#can we not just quietly enjoy our own things in our own corners without people coming for us

[kurthorton-moving]

remember when i tried to say the attempted call out on billie was stupid and so anons started trying to call me out for things but all they could come up with was. that i enjoyed 13rw

[helaintoloki]

I am just so obsessed with the idea of Five and Reader's domestic life (without all those doomsday shite) 🫠 so please, if you can, I'd love to read something related to that 🙏🏻

a/n: hi anon sorry for the wait ! i just started the fall semester and haven’t had much time to write but i hope you enjoy this little slice of life -esque fic

warning: basically pure fluff

The dance hall is nearly empty save for the elderly couple rocking back and forth in each other’s arms in front of the stage where the big band plays their last song of the night. Tired busboys and cleanup crew members clear away the tables and sweep up any mess to prepare for the next day of business. Despite the evening coming to a close, you’re in no hurry to leave Five’s arms as he delicately twirls you around the dance floor to one of his favorite songs.

“Ready to call it a night?” He asks with a careful smile after watching your eyes nearly flutter shut for a third time. He knows you well enough to detect when you’ve reached the point of exhaustion, but he also knows you’re not one to ever admit this out of your own volition.

“Tired already, old man?” You counter playfully, but you don’t protest as he begins to lead you off the dance floor and out the doors to your car. Your feet are killing you and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed, and Five is fully aware of your current internal dialogue. He helps you into the car and even slips off your heels for you before taking his place behind the wheel.

“This was nice,” he admits in a soft voice, glancing over at you in the passenger’s seat. Your head is pressed against the cool glass of the window as you watch the city streets pass by, and you let out a gentle hum in response to his comment.

“It’s nice we get to do normal couple things now,” you agree thoughtfully. “No assignments to complete, no world-ending apocalyptic threats to stop, no timelines to fix. Just us getting another chance to relive our twenties again in a world where the moon is still intact.”

“I’m sorry about all that,” Five relents with a tired sigh. If not for him you probably never would have been wrapped up in all that mess in the first place, and he feels partly responsible for the chaotic nature your life had taken on the last few decades.

“Hey,” you call gently, prompting the boy to glance over at your sincere gaze and soft smile, “I wouldn’t change it for the world, you know that. I literally had the chance to, but I decided against it.”

“Don’t remind me,” he scoffs quietly at the memory. The Handler had cornered you once with an enticing deal- a chance to return to your own time in exchange for Five’s whereabouts and his plans to stop the end of the world. She mistakenly underestimated your loyalty to the time traveler, and you had gifted her with a solid right hook in response to her offer. That all felt so long ago to you both now.

The headlights of the car drown your front yard in artificial light as Five finally pulls into the driveway of your humble home. After everything had been set back to normal and the Cleanse had been stopped, you both decided to move out into the suburbs and purchased a lovely little fixer upper in a quiet neighborhood where almost nothing seemed to happen. It was exactly the fresh start you needed, and every time you stepped over the threshold through the front door you felt your heart fill with warmth all over again just like it had the first time Five had carried you inside.

“I think we should get a dog,” you voice aloud for no particular reason as you flip on the lights and shut the door behind you. The house is cozily warm despite your absence, and already you can feel the eagerness rising within you at the thought of crawling into bed.

“A dog?” Five repeats with a raised brow as he hangs his coat on the wall and sets your heels upon the shoe rack next to his own.

“After married people get a house they usually start having kids, or they get a dog,” you explain with a casual wave of your hand as you walk through the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a glass of water. “I think we should get a dog.”

“Not a kid?” Five teases as his fingers playfully poke into your side. You jump at the feeling, and he uses the distraction as an opportunity to steal your glass from you so that he may take a hearty gulp of water before you can protest.

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. At least, I’m not. I can hardly handle babysitting Grace and the twins as it is.”

“To be fair, they take after their parents,” Five reminds you with a sarcastic chuckle before handing you your freshly refilled glass of water. “I think our kids would stand a better chance.”

“A Hargreeves child with a y/l/n as their mother?” You retort with a pointed look and uneasy smile. “Not likely. I’d like to remain chaos free for at least another few years before we get to that.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he relents with a sigh before wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve had enough chaos to last us a lifetime. The kids can wait.”

“So we’re getting a dog?”

“We’ll get a dog,” Five chuckles with a careful nod as he presses his lips to your cheek.

“Can we name him Mr. Pennycrumb?”

“Mr. Pennycrumb?” Your husband retorts skeptically, pulling away to analyze your facial features in search of any falsehood or mirth. “Where’d you come up with that?”

“I read it in a comic book once,” you offer with a simple shrug as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world. Despite how much time he’s spent with you, you still always find a way to surprise him when he least expects it. It’s one of the many things he loves about you, and it’s why your relationship has remained so strong after all this time. It’s hard to reach a stalemate when you’re always keeping him on his toes.

