#but hearing it confirmed out loud made me unreasonably happy

[aragaki]

I got around to watching Erik assign Smash mains to his characters and the biggest thing that came from that was hearing him say Milo is his favorite character.

SAME HERE MR ERIK REDACTED.

[cryingcow]

Character Story - Mine (Holiday) [RGGO]

Due to certain personal circumstances, I’ve moved up Mine’s story on the list. Thank you @chaoticcandies​ and @firstorderglory​ for the request!

Story: Right before Mine goes on his Okinawa field trip, Daigo informs him that another one of Kiryu’s bodyguards has been killed. Daigo asks him to investigate while in Okinawa to see whether someone does or does not have a plan to assassinate Kiryu. Mine solves the problem by funding and formulating Kiryu’s assassination plan himself.

Daigo: “Now Mine, I want you to make sure Kiryu-san is safe, okay?”

Mine, buying several rifles: “Yes, Daigo-san.”

Daigo: “That means I want him alive and not dead, you hear me?”

Mine, writing Kiryu’s name on his portable guillotine: “Loud and clear, Daigo-san. :)”

Notes:

1) Match pump - “lighting a match and stopping the fire with a water pump”. In other words, solving a problem that you yourself made in the first place. The phrase also came up back in Sera’s story, I think.

2) Like a beehive - “turmoil”

.

CHAPTER 1

.

|The Nishikiyama Family field trip by Kanda completed their itinerary without delay, and they returned back home. However, Mine remained in Okinawa on his own . . .|

Boy: “Ojiisan! It’s the long-awaited summer vacation, play together with us more!”

Kiryu: “Yeah, let’s invite everyone to play baseball later.”

Boy: “Hooray! Absolutely, Ojiisan!!”

Girl: “Ojiisan! I can’t find my colored pencils . . .”

Kiryu: “Recall when you last used them . . . maybe you’ll find them soon?”

Girl: “Hmm . . . where could they have gone?”

Mine: “. . . Is this the orphanage ‘Morning Glory’?”

Mine: (. . . Indeed, for me to be ‘the’ Fourth Chairman’s bodyguard . . .)

----

|A few days before the Nishikiyama Family field trip.|

{Mine knocks on Daigo’s door and enters.}

Mine: “Excuse me.”

Daigo: “Mine, I’m happy to see you. I heard from Kanda, are you going to Okinawa?”

Mine: “Yes . . . I’ll be in trouble with Kanda-no-aniki otherwise. He doesn’t care that it’s inconvenient for me.”

Daigo: “Heh . . . However, this time it’s convenient.”

Mine: “. . . What do you mean?”

Daigo: “There’s a problem in Okinawa. It cannot be made public.”

Mine: “. . . Is it related to Kiryu-san?”

Daigo: “. . . As expected, you make good guesses. That’s correct.”

{Daigo is silent for a few seconds.}

Daigo: “The Fourth Chairman is secretly being guarded in Okinawa.  . . . But the other day, one of the escorts was killed.”

Mine: “So you’re asking me to investigate.”

Daigo: “Yeah . . . many people in the Tojo Clan don’t like Kiryu-san. If someone dies because of that, it will cause unnecessary waves in the organization . . . Investigate this matter. And ensure the safety of the orphanage . . . Mine, can I ask this of you?”

----

Mine: (. . . Nothing else to do about it. It’s a direct order from Daigo-san. I should set aside my personal feelings and fulfill my mission. Now, I was able to confirm Kiryu-san’s appearance. Should I join the escort staff . . . ?)

----

Mine: “Are you Chinen?”

Chinen: “Mine-san? I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s move over here . . .”

Chinen: “I and Osugi, the escort who was killed, were keeping an eye on ‘Morning Glory’. That night . . . Osugi and I were doing different things. The attack happened then . . . The next morning, Osugi was found floating along Kubochi River . . . he was shot in the head at close range.”

Mine: “What is the criminal’s aim?”

Chinen: “That’s still unknown . . . However, investigations are underway on those who are connected to Morning Glory. Apparently a man named Teruya who is helping Morning Glory is being looked into.”

Mine: “To survey the supporters of Morning Glory instead of the orphanage directly . . . how strangely roundabout.”

Chinen: “Yes. So I thought I’d get the information and went straight to that Teruya . . . but he was being strangely vigilant, I didn’t get anything out of him at all.”

Mine: (It’s obviously not the work of a civilian. It’s not unreasonable to be wary, but . . .)

Mine: “There must be a reason for this Teruya to be vigilant. It might be best for me to listen to his story. Show me to Teruya.”

----

Teruya: “I’m very sorry for the other day. For that person to be Mine-san’s subordinate . . .”

Mine: “No, there appears to be a misunderstanding . . .”

Teruya: “I see . . . so why is someone like Mine-san here?”

Mine: “I heard you are in a critical situation as someone minding the orphanage ‘Morning Glory’. Maybe I can help . . . If you don’t mind, could you tell us the story?”

Teruya: “. . . Actually, the company’s server was hacked and the stolen information is being used as blackmail. The other day, yakuza-like men rushed into the office and said to give them 200 million if I didn’t want anything to happen to my customers . . .”

Mine: “Did you pay?”

Teruya: “No, I couldn’t come up with the money right away, so they’ll wait a week for me to ready it by then . . .”

Mine: “I see . . . the next time the men arrive, prepare the money. And for the hacking, I’ll provide you with the security we use.”

Teruya: “Th-Thank you very much . . . but, to give them the 200 million . . .”

Mine: “I’ll get it back later. We’ll let them grab the money and swim home so we can gather information.”

Teruya: “Will the plan really work that well?”

Mine: “Please be assured. Leave everything to me.”

----

{Mine and Chinen are hiding behind a corner as they follow the yakuza-like men with the money.}

Chinen: “They don’t seem to notice our trail . . .”

Mine: (Get back the money, extract information from them, hit their organization, rebuild Teruya’s business . . . then the orphanage is protected and business is completed. But-- Is that really okay? The escort was killed because he tried to protect Morning Glory . . . in other words, people were sacrificed because of civilians like Kiryu. Daigo-san was worried, but that a situation like this could greatly shake up the Sixth Chairman’s structure . . . Then what I really need to do now--)

{A noise comes from their hiding place.}

Yakuza-like Man A: “. . . Oi, who’s there!! Come out!!”

Chinen: “! Mine-san, I’m sorry . . .”

Mine: “. . . No, it’s just as well. There are no witnesses and I can hit them here.”

Yakuza-like Man A: “I’ll tell you what to hit! Did you come here to get the money back?!”

Yakuza-like Man B: “We’ll make you spit it out!!”

{Mine beats them up.}

Yakuza-like Man A: “Huwee . . .”

Yakuza-like Man B: “That guy has the money, let’s run!!”

{The other two run away.}

Mine: “Chinen, chase them!”

Chinen: “Yes!”

{Chinen runs after the two.}

Mine: “Oi, you . . .”

Yakuza-like Man A: “H-Hiii?! Do-Don’t kill me!!”

Mine: “I won’t kill you. I just have a request for you . . .”

Yakuza-like Man A: “Re-Request . . . ?”

Mine: “Get in touch with your boss right now.”

Yakuza-like Man A: “Wha . . . What do you want with my boss?”

Mine: “Hmph . . . would you rather die here?”

Yakuza-like Man A: “I-I understand!! I’ll do as you say!!”

{The yakuza-like man makes a call.}

Yakuza-like Man A: “I-I’m sorry, Boss. I’ll hand over the phone now . . .”

Mine: “. . . Are you the boss of this guy?”

Man: “Wh-Who are you?”

Mine: “Heh. Don’t worry about that.  . . . I’m your collaborator.”

.

-END-

.

CHAPTER 2

.

Man: “. . . A collaborator? Who are you.”

Mine: “You don’t need to know that.”

Man: “. . . Do you think we’d trust someone no one knows?”

Mine: “. . . How about credit? Heh. I’ll give you 500 million. How’s that?”

Man: “5-500 million . . . ?! You’re bluffing . . .”

Mine: “You can decide later whether it’s a bluff or not.”

Man: “. . . Why would you go so far . . .”

Mine: “What you’re attempting to do is convenient for me . . . that’s all there is.”

Man: “. . .”

Man: “Bring the money and let my subordinate guide you. Once I receive it, then I’ll trust you.”

Mine: “Understood.”

Mine: “Oi.”

Yakuza-like Man A: “Hiii . . . ! Y-Yes . . .”

Mine: “The boss wants to see me. Take me to him.”

----

Mine: “The promised 500 million. Also the 200 million taken from Teruya.”

Boss: “. . . Certainly. You did bring it. I trust you. I’m Inami, leader of the Inami Family. You want to cooperate with our plan, but how much do you know?”

Mine: “Your purpose is to encroach into Okinawa’s resort development plans, which have been stopped for several months. The orphanage supported by Teruya is on the planned development site. Teruya is being threatened to acquire the land. Is it because Kiryu Kazuma is on that land that you chose such a roundabout method?”

Inami: “. . . That’s right. Previously, the Tojo Clan’s Tamashiro Family was aiming for that land . . . They were almost destroyed by Kiryu. It’s a well-known story around these parts. We don’t attack the orphanage directly because we fear Kiryu’s retaliation. We don’t have enough weapons and soldiers to deal with Kiryu.”

Mine: “What if I said I would pay for that?”

Inami: “! No way . . . you want Kiryu to be . . . ?”

Mine: “No need to snoop around any deeper. However, hasn’t my financial strength given me ‘credit’?”

Inami: “. . . All right.”

Mine: “Heh. It was nice to meet you, Inami-san.”

Mine: (These guys will get rid of Kiryu as part of their job. Kiryu’s existence is Daigo-san’s Achilles heel. I will cut off any future worries here.)

----

|That night. Mine met up with Chinen while hiding his relationship with Inami.|

Chinen: “I see . . . it was the work of the Inami Family? Was their aim to crush Morning Glory without provoking the Fourth Chairman . . . ?”

Mine: “Yeah. I was careless and let him escape, but I heard their goal.”

Chinen: “But what do we do? Even if we know who the enemy is, there’s only two of us. This is originally a top secret mission. We can’t expect support from the Head Family.”

Mine: “The enemy will try to do more damage to Teruya. Leave that to me. You should go back to being Kiryu-san’s bodyguard.”

Chinen: “U-Understood!”

----

|A few days later.|

Teruya: “--Then, I will try to do as Mine-san says.”

Mine: “This is expected to increase sales by 20%. Management should be fairly stable.”

{Someone knocks on the door and enters.}

Yakuza A: “Sorry for intruding when you’re busy, Teruya-san.”

Teruya: “Who are you guys . . . ?!”

Yakuza A: “Teruya-san’s place seems to still be fine, so we thought we’d like to get a little more money . . .”

Teruya: “I-I have no money to pay you!!”

Mine: “. . . What do you mean by coming to the office without an appointment? Truly there is no common sense among yakuza.”

Yakuza B: “Oh yeah? And who are you . . . ?”

Mine: “Would you like to be sent back quickly?”

Yakuza A: “Don’t be a fool!! We’ll beat you both up!!”

{Mine beats them up and sends them running.}

Mine: “That doesn’t mean they won’t come here again. Let’s keep meeting up here regularly for a while.”

Teruya: “I sincerely thank you very much.”

Mine: “Hmph. No, this is all for Morning Glory.”

----

Inami: “As mentioned, those at the bottom that I sent don’t know about you.”

Mine: “Yeah, thanks to that, Teruya trusts me completely.”

Inami: “. . . Phew, I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Mine: “Until Kiryu has been done away with . . . perform the next step in the plan well.”

Inami: “Should we take over the system by exploiting the security vulnerabilities introduced into Teruya’s company?”

Mine: “Yeah. I’ll then act like I noticed the exploitation and stop it.”

Inami: “So it’s a match pump?  . . . You’re a con artist.”

----

|A few more days later.|

Inami: “Hehe. Thanks to you, Teruya’s company is running smoothly. But is it necessary to help Teruya just to get rid of Kiryu?”

Mine: “There is this situation here . . . That being said, the weapons have been procured . . . how are things on your end?”

Inami: “We’ve pulled out enough men from the surrounding organizations to strengthen our force . . . are you ready to go anytime?”

Mine: “Is that so . . . then let us move the plan to the final stage. Kidnap Teruya tonight and have him call Kiryu as a hostage.”

Inami: “! Having a hostage to block his movements would have Kiryu like a beehive, right?”

Mine: “That’s right. Don’t mess it up.”

Inami: “We’ve set up the table this far. Failure isn’t an option.”

Mine: “I’m counting on it.”

----

Yakuza A: “Thank you for your hard work.”

Mine: “The confrontation happens tomorrow. Don’t mess it up.”

Yakuza A: “Yes sir!!”

{The yakuza runs off.}

?: “Huh? Mine-san?”

Mine: “!”

Chinen: “Mine-san, why did you come out of the Inami Family office . . . ?!”

Mine: “Chinen . . . ! You . . . should be monitoring the orphanage . . .”

Mine: (Damn . . . I was caught off guard . . . ! I should have foreseen that something would go wrong . . . !)

.

-END-

.

CHAPTER 3

.

Chinen: “Mine-san . . . you’re getting along very well with the Inami Family . . . what is the meaning of this . . . ?”

Mine: (Shit . . . I wasn’t careful of my actions . . .)

Mine: “. . . Chinen. It was wrong to keep quiet. But please calm down and listen.”

Chinen: “. . .”

Mine: “As you can see, I have a cooperative relationship with the Inami Family. But that’s to extract their information.”

Chinen: “Then it wouldn’t be necessary to hide it from me. I’ve never been in contact with the Inami Family.”

Mine: “That is . . .”

Chinen: “Don’t try to deceive me! Mine-san, are you connected with the Inami Family?!”

Mine: (Tch . . . Is it impossible to salvage the situation anymore . . . ? Then I’ll have to get rid of him here--)

Chinen: “. . . Just kidding. Ahaha.”

Mine: “? . . .”

Chinen: “Ahaha. Don’t worry. Actually, I’m also a traitor.”

Mine: “. . . What did you say?”

Chinen: “I’m also colluding with the Inami Family, trying to crush Morning Glory. Are you surprised? So was I when I heard Mine-san had joined hands with Inami. But I agree with assassinating Kiryu to wake up Daigo-san. I’ll cooperate too!!”

Mine: (. . . Have I been turned around? Was it all by Chinen’s hand from the start?)

Chinen: “I’ve heard the plan from Inami. Let me in on it too! Mine-san!”

----

Mine: (If everything goes as planned, Inami, who has kidnapped Teruya, should have gotten in touch to call Kiryu . . .)

Haruka: “Ojiisan! Are you really going out alone . . . ?!”

Kiryu: “Yeah . . . Teruya’s life is in danger if I don’t obey.”

Haruka: “Could it be the Tamashiro Family who has Teruya-no-ojiisan, just like before?”

Kiryu: “No, that is absolutely impossible. At the time, Daigo promised, ‘I will not touch Okinawa’. He’s not one to break his promises.”

Haruka: “. . . not Daigo-san . . . ? Then, who on earth . . . ?”

Kiryu: “It doesn’t matter who they are. Teruya is a friend who supports Morning Glory. You can’t abandon your friends. Isn’t that right?”

Mine: “! . . .”

Haruka: “Ojiisan . . . you’re come back, right?”

Kiryu: “Yeah, I’m definitely coming back. Haruka, look after the kids while I’m gone.”

Haruka: “Yup . . . ! Please take care, Ojiisan.”

Mine: (Kiryu’s words . . . he’s not riding on his strength. He should know what would happen when he boldly goes out alone. Nevertheless . . . Friends . . . ? Even if he’s just a total stranger who’s in it for the money . . . !)

Mine: (. . . Kuh. That is Kiryu Kazuma . . . the man Daigo-san is aiming for . . .)

----

Inami: “To really show up alone . . . the legendary yakuza seems to know no fear . . .”

Teruya: “Ki-Kiryu-san . . . I’m sorry . . .”

Kiryu: “Teruya . . . ! Are you hurt . . . ?!”

Inami: “Oops, don’t move, Kiryu . . . if you move, this gun will blow his head away, okay?”

Kiryu: “Taking a civilian as a hostage . . . you’re a lowlife.”

Inami: “Anyway . . . is it wrong for a yakuza to get what they want by any means necessary?”

{A big group arrives.}

Kiryu: “! . . .”

Inami: “You notice? Countless muzzles are aimed towards you . . . you’re already a trapped mouse!”

Mine: (It seems that things are going according to plan . . .)

Kiryu: “At the time, Daigo promised, ‘I will not touch Okinawa’. He’s not one to break his promises.”

Kiryu: “It doesn’t matter who they are. Teruya is a friend who supports Morning Glory. You can’t abandon your friends. Isn’t that right?”

Mine: “. . .”

Mine: “. . . Hmph. I’m hesitating.”

----

Chinen: “Mine-san! This is the end. We have Kiryu covered from the rear--”

Mine: “--No, I can’t let this go through.”

Chinen: “Mine-san, what are you saying . . . ?”

Mine: “I’m cautious. Until I am certain of something, I try not to come to conclusions. In other words . . . Kiryu’s murder is on hold.”

Chinen: “! Do you mean to betray us . . . ?! Why now . . . !”

Mine: “Hmph. You don’t need to know.”

Chinen: “Don’t play around . . . !! It’s only a little longer until Kiryu can be killed!!! If you get in the way, we’ll kill you too!!!!”

{Mine defeats all of them, and they all collapse.}

Mine: “Now, the reinforcements are taken out . . .”

Mine: (The rest depends on your efforts. Please do your best to hold on . . . Fourth Chairman.)

----

Inami: “Kuh . . . Reinforcements haven’t come yet?!”

Kiryu: “What’s wrong. You seem to be getting very impatient?”

Inami: “Sh-Shut up!! Do-Don’t move!! You want something to happen to him?!”

----

Mine: “The distance is roughly 200 meters . . . Well, that’s no problem . . . I didn’t think the rifle I bought would be used for this . . .”

{A shot rings through the air.}

----

Inami: “Guaaa?! M-My hand?!”

Teruya: “Hi-Hiiii?!”

{Teruya breaks away from his hold and runs.}

Inami: “W-Wait! Did he escape--?!”

Kiryu: “I don’t know who . . . but someone helped.”

Inami: “O-Oh no--”

{Kiryu beats everyone up.}

----

Mine: “Is that the ‘Dragon of Dojima’ . . . ?”

Mine: “Heh, you’re too obstinate.”

Chinen: “Because of you, my plan is ruined . . . My sister and her husband committed suicide from a large debt because Daigo stopped the Okinawa resort plan . . . ‘Protecting Kiryu’s whereabouts’ is a dumb reason! Killing Kiryu so that Daigo will taste the sadness of losing a loved one-- guhaa . . . !”

{Chinen gets punched by Mine and collapses once again.}

Mine: “I’m not interested in your story.”

----

|Thus . . .|

Woman in swimsuit: “Um . . . are you alone?”

Mine: “Am I? As you can see, I’m alone.”

Woman in swimsuit: “Yes . . . sorry for suddenly calling out to you. So . . . are you sightseeing in Okinawa?”

Mine: “No. Had to do a bit of business from Tokyo.”

Woman in swimsuit: “You’re from Tokyo?! I hear the city is nice! So . . . have you finished your business yet?”

Mine: “Yeah. I just had to handle some trivial trouble. It was a minor job.”

Mine: (Teruya’s company is safe after what happened. Both Inami and the Inami Family have been taken care of . . . I’ve reported to Daigo-san that everything was the undertaking of Chinen.)

Woman in swimsuit: “U-Um . . . In that case, why don’t we have a meal together at a nearby shop?”

Mine: “. . . Heh. Yeah, if it’s okay with you.”

Woman in swimsuit: “R-Really?! I’m glad . . . !”

Mine: (Kiryu Kazuma . . . I understand why Daigo-san looks up to you. I withdrew this time . . . heh. Do you have any idea what’s coming next? . . . Fourth Chairman.)

.

-END-

Masterlist

[arewelonely]

Eugenia, The Fat Lady.

—

They were idiots when they arrived, and they were idiots when they left. Seven years of schooling never changed this, but it amused her to watch their progressions all the same. Their bickerings, their romances, their stressors. Sweaty kids stumbling in after Quidditch, nervous energy tittering off of them when they left in the mornings before N.E.W.T.s. The ones who could barely muster up the energy to say the password, the ones with glassy eyes and a lack of facial expressions. Eugenia saw them all, and a few of them saw her back.

She had been named Eugenia by her painter. But the man was a prat, and the dark cloth forbade her from seeing the world until she was nailed into the Gryffindor door, so he deserved none of the credit. Instead, her friends raised her–Eugenia and Anne scampered throughout the portraits, seeing how far they could jump (Anne was too afraid of tripping, so Eugenia always won, sometimes skipping past three paintings before turning around to wave at her friend). At nighttimes, they sang throughout the hallways, giggling as their voices echoed and seeing how loud they could get before another painting called out for silence or a professor was summoned to bid these rambunctious kids goodnight.

The two obviously did this less during school times. They were too tired: Anne from directing the new students around the castle from her perch at the top of the Grand Staircase, and Eugenia from making sure that only the correct students were allowed in her common room.

Thank Merlin, she was stationed outside of Gryffindor. She had heard stories about the other houses: the portrait outside of Ravenclaw’s common room had to come up with a riddle each time a student entered, and the Hufflepuff portrait was far too lenient on who they allowed in! The Slytherin students sounded far less kind than Eugenia’s Gryffindors, but that also could have been a rumor. The students were difficult to understand–far too many streams of gossip and incredibly few facts. They sometimes chatted right in front of her for oh so long before giving the password… she rolled her eyes and huffed as loudly as she could each time. She had things to do, songs to practice, didn’t want her mouth full of grapes and cheese when it finally was time for her to ask for the password. She was not unreasonable, Eugenia, but the students were just little pricks. Joyful little pricks.

By her twenties, she had mastered getting back from just about any point in the castle to her station in under ten minutes. This was no small feat, and her chest swelled proudly each time she beat a student back to their common room.

“Password?” she’d sniff, chin held high.

And they’d give it to her, unaware she had been exploring some uninhabited hallway just a few minutes before. She and Anne were still friends, and they still frolicked around the castle whenever they got a chance.

Anne kissed her first, very briefly right before the end of class rush, and Eugenia felt the blush blossom across her cheeks before she was left alone in her hallway, hearing the students’ chatter coming closer, feeling her lips tingle from her friend’s touch. They went farther in the months following, and they were merry and laughed at each other as their limbs tangled, Eugenia’s head dipping backwards to let her giggles climb to the sky.

She had never wanted a romance; didn’t feel the need and couldn’t find the want in her chest, but this was fun and she had always loved Anne’s company and Anne was fine with the lack of romance–she had another lover a few floors up, anyway.

In the days when Anne and her other friends were all occupied, or when the rush of students in and out never seemed to end, the creatures around her kept Eugenia company. They enjoyed grazing from painting to painting, and Eugenia was blessed with ponds and blue skies, so she got to experience the most wonderful array of animals. Her favorite were the hippos, but the birds and butterflies were lovely as well. Many of them liked her, but a few just did not care–a bird even pooped on her head once, and Eugenia barely let out a screech before she was jumping up and waving them out of her frame. It took them many months of repentance before she allowed any animals back in her scene.

“Are…?”

Eugenia stared down at the girl–well, a woman, really. It had been, what, four years since this one had first entered the castle? And what did she want now? “Yes? Would you like to give me the password? I don’t have all day, you know.” And she didn’t, she had plans later: a picnic with a new friend… if she could get away.

The girl fumbled with her hands. She was usually much more composed, really. Betty, her name was. Gryffindor Captain. Usually held her shoulders high, said the password quickly, let Eugenia get back to her life.

“Yes, sorry,” Betty murmured. “I just, I saw you and another woman here earlier, and I was wondering… are you two, er, a couple?”

Eugenia snorted. “No, we are not.” She stared down at Betty’s face as it fell, as fear darted over quickly. “We are friends, Anne and I. We live like the Greeks,” she gestured with her grapes. “Don’t have time for that coupling nonsense.”

Betty blinked quickly. “Ah, so you…”

Eugenia cleared her throat. Alright, she could move this conversation along. She was supposed to picnic at sunset, and at this rate she wouldn’t get there until the moon had risen fully. She crossed her arms and shifted on her seat. “It’s Euphraïlde for you, isn’t it? The Lestrange girl?”

Betty’s head jerked up, her curls bouncing, her eyes wide. “I–uh…”

“Personally, I thought it was an odd choice,” Eugenia informed her. “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor? Really?”

“Oh, no,” Betty shook her head rapidly, “she’s so lovely, don’t think like that! She’s kind, and funny, and she just…”

Eugenia raised her eyebrows when Betty’s words ended and a pretty smile took over her face. “Did you have a password for me?”

“Do you have a name?” Betty blurted.

Eugenia sniffed. “I do.”

“May I know it? I’ve been here for a while, I was realizing I just don’t really know much about you.”

The hippos behind her gave a grunt and she held in a groan. “My name is Eugenia.”

“Eugenia,” Betty smiled again. “My name is Betty.”

“Yes, I know, you’ve been here for four years. Now, do you have a password or not? I have a picnic to get to.”

Anne teased her about it afterwards���“no longer anonymous, are you?”–“other students have known my name, you can shut up now”–but Eugenia couldn’t deny that this was different. Betty brought her girlfriend by a few weeks later, and even though Eugenia truly wished to keep the Gryffindor space closed (she had enough students bothering her already), she was forced to let Euphraïlde in after she saw how timid the girl was, how she bounced back and forth, and how Betty’s arm never left her back.

Eugenia placed her head in her hands when the door swung shut behind the two. She would hate it, this idea that had just popped into her head. Anne would be far too happy about it. But it was necessary.

In her thirties, Eugenia made sure to invite all her lovers to her portrait at some point or another. She enjoyed the company, she did, and she enjoyed the looks on her students’ faces when they saw her with a new suitor, gender be damned. Some of the students were idiots, but they always had been, so this was not too surprising. Some of the students were like Betty, and smiled at Eugenia softly, nodding at the people in her frame before heading off to class. Some of the students asked her name, and she begrudgingly gave it each time, if only for equity of information–Eugenia knew far too much about all of these dumb students, it was only fair they know a piece of her as well. Unequal relationship if not.

“So you do have a relationship with them?” Anne asked, and Eugenia scoffed, pushing her shoulder until she fell backwards into the flowers. Anne grinned up at her, and Eugenia hid a smile.

She supposed the nickname some students adopted for her only made sense; not everyone asked her name, and everyone needed something to call her. While she might have gone with ‘Lady Who Guards the Gryffindors’, Eugenia understood this was too long for everyday conversation. And so, The Fat Lady she became.

She had started meeting with Brian a few years ago. He was a decent enough man when he was Headmaster, and his painting was quite a delight. He enjoyed making the climb from the Entrance Hall to Eugenia’s nook, and always kissed her cheek before departing at the end of their time together.

“Are you free next weekend, Brian?” Eugenia would ask.

“Brian The Third,” he’d toss over his shoulder, jumping over a rock or across a stream.

She’d smother her smile. “Are you free?”

“Depends on whether you call me by the proper name, Eugenia dear.”

And she never would, and he’d always return.

He enjoyed lavishing her with food–“you’re my queen, darling, and I want to treat you well in every aspect”–and he blessed her with smooches every chance he got. He was particularly fond of her hair free, and sometimes she’d sneak down to his portrait in the dead of night, locks curled around her shoulders, to kiss him awake.

“It is okay with you,” she confirmed, “that we aren’t… together?”

Brian raised his eyebrows and tossed a grape in her mouth. “We are together right now. We were together last night.”

“But we–”

“And you’ll return to your Gryffindors, and I’ll come visit you. If you’d like.”

Eugenia nodded. “Yes, I’d like that. But I don’t…” she pressed a hand to her chest, pushing on her sternum, wrapping a hand around her waist.

“I like you as a person,” Brian told her. “I like spending time with you. I like when you kiss me. I like to kiss you.”

“I like to kiss you too.”

Brian tossed another grape, and it bounced off of her breast. She rolled her eyes at him when he grinned. His smile faded, though, and his eyes were sincere. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Eugenia told him. “Just checking.”

Brian hit the other breast with a grape and Eugenia cackled, then pelted him with a few in retaliation.

By her forties, Eugenia was fairly confident in her singing. It called her lovers to her, it repelled students, and honestly, what more could she ask for in a talent? She enjoyed that this was part of her personality to students–just being The Fat Lady was only moderately degrading, and she liked that they’d groan when they heard her, coming up the hallway. Sometimes she’d serenade them, making the loud ones blush, making the shy ones grin, telling stories of her youth–how had it been so many years already? Headmasters had come and gone, past students’ children were entering the halls… Eugenia shook her head and sang louder.

The day she discovered she could crack a glass with her voice was an outstanding one. She yipped with glee and the dog asleep on the lawn next to her groaned at being awakened.

