to reblog with your own thoughts! I would love to know where the idea comes from that Zvtara had chemistry within A:TLA, since I personally don’t see any romantic vibes (though platonic chemistry, of course, abounds.)

(For the record, I don’t know anything about Star Wars, which is why I haven’t brought up R.eylo, lol.)

TL;DR - To me, there isn’t any canon romantic chemistry for Zvtara. Narratively, I think it would undermine Zuko’s arc. Logically, because of how Zuko treated Katara for 92% of the series, I personally cannot interpret any of their interactions as romantic. But their platonic bond? Beautiful!! Thus, if people want to explore post-A:TLA, fanon Zvtara, I am all for it.

[mint-yooxgi]

Caturday - Ten X Reader

Slight Catboy!AU - Part of the Wasn’t On Pawpose Collab

Genre: Fluff, Slight Crack

Pairing: Ten X Reader

Words: 2,732

Summary: Waking up one morning to see a cat where your boyfriend should be can be quite the shock indeed.

A/n: Short and sweet, at least I think so, lol. I mean, he does have a tendency to look a little feline at times, it’s truly amazing. Not edited fully, oops. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this short little update, there’s plenty more where this came from coming soon! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, I hope you enjoy!

The sound of your keys jangling meets your ears as you unlock the door to your apartment. Once the lock clicks open, you’re pushing open the door, kicking off your shoes while letting out a small breath.

“Ten, I’m home!” You call out, noticing the lights in the living room are still on.

A groan is all you hear in response.

“Ten?” Your brow furrows in worry, for that did not sound like he’s having a good time.

“In here,” he voices shakily, and you step down the hallway to see him curled up on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Immediately, you’re beside him, crouching down to feel his forehead and noticing he’s a bit warm, as if he’s running a slight temperature.

“Don’t feel well,” he pouts. “Stomachache.”

You pout right back at him, worry still creasing your brows, “was it something you ate?”

“I don’t know,” he groans once more, eyes squeezing shut as a wave of pain travels through his body.

“Come on, let’s get you ready for bed,” you say, helping him off of the couch and towards your shared bedroom. “I’m sure getting some sleep will help; you’ll feel better in the morning.”

He can only manage a groan in response, letting you help him off of the couch and lead him into your shared bedroom. Flicking on the lights, you sit him on the bed before tucking him gently under the covers.

“Try and get some rest, I’ll be back soon,” you say, gently brushing the hair off of his forehead as he pouts at you. “I need to shower first, I promise I’ll be quick.”

He nods, turning onto his side and curling back into a ball as he clutches his stomach. You spare a final glance at him over your shoulder as you retreat to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to wash off the events of the day. Once you’re done, you slip into some comfy pyjamas and make sure to grab Ten a glass of water and some pain medication.

Stepping back into your room, you hear him letting out small whimpers, only increasing your worry.

“Here, take this,” you say, handing him the pills and glass of water.

“Thanks,” he whispers, taking a swig of the water before placing it carefully on the bedside table.

You move quickly around the room, shutting off the lights as you crawl into bed beside him. He curls into your side, head resting on your chest as you gently stroke his back in comfort. You just hope the medicine kicks in soon, for his small whimpers of pain have returned, and he feels warmer than he did the first time you checked his forehead.

It takes about twenty minutes for his whimpers to die down and his breathing to even out, letting you know that he’s finally fallen asleep. You breathe a small sigh of relief, allowing your own eyes to fall shut as you swallow the rest of your worry. He should feel better in the morning.

***

The faint warmth of sunlight streaming in from the open blinds warms your face as you drift back into consciousness. With your eyes remaining closed, you can feel a solid warmth on your stomach, letting you know that Ten has shifted in his sleep during the night so that his head is now resting there. It’s one of his favourite positions of his to lay in, with his head on your stomach as you lazily run your fingers through his hair, which is exactly what you are doing right now.

Except, his hair feels different.

Instead of the soft, medium black strands you’re used to, his hair is not only shorter in length, but it feels slightly courser even though it’s still soft to the touch. Another thing you’re missing is the warmth of his body pressed against your side, with his arms around your torso. In fact, it feels as if the warmth is centred on your stomach; a small ball.

Your eyes fling open. Glancing down reveals a solid black cat curled up on your stomach in place of your boyfriend’s head. Your hand freezes as you inhale sharply in shock.

Ever so slowly, the cat’s eyes blink open, a large yawn escaping its mouth as it looks at you expectantly. 

“Uh, Ten?” You call out, hoping he’s just making breakfast down the hallway in the kitchen and will come to explain the black cat now laying on top of you.

The cat blinks at you expectantly.

“Ten, what’s going on?” You call out again, hearing no movement in your apartment.

Sitting up quickly, the cat rolls off of you, complaining loudly with a yip. Throwing the covers off of yourself, you stand up, feet padding through the apartment in search of your boyfriend.

“Ten?” There’s worry lacing your voice now since you know he didn’t have plans for today.

An annoyed meow is your only response, hearing the thunk of the cat hitting the floor as it follows you down the hallway.

“Babe? This isn’t funny anymore,” you say, checking both the living room and kitchen but finding nothing, not even a note.

The cat huffs, and you turn to look at it.

“Now, where did you come from?” You ask, more to yourself than anything, but the cat just stares at you, almost expectantly. Its eyes narrow slightly, and your breathing stops. You’d know that look, those eyes anywhere. “Ten?”

A loud meow in response, as if he’s saying ‘what’?

“Ten, you’re a-“ you let out a snort of disbelief, “you’re a cat.”

His tail flicks in annoyance as if to say he’s gathered that much already, and you laugh once more in disbelief.

“How the fuck did this happen? I must be dreaming,” you mumble, shaking your head as you walk into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Not even a minute later, you see Ten trot into the kitchen, a loud mrow escaping him. 

“This has to be a dream,” you sigh, rubbing at your temples as you place your now empty glass of water on the counter.

You look down in time to see Ten preparing to jump on the counter, only for him to misjudge the distance and smack his face right on the edge. You burst out laughing, all the while he glares at you and complains loudly.

“Not used to a cat’s body, huh?” You chuckle. “You know, despite all those times I thought you looked like a cat I never thought you’d actually become one.” A loud huff in response. “Aw, does someone want up on the counter?”

He glares at you, and his tail flicks in annoyance. You shake your head amusedly as you bend down to pick him up to place him on the counter.

“Now, how the fuck do I fix this?” You grumble, frown back on your face as you stare at him. He simply sits there, head tilted slightly as he stares back. “Well, it’s not like I can call anyone,” at this point, you’re talking to yourself, but you can tell by the way he follows you with his head, Ten is listening to your every word. “Like they would believe me anyways. ‘Yeah, hey, Lucas, you’ll never believe what happened to Ten.’” You roll your eyes as Ten growls. “Exactly, that would just make him think we’re trying to prank him if we told him.”

Bracing your hands on the edge of the counter, you let out a groan. Surprisingly, you’re taking this much better than you thought you normally would. Granted, you don’t think something like this has every happened before, and you still don’t understand exactly how it happened. Either way, the sound of your stomach growling manages to pull you out of your thoughts.

“No point in trying to think on an empty stomach,” you mutter, searching the kitchen for something to eat. Your eyes light up as you find a coffee cake in the cupboard, one slice having already been eaten.