“Of course, what was I thinking,” Five hums thoughtfully as he pulls away from your figure and sets your now empty cup in the sink. “Mr. Pennycrumb it is.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and turns to leave for the bedroom, but your melodious call of his name has him stopping dead in his tracks. You move forward to loosen his tie for him, an adoring smile on your face as you peer up at him through your lashes and quietly voice, “I love you.”

He grins, his gaze soft with a look that is only reserved for you as he presses his lips to your forehead and gifts you a tender hearted kiss. What he ever did to be lucky enough to have someone like you, he’ll never know, but what he does know is that he’ll gladly spend the rest of his time on this earth making you happy with the life you’ve built together.

“I love you too,” he utters reverently before pulling you into his arms once more for another kiss.

[shadowdarlings]

Rain & Redemption II

Tamlin x Reader

Synopsis : The Lord of Spring has returned, with his nightingale in tow. While readapting to civilized life you and Tamlin face reality together.

part one

Pairings : TamlinxReader

a/n : so i am really digging the first part of this story and decided that i want to continue writing at 12:07am so i hope you enjoy this as much as i did <3

Warnings : slight angst (with comfort), mentions of trauma, suggestiveness, as always possessive tamlin (in a good way)

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Dinner with Tamlin was a drawn out affair. The deer he hunted down, no doubt in his beast form, had to be prepped and cooked. While he began dressing the fallen creature you took it upon yourself to begin sifting through the discarded and destroyed artifacts that littered the dining area. Although the manor had been shredded and abandoned, you couldn’t help but marvel at its refreshing beauty. Here there was light. Massive glass windows looked out to a rose garden that was surely once well manicured. The sun had already started its descent past the horizon but light still streamed in from every corner. The manor was everything that your home under that gods forsaken mountain wasn’t. The Hewn City was all darkness and stale air. You began sorting things into two piles. Items that were fairly unharmed were deemed ��to keep”, others that had been completely torn apart were tossed into a discard pile. The two of you worked diligently in silence until he looked up from the deer and said, “You never told me your name.” You tore your gaze from the chipped vase in your hands and met his stare. “You never asked,” you began with a playful smugness, “but it’s Y/N.” Something unreadable flickered in his green eyes before a slight smirk cracked on his face. “Well, Y/N,” he said with a dramatic pause, “our dinner is ready to be cooked. How do you like your venison?”

You both agreed that without a working kitchen that a fire would be the best way to roast the deer. While he built a fire you toyed with an idea. “What if we preserved some of this beautiful bounty into something that will last beyond a night?” you asked him. Tamlin threw another piece of wood onto the makeshift fire and answered your question with his own. “As in a jerky? How do you mean?” That was exactly what you had meant. The future of your time in this manor and when you would next have a full meal was entirely uncertain. The topic had hardly been broached. “Unless you intend to spend the rest of your days hunting and building fires, it might be a prudent idea.” He looked you over before replying, “Smart, little bird. We’ll make two steaks for tonight and dry out the rest. It should preserve overnight and we can feast on jerky for weeks.” Satisfied with your quick thinking you helped him prepare the meat for roasting.

“What did you mean when you said you are not fit to be a ruler?” you asked after another bout of silence. Tamlin stilled his spinning of your dinner over the fire and his gaze shot to the flames between you. “I’m sorry,” you quickly said, “If I’m prying too much.” He did not look up from the inferno but said quietly, “I have abandoned my people and my post. Those who reside in the Spring Court put their faith in me. I have failed them again and again, in so many ways.” You blinked once at his brutal honesty before prodding further. “Will they not look to you once more? Surely there is a way to regain their trust.” His eyes moved from the fire to your own. They were filled with such sadness, such regret. “I would not know where to start, little nightingale.” You scoffed lightly as his response. “Well,” you began, “I think leaving those woods and coming home is already a start, wouldn’t you say? If you’re willing to return just to ensure the safety of a lone Night Court citizen, I can’t imagine what you might be willing to do for your people.” The sadness in his eyes faded ever so slightly as he said, “Since you’re so full of wisdom tonight, pray tell how might I continue this path of redemption?” You smiled at that.

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Tamlin was restless. Every time he started to fade away, sleep evaded him and he was jolted awake by poisoned memories. He had declared that he wanted to sleep outside the manor to stay alert for any looters or more dangerous creatures. He’d shifted into his beast form and taken post directly in front of the entrance just as night had overtaken the Spring Court. Truly, he was not sure if he was ready to sleep under this roof again. The two of you had talked for hours, discussing your histories and what the future of the Spring Court might look like. He’d escorted you to your room and bid you a gentlemanly goodnight, but your conversation replayed in his mind endlessly. A loose plan had been set in place to begin repairing his relations with those that depended on him. You had been so eager and determined while you both brainstormed ideas for making amends. He admired your tenacity yet was not fully convinced that this plan would work effectively. The thought made him queasy. His heart began a pace that tightened his chest and he was sure that if he’d been in his fae form that his palms would be sweaty. Tamlin shoved his anxieties down and recalled what you had told him about Rhysand, about how he’d condemned the entire Hewn City to a life of cruelty and rot. Although the idea of tomorrow sent him into an unending panic, he did not wish for you or any of his people to endure the same neglect for another moment.