“No, you don’t understand,” she chortled, “my voice! Is so stronggggg!” She leaped into the air and sang until Anne came to congratulate her.

Eugenia knew her fifties would be the prime of her life–and this was only partially because she would be fifty until the end of time. Her youth had happened, and honestly, she was still in it, but also, what had to change? She was as plump as could be, had friends and lovers all around the castle, and fairly decent working relationships with the professors and students, after only a few years of strife in regards to the volume of her singing. The students were still idiots, but there was the occasional one every now and again who was halfway decent, and many each year with whom she had talking relationships–“no, Anne, like a professional talking relationship, like I have with the professors–no, those aren’t real relationships, no, go back to your portrait now, shoo.”

There were a few students for whom Eugenia refused to bend the rules. Poppy Pomfrey was allowed to visit her girlfriend Minerva, and Rubeus was allowed to reenter when his friends brought him by. Eugenia was all too happy to play innocent when Albus would ask her if the boy had been seen in the castle–he was a prick as a student, a prick as Headmaster.

Tom Riddle, however, was not allowed to enter. Eugenia hated the way he watched the others, and she didn’t like his smooth mannerisms–namely, the way he informed her there was someone he had to meet inside, rather than respectfully asking for entry. She never allowed a non-Gryffindor to enter alone, and the flare of his nostrils when she told him no was enough to ensure he was never allowed to enter at all.

She wasn’t surprised when she later found out Tom’s goals. She had seen the students grow more fearful over the years. She saw the Muggleborn students watch over their shoulders a bit more. She made sure to sing louder when they were in the hallway, so they knew they were never alone. She let no Slytherins into the Gryffindor common room for several years.

And then Sirius Black stood in front of her one day. And he had the correct password. And as much as Eugenia tried to sniff her way to superiority, this Slytherin-born child would not let her.

“Oi, narrow-minded hag, let me the fuck into my common room!” He stomped his foot, the petulant kid he was. “I have the password, you imbecile, I literally told it to you, what more do you want?”

Eugenia crossed her arms. “You’re telling me you’re a Gryffindor.”

“I literally came in here last night.” He gestured to her wall, eyes wide. “I literally slept in there. I’m a Gryffindor.”

“But your fa–”

“Don’t you even dare,” the boy marched forward. His eyes were dark and his hair long. He stopped right in front of Eugenia’s face. She didn’t allow herself to back away. “I am a Gryffindor.”

She held his gaze. He was strong. His jaw was set. And Eugenia let him in, closing behind him with a smirk as he swore strongly in passing.

The boy did not like her, calling her “piss off” and “go to hell” (to which she responded that this portrait was, in fact, her home, and she would be here indefinitely)–and Eugenia didn’t like him, except for the fact that ‘hell’ was a Muggle concept and even as he swore at her she saw the corner of his mouth lift. She saw him talking with the Muggleborns in their year. She snuck around the castle to see what he got up to in his downtime, and saw him causing mischief absolutely everywhere. Anne tried to convince her that she liked him, and, as per usual, Eugenia told her off.

She most certainly did not like that Potter boy–equally as cheery as his father before him, far too loud and incredibly obnoxious, waking her up in the middle of the night, entirely invisible, to let him in and out of the common room. Hogwarts at night was a serene place, not one for immature children to roam around. But her job was her job, and she could not deny a Gryffindor entry.

“You know,” Anne told her one day, resting her chin on Eugenia’s shoulder, “we were exactly like them.”

“No, we were not.”

“Yes, we were. Two young kids, flirting and running around–”

“Flirting?”

“Have you seen Sirius with Remus?”

Eugenia frowned.

“Watch them, I’m telling you.”

And Eugenia watched them, and she made sure to invite Anne around, and Circe, a new friend from a few floors up. She kissed Circe square on the mouth as Remus walked up one day, bade her farewell, and waited while Remus gathered himself before sputtering out the password. Eugenia was pissed when, a few years later, he and Sirius woke her up as they snuck back in late at night. Yet, she couldn’t deny that her chest warmed when she shut the door behind them, hearing their soft murmurs from inside.

“I have a question for you,” Eugenia asked Sirius one day.

He pushed his hands into his pockets (jeans, of course–why wear something wizard when Muggle would do?) and smirked. “I was going to give you the password, calm down.”

“No, not that,” Eugenia shook her head. “You’re not a Slytherin.”

Sirius crossed his arms and stepped backwards. “I thought we discussed this years ago.”

“Calm down, boy, we did. You’re not a Slytherin, but your family is. Don’t you have a brother here?”

Sirius lifted his chin. “Depends who’s asking.”

Eugenia snorted. “I am.”

“What’s your name?”

Eugenia sighed. “Eugenia.”

“Well, Genie–”

“Don’t call me Genie.”

“–there is another Black child in this building. He lives down in the dungeons, with the brainwashing brats.”

Eugenia inhaled. Offering favors was always difficult. And unenjoyable. But she remembered Betty, and knew it must be done. “You could bring him here, if you wanted. I do occasionally allow Gryffindors to let members of other houses in.”

Sirius’s face froze. “You… yeah?”

“To visit,” she quickly clarified. “This could not be a habitual act. Strictly occasional.”

“No, yeah, of course…”

“Hm,” Eugenia pretended to think. “Perhaps in return, you and your friends could wake me up less in the middle of the night, because it truly is quite rude.” She leaned back and popped a grape into her mouth. “Just something to think about.”

Sirius’ mouth twitched.

She hummed. “I’ve seen that Severus lad around though, and I don’t think he is welcome.”

Sirius laughed. “No, Snivellus is not.”

“I don’t like the way he talks to Lily,” Eugenia informed him.

Sirius nodded. “We don’t either.”

Sirius had a new nickname to add to his repertoire after that, and although Eugenia corrected him brashly every time he asked what wish she would grant, the name ‘Genie’ stuck. She noticed that Peter liked this new name, in particular–he had always winced when calling her ‘The Fat Lady’ in the past, and she felt he made more eye contact with her in using this new name. He was the only one she wouldn’t correct. James said it too gleefully, Remus with too much unfounded sass, and Sirius was just an asshole.

The asshole grew up, though. He mentioned offhandedly that Eugenia, despite all her warts–“hush child, I’m voluptuous and incredible”–was better behaved than the portraits that lived back at the Black house.

Brian was here for this, and he raised his eyebrows at Eugenia after Sirius had left. “You’re better than the portraits at his home?”

Eugenia did not let him come back to her portrait for a few weeks, purely out of principle. But she made sure that her insults were much less harsh after that. The boy was a Gryffindor, after all. He should feel safe at home.

She and Anne talked often about how odd it was that their students never really returned. Yes, some did, as professors, but they didn’t really. Minerva nodded at Eugenia kindly when entering the common room, but there was a bit of embarrassment as well–Eugenia had known her when she was bumbling around with the school nurse. Eugenia was a third party in what was now a friendly professional relationship.

Eugenia wanted to mention, somehow, that she knew much about sexual relationships coexisting with friendships, and friendships taking priority, and that, honestly, Minerva didn’t need to worry so much–Eugenia had been mentioning this to her for years, hadn’t she?–but there was never really a time, and Minerva was an adult now. Minerva was an adult, and the world was at war.

The portraits huddled together right outside the room where the professors discussed this war. They listened for anything that might alert them to what was going on in the world outside, and they ran around to tell their friends and dispel of nervous energy after the doors burst open and the news seeped out.

It did not surprise Eugenia that James and Lily had a child so soon after graduating. The two were always too dramatic, even though Lily had always made sure to never use that stupid nickname that Eugenia missed from time to time. It did surprise Eugenia that they died not even two years after the child’s birth. It distressed her that she knew the murderer. It bothered her, greatly.

Eugenia would let none of her lovers see her for weeks. She walled off her portrait and let in only the Gryffindors. Some students begged for their significant others to be let in, and Eugenia refused. She understood a war rampaged. She just didn’t want to allow it inside Gryffindor.

It was Poppy who came to her one day, many months after James and Lily’s deaths. The sweet boy Peter had died. Sirius Black was in Azkaban. Remus Lupin was lost to the world.

Poppy sat across from Eugenia, her knees knobby, her frame smaller than when she had anxiously paced back and forth, waiting for her girlfriend to come out for their date.

Eugenia would not give her the pleasure of speaking first. “Spit it out,” she hissed.

“Your judgement is sound,” Poppy said.

And the women stared at each other, and Eugenia could not make the words leave her throat.

“You do a good job here,” Poppy told her.

“I never get to see them again,” Eugenia whispered. “They leave, and they take their mischief with them.”

Poppy’s smile was wobbly. “And we are not there anymore to heal them.”

Eugenia spent the night in silence, and the next morning she informed each Gryffindor who left the common room that she would again open the doors. “But I have jurisdiction,” she said.

“Of course, Genie,” a fifth-year replied, winking at her. “You know best.”

She tried to hold back her flinch at the nickname, waiting until the child had turned the corner before she shuddered. A hippo rumbled behind her and she turned around to flip it off.

Severus came back a few years after, and it was as if he had never left at all. Tall boy, not grown into himself yet, sitting at the professors’ table when Eugenia peaked her head in. She didn’t like to sit in the Great Hall paintings–too much commotion–but enjoyed hearing the gossip. Sacrifices had to be made for gossip.

Eugenia liked whispering ‘Snivellus’ as he walked past her, hiding behind a rock in a landscape. He stopped and turned around, eyes darting every which way, and Eugenia held her snort. She gave a full belly laugh when he was gone, though, and scampered off to tell all her friends, her dress waving behind her.

She knew Harry Potter had to come at some point, but his wide eyes and horrific scar were not any easier to see with this vague preparation. She sang louder on his first night than she had in decades, and Anne sat a few portraits away to listen.

Harry’s friends were questionable, but of course he didn’t have a wonderful pool to choose from. Ron was too happy, Hermione was nosy and asked Eugenia’s name the first day the two met, and Neville forgot the password and made Eugenia late to far too many picnics for her to count.

Circe, from her position up by the towers, tried to get Eugenia to befriend a Slytherin–she pretended that wasn’t her motive, but how could it not be, sliding the boy’s name into every other conversation and using adjectives such as “lonely” and “snarky” to entice her? A Slytherin had to be brought by a Gryffindor, though. Eugenia had never let a random non-Gryffindor inside, and she certainly wasn’t going to start with Draco, a boy who made Hermione cry and hit her knee on Eugenia’s frame in her rush to get inside. The cheery boy Ron even lost his cheeriness every once in a while due to this lad. The slugs were funny, though, although Eugenia visited the infirmary that night and heard Poppy discussing the intense dehydration they had almost caused.

She and Anne spooked Draco for the next few months in any downtime they could find. It was like they were teenagers again, and the two adored it, stealing kisses in between jumping from portrait to portrait and calling his name–

“Draco…”

“Draco!”

“Draco, over here!”

“Draco…”

–so he didn’t know where to look.

Hogwarts was unsafe again, but Eugenia wasn’t really sure it had ever returned to safety. Since she had seen that boy Tom stand in front of her, she had always been a bit on edge. She found it ridiculous that Albus was still in charge–the previous headmaster hadn’t lasted nearly this long, and he didn’t have as many issues with her being a bit late to her post. Albus was a bit more of a stickler in that sense, the obnoxious man.

Eugenia tried to tell Minerva that she would make a better headmaster, and while she could tell the woman was pleased the first time she mentioned it, the conversation seemed to bring her annoyance more than anything else afterwards. Minerva’s strides would increase so Eugenia was in a full-on run between portraits, following the professor back to her classroom after a meal. The exercise was enjoyable, though, and Eugenia did snicker when telling the tale to Brian a few nights later, so it all was worth it.

Relations with Circe grew difficult, however. Eugenia feared at first that she hadn’t made herself clear, or that Circe wanted more from her–

“No, no, I’m fine with what we have,” Circe said, pushing her hand through her hair. She bit her lip and wouldn’t meet her lover’s eyes. “It’s just hard to watch. There are students here whose lives you could change.”

Eugenia scoffed. “Excuse me? I let them in and out of their rooms every day; they can’t function without–”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Circe placed a hand on Eugenia’s. “Of course you’re a presence in their lives. Of course their lives change because you’re in it. It’s just… you have the ability to do more.”

Eugenia pulled her hand away.

“I don’t understand why you won’t take the lost ones under your wing.”

A jolt ran through her. Circe’s eyebrows knit together.

“I just… you could do so much.”

“Take the lost ones under your own wing,” Eugenia snapped.

“I’m trying. I talk to them, I do, but they don’t listen…”

Eugenia laughed. “And they would listen to me?”

“They have to talk to you, you quite literally have a space where they could feel at home–”

Eugenia stood, pulling her dress up, over her shoulders. The fabric felt wrong. Too heavy on her body. “They have to talk to me? Oh, no, they don’t.”

“Don’t leave,” Circe pleaded. But she remained seated, and bit her lip. “I just mean, you could make Gryffindor a place for people to feel at home. Like you do for the queer kids. Like you do for everyone.”

“Not everyone,” Eugenia said, and she turned to walk away, Tom Riddle’s face pounding in her brain.

Severus Snape, who still walked these halls.

Draco Malfoy, fast asleep in the dungeon.

Sirius Black, the boy she let con her.

Remus Lupin reentered the castle the following year. Eugenia watched him walk in with Anne, the two muttering about his face, the facial hair they had watched him grow, the scars they had witnessed appear. Eugenia noticed the same inability to form a full smile that she had seen from many students before. She understood why he felt blank.

He sought her out and she was grateful for it. He just strolled up one afternoon, and she looked at him solemnly.

“Password?”

He cracked a smile. “Ah, no, not today. I just wanted to come, and…” he looked around at the empty corridor.

“Am I the only one who knows?” Eugenia asked.

Remus met her eyes. “Yes.”

It fell silent, and Eugenia’s voice shook when she spoke next. “I hate him.”

Remus’s face wobbled into a smile. His voice barely made noise at all. “I love him.”

And Eugenia closed her eyes and sobbed, loudly and for a long time. When she opened her eyes, Remus was gone, and a crowd of students waited to be let into their common room.

Harry Potter was not like his father, and perhaps for this alone Eugenia liked him more. He was quieter, more respectful of others’ space and ears, and his snark was sparing but when it came out, it bit. Eugenia had to work very hard to hide her smirk each time she overheard it, and she loved that.

Nights were a bit quieter without Circe. Eugenia still had Anne, and Brian, and a few others, but she was more hesitant to make new friends–lovers or platonic. This castle was only so large, after all, and avoiding Circe’s disappointed looks took up far too much energy. Eugenia spent more time with the animals, letting cows come to graze and sheep curl up at her feet. She perfected the whistle to get her favorite dog to come and shoo all the animals away when the smell became too much.

But there was very little she could do when an animal existed outside of the painting. She couldn’t do anything but watch as the black dog in front of her watched her open her eyes. She didn’t know what was happening as the dog grew–

“Oh, fucking Merlin,” she breathed. She clutched her arms.

Older, yes. Withered. But the same hungry look in his eyes. Same glint like he knew more than she did. Same disrespectful stance, walking closer to her.

“Genie?” he whispered. “Genie, let me in. I need Harry, I need to–”

“Remus!” Eugenia screeched, like someone would come. “Minerva!” Her voice echoed down the hallway and Sirius turned.

“Re–what?” He shook his head. “No, Genie, I need Harry, let me in–”

“There is no way I am letting you in, Sirius Black–” she raised her voice again– “Sirius Black!”

“Eugenia!” he hissed. “Let me the fuck in, I need to get to Harry, he’s my godson–”

“Sirius Black!”

“Fucking–Eugenia, let me in!”

“Someone help me! Someone come! Sirius Black is here!”

“Oh, fucking shit, I–” he reached around the edges of her frame and Eugenia held herself, leaning backwards. He pulled and pulled, his face contorting and wincing each time Eugenia screamed louder. “Peter is in there, I need to get that son of a–”

“Get the fuck away, you shithead! You’re mad, Peter is dead, you–”

“Let me in–”

Sirius began to claw at her painting, and she shrieked and ran back. Her dog was barking now, and scurried off to other portraits. She could hear the castle come alive with the animal's yelps. Sirius stared at her, his jaw shifting, breathing heavily. He swallowed, morphed back into an Animagus, and scampered away.

There was very little Albus could do to console her. She tried to explain this to him many times–he had been obnoxious as a student, too rigid as a Headmaster, and now, clearly, not nearly rigid enough, if a murderer was on the loose in his school. Albus tried to explain that she’d have all the time and peace she needed, and he had her moved elsewhere for recovery. She swore at him all the way. She did not need to be moved, she needed confirmation Sirius Black had been locked up again. She needed Tom Riddle gone. She needed every Slytherin checked for their true alliances.

Eventually, she returned to her post at Gryffindor. Eugenia contemplated cutting off all her hair over the next year. She wondered if a lack of hair would give her a new mindset. She kind of wanted to grow a whole new part of her that had never seen tragedies before.

Brian sat with her while she cut it off; he spread the hair in the breeze for the birds to build nests with.

“Will you still find me attractive?” she asked.

Brian laughed. “It would take the work of a very dark wizard indeed for me to no longer find you gorgeous. Just… gorgeous.” He held her face in his hands and smiled. He kissed her softly. Eugenia walked back to her portrait slowly, listening to the sounds of the castle. She lay down in front of the Gryffindor common room and slept.

Age had not granted Ron Weasley any more quietness. Eugenia kept waiting, but even four years after she first met him, he spoke loudly and with glee. He made Harry and Hermione laugh far too often. Naturally, it was the moments when he and his trio were silent that intrigued Eugenia the most.

“Yeah, he’s at Professor Lupin’s house, he’s sending me letters–”

“I really can’t tell Mum, she’ll be horrified that Sirius Black is communicating with you–”

“No, I think she knows, I think they’re all working together–”

“I really don’t think so, I mean she was really–”

Eugenia stood up, and the sudden movement startled the three. “Are you talking about Sirius Black?”

Harry blinked. “Er, yes.”

“What are you doing with that man?” She felt her heart pump. “Is he here? Are you in danger?”

“No, no.” Harry stepped closer. “He’s innocent. He’s my godfather.”

And Eugenia listened, and her limbs barely waited to let the three in before sprinting down to Albus’ office. She screamed at his door until he came out, and she screamed at him once he stood in front of her.

She berated him for ruining this man’s life, for ruining that boy’s life, for keeping two people apart who very clearly needed each other. She screamed until her voice ran out, and then sat while he spouted bullshit at her, gulping water from the stream next to her. She interrupted him when her vocal cords worked again, and informed him he was to never stand in front of her again, and she would never allow him inside the common room again, and she–

Eugenia put her hands to her head.

“You’re an absolutely awful excuse for a headmaster.”

Eugenia saw Minerva on her stalk back to her portrait, and Minerva’s eyes dripped with tears. Her mouth opened, and Eugenia nodded, and heard Minerva’s steady voice grow shaky as she walked farther away. Good. Minerva would handle this.

She stopped Harry the next time he exited the common room alone. She told him she had known his parents. She told him he was most like his godfather, but that she could see parts of all of them in him. She loved the look on his face when she spoke of his family.

“Would you… I mean, could you tell me about them sometime?” Harry bit his lip and Eugenia nodded.

“I would. Perhaps you could do less sneaking out in the middle of the night, as payment.”

Harry blushed. “Ah, right.”

“It’s just, I’m fast asleep, you know. And then I’ve got to let you out, and then back in…”

Harry pushed his hand through his hair. “Yeah, no, yeah. Well, thank you.” He smiled up at her, and Eugenia felt her heart beat. “Your name is Eugenia, right?”

Eugenia leaned back and nodded slowly.

Perhaps it was time to bring this awful nickname back. Perhaps a boy’s sass could bring his adult self some comfort. Perhaps Eugenia wanted to change her own legacy in this castle, in her home.

She waved her grapes around in the air, and spoke to the boy. “Yes.” She smirked pleasantly. “I go by Genie.”

[eydi-andrius]

The Beginning after the Finale

Pairing: Yoonbum x Foreigner Detective Female Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: Idk I used my notes for this. :/

Warnings: May or may not continue this one.

- Also, this is my first published fic cuz' I'm a coward so there will be many grammatical errors but I did try to proofread it. I SWEAR!

- Lastly, I'm a new user of tumblr.

- Oh yeah! ALWAYS WEAR YOUR SEATBELT and I did wrote some curse words...

Summary: A childhood acquaintance of Yoonbum came back to find out that her first case in South Korea will include Yoonbum as a victim.

(I'm always looking for fics about after KS but found a little so I created one for myself.)

The story starts after the chapter ending of Killing Stalking.

You just came back to your hometown after studying and working a bit in US. You never really want to stay there in the first place but your parents doesn't like you staying alone in South Korea. You can't really argue with that. A 16 year old highschool student alone and living on a "not so safe neighborhood where a renter uncle beat the shit out of his nephew while his grandmother watch the whole ordeal afraid of his son putting his anger on her."

You can't help but sigh after remembering what happened to your childhood friend whose name you can't remember.

Him, his uncle and grandmother rents a house your parents owned. The rent was cheap because your parents doesn't really care about the money. At that time they just want a good neighbor to live next to the house where their daughter lived alone.

The uncle appeared to be friendly, caring and kind when he applied for the house. Having his mother lived with him was a plus to your parents because at least someone old will took care of you for sure. However, after his nephew's parents died on a tragic accident, the uncle became aggressive and unreasonably hit his nephew and blame him for what happened.

Of course when your parent's found out your mother's hystericlly ordered you to go lived with them abroad. At that time, you flat out refused them but after hearing their second angry suggestion of kicking out the renter, you just decided to go and obey them afraid of making it worse for the nephew.

"The nephew hmnnm..." you murmur as you try to recall that nephew's name and face. It's been too long and you only remember bits of information about him. Like how feminine his stature was. The way he look shyly when you greeted and passed by him on the streets while walking to school. How his face powdered with red whenever you saw him and smiled widely at him. However despite all those memories, his face and identity remained a mystery. His face was blurry, same with his name.

You huffed angrily as you drum your fingers on the steering wheel. You're annoyed to yourself for forgetting the most important information. Nostalgia seeped through you whenever you think about him. Maybe because you thought he was unique and had an honest air around him. You liked that and you'd like to see him again. And deeply you hoped that he was doing fine.

"DEATH PENALTY FOR THAT BASTARD PSYCHOPATH!" You got spooked after hearing a loud booming voice from a megaphone. It was a quiet day and a shout like that can be heard throughout this town. Luckily the traffic light blared red and so you've got a chance to observe what is happening outside.

Lots of people are yelling with placards on hand in front of Jonggan Hospital. Young and old were gathered outside. Looking and shouting angrily to put a certain someone named "Sangwoo" to jail until he die or punished him with death penalty. You frowned. Death penalty isn't a thing in South Korea anymore right? This person probably did something horrendous to get a suggestion like that from old and young folks.

"Good heavens! What happened to this small town?" You questioned as you shake your head then look at the countdown for a greenlight ready to go forward. Two seconds more. You said on your head.

One last look on the crowd and you decided to drove off when a scrawny boy decided to run when the greenlight was on. You stopped before you run over him but your car still bumped his body. Making him fall over the pedestrian lane.

"Fuck!" You yelled shocked and angrily from the unexpected accident. Hurriedly, you got out your car to see if the man was okay.

You heard the loud beeping noise of horns behind your car when you got out furious at you for stopping so suddenly. However, you are more concerned to the man you almost run over with your car.

"Are you okay!? Do you know how dangerous running on a pedestrian lane with greenlight on!?" You yelled worriedly as you crouched down to check if he was okay.

The guys seemed shocked about what happened and continued to look down on the cement. And so you decided to touch both of his cheeks with your hands and forced his face to look at you. Your eyes went wide as you recognize the face infront of you.

"I'm sorr-"

"Yoonbum!" You interrupted the guy's apology as he spoke when you recognized that small and scrawny face of your childhood neighbor. The nephew you're thinking about just earlier.

Yoonbum blinked when you yelled out his name in surprise.

"Do I k-know you?" Yoonbum stuttered as he frowned questioningly at you.

"Oh my gosh! It's really you! This is me, [Y/N]. You look thinner than you do when we were younger." You beamed as slowly all of your memories of him came flooding back. That scrawny, shy and honest boy you knew is right in front of you.

"[Y/N]? I-" The angry noises of car horns stopped Yoonbum from talking and you realized where the two of you at the moment.

"I'm glad that I got to see you again but the road is not a place for our little reunion. C'mon!" You smiled as you offer your hand and help him to get into your car.

You repeatedly look at the rearview mirror to confirm if the guy you just saw and almost run over was really Yoonbum. Feeling your eyes at him, he looked at the rearview mirror too and your eyes meet. He immediately look away while an obvious blush painted his cheeks.

"I really can't believe this. I was just thinking about you earlier you know. And pondering over what's your name and how do you look but then I run over you. I mean, almost." You chuckled as you slightly looked at him while driving.

You wet your lips and continue talking. "I'm so happy to finally meet you again, Yoonbum." Smiling slightly while looking at the rearview mirror. This time, your eyes meet again but he didn't look away.

"Uhmmm.." You heard Yoonbum uttered softly so you glance his way. You saw him twiddling his thumbs.

"Go on." You nod while looking at the road to encourage him to say whatever he had in mind.

"Do I know you?" Surprised, you stopped and your car screeched loudly. You heard a loud thud beside you.

"Awwww...."

You gasped in horror when you saw Yoonbum's bloody forehead. You immediately grab some tissues on the back sit and dabbed softly on his open wound. That's when you realized that all this time he was not wearing his seatbelt. You cursed under your breathe and muttered a silent sorry to Yoonbum for driving carelessly. You just didn't expect him not to know you when he voluntarily rode your car and listen to your ramblings about him.

Luckily you're on your way to the hospital parking lot. You were really worried about Yoonbum earlier that you decided to bring him to the hospital to be checked by the doctors if he had any injuries from the almost accident.

You got out of the car immediately and guide him to the emergency entrance. On your way there, you saw a police in uniform narrowed his eyes on your direction and jogged angrily where the two of you are. You felt Yoonbum's grip tighten on your hand.

When the police was just two steps away from you and Yoonbum. You hid him fast and pushed the officer away.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! What do you think you are doing? You are scaring my friend, officer." You said sarcastically as you shoved the glaring guy in front of you.

The police officer eyebrows knitted into one. "Ma'am, I mean no harm to you and your friend. But I need to talk to him." He emphasized the word friend as he tried to look behind you. You felt Yoonbum cowers in fear. You hold tightens on his hands. Clearly, there was really something wrong here. However, even though you want to fight the man in uniform, Yoonbum needs his wound treated.

"I'd like to let you, good sir but my friend's head is bleeding and he needs immediate care."

You didn't wait for his reply and you brought Yoonbum to the nearest nurse to help him with his wound.

From your peripheral vision, you saw the officer followed the two of you. When the nurse finally assisted your friend, you immediately stop the officer from interrogating Yoonbum further.

"You know, I don't have any clue about what you need from Yoonbum but can you stop? He almost got into an accident today and by the way his body responds to you, you were making things harder for him. So can you please stop." You glared daggers at the officer who just replied on your statement with a frown.

"Ma'am-"

"[L/N], [Y/N] [L/N]" You interrupted him which made his frown into a scowl.

"Okay, Ms. [L/N]. By the way you look, you're probably just got here and don't know what happened. Your friend there, Mr. Yoon was a victim of a serial killer. Him being out is not good for he was still suspected to be an accomplice even though the court already ordered his innocence." He nonchantly explained as he pointed his hand to Yoonbum who's being tended by a nurse.

He left your mouth agape with his revelation and walked pass you to sit beside the now patched Yoonbum. You followed and immediately hugged Yoonbum protectively from the officer who didn't even tell his name yet.

Then you remembered that Yoonbum doesn't remember you still and so you dropped your arms and just crouched in front of him to look into his eyes. You hold his hands and help him remember you.

"Yoonbum. This is me [Y/N]. The ow-"

"Owner of the house my uncle rented for us." You smiled when Yoonbum continued your sentence. He smiled back with that boyish innocent smile you remembered before but with eyes full with uncertainty and sadness.

"Sorry for interrupting your little reunion but didn't I told you Mr. Yoon to not go out alone to Jonngang Hospital?" The officer glared at Yoonbum who was trying to look and move away.

You bit your lips and stand up to fight the officer for being rude to the obvious scared Yoonbum.

"You nasty off-"

"Seungbae. Officer Seungbae for you Ms. [Y/N]" He interrupted looking at you. As if telling you to fight him.

"Okay, Officer Seungbae. I do understand that you're just trying to protect Yoonbum but can you please stop being nasty and rude to him. He was obviously shooked from what happened to him earlier-"

"And if you don't know Ms. [Y/N], the foreigner. In Jonggang Hospital lies the culprit who broke your friend's legs and forced him to do nasty things for months. And if the people caught him there, the people might become more hostile and believed further that he was an accomplice. Just letting you know in case you don't know" Your jaw clenched at the sneering statement of the officer. You're not annoyed by the fact that you know nothing on Yoonbum's case but the fact that this officer was basically putting all of his anger at you and making you look like a fool.