A hiss escapes Ten as you place the container beside him on the counter, causing your brow to furrow in confusion, “relax, it’s just coffee cake.”

However, just as you go to open the container Ten swats your hand away, putting his newly formed cat body between you and the cake, “hey! What was that for?”

Another hiss is all you receive as Ten glares at the cake.

“Is this what gave you such an upset stomach last night?” You question, and immediately Ten meets your gaze, head nodding once ever so slightly you almost miss it. He turns back to the container and starts nudging it towards the trash can at the end of the counter. “Alright, alright, I’ll throw it out.”

Releasing another sigh, you scoop the container up and check the freshness date as you walk over to the garbage to throw it out. Your nose scrunches in distaste as you see the cake is way passed its freshness date. No wonder it upset his stomach; you wonder who even thought it was a good idea to sell this product still, all things considered.

Opening the trashcan with your foot, you’re about to drop the cake in when you stare at it intently, holding it at eye level. Your brow furrows as you look between the cake and your now feline boyfriend, then back at the cake. Shaking your head at the thought, you drop the cake in the trash. There’s no way that this was the cause of your boyfriend turning into a small, fluffy animal, right?

Once you grab some actual food that isn’t expired, you grab your laptop and sit at the kitchen counter. Ten hops up beside you, tail swishing slowly as he watches you look up potential reasons as to how and why this has happened as you eat. So far, you haven’t found much other than some weird websites that only tell you how to curse someone into turning into an animal, which you’re not even sure is actually real.

Finally, after about an hour and a half of searching, you find this forum where people have shared their outrageous experiences, some of which seem to fall under similar lines to what has happened to your boyfriend. Most of the posts you find say that it lasts for about a day, always after eating a specific coffee cake from a bakery that mysteriously seems to disappear when they go back to check it out again.

“Alright,” you sigh, causing Ten to raise his head from his front paws. He had curled up into a ball on the counter as he watched you work, and you’re pretty sure he had a cat nap, too. “It looks like whatever this is should only last until tomorrow, so you’ll be a biped once more once the sun rises in the morning. Until then, the best we can do is wait it out.”

He simply stares at you as you shut your laptop, leaning back in your chair to rub at your eyes. You meet his gaze and he sits up once more.

“I’m sorry, boo, I don’t know what to do,” your expression falls. You just hope that this isn’t permanent, who knows how many times this weird instance has gone wrong, and how many are still trapped in an animal’s body.

You watch him as he jumps down from the counter, stumbling a little once he reaches the floor. You hear him mrow at you once more, making his way to the living room. When he sees you not following, he stops to glance at you from over his shoulder, tail poised in the air as he calls to you once more.

“You want me to follow you?” You ask, receiving a positive response from him. Chuckling slightly, you slid out of your seat, “okay then.”

He leads you over to the couch, where he jumps up and turns to you expectantly. Quirking a brow, you sit with him on the couch, tossing your feet up while you’re at it. Almost immediately, he starts crawling towards you, and onto your lap, doing his best to keep his balance as he starts to nuzzle your chin and neck.

“Someone’s affectionate today,” you giggle, hand pausing just above his head as you go to pet him, but you’re unsure whether that would be appropriate. However, once his head nudges your open palm, you decide to hell with it, and start petting him.

You never thought your boyfriend could purr until now, but you swear he sounds like a tiny motorboat as he continues to nuzzle his face into your neck. You smile faintly as you see him lay down, front paw on either side of your neck as his tail swishes back and forth contently. He gives you a sleepy eyed blink before resting his head right at your neck, and you nearly jump once you feel him give you a small lick.

“Ten, that tickles,” you huff, amused.

You just catch the devilish gleam in his eyes before he’s moved forwards slightly and is now littering your face with kisses.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “I love you, too.”

You manage to surprise him by placing a swift kiss to the top of his head and he looks at you, stunned. 

“Payback,” you grin as he settles down on your chest once more.

Not even a minute later, a yawn is escaping your lips, already noticing how Ten lays with his eyes closed, tail still flicking in content over your stomach, as if he’s petting you right back. He has yet to stop purring.

Your eyes start to droop, and you can feel sleep calling out to you to have a nap in the warm afternoon sun. Before you know it, the two of you have drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, you wake up, feeling a mildly heavy weight resting on your chest, hair tickling the underside of your chin. You let out a small groan, bringing your hand up to push the object down, only to be greeted with a small chuckle as you push slightly, yet the object doesn’t seem to want to yield.

“Ow,” a voice huffs, and your eyes fling open.

“Ten?” Your eyes lock with his familiar ones, a grin pulling at his lips as you see him laying half on top of you.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greets, “or should I say afternoon?”

You sit up immediately, taking him with you as you cup his face in your hands, “you’re here! You’re alive, and-“ you let out a sigh of relief, “and you’re not a cat!”

“Not anymore, looks like it,” he agrees, “though I definitely don’t want that to happen again any time soon.”

You nearly squeeze the air out of him, “I was so worried.”

“I could tell,” he chuckles, hugging you back tightly. “I never thought I’d have an actual tail before.”

“I didn’t think you’d be, well, you again until tomorrow morning,” you breathe and he smiles slightly as he pulls away to look at your face.

“Same here,” he tells you. “I’m just glad everything is back to normal.”

“Me too,” you reply, just as a teasing smile tugs at your lips. “Though I was staring to like you as a cat, the peace and quiet…”

“Oh, haha, real funny,” he deadpans. “Maybe I’ll just stay that way next time.”

“Gosh no!” You shake your head instantly. “I’m just glad to have you back to normal.”

You pull him into another embrace, cradling his head into your neck, grateful to feel his arms wrap themselves around you.

“It’s good to be back to normal,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Though I have to say, you still smell amazing.”

You can feel the grin on his lips against your skin as you whine slightly in embarrassment. He simply chuckles once more in response, and you can’t help but to smile right along with him. No matter what, you’re just glad to have your boyfriend back in his own body.

“Now, what is there to eat?” He pulls away, standing from the couch as he heads towards the kitchen. He turns to wink at you from over his shoulder as he says, “I’m starving.”

[fanfictrashdump]

Queening a Pawn, 22

If you’re new: this is my procrastination fic. It is what I drabble around with when I’m being my worst self, and ignoring all my other WIPs and responsibilities! Enjoy!

X

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Pairings: Loki x OC

WARNINGS: Language, fighting, swords, impending doom, nervous throwing up, and entirely fictional traditions that are just... so dumb.

=

It was the clinking noise of metal on metal that caught her attention first. The situation pretty much snowballed from there, but the noise was the first indication.

Delilah had been busy staring at her computer. She was finishing her fiscal year end reports, much to her utter dismay. The only glittering spot in her day had been the unusual side effect from Loki and hers exchange of jewelry. Throughout the day, Delilah would get sucked in by the pleasant buzz in the back of her skull when Loki had a particularly strong emotion. The god could make all of the excuses he wanted about how he felt nonchalant about the children, but the utter fondness that flooded her system most of her work day was the only indication that he was a big fat liar. She had been in the midst of a most pleasant flood of endorphin-filled fondness when the noise pulled her out of her head. Her name in a shout followed immediately after.

"Delilah Vázquez!"