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The morning light creeped in through the open window in your bedroom. It took a moment to recall everything that had happened, where you now were. The bedding had been dusty but a few shakes had it cleaner than before. You didn’t mind dirt, you’d spent a year lying on the forest floor. Waking up in a soft bed had become unfamiliar, but you relished the softness of the pillows and blankets before sitting to stretch your limbs. Moving to the armoire, you sifted through the clothing to find a pale green dress and a set of cream slippers. The outfit was plain but you didn’t particularly mind. Your mission for today did not require glittering attire. You fixed your hair into a loose braid and pulled two strands from the front to frame your face. After giving yourself a once over in the looking glass you deemed your appearance fit for the task at hand.

Tamlin was already dressed in a tunic and pants that were similar in style to the night before. You only gave yourself a moment to admire his wide shoulders before clearing your throat. He turned from his work on the piles you had created the night before and said “Good morning,” before he faltered. His eyes widened slightly and dragged up and down your figure. Meeting your gaze once more he choked out, “Well don’t we look the picture of Spring today?” You rolled your eyes at him and moved to take the picture frame from his hands. “We have a job to do, remember?” Tamlin huffed out a weak laugh before replying, “How could I ever forget?” He looked tired. You wondered if he slept as marvelously as you did. Considering that he spent the night on a set of marble stones you didn’t know how he possibly could.

The two of you moved outside to where the deer had been smoking overnight. Indeed it had preserved itself into a jerky that would remain edible for weeks. He started packing the strips into the wooden bin you had found in the kitchens when you said, “I have another idea.” He did not pause his movement or even look at you as he said, “Of course you do.” You pulled a basket from behind your back and waved it in front of his face to draw his attention. “I was thinking,” you began, “we should gather some flowers to take as well. These gardens are completely overrun. There are flowers and berries that need culling anyhow.” He straightened and assessed the gardens before the manor. “As you wish,” was all he said. Tamlin had been quieter than he was last night. You thought it best not to pry further and with his permission granted made your way into the thick of the garden and began collecting the fruits of spring.

When your basket was full and Tamlin had stored all of the dried meat you both began your trek to the nearest village. On horseback, he had told you, it would only take a half hour to reach your destination. After the fall of Spring his array of horses had all been stolen or set free by anonymous citizens. After two hours of walking the two of you were tired and parched. A nearby stream trickled with fresh water and you both drank deeply from its supply. “It’s just over that hill,” he said. The hike had been mostly silent. You were learning to enjoy quiet moments with the High Lord. It was almost as if you had a mutual understanding that the silence was not rude, but instead a peaceful reprieve. “No turning back now,” you said, standing from the stream and straightening your lightweight gown. He grunted in acknowledgment as you both continued your parade to the village.

The sight of the meager town was heartbreaking. Several houses and shops had fallen into rubble and the village center had looked as equally abandoned as the manor. Tamlin halted immediately, his breath quickening. Sensing his discomfort you moved to lace your fingers between his, squeezing tightly. The High Lord did not balk from your touch but instead gave a light squeeze back and continued his approach. The two of you reached a small home that had a plume of smoke rising from a stone chimney. A sign of life. Unlocking your hands you raised a fist and gave two sharp knocks to the wooden door. A few moments of shuffling and then the door swung open to reveal a gruff looking fae male. His eyes first landed on you, then travelled upwards to the towering Lord behind you. The male’s eyes widened with shock and reproach. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he spat at you both. You calmed the annoyance that flowed through you and made your voice gentle as you said, “I- We come to offer a favor to you and your home.” The male looked down at your basket and the dried jerky Tamlin held in his hand. “We don’t need your charity,” the male responded, “we’ve been fairing well enough on our own, girl.” A sweet voice sounded from further into the house, “Mikah? Who is it?” A pretty looking female stepped into the light of the entrance and put her hand on Mikah’s arm. When she turned her gaze to the two of you her expression almost mirrored the males’. “Our High Lord and his… this girl have brought favors.” She looked down to the goods you had presented and back to Mikah. “I told them we were just fine,” he said with a hint of finality in his tone. The female scoffed at him and observed the two of you once more. “We are most certainly not,” she started. “Invite him and the girl inside.” With that she turned and strode back into the house. Mikah gave Tamlin an incredulous look but opened the door further for you to enter.