Instead of continuing the banter with him, you looked at Yoonbum's eyes again who continued to look away.

You have these cases in the US when you're still working there as a detective. Some serial killer let a victim alive to break them and make them believe that they were just like them. Cases abroad are nastier than in here but after hearing that your friend had suffered directly from a psycopath made your heart wrenched in sadness for him. It will take some time to heal them but knowing the person who suffered made you want to help them more wholeheartedly.

"Yoonbum please look at me" You placed both of your hands upon his cheek guiding his face to look at you.

"I don't know what happened and do not know the real reason why you still want to see him despite what he did to you. Maybe to see him suffer or whatever but I believe that you're innocent. Maybe he ordered you to do nasty things to make you crazy or make you believe that you're just like him but I still do believe in your innocence because you are a victim of him too. Whatever you have in mind, I'll listen to you and guide you through the process. Trust me." You looked at him with your heart out to let him know your sincerity to help him despite the years you hadn't been with him.

Yoonbum looked at you for sometime and then nod squeezing your wrists near his cheeks.

You smiled at him.

You admire how strong he was despite all the struggles he suffered through his lifetime. You promised to yourself that you will help him this time and will not runaway because its dangerous or whatsoever.

You squeezed his hands tight and nod at him happily.

P.S. Notes are highly appreciated. Thank you so much!

[littlespoonevan]

pick me up and take me home again

Ahh so I’ve been planning to write this for ages and I finally decided to start it - very ironically - about an hour before the 10x06 deleted scenes dropped lmao. So here’s some outsider pov on mickey and ian’s relationship as everyone reacts to mickey being released from prison and back in the gallagher house!

title comes from 400 lux by lorde

I hope you like it :)

*

Liam first remembers hearing Mickey’s name when Ian disappears right before Monica dies. He wasn’t supposed to hear, he doesn’t think, since Lip and Fiona had been whisper-yelling at each other. But Fiona had said “When does Ian ever think things through when Mickey’s involved?” and it’d made him curious.

“Who’s Mickey?”

He remembers how they’d both abruptly cut off, turning to stare at him like they were both at a loss for words until Fiona had finally said Mickey used to be Ian’s boyfriend when Liam was a toddler.

Liam had wracked his brain after that, trying to picture him but he could only remember vague snatches of a person. Ian had come home a couple of days later anyway, looking sad even though no one had told him about Monica yet. When they’d been in their room that night Liam had climbed up onto Ian’s bed and said he couldn’t remember who Mickey was and then immediately regretted it when Ian had looked like he was about to cry.

But he’d smiled a little after a moment and took out his phone, scrolling for a second before he’d handed it to Liam. The person in the picture with Ian had looked familiar in the same way you recognise an actor in a movie sometimes but have no idea why. He was pale with black hair and shorter than Ian and he was grinning in the picture with Ian’s arm around his neck, flipping the camera off.

“He looks familiar,” Liam had offered because Ian still looked sad and Ian’s smile had gotten a little brighter then.

He doesn’t hear Mickey’s name again until the day after Ian goes to prison when Lip gets off the phone with him and announces with a disbelieving laugh that Mickey is Ian’s cellmate.

“How the hell did that happen?” Fiona had asked, eyes wide with surprise, and Carl had been the one to answer.

“Mickey’s gone to jail for Ian before,” he’d said like it was obvious. “He loves him.”

Liam has never actually seen Mickey in person – at least, not that he can remember – so he doesn’t exactly expect it when he goes into the kitchen one evening and finds his brother at the stove with his arms wrapped around someone decidedly shorter than him with black hair. It has to be Mickey.

Liam watches from the living room entryway for a minute. Ian’s grinning in a way he hasn’t since he’s come home, hands on Mickey’s hips, and Mickey’s leaning against the counter, rubbing his hands over Ian’s arms and looking up at him with a smirk.

“Still can’t fucking believe you’re standin’ in front of me,” Ian says quietly but still loud enough for Liam to hear. “Missed you,” he adds, kissing Mickey’s lips and then the side of his face.

Liam raises his eyebrows – he’s never seen Ian like this. He’d met Trevor and he’d been nice enough but Ian had never been…in love around him.

Mickey laughs, draping his arms over Ian’s shoulders and loosely linking his fingers together at the back of Ian’s neck. He looks like he’s about to reply when his eyes catch on Liam standing in the doorway and he pauses. His eyes flick to Ian again and it’s enough to make Ian turn around.

Ian smiles when he notices Liam but Liam doesn’t miss the fact that his cheeks are red. “Hey buddy! We were just gonna make some food. Have you eaten yet?”

Liam shakes his head, ambling into the kitchen and hauling himself up into one of the seats at the breakfast bar.

“Mac and cheese good with you?” Ian asks him and Liam nods absently, watching Mickey. There’s the vaguest sense of recognition in the back of his mind, flashes of memories he can’t really grasp.

“You’re Mickey,” he says without preamble and Mickey huffs out a laugh, looking from Ian to him.

“Yeah,” he replies. “You’ve gotten big, kid.”

It’s weird that Mickey can remember him so clearly but he can’t do the same.

Ian’s grinning as he listens to their little exchange, dumping the box of macaroni into the pot. “Liam doesn’t really remember much from before,” he explains and Mickey raises an eyebrow at Liam as if looking for confirmation.

“Probably for the best,” he snorts.

“Ian showed me a picture,” Liam supplies.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asks, cutting an extremely amused look at Ian. “When was this?”

“When he went to visit you that time,” Liam says, blinking in confusion when both Ian and Mickey freeze. He doesn’t really understand why – especially why Ian looks like a deer caught in the headlights. When the silence gets awkward, Mickey clears his throat.

“He did, huh?” he says softly and Liam hopes Ian doesn’t think he’s being subtle when his hand wraps around Mickey to squeeze his hip as he pretends to still pay attention to the boiling pasta.

Liam nods uncertainly. “Yeah. He was all sad ‘cause he missed you.”

It’s the right thing to say because Mickey gets a quiet smile on his face and his hand settles over Ian’s on his hip.

“He’s missed you since he came home too,” Liam adds as a further attempt at damage control, making Ian groan and give him a look.

“Oh my god, Liam,” he says long-sufferingly but Mickey laughs.

“Y’know what, kid, you were always my favourite Gallagher,” Mickey tells him with a smirk, shoving Ian when he tries to elbow him in the ribs.

And Liam finds himself smiling, if not for the fact that his brother is so happy then for the sense of familiarity he feels right now. A lot of people come through this house but not many slot into their lives so comfortably. He can feel the fact that Mickey has a place here though, even if he can’t remember it.

He thinks he might like having him around.

*

Tami is just getting used to the madness that is the Gallagher house when Ian’s convict boyfriend suddenly shows up out of the blue one day, walking around like he’s always been there. And she doesn’t actually think she’s being unreasonable when she says she doesn’t want a criminal around her baby.

“You know Ian was in prison too, right?” Lip points out later that night when she voices her concerns.

“Jesus Christ, he set a van on fire he didn’t murder anyone,” she says dismissively, keeping her voice pitched low so she doesn’t disturb Freddie in her arms.

“Mickey didn’t either,” Lip says, expression thoughtful. “At least, I don’t think so.”

Tami widens her eyes at him in an attempt to convey the full effect of her incredulity without yelling at him. “Are you serious right now?” she hisses.

Lip holds his hands up in surrender, leaning back against the wall their bed is pushed against. “Hey, if anyone in this family’s hated Mickey it’s me but he’s not so bad now. Plus, he and Ian actually know how to take care of a baby so they’ll come in handy as babysitters. Way more reliable than Carl.”

She doesn’t even want to know why they know how to take care of a baby, ignoring Lip’s attempts to coax her onto the bed with gentle hands on her hips. She sits down on her side of the bed of her own accord, careful not to jostle Fred, and shoots Lip a glare she thinks makes very clear just what she’ll do to his balls if anything happens to her baby.

If the way Lip’s eyes widen marginally is anything to go by, she’s made her point.

*

It’s a couple of hours later when she’s up with Fred for his late-night feed that she hears voices. Opening their bedroom door as quietly as possible, she slips out onto the landing and recognises Ian’s and – who she guesses is Mickey’s – voices. When she hears them coming up the stairs she panics, quickly stepping into the bathroom and pushing the door shut until it’s just shy of closing. There’s still a sliver of light where she can make out Ian and Mickey coming to a stop outside Carl’s bedroom that she guesses is theirs now too.

“Can’t wait to share your fuckin’ single bed that barely fits one grown adult again,” Mickey is saying, one arm slung around Ian’s neck as he looks up at him, a cocky tilt to his mouth.

Ian lets out a quiet laugh and Tami sees his hands sliding over Mickey’s sides. “I mean it’s an upgrade from our last setup.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey retorts, gaze flicking between Ian’s eyes and his mouth. “Say that again when I punch you for hogging all the fuckin’ blankets.”

Tami can’t see Ian’s face really but she can hear the smirk in his voice. “You say that like you don’t use me as your own personal blanket, Milkovich.”

“Yeah, well I don’t got a choice, do I?” Mickey says. “Like I said, you fucking steal the blankets.” He finishes his sentence with a swift jab at Ian’s ribs but Ian only laughs, backing him up against the wall next to the bedroom door and drawing him into a kiss.

And it’s…unexpected, really. Just how weirdly playful and affectionate they are. They sound like a real couple and she knows they are but they sound fucking married or on their way there, at least.

“Come on, I’m beat,” Ian is saying then, stepping away from Mickey until only their hands are connected. “Let’s go to bed.”

Mickey smiles at him and it’s such a contrast to the grimace she’d seen him wearing earlier she wonders how she’s even looking at the same person.

She doesn’t realise they’re coming towards the bathroom until it’s too late and she curses under her breath, making for the door and opening it just before they reach it.

Ian stops short and Mickey bumps into his back. “Tami,” Ian says, sounding confused but still polite.

“I was just giving Fred his feed,” she says, forcing her voice to sound casual. “Didn’t wanna wake Lip.”

Ian nods vaguely and they stand there in awkward silence for a beat too long before Ian seems to remember Mickey at his back. He turns to look between him and Tami. “Hey, have you two met or-?”

“We’ve met,” Mickey replies and she expects some hostility there but Mickey doesn’t seem to be able to help the curve of his mouth when he meets Ian’s gaze.

“Cool,” Ian says and his smile brightens again as he looks at Tami. “Mick’s my boyfriend,” he explains unnecessarily.

Tami flashes them a smile at that and finds she’s not faking it. “I better put this little guy down again,” she says, nodding to Fred in her arms. “Night, guys.”

She returns to the quiet of her and Lip’s bedroom and carefully deposits Fred in his crib, silently thanking him for not blowing her cover earlier.

She’s certainly feeling enlightened after that little encounter.

*

Carl’s always had faith in Ian and Mickey.

He might be dumb about a lot of things but he knew what he was talking about when it came to those two. He remembers asking Ian years ago if he loved Mickey and Ian had said he liked how he smelled. Carl didn’t really get it at the time but he remembers cuddling with Bonnie not long after that and sort of just breathing her in and feeling this weird calm settle over him.

That’s when he knew Ian knew what the fuck he was talking about when it came to love.

And that the only reason he knew any of that was because of what he had with Mickey.

So he’s always known they’d end up together – even when everyone else didn’t.

He’d say he’s annoyed about having to share a room with them but they’re being surprisingly tame right now – he figures he’d made the right decision giving the bedroom a wide berth all day until he absolutely had to go to bed.

Besides, it’s not like he’s not used to it from the old days.

They’re only talking now, whispering back and forth, and Carl knows he shouldn’t be listening but he can’t really fucking help it when they’re in his room.

“Man, are we ever gonna fuckin’ sleep in a bed that actually fits both of us?” Mickey asks quietly and Carl can hear the soft laugh Ian lets out.

“We had it pretty sweet at your place for those few months,” Ian replies.

Mickey makes some kind of unintelligible noise and then, “You think if we report Terry to the cops on some bogus charges we could move back?”

Ian laughs again, louder this time but still attempting to keep his voice down, Carl thinks. “I’m gonna get us our own place one day and buy the biggest fucking bed, I swear to god.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asks, sounding amused, and then there’s the distinct noise of lips smacking together.

Weirdly, it makes Carl want to smile.

“Mhm,” Ian hums. “A king-size or a queen-size, whichever one’s bigger. I can’t remember.”

Mickey breathes out a noise that sounds like a laugh and Carl hears the covers shift. “You makin’ plans again?”

“You don’t want to come live with me in our own private space with a big bed?” Ian asks in that shit-eating voice Carl knows all too well from when Ian decides to be a pain in the ass. “Fine. I’ll go sleep in the big bed all by myself. Think I’ll get one of those memory foam mattresses.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey replies and Carl’s not sure but he sounds like he’s smiling. “How’re you plannin’ on paying for all of this, hotshot?”

“It’s a goal to work towards,” Ian says affably and Mickey hums before there’s more kissing noises.

And Carl is really fucking happy for them, if he’s being honest. He knows he doesn’t know all the ins and outs of their relationship but comparing this conversation to the tentative, quick conversations they used to have before with Mickey on the floor and Ian in his bed, it’s just really clear that they’ve finally got shit figured out.

He’s pretty sure no one else deserves it more.

*

Debbie’s always sort of been secretly rooting for Ian and Mickey.

Call it the hopeless romantic in her or that gene inside her that’s so desperate to cultivate anything approximating family but she’s always thought Ian found a home in Mickey. More importantly, she’s always thought Mickey found the same in him – which can’t really be said for any of the other Gallagher siblings’ relationships.

Still, she doesn’t really expect to see them like this.

She gets home from work the day after Mickey is released from prison and finds them on the couch. Ian’s wedged into the corner, back pressed into the spot where the armrest meets the back cushion, and Mickey’s leaning back against his chest, both of their legs propped up on the coffee table.

They offer her a, “Hey,” when she comes into the living room.

“Hey,” she replies amusedly. She’s pondered a lot of things about their relationship but she never thought Mickey would be the little spoon, regardless of their height difference.

But he looks ridiculously content in Ian’s arms, with Ian trailing his fingers up and down his arm while his other arm overlaps with Mickey’s across Mickey’s stomach.

“Whatcha watching?” she asks, perching on the edge of the armchair and trying not to stare too much at how comfortable they look.

“Some gameshow thing,” Ian replies, suggesting they probably hadn’t really been paying attention to it all that much.

She nods in acknowledgement, eyes on the screen for a minute until Mickey’s voice pulls her attention.

“What a fucking idiot,” he exclaims. “The answer is obviously C. Who let this fuckin’ clown on the show?”

She huffs a laugh and then has to bite back a squeal when she realises Ian’s stifling his own laugh by pressing his smile into Mickey’s hair.

And they’re just. So fucking cute.

And she doesn’t think they were ever really allowed to be that before. They’re probably long overdue a honeymoon phase that lasts at least a year. She decides to leave them be then, let them enjoy their own little bubble for a while.

But she thinks from now on, when she wants relationship advice, Ian and Mickey are gonna be her go-to.

*

The thing is, Lip knew about Ian and Mickey long before anyone else did.

Carl and Debbie – and even Fiona – only knew when it counted. When Mickey was there, sleeping on their floor and then Ian’s bed and convincing Ian to go to the hospital and then to take his meds. They only knew when Mickey was too worried about Ian to worry about what everyone else saw.

They never saw the bad shit. The way Ian withdrew into himself more and more when Mickey got engaged. The fucking bruises and Ian’s tears and Ian’s heartbreak and Lip knows, rationally, that most of that shit wasn’t Mickey’s fault. That he was as much a victim as Ian was. But when Lip’s little brother and best friend in the world is getting his heart ripped to shreds Lip doesn’t feel all that sympathetic.

Thing is though, he forgave Mickey for that a long time ago.

Like he said, when it counted, Mickey was there. And Lip would have to be fucking blind not to believe Mickey didn’t love Ian after all that, would have to be the stupidest person on the planet not to think every fibre of Mickey’s being was devoted to Ian.

So he knows they love each other. He knows that.

But he’s never really seen them actually be a couple before.

He’s in the kitchen, making up Fred’s bottle for him and Mickey and Ian are over by the washer and dryer, ostensibly washing the clothes Sandy dropped over from the Milkovich house. But really, Mickey’s sitting on the dryer with Ian standing between his legs and Lip is so fucking glad for once that he’s running on about three hours sleep because he doesn’t have the brain capacity to pay attention to how disgustingly soft they’re being.

They’re laughing about something, hands roaming all over each other’s torsos and Lip wonders idly if Mickey’s smile is really that bright or if he’s become so sleep-deprived that he’s started hallucinating.

“You still need to give me your list for Costco,” Ian is saying and what the actual fuck? Are they talking about groceries?

“Uh, well, soap and shampoo at least,” Mickey says sarcastically. “Even though you’ll probably conveniently forget it so I keep using yours.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Ian snorts and Lip’s too curious not to look over as he sees Mickey give Ian a sceptical look.

“You think I don’t know about your little scent fetish?” Mickey says and Lip wants to bleach his brain. He hastily returns his attention to the bottle.

Ian splutters for a second before he laughs. “It’s not a fucking fetish, oh my god.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey retorts. “You think I don’t notice you fuckin’ inhaling my neck when we’re spooning?”

Okay, Lip has officially stumbled into a parallel universe where Mickey Milkovich is in his kitchen talking about spooning with his brother.

“I think I can control myself enough to let you use your own shampoo,” Ian scoffs and then, as far as Lip can tell, fucking proves Mickey’s point by dipping in to kiss the crook of Mickey’s neck. Or smell it, probably. Jesus, Lip needs to go.

Mickey starts laughing but it very quickly turns into a sharp inhale and Lip doesn’t stick around for anything else, just grabs the bottle and hightails up the back staircase to get Freddie from upstairs, right as he hears the dryer knock against the wall.

And despite the probable desecration of their family kitchen happening right now, he thinks it’s about time those two caught a break.

*

[bisexual-horror-fan]

~ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT OKAY~

Super fucking hyped to see your requests open again because-

The Time Is Now. The WLW Must Be Fed

So, I'd love to see your take on Fem! Burnt Bastard. Preferably, with a theme of Miss Reader accidentally calling her Mommy and she takes that to her FULL advantage. Bonus points if she wears an outfit that is a perfect recreation of what the reader's mother would have worn. Everything else is up to you, my dear friend. I know you'll do awesome

(anyway, take as long as you wish and if you decide not to take this request feel free to disregard the ask. No hard feelings regardless 😁😁)

Oh Gopher this is such a momentous occasion! You haven’t ever given me a proper request like this before and I had a lot of fun with this! I need to some more WLW content and I mean the chance to do Fem! Freddy was too fucking great to pass up obviously so even tho I haven’t done this kinda kink before it felt fun and very fitting. Happy MILFs I mean Mothers Day. 

Hope you like this! Let’s get into it.

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 1.3K. Fem!Freddy Krueger X AFAB! Reader. Warnings. Chase. Predator/Prey. Making Out. Biting. Grinding. Thigh Riding. Knifeplay. Light Bloodplay. Teasing. Mocking. Dirty Talk. Degredation. Mentions Of Punishment Play. And Of Course Mommy Kink.

---

Oh Don’t Tell Me...

---

So how you first started seeing her isn’t really important. Sure as shit doesn’t change the fact that she is here now and now that she is, she loves to pay you visits multiple days every week and has an unreasonably good time tormenting you. But to be perfectly fair you love it too, even if it had a tendency to be overwhelming, just like tonight. Now as for what was happening tonight, you were having a very normal dream, average and regular when it slowly twisted around you and eventually led to a chase. 

Her coming after you, the sound of metal scraping on metal as she dragged those blades along rusted pipes menacingly, distinct clicks of the heeled boots she wore as she pursued you. Calling your name in this sing-songy way of hers, she was in no rush to get to you, she knew that the chase was mostly an act, perfunctory at most, simple habit, a part of the game. You both knew your parts well by this point and played them well, so after what you had deemed an appropriate amount of time to as not seem THAT desperate you allowed her to catch you. 

Let her gain enough ground of her non-gloved hand to close around your wrist and she tugged you hard, pulling you to her, chest to chest as she locked eyes with you, small smirk playing on her lips as she said that once simple word, a hushed statement, “Gotcha.”

One simple word like that shouldn’t make your heart pound so hard but it did all the same. You had to fight to suppress your smile, trying not to show how excited you were for what was to come, her glove started low. Blades brushing your bare outer thigh, you never wore much to bed these days, it always ended up off of you by the end of the night anyway, you were in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of underwear and that was it, her hand dragged up, contact was kept light and didn’t break the skin, not yet, too soon for that. You anticipated her touch, eyes falling closed, ready and waiting and so excited and she took the opportunity to instead push you against the wall roughly, a small shocked sound leaving you as your back made contact with concrete. 

You got so caught up after that, her hands on you, blades scraping over your exposed skin, one of her legs between yours, kissing and biting your neck and the exposed skin of your shoulder from the loose neck of your shirt. You were breathing so much harder, your own chest rising and falling, eyes screwed shut as you ground on her thigh, hips moving slowly back and forth, unable to help or control yourself. She bit down hard on the space where your shoulder and neck met, her non-gloved hand under your shirt and pulling on one of your nipples and your breath caught in your throat and then you moaned.

The fact you moaned wasn’t unusual but what you moaned very much was, it totally changed the way tonight ended up going, it surely would have played out much differently if you moaned anything else, anything but what you did, anything but that breathy and quiet, “Mommy-”

You stopped.

She stopped. 

You could feel her smile against your neck and heard that soft laugh as she pulled back, “What was that?” 

“Nothing!” Okay you said that way too fast and way too loud and she tsk’d with a shake of her head as she said, “Nothing my ass. Oh no, no I know what I heard, princess.” she still had her hand under your shirt and tugged on your nipple again, harder and it made your back arch a bit off the wall with a small whine, “R-really, I didn’t say anything-”

And that glove came up, two of her blades under your chin as she said, “No lying to me now.” she pressed harder and it stung as she said, “Should I make you say it again?” she pressed her leg harder between yours and the increase of pressure had you grinding on her again, helplessly, you could feel the slide of your damp underwear against you, arousal was almost painfully obvious. 

She palmed you under your shirt and a flick of those blades under your chin, a light cut made you gasp it out again, she pulled it out of you against your will and hearing you say it again made her laugh. “Oh don’t tell me, you really ARE into that?” 

You bit your bottom lip and shook your head, “No, no I swear I’m not!” And that only made her laugh harder, mocking you, mimicking your voice perfectly, it always made you so embarrassed when she did that, hearing just how frantic and desperate you sounded as she parroted your words back to you in your own voice from her mouth. “No, no I swear I’m not!” 

She leaned in close again, mouth made contact with your neck again, a playful bite that made you whimper before licking up the collum of your throat, licking up the small amount of blood she had spilled and whispered in your ear, “You are too fuckin’ cute.”

Her hand was pulled from under your shirt and she took a step back, you pathetically tried to follow, wanting more contact, to keep her hands on you, keep her leg right where it was for you to rut against. You hated how much you enjoyed it, the first time she got you to do it you were in her lap and she called you out for acting like a little- “Bitch in heat.” but it felt so good you couldn’t help falling back into the habit again and again. The way she would tease you over it would make heat flare inside you that seemed to mirror the heat in the boiler room you were currently in. 

Then you heard a snap of her fingers on her non-gloved hand and you knew that meant one that and that made your eyes shoot open to confirm it and it was in fact true, a change of scenery. You were in the kitchen of your childhood home, leaning against the kitchen counter, it was daylight out, warm sunlight pouring in the window and you weren’t sure why you were here until your eyes landed on her on the other side of the room. 

“Well hey there hon.”

“Oh my God, what the fuck-” And there she was, dressed uncannily similar to your own mother, like she plucked the outfit right out of her own closet and you wondered how she did it, the recreation of the outfit and the kitchen and she was looking so very pleased with herself. “What’s the matter?” she was crossing the distance to you, glove was absent, holding her hands out as she asked, “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No! I-I never said I wanted this-” Her hands grabbed yours and she scoffed, “You didn’t have to. I took one look in that pretty little head of yours and saw everything.”

Shit. You always forgot she could do that. You could try to withhold information all you wanted but with your own thoughts could still betray you.

“Now if you don’t stop lying and admit it I might just have to put you over my knee.” She pushed you again, hard against the counter, her hands covering yours on the countertop, pressed chest to chest with you and you swallowed hard, “I-” A deep breath to try and compose yourself before you said, “I have nothing to admit.”

A small shake of her head with a breathless chuckle, “If you insist.” She started to walk backwards, tugging you along roughly, towards the kitchen table, you tried to fight but were no match and soon she was in a chair and you were thrown over her lap and she was hiking up your sleep shirt, hand rubbing over the curve of your ass as she spoke “Now tell me, what does she favor? Hand? Hair brush? Wooden spoon? I want to make sure I get this just right.”

[kjack89]

‘tis the damn season

Listen I’ve just been straight up vibing with the newest TSwift album over the past couple days and this more or less wrote itself. May inspire a part two at some point, but for now, E/R, modern AU, former relationship-ish. And not exactly a happy ending.

Enjolras’s shoulders were hunched as he sat on a barstool, surrounded by holiday revelers who all seemed to greet each other with the merriment expected of the season. He felt anything by merry, sitting in the shitty bar in his shitty hometown while his parents attended one of their upper class holiday parties.

“You really have to go?” Enjolras had asked, moodily, as he flopped down on his parents’ couch earlier that evening, sounding like he was still a teenager stuck at home while his parents went out.

His father had just grunted, and his mother had absently patted his head as she brushed past, pulling her coat on. “We always go to the Weinbergs’ Christmas party.”

Enjolras had scowled. “The Weinbergs are Jewish.”

“Their holiday party, then,” his mother had said, sighing. “And it would do you some good to get out of the house as well. Unless you really do intend for this Christmas to be a repeat of your high school years.”

She’d had a point, and so Enjolras had put on a cashmere sweater and his nice jeans and the pair of boots he’d spent a small fortune on before pulling on his red woolen coat and heading to the bar downtown, half-hoping and half-fearing he’d run into some old high school classmates.

Thus far, the evening had been a bust, and Enjolras sighed again, picking at the label of his beer. “You good or you want another?” the bartender asked, and Enjolras snorted lightly.

Truthfully, the answer to both questions was no, but he didn’t tell the bartender that. “I’m gonna close out, actually,” he said, pulling his wallet out from his inside coat pocket and slipping a twenty across the bar. “Keep the change, and happy holidays.”

He didn’t bother draining the last bit of beer from his bottle, instead heading outside and shivering as he stepped into the cold. It had dropped a few degrees since he’d arrived at the bar, and he tugged the collar of his coat up in a vain attempt to stop the winter chill. 

He rubbed his hands together and started off in the direction of his parents, stopping in his tracks when he heard a voice like something from a dream calling after him, “Hey Enjolras!”

Turning, Enjolras stared at the hauntingly familiar sight of a dark-haired man smiling crookedly at him. “Grantaire?” he asked, barely trusting himself to speak. “Is that really you?”

“It’s really me,” Grantaire confirmed, taking a step towards him, and Enjolras shook his head slowly, trying to believe it. “It’s been awhile.”

“Ten years, give or take,” Enjolras confirmed, looking Grantaire up and down. “You look—”

“Pretty much exactly the same?” Grantaire supplied with a wry chuckle. “Right back at you, Apollo.”

Enjolras barked a laugh at the old nickname. “And I see that hasn’t changed either, though I can’t say I feel like I embody the god of youth anymore.”

“Well, you always were an old soul.” Grantaire hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. “I was just heading out when I saw you, but if you wanted to grab a drink—”

“Oh, uh, no thanks,” Enjolras said. “I’ve had my fill of the Musain at this time of year.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Some things never change,” he said, backing away slowly. “Anyway, I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, so – Merry Christmas, Enj.”

Enjolras forced a smile. “Happy Holidays, R.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “Like I said, some things never change.”

He turned to go but stopped when Enjolras said, without knowing what possessed him to do so, “Some things do. I know I’ve changed.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Grantaire said lightly as he turned back, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth. “Still turning down alcohol and looking like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“In my defense, the last time I turned down alcohol when you offered it, I was 17.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “Not true. I saw you when you came back for Thanksgiving your senior year of college, and you were legal then.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You saw me when I was in the grocery store with my mother. Not exactly the right time to ask if I wanted to get a drink.”

“You underestimate just what I consider the right time to grab a drink,” Grantaire said easily, and Enjolras felt the breath catch in his throat at how familiar this was, their banter, their gentle – and not-so-gentle – teasing, even after all these years.

He may have arrived at his parents’ place two days prior, but for the first time since arriving in the town where he grew up, Enjolras felt like he was home.

He realized that Grantaire was looking at him expectantly and shook his head to clear it. “Sorry?” he said.

“I said, your teetotaling ways aside, you do still have that familiar look like someone who’s got a lot on his mind,” Grantaire said patiently.