When Delilah glanced up from the copier, she was greeted by the sight of Brunnhilde, in her full Asgardian royal armor and Uru crown. In her hand, she wielded a broadsword, though Dragonfang was sheathed on her hip. The tip of the sword swayed ominously towards her, the warrioress staring her down with intimidating focus. Delilah didn't exactly noticed when she started running, but she was damn sure she was not going to stop.

"DELILAH!"

Pumping her arms, she continued running down the corridor a good thirty paces ahead of Valkyrie. She hated admitting it, but the occasional workout Loki made her do with him was probably the only reason she wasn't a panting, sweaty mess being skewered on the end of a broadsword right now. Lilah knew that she needed to get to the common room. Sam and Bucky had returned from another mission two days ago, so they were probably taking it easy for the next few days. If she could find them–clunk clunk

The heavy footsteps were gaining on her as she skidded into the living room. Bucky jumped, startled out of his nap by the ruckus. He noted only the blurred outline of Delilah running past and ducking behind his chair, but when he finally saw Valkyrie, he took up a defensive pose.

"Out of my way Barnes!" Valkyrie grumbled through clenched teeth. "I came a long way for this, this armor is killing me. Move!"

"Are you out of your damn mind!?"

"Now, Barnes!" When he remained rooted to the spot, she half-heartedly swung the sword in his direction. He parried the blow with his modified arm, engaging her into close combat while Delilah slipped away in the background.

Her escape was not unseen, though Bucky did his best to keep the Asgardian King at bay before he was knocked through several doors with a well-placed kick of her armored boot.

Delilah backed into one of the empty storage rooms. She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her labored breathing. Maybe if she was quiet enough, and kept to the walls, the Valkyrie would think she had run out the emergency staircase. Her hope was short lived, however, the door to the storage room was kicked open with a boom. Quiet as could be, Lilah lowered herself between two empty rows of metal shelves and closed her eyes tightly. And for a moment, her plan was working.

"There you are!"

Emerald eyes snapped open to see the figure of Valkyrie backlit by the harsh, white light of the storage room bulbs. Trembling, Delilah began crawling backwards, mentally calculating her probabilities of making it out before Brunnhilde caught up to her.

A clatter made her start. At her feet, Valkyries sword, Dragonfang, shook and settled while it emitted a harmonious hum. Delilah looked from the sword to the King for a mite too long, it seemed. "Pick it up! Full armor chafes!"

"I-I don't know how–"

"Pick it up and fight me! My laws demand it for satisfaction!" With tentative movements, she grasped the pommel and closed her hand around the grip. "Oh, Norns your grip is fucking awful. Who taught you to swordfight?"

"No one! I don't know how!" Delilah snapped back, lifting the point of the sword off the ground. Her free hand went up to the runic medallions resting on her collarbone. For a protective talisman, they weren't doing a hell of a lot in the way of protecting.

Valkyrie rolled her eyes and raised her own weapon. "You and I will have short battle for the purpose of satisfying our ancient laws in regards to trysts with members of the Royal Family. Do you understand what is required of you? Yes? Great, let's begin."

Before Delilah could even protest that this wasn't being fair to her, Valkyrie had swept her weapon straight down, meeting Dragonfang in her grasp and making her arm shudder all the way to her marrow. With a yelp, Delilah jumped back, trying as hard as she could to avoid the Asgardian's blows. She had successfully pushed the King back and made a short run for it before Valkyrie leapt and landed just short of blocking her path.

The thought that she was going to die crossed Delilah's brain at that instant. As sudden as that realization was to hit her, so was the wispy green smoke to surround her body in a nearly solid mass. It quickly swirled around her before disappearing to a place she thought was in her chest, if the sudden pain was any indication. Valkyrie's eyes darkened, and charged for Delilah, sword raised. Delilah crossed her own weapon in front of her and her free hand braced itself for the incoming attack in front of her.

Just as the blow was to connect, the pain in Lilah's chest exploded outward through her arm. Her open palm, facing Valkyrie and waiting for impact, spewed a dense ball of that same wispy, green smoke that knocked Brunnhilde off her feet. She flew several yards back and landed with a loud thunk on the concrete floor.

"What the fuck is going on!?"

Loki's booming voice was so welcome that Delilah thought she might sob. Actually, she did, because Loki was by her side and wiping her tears away with his thumbs a moment later. He wrapped an arm around her, trying to soothe the violent trembling that was making her teeth knock together painfully. He pried her fingers off the grip of Valkyries sword and reassured her in soft murmurs that she was OK and that she was in no danger.

"I yield. Oh, Frigga in Valhalla, dearest. I yield," Valkyrie gasped, pulling herself back onto her feet.

"What the fuck is going on, Valkyrie?" He repeated, though his voice was low and sounded poisonous.

Brunnhilde pulled a face, rolling her eyes. "What do you mean, what the fuck is going on? You know our laws, Loki. She is not a member of the court and since you've endeavored to make it quite clear that you are both alive and in love with her, she needs to ascend."

Loki stared blankly at the King for a few minutes, no noise being made among the three, before he drew an extraordinarily long breath. "I know that. She does not."

"So?"

His response was perfectly enunciated, each syllable dripping vitriol unlike any Delilah had ever heard. "She thought you were attempting to kill her, you empty-headed troll." His arm gripped Lilah tightly and pressed her securely into his side. She was still trembling, though she had stopped crying. He assumed that the shock was just settling in. They needed to be careful before–

Splat.

"Oops?" Valkyrie looked contrite, especially considering that Delilah was now hunched over, emptying her stomach of any and all contents in the space that existed between the three. "You would think a civilized society would at least teach all of their members to fight properly! She was acting as if it was her first time battling with swords."

"It was… You've been living in Midgard for a long time. How did you not notice they don't swordfight anymore?" With a scoff, he handed a surly Valkyrie back her sword, which she promptly sheathed at her hip.

"Can I at least finish so I can take this ridiculous court armor off?" Loki's eyes cut across with a darkened glare. "She's already doubled over!" He nodded reluctantly and allowed Valkyrie to touch the top of Delilah's head with the flat of her blade. The Midgardian gasped and tensed again and would have continued to be sick were it not for Loki's hand smoothing down her back. "After brave battle, you have earned your place in court. Blah blah blah. I guess you can continue seeing Loki, though the Norns only know why you would choose to do so." Brunnhilde bent over and caught Delilah's eyes, dulled by fear and exhaustion. "Could you do the fist thing really quick?"

With a delirious laugh, Delilah thumped her closed fist over her heart, nearly sobbing when the Asgardian put her arm around her and helped her straighten. "Could you have not sent a message ahead or literally anything before chasing me down wiTH A DAMN SWORD, VALKYRIE!?"

Valkyrie shrugged. "I really did think you guys had better battle training than this. Sorry." The group stepped over Delilah's mess and took back to the corridors. Bucky had been patrolling like a mad man in search for Valkyrie before Loki had told him that he was on it. As they moved past him, Lilah offered him a thumb's up and a thank you. "Did you make her that seidr pendant, Snakeboy?"

Loki helped Delilah sink into one of the chairs in her living quarters, anxiously brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Yes. Did it hurt?"

"Like you wouldn't believe!"

"Good," he replied, deadpan, and Delilah could tell he really meant it. Shortly, he placed a bottle of Gatorade in front of her and kissed her crown. "Drink. You need it." His fingers loosened the chain around her neck and closed it in his fist. "I will bring this right back. Evidently, I need to add a warning for idiot Asgardians on it," he offered before blipping out of existence in her flat.