The female’s name was Cera, you had learned. She fussed over dishes and refreshments as she lamented about their struggles. The village had been ripe for naga attacks and most residents had decided to evacuate the area for fear of their families. “Mikah did not want to leave, of course. He spends most of his days hunting, although they are not always fruitful.” You and Tamlin listened carefully to her story. There were only a few families that had stayed after his disappearance. They all struggled. You glanced over at Tamlin and were met with a stern face. His jaw was set and his eyes were dark with despair. Underneath the modest wooden table you grasped his hand once more, turning your attention back to Cera. The four of you spoke for several hours. You and Tamlin expressed your willingness to help in any way you could with the naga and the rebuilding of the village. After exchanging the dried meats and gifts from your basket, the two of you made your way back to the front of their house. “Thank you for having us,” you said “It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” Cera reached out to pick up your hands. She looked at you then at Tamlin, her eyes pricked with tears. “Thank you for coming back. We need you,” she said. He nodded his head towards her and straightened as he said, “I could not have done it alone. It will take all of us to rebuild. I am thankful for your time.”

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Tamlin let out a heavy sigh when the two of you began your walk back to the manor. The day had been filled with conversations like the first he’d had with Mikah and Cera. The two of you had made your way to most of the families remaining in the village and presented your gifts as well as your pledges to restore their homes and lives. He was exhausted. Once the two of you had crested the hill overlooking the town he paused. You looked at him in curiosity. He was overwhelmed with emotions… gratitude, despair, grief, hopefulness, apprehension. Without thinking he grabbed your waist and pulled you close against his chest. He could hear your smooth, calming heartbeat. He breathed in your scent and closed his eyes. Only two days ago he had been more beast than man. Now he was walking on two legs and meeting with the people who had once trusted him. He felt your hands wrap around his middle as you nuzzled into him further. He could have stayed like this forever, but you pulled back looking up at him with those bright gorgeous eyes. “You did well today,” you said to him still in his grasp, “I’m proud of you.” Tamlin hadn’t heard such perfect words in a very long time.

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Taglist : @lilah-asteria @booksnwriting @stained-glass-eyes0708 @anxious-cactus @thrumbolt @jesskidding3 @acotarxreader @nocasdatsgay @scorpioriesling

[starry-hughes]

holiday disaster (luke hughes)

day 22 of star’s ficmas

luke hughes x reader

Jack walked onto the plane first, getting his ticket scanned and walking through. Before Luke could even have his ticket scanned he was stopped. The two brothers had arrived late to the airport and were last to board the flight. “I’m so sorry sir but this flight was overbooked and there are no more seats.”

“Jacky?” Luke called. The two were supposed to be traveling home for Christmas. “Is there another flight he can take? We are going home for Christmas.”

The attendant searched for a second and Luke was panicking. “There’s a midnight flight, last flight out.” It was noon. “Lukey, you can take my seat and I can wait.”

“No it’s okay, I’ll call mom and tell her.”

Luke made himself comfortable in a corner of the airport as Jack left on the flight. He had to break the news to his mom and call her. “I won’t be making dinner mom, I’m sorry, I’ll be home for Christmas Eve morning.”

You had been staring at the screen when the flight came up as canceled. You almost burst into tears when the flight attendant told you the only flight out was a midnight flight. You were convinced you might miss Christmas. All you wanted was to go spend the holiday with your family and now you were being delayed. Neither Luke and you wanted to leave the airport, the long security lines made you just want to stay, and Luke thought the same.

“Are you using the outlet?” you asked him. Luke looked up. “No, you can use it.” Luke watched as you hurriedly took out your phone charger. “Hi mom,” you called, “I’m sorry I’ll be late, yeah… eleven pm. I hope that flight isn’t canceled.”

Luke’s ears perked up as you said that. He listened to you end the phone call. The two of you sat in silence, doing your own things before Luke cleared his throat. “Can you watch my bag? I don’t really want to take it in the bathroom with me.”

You nodded and smiled as he got up. No one bothered you while he was gone. There were so many people in the airport but it was like the two of you had your own corner of life. When Luke returned, he had two bags of food in his hands. “Thought you deserved some food.”

Luke handed you a bag from one of the fast food places along with a water bottle. “I heard your flight was canceled,” Luke said. “Yeah, flying out to my parents and the one time I want to visit, it’s canceled,” you sighed, “thank you for the food by the way. Let me pay you back.”

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. My flight got overbooked. And my brother is currently on the way to our parents without me.” You frowned, “I’m sorry.”

The two of you ate quietly, hoping the hours would go by faster. “I have a laptop, do you want to watch a movie?” you questioned Luke. Shoulder to shoulder, the two of you watched a movie. Luke dozed off on your shoulder. As the day went on, there were less and less people in the airport. As the afternoon passed, both of you would get calls from family members asking how it was going. Luke told you about hockey and his job and his brothers. You told him about your own work and family.