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a gloved hand across his face. “You could say that,” he muttered.

Grantaire nodded. “Saving the world’s gotta be exhausting,” he offered, and Enjolras let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“I don’t know if I’d call overseeing a merger between two multibillion dollar corporations saving the world…” He trailed off, flushing slightly at hearing it out loud. “Well, let’s just say that I’m not here entirely voluntarily. The deal I was brokering fell through, and my firm’s making me take some time off until the new year.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “Multibillion dollar corporations?” he asked, his tone flat. “Brokering deals? I thought you were going into civil rights law.”

There was no hostility in his tone but Enjolras still felt immediately defensive. “I was,” he said. “I mean, I am. But law school, as it turns out, is expensive, and civil rights attorneys don’t exactly make a lot of money, so I decided to get my start in corporate law until I could pay off my loans and build up some cash reserves before I made the jump into the non-profit side of things.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “Weird,” he remarked, and Enjolras frowned.

“What?”

“Your mouth is moving but it’s your father’s voice that I’m hearing.”

Enjolras’s flush deepened. “Hilarious,” he snapped, tugging his coat closer around him as if it were a defense mechanism. “Sorry that the real world is a little more complicated than I apparently realized when we were in high school.”

“And now you sound like me. At least your ventriloquy skills have vastly improved over the last decade.”

Enjolras’s jaw clenched and he looked away, staring at a mound of snow on the sidewalk as if he could melt it with the force of his glare alone. “Well, sorry to disappoint you,” he said, his tone brittle.

Grantaire sighed. “Did I say I was disappointed?” he asked, and Enjolras glanced back up at him.

“You just said I sounded like my father and a cynic,” he spat. “I assumed both those things would be disappointing to you.”

Grantaire just shrugged, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You were always the one with unreasonably high expectations, Enj,” he said, sounding tired. “So if anyone’s disappointed here, it’s not me.”

This was familiar, too, but not the same warm familiarity as before. This was an ugly familiar, dredging up memories that Enjolras had spent the past decade trying to forget, fights that had long since passed but had never quite been resolved. His reasons for leaving; Grantaire’s reasons for staying. A confession from Grantaire that Enjolras had never let himself reciprocate, at least not out loud.

Old wounds that had never quite healed, old roads that Enjolras had never quite let himself take.

And standing where he stood now with the benefit of hindsight, Enjolras wasn’t sure he fully remembered why not.

“Anyway,” Grantaire said, backing away again, “like I said, I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, for old times’ sake, and—”

“We should meet up,” Enjolras said abruptly, and Grantaire looked at him, startled. “Hang out, I mean. While I’m in town.”

“Why?”

Grantaire sounded more curious than accusatory, and Enjolras shrugged. “Do I have to have a reason?” he asked, with a half-smile.

A smile that Grantaire did not return. “Since we’re not in high school anymore and I no longer ask ‘how high’ when you say ‘jump’...yes.”

Enjolras’s smile disappeared. “Fine,” he said coolly. “For old times’ sake.”

“Fine,” Grantaire said, matching Enjolras’s tone with something of his old defiance. “Let’s meet up. Your parents’ place or mine?”

Enjolras blinked, taken aback. “You still...live with your parents?” he asked hesitantly.

“No.”

“Then why…?”

“Because I no longer live here,” Grantaire said. “I’m just home for the holidays to see my folks.” 

“Oh.”

The single syllable said more than Enjolras could possibly have put into actual words, and Grantaire nodded. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Turns out there wasn’t anything keeping me here either.”

Enjolras flushed, recognizing his own words from a decade past, hating that he remembered them, and hating that Grantaire remembered them even more. “Right,” he said, a little hoarsely. “So, uh, where are you at these days, then? What are you up to?”

“Do you care?” Grantaire didn’t ask it unkindly but Enjolras still flinched, and looked away. “Well. If you’re serious about wanting to meet up, you know where to find me. For the next few days, at least.”

He turned to walk away, and before Enjolras could stop himself, he blurted, “Grantaire?” Grantaire stopped, and, almost as if he didn’t mean to, glanced over his shoulder. “Are you happy?”

Grantaire’s breath fogged the air in front of him, hiding his face from view for a moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I’m happy.”

 It took everything in Enjolras’s power not to ask the questions he so desperately wanted to – happier than when you lived here? Happier than when we were in high school? Happier than when you and I—

Happier than you and I could have been?

But in the end, he knew he didn’t want to know the answer.

So he stuck his hands in his pockets and ducked his head, tracing the toe of one of his too-expensive and not-nearly-warm-enough boots through the snow. “I’m glad,” he said, glancing back up at Grantaire. “You deserve to be happy.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s expression softened, and it almost looked like he was going to ask Enjolras the same question. But whether it was the cold getting to him, or the years that stretched between them, he ended up just nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Anyway. Like I said, Merry Christmas. I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” Enjolras echoed, watching as Grantaire turned and walked away from the bar, from him, and from what could have been.

Then he turned as well, and trudged in the opposite direction, alone.

[uwua3]

Hello! Can you write something for Muku helping Juza impress his crush? Thank you!

thank you so much for requesting, anon !! i hope to make you proud with this piece ٩( >w< )و suddenly today, i was overcome with a charming concept for this prompt and i am so happy! please enjoy, and if you’d like a continuation, let me know!

summary: the crown prince ascending to the throne would be nothing without his number one advisor

warnings: arranged marriage, classism, disease, dueling, fear of touching, fighting, military, monarchy, parental deaths/issues, swords

author’s note: you know, no one said to do a royal au but here i am! this will be an enemies to lovers prompt, so please enjoy :D have fun, juza loves you !! ♡

word count: 6,220

music: eyes blue like the atlantic, pt. 2 – sista prod, powfu, alec benjamin, & rxseboy

the crown prince and his advisor.

🌻👑🍁🍰 sakisaka muku + hyodo juza

“absolutely not.”

it doesn’t take much for first in line, prince feared across many nations, and legend in the making, hyodo juza, to not cooperate with his royal court

an arranged marriage, was expectedly one of the things that made him incompetent

“ju–chan,” first advisor muku started, ignoring the snickers of the much older men around him at the childhood nickname and juza’s sudden flustered expression, “you would be a fool to not agree to this arrangement.”

“me? the fool?!” juza huffed, his voice on the verge of raising as he narrowed his eyes at his cousin with the sharp threat of a death sentence. muku sighed, knitting his eyebrows together as he patiently tapped his fingers upon the round table

(leave it to his older, much more influential, and wealthier cousin to be incredibly difficult to work with)

“yes, you know akizakura is the rising power this century. they’re challenging societal norms and making every other monarchy uneasy with their progressiveness. you and them together would have a shocking power play over every single nation on this map.”

muku used his feather quill to refer to the aged map laid out, gesturing as if to say “this could all be yours if you played your cards right”. juza was about to fight back, but bit his tongue, nearly slouching in his seat to contemplate before straightening with muku’s pointed glare

(seriously... juza was the older one?)

“i have no desire to be a dictator.” juza finally spat, turning his head away towards the window and closed his eyes. the rest of the court bristled at this bold, unambitious statement but muku solemnly nodded

after all, it was the dying king’s one true goal to conquer all, not juza’s

“if i may say, prince juza, the heir to the throne—”

“i wish to hear nothing about this so called heir. they mean nothing to me.”

silence plagued the court, the somewhat out of touch yet logical advisors sharing disapproving looks of juza’s childish behavior. muku did his best not to roll his eyes at the crowd, instead plastering a neutral expression

it seemed like most of the times, the whole kingdom forgot juza was a child. just a boy suddenly forced to uphold his responsibilities with his father’s slow demise

“shall we reconvene tomorrow?” muku suggested, to which juza nodded. the court quickly went up and left, shooting curious and nosy glances at muku who remained in his seat. when everyone parted ways and the guard by the door confirmed there were no eavesdroppers, muku quietly pushed out his chair and moved to stand by his cousin’s side

for a while, no one said anything. until, juza’s tense posture slumped and he buried his face into his hands, trying his best to keep it all together even with no one to witness his defenses down

“i wish... father wasn’t so ill. i shouldn’t be here, i don’t want to be here.” juza declared, the words muffled by his palms. advisor muku gently placed a hand upon the crown prince’s shoulder, patting it slightly with a sympathetic tone to his words

“i know, i’m sorry. but, you will be a great king for the people of higanbana.”

before juza could ask how he knew for sure, muku just fixed the kingdom’s red spider lily pendant to make sure it was straight. it was the royal family’s heirloom, a universally recognized sign this was the son of a highly respected, pure bloodline

“ju–chan, have i ever led you astray?”

yes, many times, juza thought, reminiscing back on when they were kids. but, he didn’t say any of that, he instead shook his head solemnly

hyodo juza, first in line, prince feared across many nations, legacy in the making, was only eighteen when he would be coronated as king. the youngest king in all of higanbana history, all because his father was dying

and, he needed to secure his ascension through marriage to a complete stranger

but rest assured, muku, number one advisor, cousin to the crown prince, wise beyond all, was surprisingly relentless. becoming the new upcoming king’s right hand man had changed him for the better, preventing him from letting his insecurity and indecisiveness show its true colors

sure, he was still the scared coward who screamed unlike a man and didn’t have the natural class of royalty, but putting on a front was worth it to save juza from losing all support inside and out

the abrupt news that the oldest son of the hyodo family was soon to be hailed as king was, a surprise, to the townsfolk. many who were comfortable and simply used to king hyodo’s reign were not vocally against it, luckily enough. it was more a thing to gossip about than anything, but the royal family never particularly enjoyed the rumor mill

unfortunately, being coronated as a... single king was a pressing matter to all of the people, apparently. no king in history just rose to power without an influential and powerful partner by their side, it would leave vulernability due to the limited allies

especially what would remain of them, considering some kingdoms may break ties with the hyodos since juza and his father were... very different people

so, as said before, muku was relentless. continously insisting that this marriage contract was the best possible option for juza, that no other heir could even come close. juza didn’t want to believe it even if it was true, considering his stubborn nature

it took many, many bribes of tea parties and constant challenging duels for him to admit defeat

it was perhaps a tiring match that afternoon before juza exhaled sharply through his nose, moving to sheath his sword as he waved the white flag. muku, also surprisingly quick and agile on his feet with a weapon, managed to suppress a “told you so” grin at the look of exasperation

“fine, fine! i’m tired of fighting—” juza was not a major fan of dueling whatsoever, even if he was blessed with the physical proportions to do so easily

before muku could jump up in relief, juza sent a stern glare with no malice towards his cousin’s way. the sword hit the sheath, making a loud cutting noise throughout the empty, private training grounds

“but, i want to meet them first. then, i’ll decide to marry or not.”

muku knew this was the best he was going to get, and had the private secretary immediately pen a letter toward’s akizakura. shortly afterwards, a request for the heir to visit was accepted

you were also first in line, an intimidating but just political figure, and also a legend in the making. you were the talk of the town, to say the least

but, you sure didn’t feel like it

you anxiously tapped your foot, feeling seasick from how long this boat journey had already been. you had been invited by the higanbara kingdom to “visit” to “discuss political alliances and ideas to better serve the people”, though anyone with a brain could see straight through that lie

your parents intended on promising you to some eighteen year old hyodo hotshot, someone you’ve never even met!

at first, you were extremely demanding for them to consider changing their minds, that you didn’t need... a man... to help you rule the world. men would only hold you back, they’d do nothing good for you, anyways!

but, you knew the future of akizakura was in your hands. your parents were strong, but slowly, their old age would catch up to them and they needed to protect the famly legacy. you were the next expected heir, considering how active you’ve been in the government since you could read and write

though, no one exactly stated a marriage contract came along with power

you didn’t exactly know what higanbara looked like, but you’ve heard... rumors, about the family that ruled it all. the hyodos were an imposing force, spreading their control far and wide with unfathomable military power and merciless tactics

you couldn’t imagine what the crown prince was like. how, barbaric, he must be. must’ve been an inhumane and unreasonable fighter that took everyones’ heads with him

lucky for you, you were a trained fighter as well who would never let a man even have a sliver of control over your dead body

“your royal highness, we are here in higanbara.” the captain announced, followed by the sound of the ship’s horn. thank the gods, or you might have swam there yourself considering how rocky sea travels were

fixing your appearance, you masked your face in a stone cold expression, showing you were all business without the supervision of your parents. you were your own person, you didn’t need to be ordered around by some man

as the ship reached port, you noticed a set of figures at the foggy dock. higanbara was... dismal. it was all shades of grey, like there was no life. the oceans were a glittering silver, as if there were thousands of treasures waiting to be discovered. and at the port, was a sight to behold

you stepped onto the creaky wood cautiously, looking around before you noticed a stoic face peering down at you. perhaps a beat too late from how much he was staring, he then offered his hand without ever saying a word

you ignored it, knowing you didn’t need it at all. but from the looks of it, they were calloused, scarred, large. hands of a warrior—his eyebrows rose slightly in surprise at your blatant rejection. before he could speak, you heard someone else introduce the kingdom

“your royal highness, welcome to higanbara!” you heard a gentle, but enthusiastic, voice from behind the tall man who helped you on land. you turned to see a rather short, pink–haired royal with a shaky but elegant smile. you couldn’t help but smile at the boy

(you didn’t notice juza’s subconcscious quirk of his lips at your guard coming down, before he looked away with his ears red and mind confused. why did he do that?)

“thank you...?” you trailed off, awaiting an introduction before the pink royal dropped into a hurried but somewhat graceful bow, coming up with a surprise rose. you had no idea where it came from, causing you to let out a surprised laugh. higanbara was filled with many surprises, apparently

“i am his royal highness’ first advisor, sakisaka muku, it is a pleasure.” muku smiled pleasantly, but you noticed his eyes lingered on the way you stood oddly close with the crown prince

you tried to step back casually as if there was nothing wrong, but you almost stumbled off the edge of the dock. unluckily, juza was fast and immediately wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you close as he froze under the sudden attention at your close proximity

“let go.” you demanded and your tone was ice cold like the waters

“please... be careful—” juza mumbled, his grip strong before you pushed him off, scowling with a sharp glare his way

“let go!” you yelled, drawing attention as you glared daggers at higanbara’s crown prince. you couldn’t believe it, did all men just think they could grip you like that? as if you needed help?!

“do not touch me, i did not give you permission.” you cursed, shocking nearly everyone as you brushed off your clothes. juza blinked, taken back before he frowned, his eyebrows furrowed

“but, if i hadn’t, you would’ve fell into the water—”

“then, let me fall! i can swim!”

when you met his eyes, he was very clearly frustrated. the awe of meeting you had worn off, and juza was certain he’d make an enemy out of your stubborn pride and rude attitude right off the bat

muku intervened, laughing awkwardly as if a newcomer didn’t just yell at higanbara’s crown prince. stepping between you two, he seemed to communicate something with his eyes to juza who suppressed the need to storm off

“i am first in line, crown prince hyodo juza. a... pleasure.” juza faltered, his tone superficial and void of any genuine pleasure. he bowed anyways, his back rigid and yellow eyes analyzing your every move. he must’ve been a battle tactician with how observant he was

you didn’t do anything back, just crossed your arms and averted your eyes. “i know who you are, you know who i am. can we move on?”

juza was about to impulsively snap back before muku agreed, staying between you two despite the common courtesy of trailing behind royalty. the guards set at the port parted on command, yelling back “yes sir!” at juza’s order to march back to the castle

was this a power move? to intimidate you and make you go in shock over juza’s military background? two could play at this game

you stood taller, ignoring his gaze as you hurried forward, not wanting to be beside the man who just randomly touched you without your consent. not to mention, the audacity to linger! how inappropiate!

juza stared after you, and looked over his shoulder towards muku, visually confused over how offstandish you were

muku just sighed. this was going to be a long, long two weeks of akizakura’s ascending heir in higanbara

it was an understatement to say you and juza got off on the wrong foot. you never allowed just anyone to touch you randomly out of no where. you weren’t some clumsy person in distress, you were a leading figure in your kingdom, for goodness sake! you easily could’ve fixed your footing, stood back up straight, and moved on

juza was rather peeved at your reaction. you didn’t even take his hand like a polite royal would! didn’t thank for him for saving you from the ocean and had the audacity to curse him out like he was some commoner in front of his own troops. juza felt embarrassed from how low he was treated, you had no respect for him or higanbara

muku, was tired. when other nobles whispered about how out of the ordinary and eccentric you were and how strange akizakura’s customs were, he didn’t expect having to save his crown prince from a near beating

you had guts and nerve, just like juza. maybe, you two had more than meets the eye, but unfortunately, both people were stubborn, prideful, and arrogant privileged kids who didn’t want to see the other side

so throughout the first half of your stay, muku felt more like a babysitter than an advisor. it took everything in his power to keep you two from physically fighting each other in front of the royal circle

you two seemed to disagree on everything. while you were an “all or nothing” type of pefson, who went extreme on every suggestion you had and was willing to risk everything for a better future, juza was... the opposite

unlike his bold and brash father who would’ve gotten along just fine with you, juza wanted new change. he was always playing the devil advocate, pointing out flaws you hadn’t taken account for before. but, he was hesitant, wanting to take it slow, and ease into the plan than go head first

it made both your tactics and strategies clash and nothing was getting done. but muku, wise and relentless muku, knew it was more than just childish arguments at the round table. it was the slowly building tension between you two ever since that one bad first impression

and perhaps, the intense pressure from both sides to accept this arranged marriage for the sake of both kingdoms. it was too much on teens savoring their last few years of youth

and just like before, muku knew what needed to happen in order for someone (most likely juza) to give up their defenses and say something

you elegantly strode into the training grounds early in the morning, holding the first advisor’s personal note in your hand as you looked around. you were scheduled to meet muku, in a neutral place to get the overview of today’s meeting without juza’s involvement

or, so you thought

you heard a scuff of shoes and a quick “damn, sakisaka” behind you. whipping around, you came face to face with a sleepy juza, who’s eyes immediately widened and took a few steps back. it seemed like you caught him off guard, and he held a similar note in his hand as well

it didn’t take a genius to figure out what muku had done, as you huffed and placed your hands on your hips. juza straightened his posture and looked down at you, expressing that he wished he could be anywhere but with you

“hyodo—” you started, to which juza pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “that’s my father, i’m juza.” you continued anyways, ignoring his sharp pointed look

“are you here to fight with me again? perhaps, make a fool of me again?” you accused, pointing a finger at his chest as seethed. juza rolled his eyes, visibily frustrated as he threw his hands up, planning his escape already

“i have no business with you here. i will depart now.” juza forced out in a neutral tone, as if you two hadn’t been at each other’s throats the past week. before juza could spin on his heel and take his leave, you grabbed a sword near by and the sound of it leaving its sheath made him stop in his tracks

“you. me. right now.” you demanded and juza let out a humorless laugh. you were in over your head if you could think you could beat a hyodo at a duel. looking at the sky, he noticed it would be quite a bit of time until the official start of his day as crown prince. maybe, he could spare a bit of time

“at your service, your royal highness.” juza mocked, obnoxiously bowing that made your eye twitch at how insufferable he was

“take your pick. regardless, you’ll lose by my hand.”

juza chose his normal practice sword, the hilt engraved with his name and bore the spider design of the red lily. it had the grandeur of being a ceremonial sword, which you scoffed at. ugh, rich kids

you took the one closest to you and juza expected you two would walk to the middle, circle each other to see who would make the first move. he should’ve known you weren’t exactly the waiting type, because the moment he stepped into the ring, you hit first

luckily, juza whipped his sword up and the metal clashed with yours, the sound echoing in the courtyard. that was the start of the longest duel juza’s ever had

used to muku’s dexterity, juza had to find out the hard way you were much more of a strength fighter. you took him by surprise most times, with forceful and somewhat vengeful attacks. yet, juza was a formidable opponent. he had learned from the best after all, and this was one of the few duels he had the goal to try at

you smirked when juza nearly lost his footing, not reaching out to catch him by any means and holding your hands up. “see, i respect people’s private space and don’t touch them without permission.”

juza swung back with much more force than normal, which you hurriedly parried. the contact of metal rang in your ears as juza gained the upper hand, looming over you with distaste

“you would’ve drowned if i let you fall!”

“you knew i didn’t take your hand for a reason, i refuse to let a man touch me!”

you pushed back but he was like a rock, unmoving and resilient. he seemed to contemplate something before putting his sword down, nearly sheathing it before stopping, making sure to meet your eye

“i’m sorry.”

you blinked, taken back. was that an apology? from a hyodo?

“i understand you have your reasonings to hate physical contact, and i respect that. by no means did i mean to make you uncomfortable.” juza explained, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders as he finally found a time to apologize properly

“i wouldn’t have touched you unless i knew it was for your own safety, i’m sorry.” juza finished and you thought about it, before putting your own sword down with a heavy sigh

“i’m... also sorry. i knew you had good intentions, but i blew up because...” you seemed to think some more before exhaling. “i don’t need a man to save me, don’t think i need you or anything. i’m a perfectly capable, independent person.”

juza related to how your pride blinded your anger, and nodded. you two seemed to reach a mutual understanding and juza ducked his head, lowering it so it’d be easier to talk to you away from the castle that was waking up

“i did not mean to insult your character. i’m sure you are a whole person who does not need saving, it was not my intention.”

without another word, you moved past him, acting as if you were going to put your weapon away. instead, you quickly knocked his sword out of his loose hands, smiling innocently as if nothing happened

“i believe i win.”

“a dirty play, mind you.”

“a win is a win.”

“a victory is nothing if not honorable.”

you looked over your shoulder with a curious look, as if you were really seeing juza for the first time. you expected a burly man who would burn down nations just for a taste of godhood. instead, he seemed humble, unlike a hyodo

“hyodo—”

“i’m not my father, i am juza.” juza repeated again, without the usual bite, and you suddenly understood why juza taking the throne was big news. he was nothing like his father, this would be the ushering of a new age

hopefully, a golden age

“juza,” you said for the first time and for once, he presented a close–lipped smile that seemed void of royal duties. “i look forward to dueling you again.”

“as do i.”

“do not expect to win.”

(first advisor muku held in his squeals on the balcony adjacent to the training grounds. he typically liked to sneak up there to read and prepare for the day, but he was hiding this time to eavesdrop. looks like his plan worked!)

(when juza looked up to meet his eyes, he looked as if he knew all this time. muku nervously smiled and waved slowly, to juza’s hidden relief that he made progress)

(but... why was he so happy to see you weren’t holding a grudge against him anymore? did your opinion truly mean that much?)

the round table was much more, productive. muku liked to take credit for the riveting debates that replaced the senseless arguments, finding that both you and juza had similar goals at the end of the day, just different tactics

although there were still some very inappropiate comments here and there by your mouth, it didn’t seem personal anymore. it was clear to the court that you were intelligent, bright, and offered new perspective that no one else considered. they all knew akizakura was a force not to be reckoned with

by then, a week had passed, and it was time for the welcoming ball!

you would be introduced to the rest of the castle through a rather lame excuse to party. you knew what all of the glamarous charades and rich pleasantries were really all about, to assess if akizakura was worthy of taking their beloved crown prince’s hand. you could’ve laughed, because that was a major joke

you didn’t need to do anything, you knew you already were above and beyond what they expected. so that night as you insisted on preparing your appearance alone, you were slightly annoyed to hear a knock on your guest chambers

“go away! i said—”

“your royal highness, this is crown prince juza’s first advisor, sakisaka muku.”

you paused, looking away from the mirror and relented, letting him come in. when muku silently stepped inside and closed the door gently, he bowed with newfound confidence and sent you an easy smile that made you feel at ease

you understood why juza would want muku around, he didn’t seem like that dependable of a guy, but he was a good person through and through

“sakisaka, i remember you. you were the one who misled me to duel juza.” you said, giving him an once over before fixing your hair, staring back into the mirror. out of the corner of your eye, you noticed muku blush and he resorted to laughing awkwardly unprompted

“ah... yes—”

“and you were the one hiding in the balcony, correct?”

muku’s eyes widened, how did he get caught?! he thought only juza noticed. it was no wonder how you were such an equal match to higanbara’s crown prince, you had the same strengths and few weaknesses

“please, you do not give me enough credit.” you hummed in response, standing up and approving your final look of the day. you would wear akizakura’s kingdom colors, with the crest pinned. it would leave no question who you represented and where your loyalties lied

muku rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a breathy “haha” as the silence overcame. you slipped your kingdom ring on, watching it glint in the subtle candle light

“though, i must thank you, shouldn’t i?” you spoke in rhetorics often, muku realized. he waited for you to continue and you did, busying yourself with cleaning up your station. you had no need of maids even if you respected the profession

“without you, i wouldn’t have gotten an apology out of him. now, we’re...” you trailed off, unsure on how to finish that statement. muku hid his teasing smile, masking it as something innocent as he gratefully bowed his head, his white–gloved hand over his heart

“friends?”

you didn’t answer, instead standing tall and turning to completely face muku. he didn’t look you in the eye, but he too increased his height as if to match your authority. he was admirable for at least trying

“i must say, first advisor, juza is most fortunate to have you clean up his messes.” you half–joked, and muku nodded, agreeing seriously even if it was in jest

“however, i can promise you this. if you must contact me, do not trick me. i will not be as merciful.”

a shiver ran down muku’s spine. you truly were next in line of ruthless akizakura. but, it was a sign of respect, nonetheless. everyone was fully aware of how outstanding and remarkable you were to be the voice of the new generation

“understood, your highness. i did not come to deceit you, only to greet my cousin when he arrives.”

you tilted your head. this was news—no one could exactly tell muku and juza were cousins. really? the same bloodline?

“are you serious?”

“we get that reaction a lot.” you heard juza’s voice behind the door and you subconsciously broke your stern expression, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms. muku noticed your shoulders dropped ever so slightly, you must’ve been comfortable around juza, then

“come in already, don’t be a creep.” you called out and juza stepped inside, stopping at the sight of you. instantly, his cheeks became flushed and he seemed like he was about to do something incredibly stupid (which he did, amused muku did not stop him)

“you—um, you, you look... nice.”

nice? you looked absolutely amazing, you already knew that. you were going to be the best dressed in the entire ballroom, that’s for sure

(but, for some reason, you were disappointed. nice? was that all you were to him? wait—why did you care?! a man’s validation of your appearance was the last thing you needed)

muku was this close to intervening before you huffed, patting down your outfit. “do i suddenly have value because i look nice?” you air–quoted “nice” and juza got even redder, looking away as if to save his dignity

“no, no. your worth isn’t based on your looks.” juza reassured and you knew he meant it. you relaxed a bit, thankful juza didn’t have the same intentions as every royal noble out there ever. muku’s eyes bounced back from you and juza continously, picking up on the signs with increasing interest

he had never seen juza slip up this much around someone before... could it be? did he actually like you now?

“look at the time! i must go help with the preparations, come down soon.” muku lied, which juza caught on fairly quickly. before he could call muku to come back, the young advisor sliped out of the chambers and ran to the main event. he succeeded in leaving you and juza alone

an uncomfortable silence set over both of you as juza examined your room out of curiousity, and you tapped your foot. you were confused, what was this feeling inside your chest? why were you suddenly so nervous?

if you were confused, you didn’t let it show on your face. instead, juza offered his arm, holding it out to you with no threat at all as he gestured his chin towards the ballroom

“would you do me the honor of letting me escort you to the ball?”

you stared at his arm, the arm you noticed was slightly shaking, whether from nerves or holding it out too long, who knew. as much as you hated to admit it, you wouldn’t want any other person escorting you

with a turn of events, you took juza’s arm and felt it tense before relaxing, giving you a chance to let go any time. he put on a rare smile, and you liked how his yellow eyes crinkled at the corners when he did

“thank you.” for trusting me, for changing your opinion about me, for giving me a chance even if i don’t deserve it, juza thought, but it was all unsaid

“sure.” you responded, but you smiled, too. it was the first time you had given him such a genuine smile, that he couldn’t help but do the same

you two moved to stand at the top of the stairs, awaiting the announcement of both your names. in the mean time, you realized juza wasn’t the hyodo you thought he was

as he escorted you down the stairs, with everyone’s eyes on you two, you two were the splitting image of graceful and threatening intimidation and power. but, it didn’t feel like that. instead, it was just you and juza, a crown prince who had a nasty temper and natural hand at sword dueling

the ball seemed to last a lifetime. so many unnecessary introductions which you put a front on. social interaction was draining, it was becoming a difficult task to shake everyone’s hands and pretended like you cared about rich people problems

so, like every celebration ever, you escaped the main event and stepped into the hyodo rose garden. mostly hues of orange, you noticed the eternal autumn that hung over the kingdom. oranges and reds entranced you as you sat at the edge of the water fountain in the middle, the constant stream distracting you from the background party noise

(“where are they?” juza asked, pulling wallflower muku aside who mainly stood by the buffet table to hide extra sweets for his cousin. muku smiled, his eyes sliding in the direction of the rose garden as juza caught on. though, juza seemed hesitant, like he was worried if he should go or not)

(“do not be a fool, ju–chan. what other time will you have to confess?” muku asked and juza nearly choked on his champagne glass, shooting a wide–eyed look at his cousin. it was as if he was asking how did he know?)