Valkyrie had pulled off all the heavy, metal armor off her body and sighed with satisfaction. "Did you really think I wanted to kill you?"

"Yes! You only yelled my name and that you demanded satisfaction. I had no clue what was going on."

"I guess not the best warning, I'll admit, but I'd never hurt you. You're the only one in this hell hole I can stand." The Valkyrie nudged Delilah in the ribs until she let out a laugh. When Loki returned, they were sitting on the couch, one arm around each other's waist, giggling. He wasted no time in reattaching the necklace with an adoring smile.

"Since when do you care about tradition and protocols?" Loki asked, offhandedly, sitting on the coffee table opposite Delilah with her free hand in his.

Brunnhilde rolled her eyes. "Since several ladies took offense that they were not informed of the fact that you were alive and demanded tradition be upheld. They're desperate to rise the ranks and go back to being courtesans."

"It's no secret I've never been the preferred prince. So, why bother?"

The warrior sighed. "Because even power and title from the dark prince is still power and title. They'll do anything to grab their share. Now, they can't."

"I'm not in line to serve, though. And it'll be a cold day in hell before I willingly go to New Asgard to live, so it's a moot point." He ran him thumb over the back of Delilah's hand. "Not to mention, I wouldn't take them. Can't exactly marry me by force."

"They'd try," Delilah and Valkyrie replied in unison.

"From what I've read, they've downgraded from a futuristic paradise to a cold strip of land by the sea. It's hard to forget thousands of years worth of privilege. Especially if you've lived the thousands of years." Delilah shrugged. "I don't blame them."

"I'm spoken for," he argued, his lips twitching just the barest bit upwards.

"Well, now you are. You're welcome, by the way," Brunnhilde grumbled, stretching out with a sigh before hopping to her feet. "I have duties to attend to, so I will see you later. My Prince. Princess."

Delilah frowned, watching Valkyrie toss her armor over her shoulder and close the door behind her with a slam. "Princess? There's a new nickname. Can't say it's my favorite."

Loki grinned widely, resting his head on his free hand, propped on his thigh. "You've got no clue what you did today, do you?"

"I don't exactly study Asgardian history in my free time, Lo." There was a long pause before she tacked on, "Why?"

"The challenge you fought was for position in the court as a member of equal measure to the Royal Family."

"I don't follow."

His eyes glittered in mirth. "I'm not surprised. It will make sense soon enough." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. "Nonetheless, you will always be my Queen in all that matters, Princess. Though getting rid of the Valkyrie would be an easy enough task, should you desire to ascend."

With another kiss, he mentioned something about going to get her some more Gatorade. The words sunk slowly into Delilah's adrenaline-drowned brain. "Wait, are you telling me she just made me a Princess? Like an honest to god, I could have my own Disney movie, Princess? Loki?!"

[wizardofahz]

Introducing Grim

A/N: Just a little bit of silly to get back into writing. This is a follow up to Fulfilling the Lie.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I think someone’s going to die.”

The panic in Nia’s voice has Kara shooting straight up out of bed though she manages to stop before crashing into the ceiling. Still hovering in the air, she asks, “Did you have a dream? Are you okay? Where are you?”

It’s the middle of the night--3:52 AM according to her phone--which makes the dream scenario most likely. Hopefully that means Nia is safe at home. Still, Kara mentally prepares herself to change into her super suit and fly out the window.

“I’m at home,” Nia responds, speaking a mile a minute. “I dreamed that there was this big black dog, like you know the Grim in Harry Potter? The omen of death? And I think Alex was there, but I don’t-- I didn’t get the sense that she was in danger? But I don’t know. It’s the Grim, right? I keep thinking about Ron’s Uncle Bilius and how he saw a Grim and died. And I know that’s Harry Potter, but, I mean, the messages in my dreams come in symbols, right? So maybe my powers are finally trying to communicate with me in a language that I’ll understand, and maybe that means that someone else is going to die even though I saw Alex, and--”

“Oh,” Kara says once Nia’s words register. All the adrenaline dissipates from Kara’s body, and she sinks back down onto her bed. “No, you dreamed about Alex’s cat.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Nia sighs with relief. “I was really worried. Like I said, I didn’t think Alex was going to die, but I’d really hate to be wrong about that. You know how hard it can be to interpret my dreams.”

“I get it,” Kara says, and she means it. If there was any sign that something would happen to Alex, anything at all, and there was something Kara could do to stop it, she would. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too,” Nia says with a shaky laugh. “All that freaking out, and it was just Alex’s cat.” A brief silence. “Kara?”

“Yeah?”

“Since when does Alex have a cat?”

Oh, right. After they left the animal shelter, their day had been a whirlwind of pet supply shops and cat-proofing the apartment, and with Alex and Grim’s matching lack of enthusiasm for attention, they hadn’t really told anyone other than Eliza, J’onn, and Kelly. Oops. Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. Almost literally. “Today, or I guess, technically yesterday. It’s a long story, but his name is Grim.”

“Okay,” Nia says in a tone that indicates that she doesn’t really understand but she’s willing to go along with it for the moment. “No one’s going to get hurt, and that’s what matters.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Kara mutters, thinking about the unfortunate mismatch between sharp claws and soft human flesh.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

...

Kara’s breakthrough moment with Grim comes entirely by accident. 

Her mission for the evening is to keep Grim away from the kitchen while Alex and Kelly finish preparing dinner. Unaware that Kara is an invulnerable Kryptonian, Kelly had given her an apologetic look upon hearing her assignment. Kara doesn’t mind the teeth and the claws. She just hopes Grim doesn’t get too mad at her. She’s still trying to get on his good side.

“I’m sorry. You can’t,” Kara says, intercepting Grim as he wanders in the direction of the kitchen. She crouches in front of him and tries to redirect him. “Alex is busy. How about the cat tower? Want to climb on that instead?”

He does not.

After a few repetitions of this, Kara brings Grim to the couch, holding him in her lap as he tries to wiggle free. He meows his discontent and begins to claw at her.

“No, no, no,” Kara whispers quickly, grabbing a blanket and pushing it between them. “You can’t. Kelly doesn’t know.”

Normally accustomed to a Kara who’s willing to play scratching post, Grim looks up at her in consternation. He paws at her tentatively, testing her reaction. His claws sink into the blanket instead. He pushes into her and then pauses as if processing the feeling. He flexes, stretching his toes out before grabbing the soft material again.

Kara joins him, running her hands through the blanket as well. “I know. It’s nice, right?” 

Grim begins to knead the blanket in earnest. 

“They’re so cute,” Kara hears Kelly whisper from the other side of the kitchen island. 

“Yeah,” Alex whispers back.

It’s one word, and a quiet one at that, but it’s so full of love and happiness. Kara knows how important family harmony is to Alex, and Grim is part of the family now. She knows, without Alex having to say anything, that Alex has been waiting for this moment.

She is going to hug Alex as soon as she can.

... 

J’onn J’onzz is a cheater. Of this, Alex is convinced.

After meeting Grim, he initially keeps his distance, but after a while, J’onn seems to know exactly when Grim will tolerate being pet--not to mention exactly where he wants to be pet--and when he’s feeling antisocial. Alex has no doubt that J’onn is reading Grim’s mind.