“Hey,” you shook him gently awake, it was six pm. “There’s a restaurant down the terminal, do you want to go get dinner?”

In the airport restaurant, the least likely place to fall in love, you started enjoying time with Luke. You both tried random foods and shared plates. Laughing over dumb stories and joking about being stuck together. At the end of the night, Luke paid the bill and you tipped the waiter well.

You two still had time before your flights. Spending time sitting together and watching another movie or snacking on chips Luke bought. You checked your phone and realized you had to start getting to your gate. “I should get to my gate,” you frowned. “Oh,” Luke said, “I’ll walk you down.”

Luke dragged his suitcase behind him as he followed you. “You should get to your gate too Luke.”

He sighed and nodded. “Can I get your phone number?” You nodded and took his phone which he unlocked for you. You added yourself as a contact and took a picture of yourself for his contact phone. “Have a safe flight (Y/N), Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Luke.” He turned and walked back to the opposite end of the terminal to his own gate smiling.

[kyunkyunscans]

A blu-ray preorder special edition for Beyond the Period came with a special drama extra. So here's my fan translation of that.

----

Yotsuba Tamaki: Ummm, did it start recording?

Rokuya Nagi: Perfectly.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Alright! Let’s go.

Rokuya Nagi: Ok.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Ready, and-!

Both: Charge! Beyond the Green Room!

Rokuya Nagi: Shortened to,

Yotsuba Tamaki: BtGR! [1] Umm, this movie is a dream live show called Beyond the Period featuring us from the four groups IDOLiSH7, TRIGGER, Re:vale, and ZOOL, for a total of 16 idols. 

Rokuya Nagi: Before the Day 2 performance today, IDOLiSH7 is bringing you a look into the different green rooms.

Yotsuba Tamaki: We, IDOLiSH7, told the staff we wanted to do this project, and they suddenly gave us the OK. Isn’t that awesome?

Rokuya Nagi: We wanted to share with you all of the details of what’s going on behind the scenes between rehearsal and the live show. 

Yotsuba Tamaki: We’re using the cameras on our smartphones, and behind us you can see the dancers in the hallway. You guys good?

Rokuya Nagi: They’re waving to the camera for us. Oh! Tamaki, what were you just eating?

Yotsuba Tamaki: [through a mouthful] Fancy seedless grapes from the refreshment corner

Rokuya Nagi: Oh, the gifts from Re:vale. In one corner of the hallway, there are many refreshments like this that we’ve received from everyone involved lined up.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Pudding and other things that need to be chilled are in the fridge. Amazing, right? There’s plenty of fruit and sweets and drinks, too. Over here, we also-

Rokuya Nagi: Tamaki. I think that’s enough. This is turning into Charge! Beyond the Refreshments.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Sorry, sorry! Ok, now let’s move on to the main segments, yeah?

Rokuya Nagi: Then let’s start with this group’s green room. Hello~!

Both: BtGR!

Isumi Haruka: You took so long!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Isumin!

Rokuya Nagi: Did you go out of your way to wait for us?

Isumi Haruka: I didn’t go out of my way. You were making a racket in the hallway without making any progress so I was just checking on you.

Natsume Minami: Isumi-san, most people would say they were waiting especially for them. 

Isumi Haruka: I dunno about most people, but whatever, I’m not saying that. 

Rokuya Nagi: With that, Tamaki and I will introduce you to ZOOL’s room!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Here, Isumin, Minami, wave to the camera.

Natsume Minami: Hello, let’s enjoy our time together until Day 2 starts. You’re really recording this on your own smartphone, aren’t you. 

Rokuya Nagi: Yes! We decided it would make it look more natural. 

Yotsuba Tamaki: Hey, Isumin.

Isumi Haruka: I’m not waving.

Natsume Minami: Isumi-san…

Isumi Haruka: Just waving is boring. What the people watching this really want… is this, right?

Yotsuba Tamaki: Huh? Are you pinching something with your fingers?

Rokuya Nagi: Oh? But you’re not holding anything.

Isumi Haruka: I’m not pinching anything! It’s a finger heart! You guys even did this too for fan service, how do you not recognise it?

Rokuya Nagi: Amazing! Isumin’s fan service…

Natsume Minami: After receiving so much energy from everyone yesterday during Day 1, we talked about how it would be good to return the favor with fan service. Right, Mido-san, Inumaru-san?

Inumaru Touma: [quietly] Got it. You really went for an offer I couldn’t refuse, huh. 

Mido Torao: Yes. Let’s pump it up with your power. I’m looking forward to it. 

Inumaru Touma: Leave it to m-uwah! Rokuya, Yotsuba, when did you get here?!