(“this is your first crush, isn’t it? luckily, the person you intend on marrying.” muku lightheartedly jested, to which juza bumped his shoulder into his slightly. “like i said, do not be a fool, ju–chan. go.”)

(juza contemplated it before nodding, slipping out of mind and out of sight. muku proudly raised his glass after him, as if to say congratulations. all that gossip with the town cupid paid off for muku, his crown prince would be hopelessly pining without him)

(all he needed to do was one last thing. first advisor made his way towards the orchestra, about to request a song)

you watched the moonlight for quite a time before you heard a rustle of leaves towards the entrance, turning your head to see juza. juza, in his orange and black uniform and red spider lily pendant. juza looked dashing beneath the stars, as he waited for you to invite him

you moved aside and juza sat down at a safe distance, stargazing along with you. the silence was comfortable, this time around. it was filled with glasses clinking together, the everpresent buzz of crickets, and flow of the water fountain

unlike your initial thoughts, you didn’t exactly mind higanbara as much as you thought you would

“the ball, is a bit much.” juza admitted, to which you agreed. “tell me about it, i don’t know how you lasted that long.” you said lightheartedly, but it seemed to make juza think as he leaned back, balancing himself by stretching his hands out on the rim of the fountain

“i... i don’t like balls, really. my father always liked them, he was the life of the party.” you noticed juza used the past tense even if his father was still alive, but you knew not for long

“he was also, born to be king. could command a whole army without fail, delivered inspiring speeches that could get the whole town riled up, was the face of his kingdom. now...”

“it’s you.”

juza nodded, as if accepting this fact for the first time. it was as clear as the full moon that night—juza was afraid he could never live up to the legacy his father would soon leave behind

“i don’t want to be king.” juza confessed in a whisper, like it could change anything. you wanted to be a monarch, but you understood juza’s struggles. he must’ve missed out on a normal childhood, like every other person born into nobility

“but, i care for the people of higanbana. i will do my best to make them proud, and to continue the legacy of this kingdom.” juza continued, clenching his fists as he did so. you turned your head to see he looked lighter, like it was something weighing him down ever since he found out

“you’ll be a good king. i have seen your plans, and you are unlike your father. you will be better.”

juza turned to stare into your eyes, searching for any sign of lies. you were telling the truth, and you were shocked at how honest you just were. but, you believed it. you believed in juza and his legacy, the incoming new golden age would arrive

“thank you, i—your people are lucky to have you.” juza said, but he seemed distant. before he could lean in, you heard the soft playing of the orchestra from far, far away

this time, you stood up and offered your hand. unlike last time however, juza accepted your hand and it was true. both your hands were calloused, scarred, large. so the two warriors wordlessly slow danced under the moonlight in the rose garden to their new favorite song

that night, juza may have not said it out loud, but both of you were too observant and smart for your own good. as he walked you to your chambers, you were the one who leaned in this time

“is this a dirty play?” you teased, inches away from his lips. juza gulped as he admired your face illuminated by the lanterns

“a win is a win.”

it was all fair, in the game of love

your two weeks had passed. it was time for you to go home, back to akizakura to make your final decision of whether to marry a hyodo or not

you let juza help you into the boat even if you didn’t need it, and said goodbye to the grey higanbana and it’s forever autumn. there was no one around since juza requested a private departure, so you let yourself smile at him

“will i see you again?” juza asked the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since that night in the rose garden. you were on the ship, but didn’t let go of his hand

“do not be a fool, juza,” you started roughly, and juza could feel his heart drop. was this the end? he didn’t want this to be the last time, he liked you

“next time, you’ll go to akizakura. there, we can duel.”

“and i’ll win.” juza confirmed and you let go, fondly rolling your eyes. as the ship departed, you suddenly rushed to the edge, cupping your hands around your mouth

“tell sakisaka i said thank you!”

of course, you found out about everything. juza just nodded and waved, watching you disappear into the horizon

juza would await your invitation to akizakura as he practiced his dueling skills with a certain matchmaker named sakisaka muku

[vikingpoteto]

we don’t have to dance (to the beat of their songs)

Chapter 5 on AO3

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Relationships:  (Gen) Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tags: Battle for the Cowl, Alternate Canon, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Neglect, Domestic Fluff, Canon is not valid I am, and I want them to be friends goddamnit

Summary: In the middle of their battle, Jason asks Tim to leave the nest and be his Robin. Tim decides it's not a bad idea, after all.

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Jason Todd is many things. A street rat. A literature nerd. A former hero. A crime-lord. Dealing with anger issues. Ignoring a whole lot of other issues. But he isn’t an idiot. And, while he’s been bamboozled more times he can count, he realizes Tim Drake is a bigger conundrum than he anticipated. He isn’t about to be fooled again.

He thought he had Tim figured out. Rich kid. Too smart for his own good. Smug beyond repair. No regard for his own well-being. Incapable of holding grudges. He thought the kid couldn’t surprise him, not in a way that mattered, until that first night.

That’s when he starts taking note of the small things.

Saturday is uneventful. Jason wishes he could say he forgets he isn’t living alone anymore, but, even though Tim makes little to no noise as he sleeps the morning away, Jason is painfully aware that he has a roommate. He can’t focus on his book, he can’t focus on the absurdly detailed report Tim made him. He definitely can’t focus on anything else after Tim flies down the stairs like a speedster, blurts out something that could’ve been good morning and disappears in the kitchen. Jason heads to his room, assuming the kid is getting himself breakfast, and he tries to take a nap. He fails.

After giving up and heading downstairs to make dinner, he finds the kitchen as clean as he left — did Tim do the dishes? Did he eat at all? — and he can barely hear faint noises downstairs. He makes a mental note to fix the sound proofness of his walls as he climbs down.

In his Office, like Jason calls it, he finds Tim wearing headphones. The music is loud enough that Jason can clearly hear muffled heavy metal. The computer is half dismantled, half loading something somehow, and Tim is carefully tinkering with the suit Jason gave him.

Instead of throwing something at him like he wants to, Jason walks into his field of view and waves at his face. Tim takes off the headphones.

“The fuck you doing?” Jason asks.

“Fixing stuff. I know you love Jane Austen, but do you have to use the same software she used to write?”

Jason punches him in the shoulder. He regrets it instantly and curses at himself inwardly. Tim, however, doesn’t even flinch. He snickers as though that was the reaction he expected.

Huh. Jason files that away for later analysis.

He gets Tim to suit up and they head out for the night.

They don’t go together per se, as Red Hood is still laying low, planting the seeds subtly so no one notices until he’s ready to make an entrance. He gets intel. Ruins the plan of a very misguided small dealer. And finally saves a pair of prostitutes from a harasser. He wears nothing but a domino mask all night, because there are only a few key players that must know Red Hood is back. He smiles at the girls after he’s done and they get excited asking him if he’s the Red Hood. He takes off without answering.

Red Hood has always been popular with prostitutes, as weird as that sounds. What can Jason say? The girls that worked near the street he grew up in were the nicest people he knew; he has a soft spot for them.

He meets up with Tim near the end of the night and he finds that Tim’s spoken reports are a lot briefer than his written ones: he stopped some muggings. Probably broke the kneecaps of some creep near the park. Confirmed intel he got from his research. He actually saved a cat stuck on a tree too, which makes Jason roll his eyes. They go back to Jason’s place without further ado.

Sunday is more of the same, except Jason manages to actually sleep. That is, until the sound of a hammer wakes him up.

He finds Tim in his living room dismantling an old television he got from God knows where. The shouting match that follows should make things more awkward, but instead it makes them easier.

Turns out Tim doesn’t mind exchanging insults or having dusty pillows thrown at him, and Jason feels more at ease by the time they swallow cold sandwiches and head out.

He has this unreasonable pang of anxiety when Tim vanishes into the shadows, but he shakes it off. The Red Robin suit is getting better everyday and, thanks to the cowl, Tim looks older and more menacing than he actually is, meaning no one is going to fuck with him.

It’s fine. They have a plan. It’s working. There are rumors that Hood is back, though nothing but whispers. Enough to stir his territory without getting unwanted attention from the better neighborhoods.

It isn’t until Monday at around 1pm that the other shoe drops. Jason wakes up scratching his belly and walks past Tim on the way to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Tim mumbles.

“Fuck off, Replacement,” he says back.

The kid is fucking with something that smells like oil on the kitchen table. Jason thinks to himself he should have words with him about it… after his morning tea. Morning tea at 1pm, but still.

He’s boiling water and staring blankly at Tim when he realizes: it’s Monday.

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Tim stares at him. Back at the myriad of circuits spread around the table. Then back at Jason

“Wrist computer,” he says.

“No, here !”

“The kitchen?”

“Home! You’re, like, 17, right? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

Tim stares at him as though he’s grown a second head. “Jason. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I stopped going to school after my father died again and I traveled abroad to work with an organization of murderers.”

“That was a fucking month ago. You get a month of skipped classes, your dad died. Now that you’re here, you can go back.”

His chin actually drops and Jason is greeted by the sight of a nearly white chewed gum threatening to fall from Tim’s open mouth.

“I’m not going back to high school. Are you insane?”

“Are you insane? Of course you’re going back to school. Don’t you have, I don’t know, friends or a girlfriend or… whatever!”

“No, I don’t?” Tim scowls. “You want me to go to school so I can date? Why don’t you go to school?”

“Everyone thinks I’m dead.”

“Oh, heck off, you don’t get to pull the death card with me,” Tim rolls his eyes. “It works with Dick and Bruce, but I’m immune.”

“The fact that you still say heck off means you definitely should be at school around people your age. Get some bullies. It builds character.”

Tim’s pale cheeks go crimson and Jason has to bite back a grin. Knowing that Tim blushes like that opens so many teasing opportunities.

“Shut up, I got used to it because Alfred got mad at us for cursing! And I don’t need school to get bullied, I have you right here.”

Jason decides to test a theory. It’s a wicked idea, but Jason isn’t known for fighting fair.

“Tim. I ain’t raising an uneducated goblin.”

“I’m seventeen ! You’re not fucking raising me! You’re like a muscular child sharing a place with a slightly smaller child!”

“If you don’t go back to school, the deal is off. I’m not keeping you around.”

And, just like that, Tim closes his mouth and all the color drains from his face. Jason expected this. He doesn’t feel great about it.

“Y-you… Dick will notice if I start going back to school,” he tries. “This is against the plan. Batman will know we’re working together.”

“No. He’ll know you’re back in town. Make an excuse. I know you’re great at it.”

“This will affect my productivity. I won’t be able to upgrade your gear as fast and I’ll have to sleep more. This is-”

“Non-negotiable. School or no partnership.”

Jason knows it’s too late for him. It might be too late for Tim, too. But not late enough that Jason will let him give up. Tim may never have a normal life - the fact that he’s working with his almost murderer more than proves it. Jason selfishly wants to make sure he has at least a little normality.

This is about Jason, not Tim. Jason doesn’t think he can live with another deadman walking.

“Fine,” Tim says, like he’s agreeing to a death sentence. “I’m going back to school tomorrow. You happy?”

“Hella,” Jason says.  He turns back to his tea. “And Tim? I’ll know if you’re skipping and I’ll kill you if you do.”

Tim starts listing a colorful collection of insults a lot worse than heck off. Jason grins at him and Tim, in his teenage rage, doesn’t seem to notice that the smile doesn’t reach Jason’s eyes.

So Jason's theory is confirmed. Tim Drake doesn’t care about attempts on his life. He isn’t afraid to fight an armed man. He isn’t afraid of having a familiar person taking a swing at him, so Jason doesn’t think that he has issues with physical abuse.

Nothing freaks him out as much as someone critiquing his work, though. And not in the asshole way, that would be way too easy. As cocky as he is, Tim doesn’t look like the type to think he can do no wrong. He wouldn’t get irrationally angry over someone pointing out he can do better. He does, however, flip out at the mere possibility that he’s done something wrong and didn’t own up to it already.

Jason thought he knew Tim until he jokingly complained about him sleeping on the job and saw genuine horror in his eyes. Horror like never before, not even when Jason beat him and tried to leave him for dead. Hell, at that point the kid said he was a better Robin right before passing out.

Who did this to him, Jason wonders? Who convinced Tim that the worst he can be isn’t a high school dropout or even a dead boy, but a person who messes up?  His biological parents? Bruce? Is Tim even aware of it?

Jason doesn’t know, and he isn't sure what to do about it. Can he do something about it? He remembers far too well, thinking Bruce brought him in because he wanted another Robin. How every time he made Bruce laugh, or solved a case, it felt like a victory. How every time he got scolded, he expected Bruce to send him back to where he came from. He remembers having that fear confirmed when he heard from Talia that he’d been replaced.

Is there really something to be done?

Despite a good deal of complaining about work hours, Tim starts going to school. Jason hounds him to make sure he isn’t lying and he’s pretty sure he’ll have to keep checking regularly, because, if he learned anything about Tim, is that the kid is scarily patient and spiteful.

He stalks him all the way to school on the first day, making it painfully obvious that he’s there even if Tim puts a lot of effort into pretending he can’t see him. He pops at Tim’s classroom window and waves cheerfully as Tim flips the bird at him. Waking up early was hell, but Jason finds it ridiculously fun to make Tim annoyed.

On Friday, Jason decides to pick Tim up after class just to keep him on his toes… then he almost crashes his motorcycle into a lamppost when he sees a fancy car and a familiar man leaning against it.

Dick Grayson.

Despite the fun distractions Jason came up with, his whole damn body still remembers the beating he took. He wonders if Dick took as long to recover after that night.

His fake second death would be really short-lived but, lucky for him, Dick is preoccupied with something else. Jason parks around the corner. His height wouldn’t allow him to hide among the flux of rich kids walking out of school looking for their chauffeurs, but he has to come closer.

Well, time to get those stealthy muscles to work.

Ironically, it was Dick who taught him that the best hiding spot was in plain sight, and that’s how he casually walks behind the sports car and heads towards a beaten phone booth.

Dick doesn’t notice him.

Whether it was thanks to Jason’s skills or the fact that the older man looks like he’s having an internal anxiety attack, Jason may never find out. He does, however, hear it when Tim’s voice lets out a long word that definitely isn’t heck . He risks taking a peek at the duo and sees Dick smiling. He looks tired.

“Timbo,” he greets.

“Don’t call me that,” Tim groans. He would’ve sounded like your everyday grumpy teenager, but there’s too much tension in his jaw.

“Welcome back,” Dick says. “Were you planning on telling anyone you’re around?”

“I’m assuming you don’t mind, since you kept paying for my school. I was also checking to see how long it’d take you to find out.”

Jason almost snorts. Who knew the kid had it in him? Furthermore, it’s impressive how Tim methodically and deliberately hid all signs of displeasure. He looks earnestly happy to see Dick and he almost makes his barb sound like friendly banter.

“Timmy, you were gone for almost two months. Where were you?”

“I was pursuing a lead. It didn’t pan out. So I’m back.”

Dick is quiet after that. Jason assumes he knows damn well Tim isn’t one to give up just like that. At the same time, Jason can see Dick assessing the differences between the kid in front of him and the kid he last saw.

“Let’s go home. We need to talk,” he says finally.

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m heading to a friend’s house so we can do homework together. I have a lot to catch up.”

“Tim…”

“You were right, Dick.” Tim smiles softly. “Damian needs you now. I don’t.”

Dick flinches. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” he chuckles. “Let me rephrase that: I’m fine. You know, when you first asked me to help Bruce, I planned on staying for a few months. A year, tops. I was always supposed to go back to my normal life.”

“Timmy, you’re family,” Dick pleads. “Your normal life doesn’t include going home?”

Tim’s expression is empty of emotion when he replies: “I need space now. I’m not going back, Dick. I’m sorry. I have a place to stay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“ Where are you staying? Do you need help setting up anything or…”

“I’ll text you the address later. Right now I really need to go, though.”

Dick presses his lips into a tight line. He hesitates before reaching out to hug him. Surprisingly to Jason, Tim allows it and even hugs him back, even if not as tightly as Dick does.

Jason didn’t realize that. The whole time, he thought Tim needed his older brother and Dick was painfully blind to it. It never occurred to him how Dick also needed Tim. He wonders if Dick felt lost when Tim went away, or if he realized how messed up it was to rely on a teenager.

And Jason’s file on Wayne drama keeps growing thicker.

“Come over for dinner tomorrow?” Dick tries again. “Alfie misses you.”

“And annoy Damian in the process? I’d love to.” Tim deadpans.

Dick finally pulls away from the hug. “He’s made a lot of progress. You’d be surprised.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t remember I punched him before I left.”

“Tim. Dinner?”

“Why would I say no to free food?” Tim gives him a crooked smile.

Dick moves as though it’s painful to let Tim go. He retreats to his car as slowly as it’s humanly possible, like he expects Tim to change his mind and join him. Tim smiles and waves until Dick vanishes around the corner. His look turns hollow, but none of the kids walking past him seems to notice it. Not even when Tim calls out:

“You can come out now. He’s really gone.”

Jason pretends not to hear two girls letting out startled little squeals when he leaves his hiding spot.

“That was cold blooded, Replacement,” Jason says, stretching his hand to Tim. “I knew you were a liar, but that was impressive.”

Without blinking, Tim takes out a tracker from the collar of his shirt and another from his hair. He hands both to Jason. “I didn’t lie, mostly,” he says. “I did plan on leaving after Bruce got better. Or at least when we found a better replacement. That didn’t work like I expected.”

Jason doesn’t say anything as he casually crushes one of the trackers under his boot and places the other on a random kid passing by. He knows how magical it feels to be Robin. He doesn’t think he could quit out of free will. He still remembers the addicting adrenaline that makes you feel like you’re really a bird soaring across the sky.

Until you’re not.

He notices it when Tim looks down at his own feet. Without thinking, he reaches for Tim’s head and messes up his hair.

“C’mon. I got the parts you asked. You can finish tinkering your suit tonight.”

They take the night off. It’s too risky going patrolling the night Dick found out about Tim’s return. Instead, they sit in the living room and Jason turns on the TV while Tim finishes adjusting the suit. The documentary about fish only keeps Jason’s attention for about five minutes before he notices Tim is butchering his cowl. Of course they start bickering.

The new mask isn’t quite a domino. It still has a nose guard similar to a bird’s beak that creates the illusion that Tim’s nose is more aquiline rather than a small snub, which is good to hide one’s identity. Still, Jason thinks going out without head protection is fucking stupid and Tim goes on a rant about looking like he’s wearing a condom on his head. Jason didn’t say anything when Tim replaced the old bandoliers with yellow ones with more compartments. The condom head thing hurts, though, and he ends up beating the shit out of Tim with a couch pillow.

A good deal of screaming and kicking each other later, they return to the task of redesigning. Tim replaces the RR in the middle of his chest with a bird-like symbol that hides a panic button. He switches the black gloves for sleeker red ones, although the middle finger and indicator are black. Jason thinks Tim is trying to make it more dramatic when he flips the bird (heh. Robin flipping bird) but Tim punches Jason’s shoulder and says the new gloves allow him to use his wrist pad more easily.

Jason hits him when he notices he weakened some of the defenses, and they bicker some more before Tim gives in and puts the shin guards and knee protectors back.

The cowl and the cape are gone, much to Jason’s annoyance, and he says Tim’ll look stupid. Tim calls him a knock-off Iron Man. Jason tries to smother him to death with a pillow when Tim doesn’t stop laughing.

It’s the most fun Jason had in… God, how long? He doesn’t remember the last time he could just joke back and forth like this. It doesn’t do good to your reputation as a crime lord if you give the drug dealers a noogie. Tim, on the other hand? Tim gets at least five noogies a day because he’s a dumbass.

It isn’t until they head to their rooms, later that night, that Jason realizes he hasn’t thought about his fight with Dick at all since they started working on the suit. He would've never guessed Tim’s presence wouldn’t be a bitter reminder of everything Jason lost, but rather than a good distraction.

Another week goes by before the suit is finished.

Jason swallows his pride and admits (to himself, at least) that getting rid of the cape was a smart move when he and Tim stand next to each other in full uniform. Tim’s new outfit doesn’t look out of place near Jason’s bulletproof vest and leather jacket. They’re a lot less dramatic than the Bats, and Jason likes that. They’re their own team, not one of them .

“Comms?” Jason asks.

“Tested and protected. Even Oracle would have to manually tinker with them to get into our frequency.”

“And you decided your field name yet?”

Tim hesitates. “I… Red Robin is fine.”

Jason nods. “Plan?”

“Break into Black Mask’s warehouse through the vent, plant…”

“Red Robin,” he cuts off. “Plan.”

Tim sighs. “Make Roman our bitch.”

“Atta boy. Let’s go.”

It’s an operation as simple as it is petty: Black Mask thought he could take over one of Hood’s warehouses. Jason was going to prove him wrong. It wasn’t a key hideout, but it was a relatively safe place if you were in the business of laundering money — discreet, easy to access without being noticed by the pigs, with most of the sewers around it hadn’t been blown up, which was always a plus. Hood was almost sure Roman took it just to show that he could and turned it into a drug warehouse to spite Hood. The fact that he disliked drugs wasn’t exactly a secret, after all. Szazs probably was involved in the process, Jason was sure.

In the end, Tim convinced him the stealthy approach was better. Just get in, ruin the whole operation and, by the time Black Mask realized it, he had lost a ton of money. Poetic justice and all that.

Jason complained about the plan being boring, but, as they get on their bikes to head out, he feels almost jittery. He doesn’t know if it’s just the thrill of being on the field again after so long — sue him, he’s an adrenaline junkie — or the prospect of the petty revenge. Either way, Red Hood grins under the helmet and, almost as though he can see his expression — or as though he’s feeling the same — Red Robin smirks back.

Just like that, they take off into the night. The wind howls past them as Hood leads the race, fast enough that it seems like he’s riding aimlessly. It doesn’t mean he isn’t choosing the way methodically. He knows he’s picking the right streets, the dark ones in which the dark red leather merges perfectly with the shadows. They rush past buildings with closed windows, sure that no one is stupid enough to glance at the two suspiscious riders.

Red Hood makes a sharp turn that would’ve made a less experienced driver fall into the asphalt. He hears Red Robin whooping excitedly behind him and he can’t help but laugh.

When they’re just a few blocks from the warehouse, they stop. At this point, Hood almost considers throwing the plan away — crashing the motorcycle into the place would make for an excellent entrance — but, as though reading his thoughts, Red Robin gives him a pointed look before getting off his bike.

“You’re such a wet blanket,” Hood says, even though no words were truly exchanged before that.

“And you’re a drama queen,” Red Robin retorts. And he grapples up to the nearest rooftop before Hood can give him a noogie for that.

Lighter and more agile, Red leads the way now and Hood is happy to be his shadow until they reach the strategic spot they picked — the two story building next door.

“Thank god this place didn’t crumble,” Hood comments absently. “The other buildings are too far for a clear view.”

Red gives him a strange look. “I checked whether it was still standing while we were planning the attack. Do you not verify the surroundings when you’re making strategies?”

“I like to leave room for improvisation; I’m not a stick in the mud like you.”

Red rolls his eyes under the mask as he reaches for the binoculars in his belt. Hood does the same. There shouldn’t be a lot of activity tonight if their intel is correct, and it looks like it is. They can’t see the inside of the warehouse — which is why Red Hood liked the place so much, damn it  — but they can still see the roof as clearly as they can see the vent they chose to… Hood freezes.

“Hey Hood?” Red Robin calls.

Jason pulls a face under the hood. “Yes?”

“Remember our plan to lay low so Batman doesn’t notice us?”

“Hmm.”

“Remember how I wanted to check on the rogues and you told me to stop being a stick in the mud?” He hisses.

“No one likes a bitching vigilante, Red.”

“Freaking Poison Ivy is here.” Red Robin gestures widely at the roof of the warehouse, as though Red Hood can’t see the green lady trying to get in through the very same vent they planned on using.

“See, that’s the beauty of crime fighting. You make a plan. The plan goes wrong. You throw the plan away.”

“Oh my freaking God,” he groans, “this is Young Justice all over again, but worse.”

Despite the complaining, they seem to be in agreement about what to do next: they take their grapple guns and shoot at Ivy’s blindspot. Red Robin is already getting his rebreather to filter whatever toxins they’re about to face.

The boys land almost silently all things considered. Without thinking, Hood points at  the other side of the roof and crosses an X in front of his lips, before closing a fist. Red Robin nods and sprints without a question.

For the second time, Jason freezes. The instructions were clear — take the other side, we’re going for a surprise attack after cornering her — but they shouldn’t have been. He didn’t realize he kept using those gestures to give orders, because he hadn’t had anyone working this close to him in literal years. He didn’t realize he still remembered the whole language — ASL, but also specific gestures that only made sense among Bats — until he had Red Robin following his orders. Something in his stomach feels heavy.

“... Hood ? Do you copy? ” Says a hushed voice in his ear.

Shit. Get it together, Jason.

He presses the comm button. “Listening.”

On the other side of the line, Red Robin sighs. “ Oh thank god, I thought the comms were suddenly fried. I’m in position. ”

Shit . “Hang on,” he says. He finally starts moving, extra careful not to make any noise.

“ You good, man?” Red asks, and Hood can practically see the confused furrow of his brow.

“Yeah, yeah, be quiet before Ivy hears us.”

He finally gets close enough to see her — she’s unscrewing the air vent cover to get in, even though she could probably just get a giant peach to roll over the place or something. It looks like Red Hood and Red Robin weren’t the only ones trying to be stealthy tonight.

He takes one step closer, and many things happen at the same time: the metal roof creaks under his boot. Ivy goes stiff for half a second. Then Jason is doing a backflip to avoid being bombarded with freaking thorns? When the hell did Ivy add a machine gun of thorns to her arsenal?

“Red Hood?” She stands, frowning. “Huh. I heard you were dead.”

“I get that a lot,” he says.

He reaches for his guns as Ivy waves her hand gracefully. Red Hood watches, with mild disgust, as what he thought was a weird belt snakes its way up Ivy’s torso until she has two venus flytraps settle on her shoulders.

“Fucking gross,” he says.

“I get that a lot,” she quips.

When he shoots at her, she’s ready. A branch grows fast enough to take the bullet for her and, before he realizes, she’s already inside his personal space. Hood dodges a punch in the throat but she keeps advancing. She knows better than letting him keep her at shooting range.

Welp, brute force it is then.

Hood puts his gun away at the same time he dodges a kick to the face. He takes a swing. One of Ivy’s pet plants almost bites his fist and he barely has time to retreat before the pesky thing takes a piece out of his glove.

“Huh. My sixth grade teacher told me those things are only lethal to flies,” he huffs.

Ivy grins. “My children are special.”

She presses and attacks again, and this time Hood lets her. When her knee hits his stomach, he grabs her by the calf and uses her own momentum against her. She barely weighs anything when he throws her hard at the ground, her back hitting metal and her pained groan muffled by the loud clang. He cringes. So much for stealth.

He makes to kick her before she recovers her wits, but apparently plants are more resistant than they seem. Hood feels his foot stuck to something and he curses when he looks down and sees thick vines holding him back. Shit, why didn’t he consider she had traps prepared around her?

“That was kinda rude, Hood,” she grins, slowly sitting up. “But I’m not mad. I might even give you a little kiss.”

By then, his resistance is futile and he wishes he hadn’t put his guns away so fast, because the vines quickly wrap around his whole damn body and he can’t even shoot the b —

A flying staff hits her on the side of the head.

“ACK!” Ivy shrieks, falling to the side.

“What are you doing, Hood?” Red Robin hisses, pressing a batarang into Red Hood’s hands.

“The hell?” Ivy groans, now looking dizzy. “I thought you worked alone.”

“I’m the intern. They call me Red Robin.”

And he stands over her, looking all heroic and ready to fight. Ivy, however, stays where she is, gaping at him.

“Bullshit. You’re regular Robin,” she says. “I thought you died. We all did when we saw the smaller Robin.”

Hood snorts.

The kid deflates a bit.  “How the hell do you know who I am?”

“You’re Harley’s favorite Robin,” she says simply. “She got really grumpy when we heard there’s a new Robin again.”

“I’m Harley’s — Wait, you guys have favorite Robins?”

“Of course we do. Mine’s the girl one. She didn’t die, did she?”

That’s one of the most surreal conversations Red Hood ever witnessed and he’s leading an unusual second life. Fortunately, Ivy is distracted enough — or at least hurt enough — that she doesn’t intervene while he cuts himself free.

“What are you doing here, Dr. Isley?” Red Robin asks. “Are you aware that this place is Black Mask’s?”

She scowls at him. “Are you aware that Sionis is a misogynistic jerk and he’s doing a lot of damage to the environment in this stupid warehouse? I’m going to take this thing down.”

“Hey, fuck off, this place was mine before Sionis stepped in,” Hood protests.

“I don’t care if you’re his landlord.” She gives him a scathing look. “I want him out.”