Because of this, J’onn and Grim establish an understanding faster than anyone other than Alex.

That is until her mom arrives.

“Mom, this is Grim,” Alex says. Grim is currently in her arms for everyone’s safety and comfort, but Alex kneels and places him on the ground between them.

Eliza kneels opposite her. “Hi, Grim. It’s nice to meet you.”

Grim looks to Alex, who nods with approval. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s just Mom.”

Grim takes a tentative step towards Eliza. She reaches out a hand to let him sniff her, and it’s not long before she’s allowed to pet him, scratching him gently behind the ears.

“What? How?” Kara whines. “That’s not fair.”

“Apparently Alex is only deferential to Eliza,” J’onn says. “He can sense it.”

Alex’s eyes narrow. There it is, evidence of her suspicions. “How do you know that? Are you reading my cat’s mind?”

“I may not work for the DEO anymore, but I still find it prudent to investigate and track potential threats.”

“Hey!”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Eliza says, joining Alex in coming to Grim’s defense. Years of raising Alex has taught Eliza to recognize when someone is reaching their limit. “It’s okay, sweetie. You can go.”

Grim scampers off for the moment, but he returns to her regularly throughout her visit for more head scratchings.

...

Trust has to be earned.

As a therapist, Kelly is very well aware of this. She has a lot of practice ensuring that her patients grow to trust that they will be listened to and not judged.

The problem is that she has done this by communicating in English, a language that Alex’s cat Grim does not speak, and Kelly, being allergic to cats as she is, does not have a lot of experience speaking cat.

“I’m not trying to hurt her,” she insists to Grim, who is scowling at her from Alex’s side.

Kelly is using her lunch break to check on Alex, who has had a long couple of days vigilante-ing. Sure enough, upon letting herself into the apartment, she was met with the sight of Alex asleep on the couch, still in her outfit with the tight suit and boots on.

Kelly had simply thought to wake Alex just long enough to get her to change and into bed, but Grim seems to be taking offense to the idea of disturbing Alex’s rest.

Ironically one of his growls nudges Alex into consciousness. She drowsily blinks a couple of times before recognizing her visitor.

“Kelly?”

“Hey,” Kelly says gently. “I thought you might want to change out of that outfit and get into bed. You know, be more comfortable?”

Alex looks down the length of her body. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea.” She instinctively reaches for Grim. “Come on, dude.”

When she slides into bed, Grim settles beside her again.

“Do you need anything?” Kelly asks before she leaves. “I can refill Grim’s bowl. I noticed it was empty.”

“Ye--” Alex yawns. “--ah, that’d be great. Thanks. You’re the best.”

After several repeat occurrences, Kelly can tell that Grim is growing to trust her more.

The ultimate show of acceptance comes when she’s staying at Alex’s because of a cold. She wakes up feeling better but with a weight on her chest. That weight is Grim, curled up and purring up a storm.

Kelly smiles and reaches out a hand to pet him. “Thanks, Grim.”

...

Grim backs away from Nia with a hiss.

“Maybe try again with a little less enthusiasm,” Kelly says. “Less is better with him.”

Alex keeps an eye on the three as she talks to Brainy. She has finally been coaxed into bringing Grim to game night to meet the rest of the Super Friends. She trusts Kelly to make sure Grim is all right, the only reason she isn’t glued to his side.

Brainy is a question machine. He asks if Alex met Streaky, the differences between Grim and Streaky, the differences in cat personalities, inherent cat behaviors, and the logistics of cat care. Alex is sure Brainy has additional questions, but Kara and J’onn are approaching from the kitchen area with the drinks, and Grim is starting to look overwhelmed by all the people.

Alex is about to rescue him when she catches the look on Lena’s face.

Lena is looking at Grim with an expression of horror in multiple senses of the word, maybe half foreboding horror like one watching a horror movie and half distasteful horror like someone being given a rancid fruit and being told it is an exquisite solid wine.

Alex finds that latter half offensive.

“You cannot use my cat as an excuse to restart Non Nocere,” Alex says, startling Lena.

“I wasn’t thinking about it,” Lena says, her voice entirely lacking in conviction. In fact, her face says that if she hadn’t been thinking about it before, she’s started thinking about it now.

William is running late, and by the time he arrives, Grim has disappeared into the shadows. 

That’s not to say that William doesn’t meet him.

Sort of.

When William goes to the bathroom, the sound of the door closing is followed by a scream of surprise from William and a series of yowls from Grim.

Kara and Alex run for the bathroom and skid to a stop as William stumbles out of it.

“Kara, you were right about the cat.”

...

By the time Andrea comes to her first game night, Grim has gotten used to socializing and learned how to let people know he’s had enough in a non-threatening manner.

Kara helps Lena welcome her to the group and introduce her to the few people she has yet to meet. Alex and Grim give Andrea identical wary looks. It is one of the cutest things Kara’s ever seen. That doesn’t stop her from steering Andrea to the other side of the room.

“Uh, maybe you should sit over here.”

[vegetalass]

if you dont mind, maybe some cute fluff of RDR2 boys getting ready for a first date with their s/o? 🥰

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG but yes, anything for u!! I hope u enjoy!!

long post ahead!

Arthur 

The fact that Arthur even agreed to a date in the first place is a little weird

He thinks that just asking if you want to be a couple is enough

The moment you start dating he turns into an old man who thinks you’ve been married for years 

It’s like... Arthur… Buddy… It’s been like two weeks, bruv

That’s why you have to be the one to ask him to go on a date, because then there’s no way he’d be able to say no 

He’s not against them, but in his mind, it’s just that in his mind, dates are things that people like him Do Not do

Mostly because he’s tried them in the past and either ended up disappointing someone or being disappointed 

Besides, you already know that you have fun with each other so it’s not like you need to do anything special 

WRONG!!!

Charles probably asks him if he’s nervous and he’s laughs because of course he’s not

But the moment he wakes up on the day of the date… Oh Lord… 

He was totally chill and relaxed about it up until this point, and it’s literally only then that he starts to panic

Mostly just because he begins to second doubt himself 

And not just himself but everything

Maybe you won’t like the shirt he picked out... Or maybe you won’t like his face shaved... Or maybe you don’t want to be seen in public with him... 

The list is endless 

Eventually, he gets so worked up that he has to call Charles, who reminds him that it’s been fine up until that point, and it’s not like you would ask him to go on a date or even admit to liking him back if you DIDN’T want to go out with him… So, what’s his problem? 

He then has to spend like 3 hours in the bathroom trying to make himself look presentable 

Most of this time is spent deciding whether or not he needs to shave

(Yes, he does)

And if he should wear the blue or red shirt 

Or… Maybe the white one

He spends a long time picking out flowers because he thinks most of them are either too gaudy or not gaudy enough 

He didn’t have the forethought to order them in advance, though 

He’s still a little nervous when he does finally pick you up, but seeing how happy you are to just to be out with him soothes his worries one hundred times over

And if you kiss him on the way home, he considers that your first REAL kiss 

Nothing else even compared

How well does he shower before getting ready? - He doesn’t want to disappoint you in any way, so he scrubs himself real good. 10/10 

John 

Very similar to Arthur in how he feels about dates 

He thinks they’re fine and great… But doesn’t really see why he should participate in them 

Especially since every time he tried to go on ones with Abigail, something would go wrong

And after Jack, she honestly probably just didn’t want to go on them anymore

Which was 100% fine with him because they’re both pretty busy people

That being said, with you it’s a little different 

He still doesn’t really care much about the actual date part, but he also doesn’t want you to slip through his fingers the way Abigail did 

He wants you to know that you’re loved and valued in the beginning of the relationship before it’s too late to tell you 

That’s why it’s his idea to suggest the date 

He probably says something like, “Hey…… Uh…… Now that we’re….. You know….. *cough*…….. Would you want to……… Possibly………. Maybe………”

Cue you sitting there like ?????? 