Isumi Haruka: A bit ago. But Marucchi, aren’t you a bit too surprised? What were you and Toracchi talking about?

Mido Torao: Ah, Touma was just-

Inumaru Touma: Stop! Don’t say that here!

Mido Torao: Well why not? You’re just-

Inumaru Touma: Shut up! If Haru and everyone find out, we’ll be teased like idiots!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Huh? What are you talking about?

Natsume Minami: I wonder…

Inumaru Touma: Maybe or maybe not, but probably. But this time I’ll get these shredded

Isumi Haruka: Shredded?

Yotsuba Tamaki: Marucchi, were you cooking during the live show?

Isumi Haruka: Cooking during the show?!

Inumaru Touma: No, it’s not like that-

Natsume Minami: Live cooking, hm? Serving meat roasted in scorching magma on top of shredded cabbage with ZOOL’s love. 

Mido Torao: It’s stimulating not only the visual and auditory senses of our fans, but also their olfactory senses.  Okay, now above the live show-

Inumaru Touma: Are you an idiot? No way we can do that.  I more or less know what we were talking about but, what kind of trauma are you trying to start?  

Mido Torao: I’m joking, I’m joking. If you’re feeling nervous, I thought I should hype you up

Inumaru Touma: No way, I just gotta make my mind up.

Isumi Haruka: Seriously, what the hell are you talking about?

Yotsuba Tamaki: Good luck, Marucchi. I don’t really get what’s going on, but I’ll cheer you on from the wings!

Rokuya Nagi: Me, too. Everyone on the other side of the camera and sitting in the audience will also be looking forward to see what Inumaru-shi cooks up-

Inumaru Touma: Support all four of us in ZOOL, okay?!

Natsume Minami: I look forward to seeing you from on stage.

Isumi Haruka: See ya.

Mido Torao: Spend an unforgettable day with us. 

Rokuya Nagi: Now, let’s introduce you to the next green room!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Iorin, Yama-san, Sou-chan! 

—--

Osaka Sogo: Tamaki-kun, Nagi-kun, thanks for the hand-off.

Izumi Iori: As he indicated, the next green room charge will be led by myself, Nikaido-san, and Osaka-san. 

Nikaido Yamato: Now, who could we be visiting? Let’s do this~ Huh? It isn’t opening. Excuse me, it’s BtGR time. Re:vale, can you two hear me? Ah, sorry, I spoiled who’s inside. 

Izumi Iori: It was unavoidable in this situation. But I wonder why the door isn’t opening.

Osaka Sogo: They should have expected we would be coming for the Charge.

Nikaido Yamato: They should but…

Momo: Yamato! Sogo! Iori!

Nikaido Yamato: Momo-san, what’s going on? Why is the door-

Momo: It won’t open!

Yamato, Sogo, Iori: Huh?!

Nikaido Yamato: By won’t open you mean…

Izumi Iori: Why so suddenly?

Momo: I guess the lock broke but it suddenly stopped working halfway through. Ah, Darling!

Izumi Iori: What happened? Did something happen to Yuki-san?

Yuki: It hurts….

Momo: Darling, are you okay?! Darling! Someone! Help! Someone please help us!

Izumi Iori: This is bad. Nikaido-san, hurry and tell the staff-

 Nikaido Yamato: No, no, this is clearly a prank

Osaka Sogo: Out of the way!

Nikaido Yamato: Sou?! What have you got-

Osaka Sogo: I borrowed some tools from the staff. It’s okay, I’ve removed a door once before.

Momo: Ah, the door!?

Osaka Sogo: Don’t worry. I’ll get you two out of there in no time.

Nikaido Yamato: Wait, Sou, you don’t need to go that far…

Osaka Sogo: What are you saying? Yuki-san is in danger. I have to remove it right away.

Momo: Wait, wait! Don’t remove it! I’ll open it! I’ll open it!!!

[a moment later]

Momo/Yuki: We're sorry.

Osaka Sogo: Please stop that. I can’t have Re:vale, whom I respect, sitting in seiza. If you must sit, please sit on top of me. Here!

Yuki: Are you sure? Well, okay…huh, your butt is surprisingly soft. 

Osaka Sogo: I’m honored to receive such a compliment. 

Momo: Don’t actually sit on him!

Yuki: Momo, Would you like to sit, too? There’s half a butt left for you.

Osaka Sogo: Please go ahead, Momo-san.

Momo: Ah, really? Then just for a bit…wow, it really is soft! 

Nikaido Yamato: Don’t freaking sit on him, you two! 

Izumi Iori: All three of you, please stand up. At any rate, it’s a good thing nothing happened to Re:vale. 