“This is great then!” Red Robin smiles. “We also want him out. And we have eco friendly plans for the place after Black Mask is out of the equation.”

Ivy gapes at Red Robin as though he started speaking a foreign language out of the blue. Red Hood is thankful for his helmet because he’s sure his expression isn’t much better.

“Are you suggesting we team up with Poison Ivy?”

“Why not?” Red Robin smiles as if he’s suggesting they should have burgers later. “The enemy of my enemy, right? Plus, I used to give her a free pass here and there because sometimes she’s right, you know?”

“Huh. So that’s why you’re Harls’ favorite.”

Red Robin shrugs again and stretches his hand to her. “Friends for the night?”

To Red Hood’s utter shock, she hesitates for less than a second before taking the kid’s hand and letting him pull her back to her feet.

“Just tonight, though,” she says.

If anyone told Jason tonight he’d be working with no one other than the Poison Ivy to take down one of Black Mask’s drug labs, he’d call them insane.

Nonetheless, he watches as Ivy throws caution to the wind — there’s no way the people inside didn’t hear their little scuffle — and uses one of their sentient plants to rip off an entrance on the metal roof. Right before jumping in, however, Red Robin squeezes his shoulder.

“What was that?” he whispers low enough that Ivy won’t hear them. “You were off. That wasn’t like you.”

Hood shrugs his hand away. “We’ll talk about this later. Come on, we can’t let Ivy have all the fun.”

They can already hear the screaming inside, so Red has no option other than compliance. Time to crash the party, he was looking forward to this.

And it’s fun. Having Tim around is fun. Watching a bunch of crooks run terrified of a plant lady is fun. Rounding up his former employees — those traitors — and watching their comically horrified faces upon realizing he isn’t dead is fun.

So much fun he completely misses the fact that there was someone else tailing Ivy. No one sees it when a young boy clad in bright colors rushes away from the place. Robin doesn’t know what to make out of what he witnessed tonight.

[nev3rfound]

not as planned : s.s

brief summary: everyone listens to how sebastian proposed to you, learning it wasn’t the romantic version he had briefly told them. 

word count: 1.3k requested: nope. my colleague was telling me about how her husband proposed, and it inspired this creation warnings: literally none, pure fluff here

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

* masterlistin’

* commissions

** permanent taglist **

Sitting down with everyone, you knew the question was just burning to be answered. “So,” Chris is the first to speak up as you watch him shuffle in his seat, barely able to greet you before asking. “how did he do it?” 

You smile to yourself, glancing over to see him stood with the other guys completely oblivious to your current conversation. “Well, it was definitely more unconventional than I anticipated.” You reply with a small chuckle, thinking back to just two days prior, the moment Sebastian had been planning for months.

*

Work was definitely pushing you, and you were struggling to feel happy in the environment you once loved. Orders were piling high along with admin to be completed, and just as you felt yourself recollecting, something else would come along blocking your view from anything else. 

You knew it was just a job, but at the end of the day, it is where you spend most of your time. If you could be employed to be at home, curl up with your boyfriend all day you would. But that would just be you unemployed again, and that was not all the fun it was made out to be. 

Walking down the street, you turn the corner just as the rain begins to lash down. You were already late as it was, and you knew Seb had made plans to go out with some old friends. 

Shivering lightly, you unlock the front door and slip your coat off. “Y/n?” Sebastian calls out, much to your surprise as you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling water dripping off of you as a chill spreads through your body. 

As he makes his way down the stairs, he radiates warmth. He takes one look at you before laughing to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “From a two-minute walk, I’m soaked.” You state annoyingly as a huff leaves your lips. 

“You still look hot.” He mutters as he steps closer, kissing you softly. “Go shower, I’m making dinner.” 

Pulling away from him, you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Dinner? I thought you were going out tonight?” You question as he steps back and stutters over his words, not making any coherent sense.

“Well I was, but they erm, they cancelled. Moved it to next week.” He nods to himself, confirming his story before looking back up at you. “So I thought I’d cook instead, I know works been shitty.” 

You scoff lightly as you make your way up the stairs. “You could say that again, baby.” 

Standing in the shower, you can feel all the stress from work running off your skin. You’re able to let your muscles relax, slack your jaw instead of clenching it as your boss drops more work for you to complete within an unreasonable deadline. Slowly, you can feel the warmth spreading through your body, replacing the bitter chill that is clinging to your bones with all its might.

Climbing out of the shower, you let out a pleasant sigh as you’re finally feeling refreshed. You wrap one of his dressing gowns on as you make your way down the stairs, only to hear the sound of the oven beeping and him swearing.

“You stupid fucking thing!” He yells angrily as you listen to a loud thud. “Ouch.” He mumbles, unaware of your presence as you turn the corner into the kitchen, barely able to see through the thick cloud of smoke. 

Coughing, you waft your hand in front of you. “Seb, what happened?” You ask through your heavy coughs as he pushes all of the windows open. 

“This.” He turns to face you, holding a blackened chicken in the baking tray with a sad look on his face.

“Oh, it’s okay.” You tell him as you walk over, making him put the chicken down. “We can just order food tonight.” You wrap your arms around him, but he doesn’t budge. 

“I wanted it to be perfect.” He mumbles, his brows furrowed together as a pout plays on his lips. “All I had to do was cook a nice meal for my girlfriend, and I fucked it up.” He sighs heavily, watching as you pull away. 

“Seb, it’s alright, really.” You repeat yourself, looking around and notice the bottle of Champagne he’s kept for months. He told you he was only going to drink it on a special occasion. 

Your eyes wander elsewhere, noticing roses on the dining room table along with a series of papers spread out. “What’s all this?” You ask him softly, stepping away to go investigate. 

“Marry me.” He blurts out, and you turn around instantly.

Confusion remains evident in your expression as Sebastian remains perfectly still, holding his hands out toward you. “What?” You question in disbelief. 

“Y/n, I’ve loved you for a very long time, and I know this isn’t what you were expecting and trust me, neither was I when I thought this moment through but, but, will you make me a happier man than I already am by becoming my wife?” 

His smile only widens with nerves as you remain silent. 

“No.” You reply slowly and see the pure disappointment in his face. “Not until you get down on one knee, Seb.” Your smile returns along with a sense of relief in his system.

“You nearly killed me there, baby.” He chuckles softly as he moves closer toward you, getting down on one knee. “Y/n, will you marry me?” He reveals a small box with a beautiful ring. 

“I guess I can?” You shrug your shoulder before kneeling down with him. “I’d love to, Seb.” You whisper as he takes a hold of your face, bringing his closer until his lips are on yours. 

You both remain in each other's arms in a state of disbelief. “Holy shit, we’re getting married.” You mutter as you sit in his arms, looking up to see the black chicken still smoking. 

“All I had to do was keep myself together for another ten minutes.” Sebastian mumbles to himself.

“Hey,” You look up at him, resting your left hand over his as the ring catches the light. “it was perfect to me.” You give him a small smile as his hand takes hold of yours. “I wouldn’t want it to have been any other way.” 

Sebastian smiles down at you as he pulls you closer. “I love you, Y/n.” He whispers as you rest your head against his chest. “My fiance.” 

*

Chris chuckles to himself as you finish the story. “Let me guess, he told you differently?” You question, glancing back to Sebastian who is now looking over at the two of you.

He spots Chris covering his mouth with his hand, muffling his laughter whilst you seem perfectly fine. As he takes a step toward you, someone else pulls him into a conversation. 

“Seb told us he proposed on the terrace at sunset.” Chris states and you smile to yourself, knowing that is exactly what he intended to do.

You nod to yourself before shuffling closer to Chris. “Then let’s keep that version of the story.” You tell him as you feel a pair of arms wrap around you and you look up to see his bright blue eyes and hair hanging over his forehead.

“You talkin’ bout something funny?” He questions as he takes the seat beside you. 

“Nah, just some old stories about our early days.” You tell Seb as he takes a hold of your hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Did she tell you about the time she nearly gave me food poisoning?” Sebastian speaks up, looking at Chris’ eyes widen in shock. “Well,” He starts telling the story, but you find yourself zoning out. 

Your version of the proposal will forever remain special, as it will be your secret story, the one you’ll forever be in love with. 

permanent taglist :

@psychicforest 🌙 @lourightm 🌙 @mywinterwolf  🌙 @perellith-chronicles🌙  @supermoonchildbroski​🌙  @xrosegoldwolfx 🌙  @courtneychicken

[elphenfan]

Nesting (Good Omens) 6/?

Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I Chapter Seven

I can only apologise for the time it’s taken me to get this out.

Thank you @top-crowley-central for the rec, that was...wow! <3 <3 Andthank you for everyone’s feedback.

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His breath caught in his throat the moment he’d said it, painfully, waiting for the verdict, for the confirmation. The personal doom.

Aziraphale looked at him with an expression of sheer incomprehension.

“You mean you…you don’t know?” he asked, his voice mirroring his expression, though it also held a stronger version of the previously displayed hope.

“No, of course I don’t, or I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” It was meant to come out snappish but instead it came out sort of quiet and just a little bit shaky. “It’s not Gabriel, is it?”

He forgot that he’d previously discounted him, the name simply being the first angel that came into his mind.

“Ga – Gabriel?” Aziraphale spluttered, gaping. “No, of course – why, of all angels, would it be him? He’s terrifying!”

It didn’t register with Crowley at the time that this was the first time he’d heard Aziraphale say something outright negative about another angel. He hadn’t even cushioned it with something pleasant or deflective.

He opened his mouth to say something but Aziraphale beat him to it.

“It’s not Gabriel. Nor anyone else up there. I promise you.”

“But who else could it be?” Crowley said, mostly addressing himself. Could it be…?

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, looking everywhere but the demon. Then, lifting his eyes back up, seemingly with some effort, he said, “You…Crowley, you have to promise me.” He sounded earnest, insistent.

“Promise you what?” His heart leapt up to say ‘anything, I’ll promise you anything you could possibly want’, but he pushed it down, so it didn’t make it past his lips.

“That you’re genuinely asking these questions and not just trying to, to, to spare me.”

“Spare you? What from?”

“Promise me.”

“Yeah. Course.” Probably not the way to go word choice-wise, all things considered. “Yes. I promise. I’m genuinely asking you these questions. So…who is it?” Satan, his heart was creeping into his throat again.

In response, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter. That only got him a frown.

“It’s…I’ve built it for…” He faltered but didn’t look away from the other as he spoke.

“Yes?” the demon prompted, as gently as he could. He could do gentle, however much his heart was in his throat, burning and freezing him simultaneously.

The angel swallowed, hard, inhaled deeply and sharply then began speaking.

“I built it for you, Crowley – but it’s okay if you don’t, I mean, you don’t have, it doesn’t, we don’t have – if you’d rather pretend I didn’t then we can do that, without any problem, I of course understand that you’ve probably never had a single thought in that direction but I kept thinking about it, ever since…and I thought that I might just start clearing up but when I realised what I was doing, then – well.”

It came out as a torrent, a rush of words that was barely distinguishable from one another but nevertheless, the ginger did catch most of it. Though, to be honest, his mind caught somewhat on the very first part of that whole ramble.

I built it for you, Crowley.

He’d built it for…for…no, he couldn’t have. He must’ve misheard. That was the proper explanation. Only, that didn’t tally with the rest of what he was saying, so…he must assume that what he’d heard was true. But what he’d heard was that…he’d built the nest for him.

For him. Not for a human. Not for an angel birdbrain who’d suddenly turned his head something fierce. For him, Anthony J. Crowley, and nobody else. To – but perhaps, Crowley’s mind tried to supply in an unreasonable effort to find any weak points in the idea that would come back to harm him, he’d built it as a token of their friendship?

But nests weren’t friendship bracelets. No feather placed somewhere about the nest ever signalled a wish to be ‘BFF’ to another angel. It was for a romantic, dedicated pursuit and for that alone.

Even so…built it for him. Aziraphale had…

Waiting for such a thing for so long, millennia, really, knowing that it would never happen and resigning himself to the fact while simultaneously hoping desperately, with every fibre of his being, to be proved wrong and have Aziraphale return his feelings, that had been hard enough.

To now have it within his grasp, as real and tangible as it had ever been for him, though, he found that he was hesitating. Backing off from what he should’ve leapt for joy for.

Because this didn’t happen. Not to him, not without some sort of twist or renege on the whole thing. God sure had an odd, and unpleasant, sense of humour. The joke tended to be on everyone else playing.

“Crowley?” The warm voice that was so familiar cut through the jumbled discord of Crowley’s mind. “Please. Say something? Anything, really. Even a curse, just…something. Please!”

“Why the Heaven would I curse you?”

“Why? Because…because I just admitted to having made an advance that you have no interest in, with no consideration for how that might – “

“Who said I have no interest in it?” Crowley interrupted.

“You…you’ve been sitting there, completely immobile since I started speaking, which seems pretty clear indication that you’re…you’re not on board with the idea, not to mention the fact that you’ve not responded at all to how I’ve decorated or….or any of the rest of it, either. Which is quite alright, really, I wouldn’t have expected you to – “

“You nested. For me.” He needed to reiterate that out loud, just to make sure that it had actually happened rather than it being merely a figment of his imagination that had finally bloomed and poisoned everything in there.

“Ehm, yes, I, I did.” Now Aziraphale was actively fidgeting, evidently struggling not to look away. “But like I said, if you – “

For the first time in this entire debacle, Crowley’s heart began to feel a little lighter, the roots of hope gently being scooped up and replanted into their soil.

At the time, he didn’t clock all the clues he’d scooted past or misinterpreted as he’d investigated the bookshop and the resulting faulty conclusions he’d come to. His brain was caught on the revelation that –

“You made a nest,” he repeated, interrupting the angel. “For me. Not for someone else. For me. In the proper sense of a nest.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, looking embarrassed, dejected and rather hurt. “Really, Crowley, must you keep on mentioning it? I know I’m in the wrong and I should never have started, but I would have hoped – “

“But angel, you built a nest for me!” He couldn’t have kept the wonder out of his voice if he tried.

However, it seemed as though the other didn’t hear that part, focusing instead on just the words.

“Yes, I bloody well did!” Aziraphale burst out, surprising himself as much as the demon. “I meant, I did, and it was intentional but that’s not to say that if – “

Crowley, feeling hopeful and happy in a way that he couldn’t remember feeling, took a tremendous chance, or so it felt like, and leaned forward, far enough to kiss Aziraphale. For a moment, he debated going for the cheek or the forehead but recognised that that would be chickening out. It might do for Aziraphale and he’d be overjoyed to receive any of those touches but for him, no. Especially not at a time like this.

It would be the mouth or nothing at all. And nothing at all wasn’t an option. Not now.

This is going to be a mistake, the voice in his mind whispered. You’re going to tip your hand all the way and even if he’s amenable to it now, it’s because he doesn’t know any better and you’re going to be the first nesting pair to ever have a divorce that early.

The thought made him swallow but he didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to stop now, he promised himself. Hell for leather, eh? Or something.

Luckily for him, Aziraphale remained still so he could actually reach him without toppling off the sofa.

If Crowley had had the presence of mind to register it over his own nerves and fears and hopes, he might have noticed Aziraphale’s eyes flicking all over his face, shock, worry and hope warring for dominance on his own. He would’ve spotted the hitch of breath from the angel and the way he leaned forward himself.

As it was, all the demon was aware of over the cacophony of his mind was the lips straight in front of him and the implications of what he was about to do, not to mention the reality of it and how utterly it would alter everything, either for the better or for the absolute worse.

When he made contact, it was soft, both in terms of the pressure exerted and the texture of the lips beneath his. It was oh so wonderfully, amazingly soft and exquisite. It shouldn’t have been, probably, but it was.

More than that, though, more than the touch of soft skin to his own, no matter how wonderful it felt, was the knowledge that this was Aziraphale. He was actually, genuinely kissing his angel, on the lips, however chase it might be – and this wasn’t a daydream, a fantasy or otherwise a construct of his mind. He knew…no, he was almost certain of that.

Please don’t let me wake up back in my flat, either having been already kicked out or about to go in here.

Would he go in at all if this was the dream he had? Yeah, truthfully, he probably would.

He hadn’t even gotten to the realisation that Aziraphale wasn’t responding in any way yet, never mind to the fear and worry that realisation would cause, when the angel let out a small, nasal gasp and pressed back. It wasn’t forceful or demanding, rather it was sweet and hesitant, but it was unquestionably a response.

However, it wasn’t long before he pulled back. In fact, it may only have been a few seconds and Crowley’s heart ached the moment they started to. No, not yet. He wasn’t ready to…not yet!

Only, when he tried to protest or plead his case, he felt lips crash into his again and he realised that it hadn’t been the angel who’d been pulling back but him.

It was still soft and sweet but there was a bit more force behind it. Or perhaps it was better to call it intentionality. And maybe a bit of force.

When they pulled apart this time, it was more of a mutual decision. Even so, Crowley was rather reluctant. He felt certain that the moment they did, reality would crash back in on him and deliver him some sort of twist to what seemed such a positive, wonderful thing.

He opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed, to find Aziraphale looking at him from a much shorter distance than he had expected. He was, in fact, less than half a foot away.

And he was smiling. Crowley couldn’t see his lips, not this close, but the smile was reflected in those gorgeous eyes, even if it was small and wobbly in its uncertainty, it was also warm and, well, there.

“So, you…you weren’t building a nest for anybody else, then?” he asked. It managed to come out lightly joking, which he’d intended, but it masked a need to be sure.

The smile widened a little as the blond shook his head. “No. I’ve only ever wanted to build for – but are you sure? You’re not lying to me?” he asked, the light dwindling just a bit.

“Why would I lie, angel? After everything, why would I lie to you on something like this?”

“But you’ve – you’ve never ever said anything. Is this a recent development?” He squeezed their still entangled hands for unneeded emphasis.

Bloody – no, he might not have outright said anything, but he’d left plenty of hints and indications, hadn’t he? Perhaps he only thought he had, or they hadn’t been all that clear.

Then again, to be completely fair, hadn’t he also been very scared of the angel finding out and had acted accordingly?

Not to mention the glass houses once again.

“Does the day we met count as recent?” the ginger asked.

He watched Aziraphale’s eyes widen to an almost comedic level as he pulled his head back somewhat. Crowley would’ve protested but didn’t; he was still close enough that it was easy to close the distance.

“I – but, that was – but my dear, that was so long ago.” His eyes, if possible, widened further and an edge of guilt crept into his voice. “Have I…oh, my good Heaven, have I been – “

“Leave Heaven out of this,” Crowley interrupted and there was just the hint of a growl in his voice. He did not need to be reminded of those smug white peacocks up there, especially not at a time like this.

“But all this time and you’ve never…at least, not as far as I know, but perhaps…” Aziraphale hesitated and momentarily bit at is lip again. “Crowley, are you absolutely sure you don’t mind?”

“That the one you’ve nested for has been me the whole time? Yeah, I’m sure, in fact, I’m positive. It – it has been, hasn’t it?”

“Always,” Aziraphale confirmed, the smile returning, if only briefly.

“Then why have you been trying to keep me out? And you haven’t said anything that might – “

“I haven’t been trying to keep you out!” the blond exclaimed, frowning in puzzlement and slight indignation. “You’ve been the one who’s turned around and refused to go into the shop. Well, perhaps you…perhaps I wasn’t quite ready to show you yet but when you seemed so adamant that you didn’t want to be here – “

I never said that! Crowley wanted to say that, but he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t, at least in deed if not in word. Because he hadn’t wanted to be there, had he? He hadn’t wanted to ever leave his angel’s side but at the same time, the thought of him nesting for someone else had been too much to bear.

“I thought you were nesting for someone else. Well, you’ve probably already sussed that,” was what he ended up saying out loud and in an odd way, it was cathartic, even though he’d said something similar earlier. Maybe it was the next part that made the difference. “I thought that it couldn’t possibly be me you were nesting for. No, I knew it. I mean, why would it be?”

An expression of both concern and love, guilt and adoration settled itself on the angel’s features. He brought the hand he wasn’t still grasping Crowley’s with up and, with only the briefest hesitation, settled it carefully on one somewhat hollow cheek.

The demon immediately leaned into the contact.

“Oh, dearest, I am sorry. It was never my intention to…I thought you knew it was for you. I couldn’t ever imagine it not being for you.”

“But you…you said that you weren’t aware of doing it,” the demon pointed out. “You were being cryptic earlier about who it was you were nesting for!”

“Ehm, ah, yes. Well, you see…” Aziraphale stopped, swallowed and gave a smile that was more of a tight, nervous little grimace. Then his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

“I’m a coward,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I was afraid of telling you even as I told you -  and perhaps I thought that if I wasn’t being direct, then it would be more up to you whether or not you…well, you could, what is it you call it? Take or leave it be?”

“Something like that, yeah. But angel, did you – you really did all of that when you thought I wouldn’t be interested?”

Not like you, eh? The one who has remnants of his own nest attempts scattered all over his flat – the plants, for instance, making them perfect even though they were part of your very first nest for Aziraphale, the one you were stupid enough to almost show him?

He felt his heart clench somewhat at that, but it was true.

Then his attention was caught by something else entirely; there was a faint but nevertheless distinguishable colour rising in those soft cheeks. To be blushing again, for the second time in this conversation and also only the second time he’d ever seen it, that was…well, actually, it was incredibly endearing, even if it was because he was embarrassed about something and not in a good way.

“I did hope,” the angel admitted, as quietly as before. “Ever since I realised…And I found that even once I knew what I was doing, I still couldn’t stop it – nor did I want to, really.”

He gave another tight, almost self-deprecating little smile. “I told myself that if you didn’t want it, it was okay, I’d at least have had the joy of imagining it while I built it.”

“I – “

What could you say to something like that? But he had to try because the expression on the blond’s face was quickly passing from adorable to heart-aching.

“Angel, I do. I do want it. So fucking much. I never thought you would do that for me, but I’ve never wanted anything else. I was just so scared to lose you and I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale blinked, a little thrown. “Why wouldn’t I do it for you?”

“Why? Because – “

Because I’m a demon and you’re an angel! Because I’m a failure now as a demon as I was as an angel. I can’t even manage one or the other or take care of you the way you should be. I screw things up constantly and my head is a mess. I don’t deserve your love and kindness and certainly not for you to risk the wrath of Heaven for becoming the nestmate of a demon.

The words, so often repeated in his head when he was starting in on a black mood, sprang easily to his lips but there they stayed. He couldn’t make them go past and become sound, so they lodged, painful, in his mouth and throat.

He swallowed, but in that action, something slipped past.

“Because I’m not…not good enough for you,” he whispered. “You deserve so much better.”

Even with everything here, just before him, apparently for his taking, it seemed he was determined to sabotage himself. Though it was an indisputable fact that Aziraphale deserved better.

The hand, which had fallen away from his cheek at some point without his conscious knowledge, returned to gently cup the cheek, its thumb smoothing over his cheekbone once then again and again. He leaned into the contact, savouring it.

“Now please listen very carefully,” the angel started, careful and determined to keep eye contact and keep his voice warm, it seemed. “I cannot imagine how I could possibly deserve more than you, my dearest. You are brave and kind and charming and just lovely and perfect in every possible way that I can think of. I know you probably don’t want to hear that but nevertheless, it’s true. You know me and I know you and I could not imagine spending eternity with any other person than you. My nest is yours, if you’ll have it, and even if you don’t, then it and my heart is still yours.”

He closed the distance between them to kiss the demon as softly as a feather landing on snow for one long, wonderful moment before he pulled away.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such an idiot about all of this – “

“Hang on, no. If anyone has been an idiot, then it’s me,” Crowley interrupted, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have – “

Oh, the list was ever so long on that score.

But Aziraphale interrupted in turn before he could get further. He did cheat somewhat, by giving another kiss, more of a peck than anything, to the ginger’s lips as well.

“Perhaps we can summarise and say that we have both managed to be idiots about all of this, yes?” he said.

He removed his hand from Crowley’s cheek and instead grabbed the hand he was still grasping in both of his own, well-manicured ones.

Possibly he meant to say something then but if he had, he must’ve changed his mind because what he did was bring the hand up to kiss it.

The gesture, while in itself perfectly innocent and chaste, innocuous even, once upon a time a relatively casual introduction – oh, the etiquette humans put around even the smallest of gestures, it was endlessly pointless and amusing – was done with such reverence, such naked adoration that it took Crowley’s breath away.

There was a noise that was more the sensation of noise than actual noise. Said sensation was of a whole murder of crows taking off at once or perhaps one enormous bird beating its wings downwards.

Though there realistically wasn’t actually enough space for them where they sat, Crowley’s wings spread out behind him, far more gracefully than they probably would have if he’d done it consciously. The feathers, groomed to perfection, almost glistened in the light of the bookshop as they stretched out.

Aziraphale watched the unintended display keenly, it seemed, and when Crowley became aware of what had happened and coloured, he smiled the softest smile possible, his eyes sparkling.

“They’re just as beautiful as I remember,” the angel said. He reached out with one hand only to stop himself almost immediately, fingers curling back as though to illustrate the decision to curb their desire.

That wouldn’t do. Crowley was tempted to reach out himself and drag the plump hand over so he could touch them if that was what he wanted. It would be sensitive, as wings always were, and the demon couldn’t remember the last time his wings had been touched by someone other than himself, if they ever had, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Aziraphale was willing to touch them, even if he felt hesitant to do so.

Before he could carry out that idea, however, another thought struck him. One which was far superior to the previous one, as well as much more appropriate given the circumstances.

He still reached but it was behind him and to the side rather than towards the angel. At the same time, he curled one wing closer to his body so that he could easily reach.

Long hours of practice while grooming them meant that he could do it with ease and without having to watch what he was doing. Which in turn meant that he could look at Aziraphale while he did it.

Aziraphale, who was watching his hand quite intently.

Even so, when Crowley’s hand reached the feathers and ran softly across them, he could feel not only a shudder run through him at their sensitivity, possibly heightened by the tension in the room and what had gone before, but also that his hand was shaking somewhat.

Was he really going to do this? There would be no going back after this. Or, well, there would, technically speaking, but he couldn’t see how. At least, he couldn’t at all see how he’d ever be able to cope with it should Aziraphale choose to back out of this. He knew he himself would never renege on it.

But the thought of doing this monumental, irreversible decision after waiting and pining for six millennia without ever thinking he’d get more was terrifying, and that was putting it mildly.

Then he answered his own question; of course, he was. He was in the best possible position he could be, given what other possibilities there were, and however terrifying it was, it was also beyond exhilarating and breath-taking and he was feeling lighter and more hopeful than he had for decades, possibly longer.

This might be a precipice that he would topple off by doing it but even though he would, he knew that he wouldn’t fall, as he had someone to catch him. Not just someone, either; Aziraphale.

He could do this. He was not alone.

[astarisms]

offing

pairing: natan word count: 2247 summary: the coast was the beginning of the end, but natalie wants it to be the beginning of... well, the beginning.  notes: for day 5 of @natanweek, coast. suggestive themes.

(n.) the deep, distant stretch of the ocean that is still visible from the land; the foreseeable future.

Lucifer hates even the mention of it. The good memories attached to the coast do an abysmal job of overshadowing the bad ones. He can’t think of her dripping wet and pouting, of her spiteful determination to scale the cliffside, of her calling him her guardian angel, without recalling everything that followed.

And though she is alive and whole, those memories are the ones that haunt him.

Her body on the bed, blue lips and sunken eyes and skin that’s grown cold. The thought that he had failed, that she had trusted him and he had all but thrown her into Hell himself. The dull ache of the jagged scars on his back, a reminder of what he had given up to bring her back. 

He feels the loss of her so acutely in his memories that sometimes it’s hard to remember that she’s here. 

It’s why she’s not going to win this one.

“Absolutely not.”

She huffs, blowing her bangs out of her face. She had changed them again, cutting them until they fell straight across her forehead. She claims she likes them, and he knows she does. He also knows that they annoy her endlessly, because of the impatient way she brushes them out of her face every few minutes. 

He knows that once they grow out, she’s not going to recut them. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I said so.” He returns his eyes to the book he’s reading, though he watches her get up out of his periphery. He crosses an ankle over his thigh and moves the book out of her reach, but he knows his attempts will go unrewarded. 

She plucks the book out of his hands and climbs over his leg, until she’s seated in the crook of it. 

“That’s not an answer,” she says, waving the book just out of his reach. “I have vacation days! I want to use them.”

“No one said you couldn’t use them.” He abandons the effort to reclaim the worn paperback and leans back. Natalie folds down the top of the page and drops it to the floor, satisfied that she’s won his attention.

“But you said—”

“I said no coast. We can go to the mountains, or to—”

Natalie throws her hands up, and he briefly entertains the idea of shifting until she topples off of him. 

“I don’t want to go to the mountains. I want to go to the coast,” she repeats emphatically. 

“I already took you to the coast,” he says, trying to keep the bite from his voice, but Natalie catches the edge. He sees the recognition in the way her eyes light up as she pieces together his reluctance. 