If you tell him that he doesn’t need to go to the effort of taking you out, he’s like “Uh, Yes I Do! >:(“

Even if you never expected him to in the first place 

Basically because you assumed being with him would be pretty lowkey

But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to try and put the work in 

Honestly, probably doesn’t know if he should be nervous or not

Realistically, he thinks that he should be, but for some reason, can’t muster up the nerves and is overall pretty chill about it 

But that doesn’t mean getting ready for the date itself is any less of an Experience (TM) 

Probably spends the whole day thinking “Date tonight… You have a date tonight…. First date IS TODAY…. Don’t forget to get ready….. THERE’S A DATE” that he does end up getting ready late 

Suddenly it’s 4PM and he’s like *squidward opening eyes meme*

He does manage to get ready in time, though

Despite arriving with his shirt half buttoned and the flowers slightly wilted

It makes you laugh to see him trying so hard to be a good boyfriend

Just because I love John with his haircut… Yes, he gets a haircut before the date

He did this before the day of, though

And lowkey you probably don’t recognize him at first

This time, John is the one who’s like ?????? 

How well does he shower before getting ready? - A solid shower. Nothing to really complain about. 7/10 

Charles 

You’ve probably been dating for two days and he’s already The Best Boyfriend in the Entire World

He’s always trying to make any time you spend together special so dates just… aren’t at the top of his list

Charles is like… “A date??? Every day is a date with you…”

Literally I have to go cry about this now because he’s too sweet

Regardless, he does want to take you out, so of course the first time is going to be important!

He’s not so much nervous about going on the date as he is about you enjoying yourself on it, so the preparation itself is pretty important 

The night before, he runs through everything in his head to make sure all his plans seem solid

And when he wakes up, starts getting ready immediately just to make sure everything goes smoothly 

Eats a healthy breakfast, sends you a text, picks up flowers, etc.

It’s not a busy day, but he likes not having to rush

Doesn’t have a problem choosing an outfit because he doesn’t think it’s that important 

He’s not going to show up in pajamas, but he’s not going to go overboard thinking about what he should wear 

His only criteria for it is that it’s appropriate for the situation and he it suits him

(This is also good because it means that you don’t have to try very hard for him to think you look good in whatever you end up wearing, too)

When he’s finally ready to pick you up, he hypes himself up in the mirror just to get rid of any last minute jitters that he may be feeling

For the most part, he’s really calm and hides his nerves pretty well, but that doesn’t mean you don’t give him butterflies 

And he just wants your first date to be memorable

The flowers he brings you are specially ordered from the local florist 

And he writes a cute note to go with them

How well does he shower before getting ready? - He takes a good, respectable shower. 8/10

Micah 

Honestly, the likelihood of Micah ever having been on a date before is very small

He knows that they’re a thing that couples do but probably thinks everyone’s descriptions of them are exaggerated or silly

Why would he need to take you on a date if you already know that he likes you since he asked you out in the first place…?

Isn’t being nice to you enough? 

That’s why you have to be the one to suggest going on a date, and even then, he probably scoffs or laughs at the idea

But that doesn’t mean the suggestion doesn’t haunt him 

Goes to bed every night and is like… “Maybe… we should be going on dates?” 

UH, YEA?

Eventually it gets to the point where he feels… G-g-guilty almost

Probably mentioned the fact that you brought up going on a date to Dutch and he was like, “You mean you haven’t had one yet?” 

Oops. 

So then he immediately sets one up 

And feels bad that he didn’t do it sooner when he sees how happy you are when he asks

Ironically, he ends up getting super excited for the date, too 

Mostly because he’s realizes that he’s just happy someone agreed to go out with him in the first place and actually wants to do things with him 

It’s a pretty unusual feeling for him, but definitely not bad 

This doesn’t mean that he will wear anything special or buy you flowers, though

He’s not getting that sappy

How well does he shower before getting ready? - He doesn’t. 0/10

He’s not dirty or anything though, he just doesn’t think he needs to take one 

Dutch 

Honestly, the only reason you’re dating is probably because he asked you out on a date

It was a calculated move on his part because he knew you already liked him, but still… 

He’s someone who takes things like dates very seriously

Even if they are a rare occasion due to how busy he is

He’s like a little kid with how excited he gets just thinking about it

And he definitely spares no expenses when planning it

Even if you told him that he didn’t need to do anything special, he wouldn’t listen 

Hosea gets tired of him talking about it and asking if his plans seem alright

He’s like, “Dutch, I’ve told you no on the limo five times already” 

And still Dutch is like “Mmmmmm, are you sure, though?” 

Extravagances aside, he is really just trying to make you happy and declare his love for you 

Especially since he doesn’t know how often he’ll be able to in the future

And since he wants you to have at least a few fond memories of him in case something happens to him 

But that’s just in case, right? 

On the day of the date, from the moment he wakes up, he’s thinking about it

Keeps checking his watch to make sure he has enough time to get ready 

And is surprised when only 20 minutes have gone by since the last time he checked

Spends an hour just trying to make sure his hair looks right 

And probably cycles through four different shirts a bunch of times just because he can’t decide 

Sends a text to Hosea with 4 different selfies asking which is best 

Gets left on read

Translation: All of them look fine

Though he did end up deciding against the limo, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t show up ready to show you off 

Buys you the biggest bouquet he can find

You end up having to hold it in both arms

How well does he shower before getting ready? - He showers but is so excited that it’s not as thorough as it could’ve been. 6/10

Kieran 

The date itself is kind of a mutual idea

The relationship probably isn’t even official yet despite the fact that you’re already 100% exclusive 

A silent agreement, of sorts

You probably end up giving him some sort of hint that you “wouldn’t mind doing something with him, sometime...” and he takes it from there 

Dates are something that he thought he’d never have to worry about 

Mostly because he associates them with people who are a lot different from him

But also because he thought that he’d never really have the chance to meet someone he’d want to start a serious relationship with 

Hence why he’s so new to the whole situation, but still determined to change this

He wants to go one dates like the ones he’s always heard about

He’s both excited and worried because…

1. This means that you do, in fact like him back, but…

2. He could also fuck everything up 

Doesn’t sleep at all the night before

Spends the entire night running through every scenario of what could happen 

Also thinking about how you met and how lucky he is to be with you 

He had to plan his outfit in advance because he needed a lot of time to figure out how to balance casual wear with something date worthy

But, with the outfit out of the way, he manages to get ready pretty quickly and ends up just sitting around waiting to leave 