Momo: Sorry. When I heard you three were doing the BtGR I thought I just had to do a fun prank…

Nikaido Yamato: Do you have to always have to do a prank? And there must have been a million other things you could’ve done that would’ve been quieter

Yuki: But I wanted to see Yamato-kun freak out. Right, Momo?

Momo: Right, Yuki.

Nikaido Yamato: There was no need to panic, though. It was obvious you two were up to something. 

Osaka Sogo: I’m sorry I didn’t see through such an obvious prank. 

Nikaido Yamato: No, that’s not what I meant.

Yuki: You don’t need to apologize, Sogo-kun. If this wasn’t a prank, you definitely would have saved our lives. Thank you. 

Osaka Sogo: That’s… I would without hesitation.

Izumi Iori: That aside, Re:vale really likes surprises, don’t you. There was that other time you tricked us before a recording, too. 

Nikaido Yamato: It’s just like Re:vale not to feel nervous even on days like this. 

Yuki: To that I say Yamato-kun is too stiff. You could relax a bit more.

Nikaido Yamato: Haa?

Osaka Sogo: In other words, you surprised us in order to calm our nerves? Re:vale is amazing…

Momo: Exactly. This one was mostly Yuki’s idea. 

Yuki: If we, the most senior idols, did something like this, everyone else would feel a little more at ease, right?

Momo: My darling is way too ikemen! I want to show this thrilling moment to everyone in the audience right away!

Izumi Iori: Right away?

Momo: When I talk with Yuki, every minute and every second I think, my darling is unbelievable. It makes me want to tell everyone, you know?

Nikaido Yamato: You’re reminding me of Sou when he brags about how much Tama’s grown. 

Osaka Sogo: Me? Really?

Izumi Iori: That’s something you don’t really notice when you do it yourself, isn’t it. 

Yuki: But, Iori-kun is the same way when it comes to talking about Riku-kun.

Izumi Iori: Huh?

Yuki: Huh?

Izumi Iori: Huh?

Yuki: Oh right, I thought of a way to share the thrill Momo gets from me with everyone.

Izumi Iori: Wai- Yuki-san, what does that mean?

Momo: [overlapping] What, what? What kind of way?

Yuki: It’s a secret for now.

Izumi Iori: Wait, I just said-

Momo: What do I do~? Ikemen darling made an appearance! So that means everyone in the audience, be prepared for a surprise from Yuki today!

Yuki: That’s it for Re:vale’s green room. 

Momo/Yuki: Bye bye!

Izumi Iori: But what did you mean by “the same way?!”

Nikaido Yamato: That’s just how Yuki is.

Osaka Sogo: Ah, to the next green room! Mitsuki-san! Riku-kun!

-----

Izumi Mitsuki: Alright! Sogo, Iori, Yamato-san, thanks for the hand-off. 

Nanase Riku: Next, Mitsuki and I will be charging into TRIGGER’s green room.

Izumi Mitsuki: Alright then, without delay, Charge!

Nanase Riku: : BtGR!

Yaotome Gaku: Ah, well done you two.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Welcome.

Kujo Tenn: Thanks for coming.

Mitsuki/Riku: Thanks for having us.

Izumi Mitsuki: Jumping into it, how was yesterday’s Day 1?

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: It was so exciting! It was really so much fun, and multiple times I found myself wishing it would never end. 

Yaotome Gaku: On top of that, Day 2 will be exciting in a whole new way.

Kujo Tenn: That’s right. I’ll be counting on you again today for Incomplete Ruler, Nanase-san. 

Nanase Riku: Of course, Tenn-ni- Kujo-san. Same to you!

Yaotome Gaku: I’m looking forward to another fiery masturi from you two. 

Kujo Tenn: Is Incomplete Ruler a fiery masturi?

Yaotome Gaku: In terms of the energy! You’ve gotta be intense enough to blow the snow away and vaporize it! It’s a live show! Right, Nanase?

Nanase Riku: Yes, plus it’s a duet with Kujo-san!

Yaotome Gaku: So a matsuri.

Nanase Riku: It’s a matsuri. 

Kujo Tenn: Nanase-san is being kind. Sorry for Gaku making you go along with him. Although, with him that would be a different song. 

Nanase Riku: It really would…

Izumi Mitsuki: That reminds me, Yaotome is always in matsuri mode. I noticed yesterday during the MC. 

Yaotome Gaku: Do I really say it that often? 

Kujo Tenn: You do.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Especially during live shows, yeah. 

Yaotome Gaku: Well yeah, because a show is a matsuri, isn’t it?

Kujo Tenn: But Incomplete Ruler isn’t a matsuri.

Yaotome Gaku: Then what is it? A festival?

Izumi Mitsuki: Why are you breaking out the loan word? [2]

Yaotome Gaku: Because that’s not a matsuri.

Kujo Tenn: Festival means the same thing, though.