Nearly six years by his side has made her an expert in all things Lucifer. He resents her for it. 

“The last time didn’t end very well for either of us.”

“You don’t say,” he says, voice so thick with sarcasm that Natalie frowns at him. Her bangs fall into her eyes and she swipes at them.

“All I’m saying is that I — well, I got sick. And you—”

“I’m well aware.” She doesn’t flinch at the growl, but she doesn’t complete the thought either.  

“Frankly, I think you’re being unreasonable, and a sourpuss to boot.” 

Lucifer is shocked at the conviction with which she delivers the words, and even more so that anything she can say or do at this point can still manage to shock him.

“I’m being unreasonable? Did you just hear yourself?”

“Of course I did. I said it, didn’t I? No, don’t — just listen to me for a second, will you?” 

Lucifer bites his tongue against everything he wants to say with a glare. Natalie shifts closer on his lap, out of the cradle his crossed leg makes, and he returns it to the floor. She takes one of his hands in hers, sweeping her thumb over his knuckles.

“Bad memories, I get it. The coast is where I got sick. And that led to me dying. And, I guess, led to me going to Hell, too.” He inhales sharply and glowers at her more intensely, but she meets his eyes and raises his hand, flattening his palm to her chest, just over her heart.

He feels the steady beat of it, and Natalie smiles.

“I’m here. Thanks to you, I’m here. And I don’t want to live the rest of my life running away from the bad memories. I want to make so many good memories that the bad memories seem like a bad dream from a long time ago.”

She pauses, curling her fingers around his, to see if her words have had any effect on him. He’s still glaring at her, but it’s not as fierce anymore, and her smile widens.

“I want to make them with you. The coast doesn’t have to be a scary place.”

“I’m not scared,” he says immediately, and it sounds petulant and childish to his own ears. Natalie laughs, throwing her head back. It’s loud and grating and Lucifer doesn’t think he could live without it. 

When she calms down, she shimmies forward a little more, until she can wrap her arms around his neck and play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t believe for a moment she doesn’t know exactly what she does to him. 

She’s not 18 and naive anymore. She’s 23 and that mischievous little glint in her eyes is familiar, but there’s a wickedness to it now that only confirms his suspicions. 

“Then you’ll take me to the coast?” she asks with perfect innocence, leaning in close. “Where we can make some new memories? Better ones?” 

He hates the way her gaze drops to his lips. He hates the way she fits against him. He hates that she knows exactly how to get him to give in. 

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t really hate any of it. 

“...I’ll think about it,” he finally says, as much as he’s willing to relent today. She squeals in his ear and he winces. Natalie drops a kiss on the tip of one point as an apology, before scrambling off of his lap to go make arrangements he knows he’ll have to redo later.

He sighs. 

x

Natalie threads her fingers through his, pulling his arm tighter around her shoulders and pressing herself deeper into his side. He looks down at the top of her head, the dying sunlight casting her in pinks and oranges and yellows. 

His chest tightens at the memory of what happened last time they were here. She had put her trust in him, had believed without question that he would save her from Hell, that he would protect her, that he would—

Natalie sighs, utterly content where she’s burrowed against him, pulling him out of his own head. He still wonders sometimes, how she did it — how she crawled under his skin and carved out a place for herself inside his bones without notice, not until it was too late to do anything about it. 

“It’s even prettier than I remember,” she says, and he hums in agreement even though his eyes haven’t touched the horizon in quite a few minutes. He tracks the sun’s descent on her skin, the warmth of the sky bleeding into something cooler, darker. 

She laughs, too loud and too sudden against the peace and quiet they’ve been enjoying, and Lucifer forces his features into a frown to hide the fact that he had been watching her like some kind of lovesick idiot. 

“What is it?”

Shifting until she was upright beside him and releasing his hand, she turns to face him. His arm returns uselessly to his side, and he curls his fingers into a fist to resist the urge to pull her back into him. 

“I was just thinking of the last time we were here. Of how much of a jerk you were,” she says, a cheeky grin tugging at the corners of her lips. He opens his mouth to remind her that he’s still a jerk, because he’s still the Devil, and if she needed the reminder he would be more than happy to provide it, but he doesn’t get the chance.

She scrambles up onto her knees, and shuffles forward until she’s settled between his legs. 

“Well, okay.” Her voice drops a little conspiratorially, as if she were sharing a secret he hadn’t asked for. She props her arms against his upraised knees, and leans in closer. “I was thinking about how we were both such idiots, for so long. I’ve loved you since Oregon, you know,” she admits casually, as if it were an afterthought, as if it were common knowledge that she had loved him before she saw the worst parts of him and unwaveringly continued to do so afterwards.

Natalie continues on, though, oblivious to the state she’s left him in. “That’s six years, right? Six years that you’ve been such a big part of my life.” She sighs, wistfully, and looks over her shoulder at the darkening horizon. “We’ve made a lot of good memories, don’t you think?” 

Lucifer isn’t sure if she’s expecting an answer or not, and he thinks it’s a dumb question, anyways. Of course they’ve made a lot of good memories. He stays silent, waiting for the rest of her rambling, because of course there’s more. This is Natalie. There is always more. 

But she’s strangely quiet, turning in between his legs until she’s seated again, her back to his chest. They watch as the sky turns purple and the first of the stars begin to wake, winking into existence. She rests her head in the space between his neck and shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her. 

And because he knows Natalie, more intimately than he’s ever known anyone, he’s not surprised when it turns out there is, in fact, more. 

“I know you think this place is the beginning of where my life ended,” she says, and for once she seems mindful of her volume. He tenses, and she wraps her arm around his, looking up at him. “I promised you better memories, though, didn’t I? Lucifer?” He meets her eyes, and nods, though even he can tell it’s stiff. 

Natalie smiles and it’s like he’s watching the sunset all over again. 

“I don’t want you to think like that anymore.” 

“Yeah,” he says, trying to force a scathing note of sarcasm into his voice but it comes out rough, “no problem. I’ll just stop.” She tilts her head at him, like he’s said something funny, but he doesn’t think he has. 

“What I mean is, I don’t want this place to be the beginning of the end of my life anymore. I want it to be the beginning of the beginning of ours.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her, because all of that sounds like nonsense to him. Natalie puffs her cheeks out, and even in the dark he can tell that she’s blushing. His other eyebrow joins the first in surprise. Natalie doesn’t do that often, too straightforward and sure of what she wants to be embarrassed by it. 

She grabs his hand and takes a deep breath, and tries again.

“Marry me.”

Lucifer stares at her in utter incomprehension. He blinks, waiting for the rest, for the punchline, but Natalie just stares at him, looking both expectant and a touch nervous. She squeezes his fingers after a moment, searching his eyes. 

“What?” he finally manages, and it sounds strangled to his own ears but he doesn’t have the necessary wits to care at the moment. 

“The only future I can see for me is one that has you in it, Lucifer,” she says earnestly, and it feels like he’s fracturing from the inside out. “So… will you marry me?” 

He searches her eyes, her face, wondering what the joke is, but there’s no joke. There’s just Natalie and her open expression and her hand in his.

“Lucifer?” she asks, hesitant after his long silence, raising up a little. 

“And here I thought you were getting a little smarter,” he says at last, but Natalie doesn’t have the chance to voice her indignant complaint before he’s leaning down to steal her lips. She grins into the kiss, turning to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Is that a yes?” He pulls her closer to him in response, and she laughs, threading her fingers through his hair. 

For the first time in years, he doesn’t feel the ache of her loss. He only feels her, warm and alive in his arms, kissing too eagerly and laughing too loudly. 

When she pushes him flat on his back so she can straddle his waist, crowned in moonlight, her eyes gleaming like the stars, he can think only of how he wants to spend the rest of her life by her side. 

Her smile turns mischievous, and he watches in stunned awe as she pulls her shirt up over her head, dropping it somewhere beside them. She takes his face in her hands and leans down, brushing their lips together.

“I promised you better memories, didn’t I?” she whispers cheekily, and he pulls her down against him with a groan. 

He supposes the coast is not such a terrible place, after all.

[thewayofthetrashcompactor]

For Day 6 of @reylo-au week! I went with Harry Potter.

Prompt for this was: "Ben and Rey sharing their taste in music, and like idk that could be a date or the first time they meet."

It expanded a bit from the original prompt, but today Ben gets to hear Rey's taste in music, and tomorrow she hears his! First comes the angst, then tomorrow comes the fluff on Day 7 for free day.

[Day 1 - Modern | Day 2 - Historical | Day 3 - Canon Divergent | Day 4 - Fantasy | Day 5 - Cyberpunk | Day 6 - Crossover | Day 7 - Free Day]

also on ao3

Words: 2718 Rating: T

(A/N: Yes, jizz is a real type of music in the Star Wars universe. (Poor Rey))

Rey taps her foot as she waits, bobbing her head to the music. The DJ in the club keeps a good energy going, and she feels the beat of the latest song in her veins, keeping pace with the pounding of her heart. She doesn’t know much about music, but the song is loud with an edge of anger, in a way she could let herself get lost in if she wasn’t already busy. She has to keep herself from checking the wand tucked into the waistband of her low-riding jeans. She’s supposed to be undercover, in a place where no blood-conscious wizard would be caught dead.

She glances around the dark room where multicolored lights flash over the crowds of bodies, hordes of young people out to take what they can from the night. It isn’t a place where the remnants of the Death Eaters would be hanging out. The smells of alcohol and sweat have seeped into walls and sticky floors and the air of the room clings to her, humid and warm. Rey idly stirs the fruity drink dripping in her hand. She’d gotten one for appearances, wincing at the price, but doesn’t intend on drinking any of it. She leans against the small table shoved against the wall that she’d claimed for her own and scans the room again for her informant.

A man she’d noticed hunched over another table nearby keeps watching her, likely considering his chances if he approached her. He’s not bad looking, a little odd but tall and broad, with soft dark hair that falls over his face. She has a mission though, and it’s not to get laid. He wears a black leather jacket over his black shirt, conveniently matching his black pants, and she wonders how he's not dying of heat in the crowded space. She's grateful for the lightness of her low-cut top, even though it has to be long enough to cover the suspicious bulges of the gear she's packed away.

(continued under cut)

She tries to mentally convince the man to stay away. Unfortunately, her legilimency skills are still lacking. He drags himself up from his table, revealing he’s even taller than she’d thought, and strides lazily over to hers.

“You actually enjoy this garbage?” he says, gesturing vaguely at the DJ as he leans next to her, interrupting the way she’d been swaying to the beat.

Rey’s mouth falls open, the polite but firm insistence that she’s waiting for someone she’d prepared for him falling from her mind. “So what if I do?” she finally demands.

He looks at her from the corner of his eye, facing the writhing crowd filling the rest of the club with an expression of distaste. “Seriously?”

She crosses her arms. “Yes.” She’d just enjoyed it before, but now she’s ready to defend it to this asshole like it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

He snorts. “So much for taste.”

“I’m sorry the club isn’t playing fucking Mozart for you,” she snaps.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not asking for an orchestra. I just don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to listen to something that doesn’t consist entirely of bass and autotune.”

“Let me guess. You don’t listen to anything that wasn’t hand carved onto a rock by true artists who’ve never willingly touched anything electronic in their lives.” She wonders if kneeing him and walking away would call too much attention to her.

“Actually, I enjoy some good jizz,” he says, completely straight-faced.

Rey chokes. She can’t tell if that was the worst pick up line ever said or if he actually means it.

“The new stuff too, not just the classics,” he continues, apparently taking her reaction as disbelief.

“What --” she starts to ask, and then realizes she really doesn’t want to play into whatever punchline he’s set up. “That’s...nice,” she says instead.

He frowns at her. “I know most people think it’s old fashioned, but if you really experience jizz in person…”

“Look,” she interrupts, not wanting to hear where this is going. “I’m waiting for someone. So if you --”

His frown deepens. “I know, Rey.”

She goes completely rigid, hand planting itself over where her wand is hidden before she can stop herself. “How the fuck --?”

He digs into his dark jacket and pulls a silver coin out from a hidden pocket. Her eyes widen. “I’m waiting for someone too,” he says dryly.

She reaches into her pocket and takes out a matching coin. When they move the two together, the coins glow gently, confirming their authenticity. They both shove them away and regard each other.

“Kylo,” he says, introducing himself.

She knows. “How did you know it was me?” she asks.

His lips quirk. “It wasn’t hard to pick out a wizard in this crowd.”

She bristles at that. “Between the two of us, I don’t think I was the one who had trouble blending in.”

“Between the two of us, I’m the one who recognized you,” he says, shrugging.

She glares. “You still haven’t said how you figured that out.”

“It wasn’t so much that you’re a witch,” he says, straightening. “Just that you clearly aren’t here for the same reasons as everyone else. You’re too on edge, like you’re about to pounce. Even if you did make a good show of actually enjoying the headache they call music here.”

“I do enjoy it,” she says, scowling.

His eyes widen. “Really? This?”

“Yes!”

He shakes his head. “Next time we’re meeting in a jizz bar so you can see something real.”

“We’re not doing that,” she says decisively. “And you’re getting ahead of yourself. You haven’t given me anything to make this meeting worthwhile yet, let alone another one.”

“Right.” His face turns drawn and shadowed and he takes a step into her, closing most of the space between them. She nearly protests, but then he speaks in a low tone, just loud enough for her to hear over the music in their close quarters. “Snoke is building up to something big. He sees the defeat in Europe as an opportunity to expand, not a loss. He’s brought in two Death Eaters from the fight over there, and they’re angry and ready for revenge. He’s not going to stop.”

She leans back enough to be able to look up at him, something she’s not used to having to do. “How do we know that any of that is true, and it’s not just a scare tactic to put us on edge?” she hisses. “You’re one of them. How can we possibly trust you?”

His warm brown eyes meet hers intently, and something nudges at her, telling her she’s seen that look before. “What other choice do you have?” he asks, and Rey gasps as the familiarity clicks.

Leia had said those same words to her, when Rey had demanded to know why they were even considering trusting one of the enemy. That same tone, the intense eyes with their cast of sadness, the curves of his face -- there’s no denying it.

“It’s you,” she breathes.

He frowns. “I thought we established that.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s you. You’re Leia’s son.” His face closes off completely at that, body angling ever so slightly away from her, and she knows she’s right.

Rumors of Leia’s son that she’d lost years before were whispered through the Resistance out of their leader’s hearing, though Rey wasn’t stupid enough to think that Leia didn’t know. Poe had shown her a photo once, when she’d gotten curious enough to ask, of him, his parents, and the general with her husband and son. Rey had found it unbearably sad at the time: Poe’s mother, Leia’s family, all lost to the First Order. But the resemblance between the happy couple she’d seen in the photo and their dark haired child to the brooding man in front of her is undeniable.

“Of course, she didn’t mention that little detail,” he says bitterly. His hand wraps around the edge of the table, gripping hard enough that the cheap plastic creaks.

Rey’s mind races. “How can you work for the Order? After everything they’ve done?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he says defensively, but it’s obvious the words aren’t convincing even to him.

“Wasn’t it?” she asks, crossing her arms again, ignoring how they brush against his chest with how close they still are.

“I don't need to justify myself to you,” he snarls, lashing out like a wounded animal.

“Fine.” She shoves away from the table, fully prepared to leave. She'd known the idea that one of Snoke's own trusted leaders would turn on him was too good to be true.

“Wait.” His hand clutches desperately at hers, hot and sweaty. One sharp look from her and he drops it, though he doesn't relent.

She stops, but doesn't relax. “I'm waiting.”

“It… made sense, at first,” he says, haltingly. She pauses, still ready to turn on her heel and leave, though something in the raw vulnerability of his expression convinces her to stay, at least to hear this.

“I believed in my grandfather's work, that we shouldn't have to hide, that all this secrecy only leads to destruction.” The words tumble out faster as he continues, and she wonders if he's ever said this to anyone before. “Magical and non magical share this planet, and we need to accept that, not bury it until it comes back to bite us all, again. Snoke made it sound like that's what he wanted too, made me feel valued, like I belonged.” He takes a deep breath, shuddering on the exhale. She shifts on her feet. It makes sense, she knows too well the kind of conflicts that have come from the Statute of Secrecy, and the kind of loneliness that makes a person ready to accept the first welcoming hand to come along.

“It was… easy. Too easy. Snoke leads the Order because he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to use the people around him. Everything we did, he explained how it was necessary, that it was for the good of everyone. It felt right.” He ends in a snarl, all anger turned inwards. The words come out like he's dragging them out of a morass deep inside of him, wiping them off and presenting them, still dripping, to her, in a desperate hope for her trust. His tone speaks to the bitter taste of them on his tongue. She swallows, acid burning the back of her throat.

“They killed your father,” she says. Anger and betrayal towards the only family she's known war with her sympathy.

His broad shoulders hunch inwards, like he can collapse into himself. His voice comes out in a whisper. “I know.”

Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow pants as the tangle of emotion rises to choke her. “They killed your family and you let them brand you!”

His hand grasps his arm where she knows Snoke's mark is burned into his skin. His nails dig into his jacket. “I know,” he says again, louder, angrier. “I'm reminded every single day that this is a part of me.”

“You're not the only one,” she says viciously. “Can you even imagine what you've done to your mother?”

For the first time since they've met, she has the fleeting fear that he might hurt her. It passes in an instant, the rage twisting his features pressing in and collapsing into misery. “I'll answer for that to her,” he says quietly. “Not to you.” He draws himself together, though the cracks where she can push and break him apart again remain obvious. “I can't change what I've done or what the Order has done. I want no part of what they have planned, but I know it's too late for me. I'm only here to tell you what Snoke intends. If you don't believe me, he will succeed.”

She can feel the tension surrounding them as she balances on the paper-thin edge of the choice he's given her. She wishes she knew what waited on either side.

“Do you… regret it?” It's the one thing she needs to know.

He looks down at the table, as if the answer will rise up out of the mess of stains and spills. “So much,” he says finally, barely audible.

She nods. “Okay.” A deep breath, centering herself. “Tell me what you know.”

His head jerks up and he meets her eyes with the kind of shock that comes from a foregone assumption that he won't be believed. She steps closer to him so their voices won't carry and then reaches out to rest a hand on his hip in an awkward attempt to blend in with the couples around them. He jumps at the contact, eyes going wide. She meets his gaze steadily, even as her heart pounds so hard she can barely breathe.

“What's Snoke planning?” she asks quietly, head tilted up to his.

The words jolt him out of the bewildered trance he'd slipped into at her touch. He clears his throat and angles himself in towards the table, distancing his front from hers. “He’s building his forces,” he says, matching her tone. “I told you about the fugitives he brought in from the remains of the order over there. I think he wants to use them to start expanding, create a base he can call on when the time comes.”

Rey nods. This is about what they’ve expected from Snoke, though the addition of new blood could be a problem. He continues. “That’s not all he’s bringing over either. There are creatures, dangerous ones, that he’s had people fetch for him, some from overseas, big shipments coming into the port. The kind of things he doesn’t have to worry about giving directions to, he’ll just let them loose and take advantage of the fallout.”

Shipments coming in. A sense of foreboding pushes against Rey, and her instincts rarely fail her. “Is that what happened to Han at the docks? He got in the way of one of those?”

He closes his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he says, choked.

She lets out a slow breath. “What kind of creatures?”

He collects himself, chest rising and falling in measure breaths. “I’m not sure. Yet. I haven’t gotten a clear look. After...that, I got in a disagreement with the new general and Snoke’s been keeping me on the edges as punishment. But I’ll find out.”

“Okay,” she says, tapping her fingers on the table as she thinks. “We need to know what to prepare for.”

“I know.” He glances back at her, letting her see the determination in his features. “As soon as I can.”

Some instinct guides her to squeeze her hand over his hip before she lets go. “Thank you.” She wipes her sweaty palm on her jeans. “Anything else you can tell us?”

He shakes his head. “Not right now. Just that you need to be ready. Things are moving quickly.”

“We will,” she assures him.

He watches her carefully. “Will you meet me again?”

She can’t help but feel that he’s asking for more than a chance to pass on whatever intel he can gather. “Yes,” she agrees quickly. “Same place?”

“No.” He frowns. “Even if we think they won’t come here, we shouldn’t count on it. We need to keep moving. There’s another club two blocks over on 23rd, do you know it?”

She thinks. “Maybe. I’ll find it. How long do you need?”

“Not more than a week,” he says decisively.

“Next Friday?” she suggests.

He nods. “I’ll see you then.” He pauses, like he wants to say something else, but then nods again and turns away.

Rey watches as he disappears into the crowd, tracking his dark hair over the dancers until she can’t see it anymore. Impulsively, she grabs her now watery drink from the table and takes a gulp. She doesn’t know what it is about Kylo, but she’s left feeling like she’d missed something. She takes another sip, not even noticing the taste as her mind plays over every detail of their interaction. He’s left her with plenty to think about. And she’ll be seeing him again. Next week.

She finishes off her drink and heads to the bar for another.

(hope to have part two posted tomorrow!)

[studiobeebo]

Beeeeeeeeeeee~ I'm gonna indulge and ask for a Bakugou and a fem! S/O in a soulmate AU HC's or scenario! As for the Soulmate AU, how about the one where you meet your soulmate in your dreams every night. :)

AHHHHH YOU GOT IT MIA!!!!! HOPE YA LIKE IT FRIEND!!!

It was bound to happen eventually. You had heard the stories a hundred times about how your parents had first met, your father popping up in a dream your mother was having about something involving a ball pit and candy hearts. They didn’t actually meet until a few years later in their twenties, but their love was as real as ever. As a child, you’d often find yourself daydreaming and being excited to go to bed, thinking that maybe one day soon you would meet your destined ‘prince’ in your dreams just as your mother had and that the rest would be a happy, romantic history. Your wishes had remained the same as you grew older, even when you realized that your first meeting might not be as mushy and romantic as your child brain had thought, but then again, this was nowhere near what you were expecting.

It had been a while since you saw going to bed as some hopeful experience, so your night had ended like any other with you getting ready before cozying up into bed and slowly drifting off to sleep and fading into your own world of dreams. Just like anyone else, you had your fair share of strange dreams that you only remember odd little fragments of in the morning, but this one was surprisingly..normal. You were in the grocery store, a bag full of different fruits and veggies in one hand and the other hand was, well, in someone else’s. You, or your dream self rather, hadn’t remembered going with anyone, so it was as if suddenly you had just popped up into this world already hand in hand with someone, and that someone, as you soon came to realize, was not happy about this.

Before you even had the chance to look up and see just who the hell was with you, your ears were assaulted by a loud, frustrated shout as the person ripped their hand away from your own before pointing an accusatory finger in your face and continuing on with his yelling.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Your mouth dropped open for a second as you just stared at this blonde-headed asshole who honestly just dared to scream at you like you were intruding in on his life when he was the one in your dream. You were honestly starting to get more made at yourself though, your brain had never thought up such an explosive person to torment you with so why start now?! That was, unless..This wasn’t your brain’s doing. Your eyes widened in sudden realization and you looked around with your mouth still open as if you were trying to find someone to yell at and say ‘This can NOT be him!’, but your eyes only found his irritated red ones and in the midst of him yelling at you to answer him, you finally recognized him, ironically by the anger on his face and you pointed your own finger at him.

“YOU! THE MAD DOG FROM UA’S SPORTS FESTIVAL!!”

Oh, those were just the right words to literally get him fuming as his face became red with anger, but hey, you were just speaking the truth.

“WHA- DOG!? I’M NOT A FUCKING DOG YOU FUCKING WENCH!”

“They put a MUZZLE on you!!!! You’re a mad dog!!!! And look at you, all..all..insane looking!! Gah, this is ridiculous! Can’t I get a new one!?” You screamed out, look upwards as if whoever was in charge of your fate was looking down and laughing at you right this very second. This could just…not be right! Sure, you’d never met the kid before, Bakugou, you thought his name was,  but when you saw him on t.v. he literally looked rabid, and how he was yelling at you just confirmed that. How the hell were you supposed to fall in love with a guy like that!?

Bakugou of course settled down only long enough to look at you like you were some kind of idiot, obviously not following what you were saying at first, but when it did dawned on him that you were an actual person and not just a figment of his dream, he realized that maybe this wasn’t his dream after all, but rather it was both of yours, and that could only mean one thing. The two of you, for some sick reason probably planned out by some god or entity, were soulmates.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

While you thought that you had every right to dislike who the universe had chosen for you, the fact that he was acting like you were the unreasonable one was ridiculous to you. You hadn’t even done anything wrong! Well, you called him a dog, but still.

“Hey, I’m not the one that dropped in and started yelling! You’re the one who was holding my hand!” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest with groceries still in hand while sending a stern glare his way. His features still clearly showed frustration, but they had softened somewhat, and you had to admit that despite his apparently abrasive personality, he was definitely easy on the eyes. His own eyes were currently glaring right back at you as he tried to think of some sort of comeback, but really your were right, at least about him just starting off by yelling,  so instead he just let out an annoyed huff.

Bakugou had never given much thought to the day he’d meet his soulmate, he had bigger things to worry about in his life and to be honest, he thought that his sheer will to not have one would keep him safe, but apparently he was wrong and now he was stuck not really knowing what to do with himself. He had never even considered working romance into his every day life and he figured once he was on the road to becoming the number one pro hero, he wouldn’t have time for such things. Now it seemed that, apparently, he would fall in love, which sounded like a stupid waste of time, but soulmates were supposed to be indefinite, right? So what the hell could he do to get out of this whole mess? With a frustrated huff he shook his head to rid himself of these rising concerns before looking around what seemed to be a grocery store void of people aside from himself and you. After a moment, he simply started wandering just to get you out of his hair, but you didn’t seem to be done with him yet.

“Where are you going??”

“To waste my fucking time before I can finally wake up from this nightmare.” He spat the word out as if to make it clear that you were what was making this a nightmare for him. You didn’t know him, and you already weren’t too fond of him, but he was supposed to be your soulmate and hearing such words from anyone could hurt someone’s feelings just a tad.

“You say that like this isn’t some shitty deal for me too…” You mumbled out under your breath, but you continued to follow him anyways, not having much else to do in this otherwise lonely world of yours.

“Well it’s not like I’m the one who made the decision, so don’t come blaming me.” He responded, his voice surprisingly softening somewhat. It wasn’t that he cared or anything, and it definitely wasn’t because the pouty look on your face was sort of cute, it was just better to have some chatty chick follow him around rather than a mopey one.

“I’m not blaming you for anything, I’m just saying we’re stuck with each other so you might as well treat me decently.” You retorted defiantly, before stopping and letting out a sigh and continuing on before he had the chance to add another snarky comment. “And that goes for me too I guess. Sorry for calling you a dog.”

Upon hearing your apology, Bakugou rose a suspicious brow and looked at you to see if you were just being sarcastic to make a point of being a dick, but you seemed pretty sincere.  He let out a soft ‘Tch’ before averting his eyes and grumbling out an apology of his own.

“Whatever, sorry for calling you a wench.”

You nodded in response, before awkwardly continuing to walk next to him in silence while both of you pretended to be interested in whatever snacks were up on the shelves in each row you wandered through. But after a moment, you let out a surprised ‘Oh!’ and quickly turned to him.

“We didn’t introduce ourselves!! I’m (Name)…it’s..interesting to meet you?” You awkwardly trailed off before continuing. “You’re Bakugou Katsuki, right? I remember from– oh, yeah, well from watching you during the sports festival. You were pretty impressive, I would kill for a flashy quirk like yours.”

While Bakugou definitely wasn’t one for idle chit chat, you did have a point in saying that the two of you would kind of have to at least tolerate each other since from now on, you’d be seeing much more of each other. Plus, he couldn’t deny that his ego inflated just a tad in response to your compliment.

“That was nothing, all those extras were weak anyways.” He gloated, a smirk settled on his face as he continued to talk without even thinking about what he was saying. “You’re just lucky you’re ending up with the future number one hero.”

You were almost surprised by the bold statement, just minutes ago he was acting like you were a disease and now that you complimented him, all he can think about is how lucky you are to have ended up with him. You rolled your eyes and let out a soft chuckle, thinking that maybe he wasn’t as terrible on the inside as his fiery temper makes him seem.

“ Ohoho, ‘lucky’, huh? Please, you’d probably end up whining if you ended up with a girl other than myself.~” You teased, jabbing a confident thumb at yourself, but when you heard him snort and look off to a side with a shaky smile on his face that he was obviously trying to hide, your face fell flat in annoyance.

“Don’t laugh!! I can be just as impressive as you, and I can do it without even having to be a hero! Just you fuckin’ see, mad dog.” You ranted, though this time your frustration was more lighthearted and playful than before. You couldn’t really say you were in love with this red eyed asshole just yet, but he was already starting to grow on you and you saw him as a challenge that you just had to win. Apparently, Bakugou was thinking just the same as he heard you scramble to defend your words. As impressive as him? As if. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t up for that challenge.

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see then, huh (Name).” He said in a teasing tone just to provoke you a little bit more. However, as annoying and rude as he was, that fire in his eyes brought out your own will to win, and with a smirk and a face and a confident nod, you responded to, in a way, accept this challenge that somehow was meant to lead to love.