Spends the extra time praying that he didn’t choose the wrong thing to wear

He’s so cute… Twiddling his thumbs and everything

Sends you a cute “On my way!” text with one of those cute dancing stickers 

His flower choice is a single rose tied up with a ribbon 

And he nearly faints when you kiss his cheek in thanks

How well does he shower before getting ready? - He tries really hard to take a good one. 8/10

Javier

Dates are very important to him

To him, they signify dedication and compassion 

And overall, just that he’s willing and wants to put in the work to show you that he cares

That’s why he asks you out on a real date the moment you become official 

He’s super excited because it’s not everyday that you get to go on a FIRST date with someone 

Which is why he’s also a meticulous planner

It’s not just about making you happy, but impressing you and proving (mostly to himself) that he’s a good lover 

Even if he knows that you wouldn’t mind something more lowkey 

It’s just that whatever you do has to be special 

He’s nervous, not because he’s afraid, but because he wants things to go as well as they possibly could

Out of everyone, spends the most time thinking about what he’s going to wear

Tries to plan ahead of time but still hasn’t made any final decisions on the day of the date, either 

Has to try things on to be certain if he likes them or not 

And when he’s finally decided, he still needs to shave and to fix his hair

It’s a long day to say the least 

And when he finally picks you up, brings you an entire bouquet of roses

When you have to bury your face in them to hide your blush, his heart swells with pride

And yes, he thinks that you’re the best dressed couple anyone’s probably ever seen 

How well does he shower before getting ready? - His showers are always of the finest quality. 10/10

Sean

The moment he thinks you’ve started liking him back, he starts thinking about what your first real date should be like

And the moment you start dating for real, he has to make his thoughts (*cough* dreams*) a reality

Dates are definitely something he has some experience with 

Even if he hasn’t been on a crazy amount of them… He definitely thinks about them a lot 

Deep down, under all his womanizing tendencies, he’s probably a hopeless romantic

And dates are the perfect way to show someone that you care about them

Honestly probably doesn’t give two craps about what he wears or how he looks

The only reason he even bothers to look presentable is because he doesn’t want to ruin anything by showing up in something ridiculous 

But he definitely doesn’t spend any extra time choosing an outfit than he has to

This is good though because it means he also doesn’t care about what you showed up looking like, either

To him, all that matters is that your first date is enjoyable 

And you both end up looking fine, anyway

(Well, you look a little better than him, but in his eyes, that’s always the case)

He’s so excited that he calls you to tell you that he’s on the way

The way that you laugh when you pick up has him speeding to your house

Gives you the biggest, more beautiful flowers that he can find

They’re not at large as Dutch’s, but a lot more vibrant

How well does he shower before getting ready? - It’s his usual, totally average and normal shower, if not a little quicker. 5/10

[thornescratch]

🖊🌙 😐📝

What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

Late at night, more out of necessity than preference. It’s when I have the least amount of interruptions. Also, it’s a proven fact that the words flow best and hardest when you need to be sleeping or getting ready for bed. It’s just how it works in the universal scheme of things.

What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

When I realize that I’m projecting too much on a character or situation and making it obvious. Like, there are some tropes I don’t mind revisiting over and over, but I get twitchy when I realize, Oops, that’s my issue, not Character X’s, and it’s less realistic they’d feel that way. Or when I catch myself reusing a description or phrase too often. I need to stop limning people in gold; I do it way too often. Or focusing on sweat in weird places during sex scenes. Though, it’s my experience that you do always notice the sweat during sexytimes.

Sometimes it embarrasses me how appealing I find some really OOC or over the top trashy stuff, but everyone’s got their favorite woobie and tropes, so I’ve stopped feeling bad about that.

What is one growth area you have for your writing?

Pacing. I do outline, but for a couple of my stories that were written for exchanges, you can tell where I hit deadline and had to just get it done instead of having a few more scenes or length that might have improved it. (Or, conversely, I should have been more brutal and cut shit that I liked but which ultimately wasn’t necessary. But then again, it’s fanfic.)

Also, uh, just finishing shit. And feeling less silly about it. I don’t like posting WIPs because I like to finish them first, but then I get interested in something else or I think it’s not good enough to post, and it languishes on my hard drive for years.

Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Again, not sure what fandom you're from, so let's go back to hockey since I have it open right now.

"Hey, hi, so like, O and Backy turned into chickens, it's not my fault," Willy said, standing on his front step with a large cardboard box in his arms.

"It's his fault," Burky said from somewhere behind Willy.

"Totally Whip fault," someone else—Kuzy? said, also from behind Willy, who took up a lot of space on a normal basis and even more so when he was apparently hauling boxes around. One arm poked out from behind him and waved wildly, and then there was an unmistakable giggle, so it was definitely Kuzy. "Batya, let us in."

"Fuck you, it's not!" Willy said, and then hoisted the cardboard box up slightly. The box peeped at Brooks loudly, and he jerked back in surprise. "Here, let us in, lemme just explain," Willy added, and then Brooks had three—no, four, no, five, Djoos and Orlov were apparently quietly lurking at the back of the pack as well—teammates stampeding into his house like they were trying to outrun the cloud of youthful indiscretion that Brooks could just fucking see hanging over them.

"Curse my slow door-slamming skills," he said to his now-empty front step, and then closed the door and took a deep breath in order to prepare for whatever the hell was going on.

Most of them were all in his kitchen. Willy had put the box down on the kitchen table and he and Burky were in his pantry; Kuzy was looking in his fridge; he didn't see Djoos; and Snarls, bless his heart, was the only one being polite and standing near one of the chairs, clearly waiting for permission to sit down. Brooks made a mental note to tell Ovi about it, since Ovi believed in positive reinforcement when it came to nurturing the kids, and would probably buy Dima a new car or something.

The box on the table was still peeping. Before Brooks could deal with that, it was drowned out by an even louder noise, which was apparently directly related to Kuzy pawing through his vegetable crisper drawer.

"Batya! It's terrible!" Kuzy said, leaning out of the fridge and brandishing an eggplant at him.

"All of his crackers are wholegrain stuff," Burky called out from the pantry, muffled. "He doesn't have any chips."

"He's got two bags of Skinny Pop, though," Willy added. "Original and White Cheddar."

"Everything so healthy," Kuzy said, making a face. "It's terrible but I guess also good. I know we make best choice to come here."

Brooks took the eggplant away from Kuzy and slapped it against his palm once with a pleasantly solid noise. It had some good heft. "The last person who isn't sitting down at the table quietly in the next fifteen seconds gets to explain to Barry why they have to go on LTIR because someone beat them senseless with an eggplant."

"Like, a real eggplant, or is this a dick joke," Willy said, leaning out of the pantry before his eyes went wide. "Oh."

Kuzy was already opening his mouth with that glint in his eye again, so Brooks pointed the eggplant at him. "Sit. Down. Where's Juicer?"

"I was using the bathroom, please don't hit me," Djoos said meekly, slipping back into the kitchen and sitting down immediately, hands folded on top of the table neatly like a good little d-man. Brooks made another mental note to let Nicky know. Nicky had his own nurturing system for the kids, though that usually ran along the lines of a series of slightly less murderous than usual glares that he used for those currently in his favor.

"Can we bring some Skinny Pop?" Burky asked. "Actually, can we bring both bags?"

"I mean, actually you wouldn't really need to explain so much—" Willy said, and then Burky wiggled past him out of the narrow pantry doors with a bag stowed under each arm, and dove for the table, yelling out, "Hit him, Batya, hit him!"