“Yeah, guess we’ll see.”

[bittysvalentines]

The Butter Bandit

To: @peeps-the-writer

From: @airplanesandcookies  

Happy Valentine’s Day!  I hope you enjoy this little zimbits meet-cute fic!  I really had a blast writing it for you.  

_/\_

Any other time, Jack would appreciate the privacy and serenity that came from a thick falling curtain of rain. But at this moment, he’s exhausted and merely resigned to getting soaked on the run from his car to the grocery store entrance.

He took a moment to savor the warmth of his car’s heated seats as the rain, muted, battered at the roof. The day had been brutally long - a PT session at 9am, then practice, team lunch, a few brief moments at home to nap, before heading back to the rink for a tough home game against the Schooners. Even after all that, he still had to field invasive interviews post game, cycling to get the acid out his muscles and cool down, another massage, only to get home and realize that he had no eggs or even milk for a bowl or three of cereal. He could have ordered a grocery or dinner delivery, but that would have taken so much longer than him just doing it himself.

Jack rolled his neck, pulled his snapback down over his brow, unlocked his door and promised himself that a plate of scrambled eggs was worth all of this when his passenger door swung open and a very wet man hopped into the passenger seat.

“Shitty, you are a lifesaver! I would never have made it all the way home in this. I can’t swim that far!”

The thing about being a professional hockey player, it is Jack’s job to recover faster than the other guy, which is what probably saves Jack from an early heart attack and gives him space to recognize that the drenched intruder is 1) unfairly attractive even with his blond hair plastered over his face and a thin linen button down shirt translucent over his skin and 2) most likely harmless given that he’s clearly not hiding anything.

Jack even had a slow-motion moment to wonder, if this guy, as completely random and utterly unlikely as it was, was a puck bunny with a proposition.

His teammates all had wild stories of puck bunnies trying to sneak into their hotel rooms or private cars. But he hadn’t heard of an unreasonably hot guy in a see-through shirt just hopping into a parked car.

“I’m a shitty lifesaver?” Jack asked, still computing the scenarios in which he would say ‘yes’.

The wet stranger snapped his gaze up from a pile of cloth grocery bags at his feet, blinking owlishly large brown eyes at Jack.

With nothing better to say, Jack chose, “It is a rough night for a swim.”

His stranger exploded out of his seat with a flood of apologies, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir! I thought that you were my friend Shitty and I just jumped into your car, I swear to god I’m not a creep, this was just a mistake.” And he was off, just as quick as he came, back into the pouring rain.

The heavy fall of rain immediately obscured his path. Curious, Jack jumped out of his car and looked around, but he couldn’t see any sign of the guy. Merely ready to shrug it off as one of the weirdest encounters this year at least, Jack turned to lock the door when he noticed that the guy had accidentally left one of his cloth grocery bags.

With equal measures of curiosity and paranoia (because Jack didn’t think that he would be blindsided by a pretty face, but it HAD been a really long day), Jack reached over to the passenger side seat, the rain sluicing down his back, and picked up the bag and found what had to be ten pounds of butter.

Jack completed his shopping, returned home, and finally (FINALLY) made the best damn plate of eggs he’s ever made all while completely encompassed in a cloud of questions.

_/\_ “So, a fan hopped into your car and gave you butter?” Marty asked, frowning down at a very simple butter cookie that Jack brought in to practice. . “No. Some guy hopped in my car. I think he thought I was someone else. The butter was an accident.”

“As far as pick-up lines go…” Thirdy began, in-between bites of his cookie.

Jack shook his head, “I don’t think he was a fan. I think he was just some guy taking advantage of the buy-one-get-one free sale at the grocery store.”

“But what I don’t understand,” Tater said, mouth full, “is why did you keep the butter?”

Fair question. Jack walked his teammates through the boring rationale that the store wouldn’t take the butter back without a receipt and they wouldn’t store it in case somebody came back for it. And being practical, Jack wasn’t going to just throw the butter away, so he left a note with the manager, ‘I took your butter. If you want it back or a refund, leave your number with the store. I’ll check back in a week.”

Thirdy laughed so suddenly, he snorted his water. “Man, that note sounds ominous as hell.” He mumbled over the lip of his cup, “If you want the butter back, meet me in a dark alley around midnight.”

Tater licked his fingers, “So, you are a butter bandit. You dress like one.” “No.” Jack stated as he packed up the rest of his cookies. He did not look down at his yellow shoes. This wasn’t complicated. “I’m trying to compensate him for the butter. It was a simple mistake, the guy shouldn’t lose out because of it.”

And if he got to see the guy again, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But he wasn’t going to say that part out loud to these guys.

But Tater had already zeroed in on the chink in Jack’s armor. “For shame, Jack. Holding butter hostage so that you can see that poor man again. He may have been baking for his grandmother or a classroom of children. You think of that? No, because you are a Butter Bandit. You steal his dreams.”

Jack threw up his hands while his teammates laughed at him. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

A chorus of “NO” followed him out the door.

And true to their word, they didn’t let up during practice, the team lunch, and the chirping even showed up in a ‘Meet the Falconers’ segment that PR kept insisting that Jack participate in.

Tater held up his camera with his long arm and aimed it at Jack who was cutting his stick. “Jack needs a nickname, something that will stick. Maybe…”

He trailed off, and Thirdy picked it back up again, face completely innocent as he continued to tape his stick. “He’s so slick on the ice. Smooth even. Smooth like butter.”

Marty poked his head into the camera’s frame. “It’s true, and the way that he steals the puck on the ice, he’s like a bandit, he’s so fast.

The video cut off to the sounds of three grown men cracking up while Jack looked at the camera stone-faced and finished checking his equipment.

_/\_ Evenings off were so rare, that Jack appropriately hoarded and cherished them with a mild glee. After he begged off of a team dinner, he hit the grocery store to purchase a few snacks, some more eggs, and some flour for crepes. And, perhaps, maybe the butter guy had stopped in and left a message and Jack could at least satisfy his curiosity and cross off that lingering to-do item on his mental list.

With his hat pulled down low, he pushed his cart around the perimeter of the grocery store, finally ducking into the baking aisle to replenish his stash of flour, when he saw a shock of familiar blond hair crouched down looking at the two different brands of finishing sugar. He was squatting down flat on his flip-flop covered feet in a pair of joggers and a grey tank top with Samwell writes in red across his shoulders. He hadn’t looked up yet, and so Jack took a moment to confirm his initial assessment of the guy. He WAS unfairly attractive and Jack was staring. When the butter guy stood up, Jack shook himself from his stupor and in a fit of action he couldn’t even begin to explain to himself, fled the aisle. Without his cart.

Jack rubbed his hands over his face and gave himself a stern talking to. The bottles of artificial pancake syrup even appeared to be judging him. When he finally had enough of being a coward, he walked back into the baking aisle with renewed determination to wrap up this entire awkward exchange.

But of course, the butter guy and his cart were gone.

Jack shuffled over to his shopping cart and grabbed a sack of flour before realizing that he had the wrong cart. It looked similar, yogurt, a package from the butcher’s counter, whole milk, and eggs, but he hadn’t picked up blueberries, pickles or any wine. Momentarily confused, Jack startled when he heard a very quiet clearing of a throat behind him.

“Um, excuse me. But I think I stole your cart?”

Jack turned around and locked eyes with the brown eyes he had last seen in his car a week prior.

“I think I have your nine pounds of your butter.”

He was delighted in seeing the pink rush into the guy’s face from his neck and ears before he responded. “Hey, wait, I thought I had 10 pounds.”

“I used a pound - finders fee.” Jack said easily despite his sweaty palms.

They stood frozen, looking at each other, before Jack held out his hand, “I’m Jack. I apparently have a car similar to one of your friends?”

His hand was met with a warm firm handshake and a self-deprecating smile. “I’m Eric, and I need to look before I just hop into a stranger’s vehicle.”

“Probably for the best, eh? Not everyone is as nice as I am.”

Jack earned a full smile in return and it felt like a goal.

“Umm, I can return your butter. And your shopping sack - I mean, I don’t have it all right now. It’s in my refrigerator at home.”

Eric nodded. “Well, let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a burger as a thank you? You could have just tossed it or donated it. It was kind of you to try and get it back to me. Most people don’t usually need that much butter.”

The question must have flitted across his face because Eric merely laughed. “I work over at the University in the anthropology department, and I bake cupcakes, cookies, and pies on the side. I had a party order for that Sunday.”

“And I stole your butter?”

Eric waved his hand, “No! I broke into your car, dropped my butter and then it served me right that I had to go across town to buy 10 more pounds.”

Feeling bolder than he had all week, Jack removed his hat and pushed his hair back. “You know, if you don’t mind, I had all this extra butter I didn’t know what to do with, so I tried to make some cookies but they were kinda dry. It sounds like you might be able to help me perfect my recipe, yeah?”

Jack watched as Eric preened for a second, his eyes darting up at Jack’s face, trying to read something that Jack really hoped was he clearly projecting back at him. Eric, straightening his shirt, “I think I can do that.”

Jack beamed, “Okay, let’s wrap up here and grab that burger? Do you need a ride?”

Eric, ears still pink, “Yeah, I typically walk to the store. I don’t have a car right now.”

“That’s fine. Plus you are already familiar with mine.”

Eric groaned. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Just like you did to my car last week.” Jack chirped with a huge smile as Eric slapped his arm playfully.

“Ugh, you think you are so funny don’t you.”

And Jack didn’t know about that, but he did think he was pretty lucky.

[adotblog]

Brave Part 12

Pairing: LMM x Reader

Requested: If you’ve got to Part 12, you’ll have realised this is straight-up self-indulgence!

Summary: In which saying “I love you” is still very novel. 

Warnings: Smut. 18+ readers only. Cursing. So fluffy you may puke. I warned you.

Words: 3911 (what the hell?)

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@lin_manuel

Take the bull by the horns!

Carpe diem!

Other metaphors!

Tell them you love them, what’s the worst that could happen?

G’night

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@ytwitterhandle @lin_manuel

*ticks item off list*

@lin_manuel @ytwitterhandle

*says it again*

@ytwitterhandle @lin_manuel

Dork.

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Friday

Lin: I am a whole room away and all I hear is your phone pinging, have you gone viral with something lol?

You: Uhh no…that’s Jas…I told her that I’m in love with you.

You: I’ll turn it to silent lol

Lin pushes the door open, walks over to your chair and kisses you long and hard. “You’re in love with me?”, he asks, exaggeratedly cocking his head to the side. You roll your eyes. “Lin, stop while it’s still vaguely cute. Yes I’m in love with you”. He grins. “I’m so in love with you”, he says. “Get back to writing, lover boy”, you say as your phone pings incessantly. You click it to silent as Lin goes back to his study.

Jasmine: He said he loves you?!

You: Yup. Kinda slipped out.

Jasmine: like…in the sack? Because, girl…

You: HA! No, when I told him I made him a mixtape.

Jasmine: Good LORD you two are such nerds.

Jasmine: You love him too?

You: I do, I’m madly in love with him. I tried not to be, but I am.

Jasmine: I’m just gonna skip by the ‘tried not to be’ part, that’s a whole n’other conversation. Boo, I’m happy for you…honestly, I thought y’all were just doin it!!

You: Ha, well that too, but…yeah.

Jasmine: I gotta go to costumes, see you later?

You: At 6 xx

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Friday and Saturday feel like they’re on fast forward-Lin has lots of tv and radio stuff, you are super-busy with work. You see Jasmine for lunch and you actually sleep alone in your own bed. For one night. Sunday, day of rest, is a blissful reprieve.

“Lin?”, you murmur into your pillow. “Yeah?”, he responds lazily, honey-sweet voice drawing out the word. “When is that writing retreat thing? With Quiara?”, you ask. “Umm, this Friday through Sunday, why?”, he asks. “Hmm, Jas wanted to go to a show on Sunday. Might skip it if it’s your first night back”, you say teasingly. “Ha, well much as I’d like a welcome party…”, he pulls you closer, arm tight to your waist, “You should go.”. “Mmhmm”, you sigh contentedly. “Is it possible to get bored of just endlessly lying here?”, you wonder out loud. “Not so far”, he responds, his fingers grazing your thigh.

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“FOOD!”, you holler as you come through the door. Three people instantly appear in the green room. “Jeez, did you teleport?”, you joke. “It’s Wednesday, two shows today-you always bring snacks on two-show days.”, says an intern. You laugh as you wrap a pastry in a napkin. “And then you always take one and go straight to Lin’s dressing room”, teases Clare, who has seemingly materialised behind you. “Am i so predictable?”, you laugh. Clare looks at the napkin in your hand, then back up to your face. “Yeah, alright.”, you concur.

Lin is still in his #yayhamlet tshirt and jeans when you arrive. “Hey!”, he greets you with a kiss. “Rugelach!”, you say, indicating the napkin you’ve placed on his vanity. “Gesundheit!”, he responds. “Dad Joke.”, you groan. Lin shrugs, he’s grinning-unreasonably happy for a busy day. “What’s up?”, you question as you curl up on his couch. “So I’m supposed to be doing the writing retreat with Quiara tomorrow…”, he says as he comes to sit next to you. “Supposed to be?”, you ask. “Yeah, she’s sick.”, he answers. “Oh no, so you have to cancel?”.

“Well here’s the thing. It’s paid for-the house, it’s non-refundable.”, he says with a twinkle in his eye. “Okay…”, you say, not quite sure what he’s getting at. “So, do you want to come? Pretend to be a writer and have lots of sex at the beach?”, he asks with a grin. “Oh! Wow, umm, yes?”, you say warily. “Sorry, my mind is racing-am I working? No, only Saturday. I’ll need to pack. How cold will it be? Where are all my hats?!”

Lin’s eyes are wide as he laughs “Woah, chill, chill!”. You sock him in the arm. “Shut up! Love me, love my crazy brain!”, you laugh. “I suppose”, he mock-sighs, before kissing you lightly. “For real, do you wanna take a trip?”. “So long as I can swap days with Clare or Anika, sure!”, you say excitedly. “Go check!”, he insists, practically pushing you out of the door.

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Lin squishes your suitcase into the trunk and slams the lid down. “So that went well…”, he says as he climbs into the drivers seat beside you. “Oh, you mean the ‘impromptu’ meeting of your parents just then? That was, I assume, not at all planned?”, you cross your arms and throw major side-eye his way. “We are borrowing my Dad’s car, it was only polite to stop and say hello…”, he says with a wicked smile. “Ugh. Sneaky. But yes I think it went well”, you admit. “It did, Pa whispers to me on the way out ‘She’s a keeper!’”, he giggles. “No, really?! Yay!”, you do a little victory dance in your seat.

”Alright, ready to go?”, Lin asks. “Yup, I got snacks, water and a kick-ass playlist”, you confirm. He gives you a withering look. “As if you’re the DJ”, he scoffs. “But you need to concentrate on the road”, you say innocently. Lin rolls his eyes “It’s gonna be a long drive, isn’t it?”, he moans.

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“We need to do more roadtripping”, you say, twisting in your seat to curl up a little, facing Lin and close enough to reach out and tuck a stray hair behind his ear. He smiles at your touch. “Really, I have loved listening to your stories”, you say, leaning your head against the seat. Lin cringes “I haven’t really let you get a word in edgeways have I?”, he asks. “Nah, but it’s okay. I like learning stuff about you.”, you say contentedly. “Well then I should be learning stuff about you too.”, he decides. “Okay I’m gonna choose a topic…umm…why do you work in theatre?”, he asks.

“Honestly, it was an accident.”, you admit. “I was here for college, I needed a job when I graduated. My friend recommended me to a stage manager off-broadway and I accidentally fell into something I’m good at”. Lin just nods so you continue. “It wasn’t planned but honestly, I’ve never known what I wanted to do-I wish I were like you, with a calling in life, a god-honest talent and vocation. But it just never happened.”.

“Maybe that’s not what your life is meant to be about.”, he says. His eyes are fixed on the road but he reaches out a hand to rest on your knee. “Your thing is people, I think. The thing you’re gonna leave behind is how you make people feel about themselves”. You feel a prickle behind your eyes “Lin! That is such a sweet thing to say”. “It’s true, it’s what? 8 months since you walked into the theatre? I’ve seen you mentoring the interns, bonding with the ladies, picking on Groff”, he laughs. “You always find a way to build them up. I hear you say things that the rest of us neglect-you thank people for things that people don’t thank people for. You ease nerves, you give outstanding hugs. When you compliment people, you have a special tone to your voice, even and restrained-it oozes sincerity, it makes people feel valued. People are going to remember how you made them feel.”.

He takes his eyes off the road for just a second to give you a soft, sincere smile. “Well, fuck, that was lovely.”, you say, a little misty. “Just being honest”, he shrugs “Also, case in point, *you* would make sure to tell someone that about themselves-so you deserve to hear it too”. He gives your knee a squeeze and you drive in silence for a bit.

“I’ve never met anyone like you.”, you say. “You’re so…open. You give so much of yourself away freely…isn’t it exhausting?”. He snickers and shrugs “I don’t know another way to be.”, he says simply. “Doesn’t it open you up to getting hurt?”, you ask. “I guess, but doesn’t it also let amazing things in? Like you?”, he answers. “I’m only sorry that I was so cautious for the first few months I knew you-all that wasted time!”.

“Nah, we needed that-to build a friendship, and to get past the ‘Oh I’m sure it’s a fleeting crush’ assumption”, you say. “It is what it is, I couldn’t be happier with how things have turned out.”, you smile. “Me too. Alright look, enough sappy fawning over one another, get your allegedly awesome playlist on”, Lin jokes. “Allegedly? How rude. You’re going to love it”, you threaten as you hit shuffle.

—————————————————————————————————

You glare at the GPS, willing it to make more sense, as Lin slows to a crawl to read the weather-beaten wooden signs which each point the way to one of the houses scattered along the beach. “Here!”, he announces after a minute or so. He pulls down the sandy track that leads to a covered parking space at the back of the house.

“Are you kidding me, this place is GORGEOUS!”, you squeal as he parks. “How did you even manage to get this place?”, you ask. “Winter-no one wants to be at the beach when it’s cold I guess”, Lin says. “Forget the cases, let’s explore!”, you say as he goes to open the trunk. You run to the door and wait for Lin to join you with the code for the key lock. He gets it on the second attempt and you rush through the door.

“Holy shit.”, you are stopped in your tracks by the view. The whole of the front wall of the living room you’ve entered is glass, giving a stunning panorama of the deserted beach. “LIN.”

“I know.”, he smiles. “Wait til you see the bathroom…”. You screw up your nose. “The bathroom? Why?”, you ask. “You’ll see.”, he says mysteriously. “Go explore, I’ll get the cases.”. You don’t hesitate, running down the long hall and picking a door to open. It’s the master bedroom, cosy but with a four poster bed in the middle of the room. There are double doors that lead outside and give another stunning beach view. There’s another door which you assume leads to the bathroom Lin thinks you’re going to be hyped about. You push it open and immediately see what he meant-there’s a huge corner tub. HUGE. Wait…

Lin appears in the doorway. “Pretty cool huh?”, he says. “Lin. Is that. A hot tub?”, you say. He walks up to you and wraps his arms around you. “Yup. I was looking forward to having it to myself, but I guess you could maybe join me…”, he jokes as he kisses the side of your neck. “Holy shit. I’m gonna need a minute, my brain is thinking all of the sexy thoughts concurrently”, you say jokingly. Lin says nothing. His mouth moves against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin just gently enough to send prickling shivers through you. “Lin…come on”, you protest half-heartedly.

“What?”, his tone is innocent, even as his hands wander down your body. “Shouldn’t we unpack or start on…Ohhhhhh”, your thought is unfinished as Lin’s hand slides inside the front of your jeans as he pushes his groin into your ass. He removes his hand and, placing it on your hip, turns you to face him. Your arms are at his waist as he lowers his face to yours. He stops millimetres from your lips and whispers “You’re right, lets unpack”, turning on his heel and returning to the bedroom-leaving you a mess of sexual tension. “Lin!!”

You head after him and see him walking calmly, leisurely back to the living area, taking a seat at the kitchen table. You walk over to stand beside him, hands on your hips. “Lin-Manuel, I’ve said it before-you are a fucking tease.”. He grins up at you ‘Yup.”, he acknowledges with a cheeky cock of his head. “But I mean just look at you, all flustered and worked up now…”, he says, his voice now husky. “Lin, you’re an idiot.”, you say, laughing. You pull him up to standing and press your chest against his. “You don’t have to tease to get me worked up, I already want you like…ALL the time.”, you explain. He chuckles. “ALL the time?!”. “I mean, I have to clear space for eating and working but yeah, I’m pretty much thinking about fucking you for a large portion of my day.”, you say as you go to kiss him. He raises his eyebrows. “Oh please, like you don’t know how hot you are”, you respond. He pretends to think for a second, “Yeah, you’re right”, he says. “UGH. Would you shut up and fuck me now please?”, you say as you pull his hips against yours. “Yes Ma’am”, he whispers as he brings his mouth to yours.

He kisses you hungrily and you reciprocate, unable to get enough of him. Overwhelmed with need, you pull him closer by the collar of his shirt, butterflies in your stomach as he bites gently at your neck. You gasp as he roughly grabs your breasts.

He lifts your shirt up and you pull it over your head, dropping it behind you. His lips are on your stomach immediately, frenzied kisses laid all across you. He unbuttons your jeans and yanks them down. You step out of them and kick them aside.

Lin already has his hands on your ass cheeks, pulling you back to him. He strokes you roughly over your underwear, hears you gasp and quickly starts to remove his own clothing. You unclasp your bra as he discards his jeans, comes back to you and pulls down your panties. His hands slide up your back as he kisses your neck and mumbles “I need you now, all of you…now”.

You pull his face back to yours, your tongue is in his mouth, your hands in his hair. You break away to hop up on the table, perching right on the edge. Lin comes to stand between your legs and as he kisses you, you take his length in your hand and stroke him. He moans against your mouth as you guide him into you, and you gasp as he buries himself inside you.

You keep kissing him as he lays his palm flat against your back to hold you in place as he starts to thrust up into you. You throw your arms around his neck and find yourself gripping his hair as he drives into you, each movement filling you completely. This is it, like a drug that you crave, that feeling of him stretching you, of your bodies joining. You bring one hand down to his ass, holding him closer still as he enters you over and over.

The pace is fast, not too hard. He’s not hitting that particular spot that drives you crazy but you don’t care-all you could think about was having him inside you, the need so strong. He moves to bury his face into your neck, his cursing indicating that he’s closing in on his orgasm. He tightens his grip on your back as he pounds his last few thrusts home and pants exclamations into your shoulder as he cums.

You wrap your arms around him as he comes down, dotting the occasional kiss on his neck. When his breathing has returned to normal he slowly untangles himself from you. He places a kiss on your forehead. “I feel bad that I didn’t make you cum, I just couldn’t hold back”, he says apologetically. “Don’t ever hold back.”, you scold. You kiss him softly, then bite his lip gently. “I’m perfectly satisfied.”, you say. “Besides, you can repay your debt later”, you wink. “Count on it”, he says in your ear as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you down from the table.

—————————————————————————————————

You’re almost done unpacking when there’s a knock at the door. You open it to see an older lady, clutching a bottle. She offers a warm smile as you say hello. “Good afternoon dear, I’m the housekeeper-don’t worry, I won’t be interrupting your vacation-the owners just asked me to drop this champagne off and tell you a couple of things.”. Lin appears beside you as you say “Please, come in-coffee? Or champagne?”, you offer as you accept the bottle from her. “Bless you, coffee would be lovely.”, she answers as you take a seat in the living room while Lin finds pods for the coffee maker.

She tells you which restaurants are still open and explains that most amenities have closed for the season but the village store a mile away has all the basics. All the other houses are empty for now, so she leaves you emergency phone numbers for herself and the owners since you’ll be pretty isolated. She tells you to cut the last of the roses from the small garden to the side of the house “Nothing worse than wasting beautiful flowers!”, she insists. She’s thoroughly charming and you both pass a comfortable hour chatting to her before she says she needs to get back to her family. Lin offers to drive her home but she insists that the ocean air will do her good and trots off into the distance with determination.

“Jesus, she made me feel positively whimsical!”, you grin as you watch her disappear over the sands. “Man, there is someone who knows what they want from life and just lives it simply.”, Lin shakes his head as you both return to the table “Imagine being that together”, you laugh ruefully. “Aaaaanyway, most important thing is…she told us we’re alone. Like, we could dance around naked on the beach if we want to”, he raises an eyebrow. “Cálmate, Miranda. 1-It’s COLD. 2-If I dance naked on the beach, nearby whales and porpoises will think it’s a mating ritual performed by one of their own and we’ll need a Greenpeace team to deal with the sheer numbers beached”, you laugh as Lin nearly spits his coffee.

“Ok that was hilarious but I dislike the premise that you dancing naked would be anything other than delightful.”, he says-still giggling, but also running an appraising gaze over your form. “Neeeeeever gonna happen.”, you say. “Psssh, Alright.”, he relents “But I think there’s one winter beach activity we can agree on”. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”, you ask. “Fire, marshmallows”, he says. “That’s more like it!!”, you agree. “Alright, soon as it’s dark, man make fire!”, Lin growls as he puffs out his chest. “Dork.”, you say as you lean in to kiss him. “You love me”, he shrugs as he tilts your head back, his lips meeting yours.

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“Tea at Buckingham Palace with the actual queen?”, Lin asks “Nope”, you answer. “AND Tom Hiddleston is there.”, he adds. “Damn, that does sweeten the deal…but no. This is still better.”, you say. The fire is roaring, the three blankets you are sitting on and wrapped in are soft. As the sun paints the sky in hues of crimson and gold, Lin wraps an arm around you and kisses your temple. “Honestly, this setting is the most ridiculously romantic thing that has ever occurred in the history of ever.” you say. “It’s so perfect I could almost feel nauseous. If I weren’t ABSOLUTELY MOTHERFUCKING FREEZING!!”

Lin laughs before he grimaces and tries to pull his blanket up over his nose. His voice is muffled by wool but you make out “freeze my god damn balls off” somewhere in there. “Alright, let’s toast these marshmallows as quickly as humanly possible.”, you say with grim determination. Lin pulls his blanket down, steels himself and makes a run for the porch, retrieving the bag of marshmallows and skewers before running back and standing as close as humanly possible to the fire.

You get up to join him and curse at the chill in the air. The fire is wonderful but it has that unfortunate effect that fires do-leaving you with a reddened, scorching hot face, while your feet remain ice-cold. Still it is nice to just twirl your marshmallows over the heat, standing shoulder to shoulder and watching the sun dip under the horizon. As you peel of layers of toasty marshmallow and lick them from your fingers, you close your eyes and listen to the ocean.

Suddenly your eyes snap open. “Wait, are we allowed to light a fire here? If it’s dry won’t we cause wildfire?”, you say panicked. “Y/N, don’t be ridiculous-we’re putting it out. Do you ever just enjoy the moment without overthinking?” Lin asks, slightly exasperated. “Sometimes.”, you answer honestly. “I’m anxious-love me, love my crazy brain, remember?”, you almost plead, the fear that he’ll get tired of it all is still never far away. Lin sighs. “I do love you, Crazy Brain”, he says. He throws a bucket of water on the fire. “Let’s get in the warm and make you RELAX”, he says. You make a run for the porch.

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“Are you naked yet?” Lin shouts from the bathroom. You laugh and shout back “That’s about as romantic as the sunset-in-Antartica situation we had out there!”. His head appears around the door. “You are so dramatic.”, he chides. You raise an eyebrow. “Miranda…”, you warn. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re not naked.”. “It’s too cold!”, you complain as you take his outstretched hand. He pulls you to his side and walks you into the bathroom, which kinda smells like…Christmas?

Lin sees your nose wrinkle. “Shut up, I found some kinda candle, I lit it…”, he shrugs. He points to indicate the huge robe you took from the wardrobe and tied around you. “Naked.”, he says.

The hot tub is throwing up plumes of steam and looks invitingly warm. You pull the robe off, rush past Lin and quickly get in. “Ohhhhhhhhh my god”, you groan, blissfully warm for the first time in hours. He strips off his clothing and practically leaps in beside you, causing a mini-tidal wave. You squeal as he pulls you into his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck as his espresso-dark eyes meet yours and he sighs contentedly. “I love you.”, you say. “Love you too”, he responds and presses his lips to yours.

“Feeling relaxed?”, he asks as he lazily moves his kisses to your neck. “Mmhmm. Very.”. “”Good.”, he whispers between kisses. You slide off his lap to sink into the warm water, low enough that it covers your shoulders. The faint flame from the candle reflects in the window, the beach lit only by moonlight. The waves lap at the sand and though you can’t hear it, you imagine the sound of the gentle crashes and swells.

Lin turns his head to look at you. Beneath the surface of the water, he takes your hand. You both lay there, lulled by the hypnotic motion of the sea. The only sound is the two of you, just breathing.

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