"Hey!" Willy said indignantly, rushing after him and almost knocking Kuzy over in the process.

There was a briefly chaotic interval like a particularly violent game of musical chairs, but it ended with everyone sitting down in a chair, even if Burky and Djoos were sharing one. Less sharing, maybe, than Burky getting physically dumped out of two chairs in quick succession by Willy and Dima, and then Burky climbing into Djoos's lap, planting himself there, and winding his arms around Djoos's neck despite Djoos's wide-eyed expression of panic, but Brooks decided he couldn't afford to be too particular about it, and Djoos was just going to have to learn to desensitize himself to Burky-induced boners and personal space issues.

The box was still peeping.

Brooks eyed all of them, trying to decide who he had the best chance of getting the story out of the quickest, and then decided that he might as well give up on that and picked Willy, since he had a distinctly guilty expression that was only slightly marred by how he was currently shoving a double handful of Brooks's Skinny Pop into his mouth. "Willy. Explain. And no one else talk until I say they can."

Willy swallowed and licked his lips. "Okay, so. Magic."

After a minute when nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Brooks cleared his throat. "That's it? That's all you got?"

Willy glanced around the table where all of his teammates were successfully avoiding his gaze (Kuzy and Dima were both pretending to read the nutritional info on the back of the popcorn bag; Burky was actually hiding his face against Djoos's neck; accordingly, Djoos's panic looked like it had ratcheted up by several degrees, and he was staring off into the middle distance with a muscle twitching in his cheek) and when it seemed obvious that no help was forthcoming, he shrugged. "Kinda?"

[neighborhood-goblin]

Nameless O’Haryth Fic Chapter One uwu

Word count is like 1081 

idk what else to put up here

I’ve never written fanfiction can you tell

there’s fluff?? idk what else to say lol

This’ll be posted on ao3 at somepoint

@subrosasteath

“Marty, you’re single, right?” Grace asked, flipping through a textbook mindlessly. Marty glanced up from his gizmo to cast a quick look at his cousin, before shifting his gaze to peer at his boyfriend. Luther was currently hunched over his phone, tapping away at some puzzle game that Marty didn’t recognize. 

“What?” He questioned, dragging himself back to the conversation. 

“I asked if you were single. There’s this girl in my English class that keeps asking about you.” Grace responded. Marty groaned internally. On one hand, if he told her that he was single (which wasn’t true), then she would insist he go out with the English girl (which he really didn’t want to do), but if he told her he was taken (which was true), then she would demand answers. He really didn’t want to supply answers. 

Marty and Luther existed in a little bubble, safe and comfortable only because no one knew about it. They held hands, flirted- even kissed- but only when they knew that they weren’t being watched. There were a few reasons for this: 

 OOPS’s policy on same-sex couples was a little iffy

 Luther’s parents weren’t at all thrilled by the notion that their son was gay

Marty and Luther wanted to avoid the whole ‘coming out’ thing as long as possible. It wasn’t that either of them was ashamed of being gay or bi respectively, it’s just that ‘coming out’ seemed like a hassle, especially when they could just be with each other and not have to worry about anyone else

“Tell her I’m taken.” Marty finally replied, deciding that alluding to the fact that he did have someone in his life was better than Grace making him go out with some girl that he didn’t know.

“Are you just saying that, or is it true?” She inquired skeptically. 

“It’s true.” He said, trying not to look at Luther, lest he give them away. 

“Okay, then who is she?” Marty stiffened. He had not planned for this, although he assumed it would be something she would ask him. He mentally cursed himself and tried to come up with something believable. It did not help that Luther had tuned into the conversation and was now shaking with silent giggles. 

“Like I’d tell you, nose-picker.” Marty sneered at his cousin, who rolled her eyes and shut her textbook. She leaned closer to smirk at him.

“Then I’ll find out myself. And when I discover that you are in fact single, you get to go out on several dates with that deeply annoying girl from my English class.” Her blue eyes bore into his. Mischief was decidedly not a look he liked on her. 

“You won’t discover that I’m single.” He quipped back, despite the fact that he had no idea on how to make it appear as though he had a girlfriend. Grace stood up, and beamed maliciously at Marty before hurrying off to wherever nerds went outside of the library. Probably to suck up to a teacher. He glared at the doorway she’d exited from. 

“So you got a girlfriend, huh.” Luther grinned at Marty. 

“Shut up.” Marty transferred his glare to his red-headed boyfriend, before coming to the conclusion that he would inevitably need his help. “So...:”

“If you’re about to ask me to help you convince Grace that you have a girlfriend then the answer is no. However, I could be swayed upon the purchase of cookies.” 

“Luther your parents are like billionaires or something. Buy your own cookies.” 

“I thought you wanted my help.” 

“Not if it means buying you cookies.” 

***

“Okay, here’s what I think we should do. I’ll call you while you’re around Grace, and you can pretend like I’m whatever chick you’re supposed to be dating.” Luther sat criss-cross on his and Marty’s bedroom floor, crunching thoughtfully on a cookie. “Change my contact to ‘Baby’ or ‘Babe’ or something.” 

“I feel like she could guess pretty easily that it’s you I’m talking to.” Marty scrolled through Instagram absentmindedly, admittedly not as invested in faking a girlfriend as he should’ve been. “You have to be there when I’m on the phone so that she doesn’t suspect anything. We might need a third person..”

“Oh yeah, who are we gonna recruit? Dylan? Bridget from Grace’s English class? It’s literally just us.” 

“You’re making me regret buying you cookies. It does not feel as though you’re helping.” Marty complained, leaning back against the side of his bed. 

“I don’t see you coming up with any ideas.” Luther huffed, sidling up to Marty to see whatever he was looking at on his phone. “Ugh I’m bored. It’s not fun to gaslight Grace if we don’t even have a solid idea as to how to do it.” Marty sighed and rested his head against Luther’s shoulder.

“We can come up with ideas tomorrow, it’s already like eleven; let’s go to bed.” Marty stood up and flicked off the light, and the pair crawled in his bed. He rolled over to face Luther and murmured a quick I love you before drifting off to sleep. 

Marty woke up to sunlight streaming into their room. One of Luther’s arms was thrown across his waist, the other flopped over the edge of the bed. He shook Luther awake. 

“Urgh. What day is it?” The younger boy groaned, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Marty rolled his eyes.

“Saturday, Luther.” He answered. Luther nodded slowly, his eyes still shut. 

“That means I can go back to sleep.” He said, curling inward and pulling Marty closer. 

“We have to work on my fake girlfriend. Who knows what Grace has been up to while we’ve been asleep.” Marty was slightly concerned about having already run out of time. At this point, he didn’t care so much about the whole ‘going out with Bridget’ thing, rather he was more focused on the fact that he didn’t want Grace to be right. Again. She usually was.

“Time isn’t real.” Marty laughed at that, and decided that a few more minutes of sleep couldn’t hurt. He laced his arms around Luther’s midsection and tangled their legs together. 

Mornings like this were easy and relaxed, and they made him glad for the safe bubble in which Marty-and-Luther existed. He didn’t like to dwell on what would happen when they were finally on the outside of it. Probably nothing; he was probably being dramatic, but still, nonetheless, he was happy with the way things were.