Nanase Riku: I get what you mean, though. Being in katakana gives it a more stylish image.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: I see! Just like how a stylish person might say trousers instead of pants.

Nanase Riku: Exactly!

Izumi Mitsuki: Is that really the same?

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: So if it’s different depending on the song, which would Daybreak Interlude be? 

Yaotome Gaku: Well that would be a matsuri.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: What about Crescent Rise? 

Yaotome Gaku: Hmm, I’m not sure but since it’s a song from a musical, it might be a festival.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: In that case, what about Last Dimension? 

Yaotome Gaku: Let me think… 

Yaotome Gaku: A matsuri. Kujo Tenn: [simultaneously] Isn’t it a festival? 

Tenn/Gaku: Eh?

Kujo Tenn: No, Last Dimension would be a festival. It’s also a song from a musical. 

Yaotome Gaku: No, it’s a matsuri. The theme is fiery.

Kujo Tenn: Even though you said Crescent Rise was a festival? 

Yaotome Gaku: It’s not like it’s a festival just because it’s a song from a musical. 

Kujo Tenn: What the heck, I don’t understand your logic.

Yaotome Gaku: I said it was a matsuri!

Kujo Tenn: A festival! [arguing continues in background]

Izumi Mitsuki: They got into an argument right before the show…

Nanase Riku: What should we do? If TRIGGER’s performance is affected by our charge on their green room…

Izumi Mitsuki: It’ll be fine. This kind of thing happens to us everyday, right?

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Right, don’t worry about it and watch this. Hey you two, calm down. Take a moment, how about a carnival?

Tenn/Gaku: That’s not it.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: See? In perfect sync.

Nanase Riku: I should have known, Tsunashi-san!

Izumi Mitsuki: To even say it in the same breath is impressive coordination. And I think carnival is good, too. 

Kujo Tenn: Excuse us for getting into a sudden debate in front of you. 

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: You could say that’s Tenn’s and Gaku’s fiery passion coming out. 

Kujo Tenn: I’m extremely reluctant to admit this but...

Yaotome Gaku: Hey.

Kujo Tenn: But it’s true that this heated exchange of opinions may just be the warm-up for today’s Day 2.  Actually, it may be one of the requirements.

Yaotome Gaku: Tenn… Alright, let’s keep going all out for Day 2, too!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Burning with all we’ve got, right?

Nanase Riku: We’ll give it our all, too.

Izumi Mitsuki: Alright, changing to the last scene for our Charge! Beyond the Green Room for this segment.

----

Nanase Riku: Manager, are you filming, are you filming? Thanks!

Momo: Okay, everybody line up! Is everyone here?

All: Yes

Momo: Then before our performance, I’d like to hear some words from my King of Darlings. 

Yuki: Hello, I've been given the title of the King of Darlings, also known as Yuki from Re:vale

[laughter]

Yuki: Now, we can celebrate safely reaching Day 2 of this miraculous live show with 16 people. We have to go beyond. Beyond the invisible wall between the audience seats and the stage.  Beyond the large or small shackles within each of us. Beyond the period called today. In order to make the miracle that lies ahead of us happen again, this show is the first step towards our goal.  In order to cross paths with everyone here tonight once again, let’s give it all we’ve got!

All: Yeah!

----

[1] They shorted it to Beyo-控 (the first part of green room). So a similar way of shortening it is to abbreviate it.

[2] "Matsuri" is of course a Japanese word meaning festival. "Festival" has been adopted as a loan word, so it's pronounced similarly and written in katakana. A few lines later, "carnival" is used the same way - pronounced similarly and written in katakana.

Thanks to Snowpuff for proofing, any remaining mistakes are my own. We are not professionals and aren't associated with the series in any official capacity.

[websterss]

A PIVOTAL FATE — LOKI LAUFEYSON

SUMMARY: Just as Frigga tried, you attempted to talk to Loki to try and reassure him about the damage done on Midgard. You and his mother were the only ones who saw the greater good in him when everyone else declared him a monster.  

WARNING(S): Angst, mentions of dying  

WORD COUNT: 1,697

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader  

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! While I work on requests, enjoy some of my own works I wanted to put out there! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

They say love in its truest form, only happens in fairytales, stories told by dreamers, stories conjured up from hopeful thinking and wishing. The type of love that is too good to be true because it is...

The type of love people warn the ones falling in love about. Trying to save them the hassle of getting their hearts torn in two. Yet that person falls or the person they shouldn’t, and it becomes either the best thing ever or their biggest downfall.

Yeah...well, they forgot to mention that would become your reality. A typical tragic love story in the making. One that the TVA made sure would happen and continue to let happen because, to them, it was the flow of time.

It was your glorious destiny, and it was utter bullshit, to Loki at least.

“I thought I told Mother I wanted no visitors.”

“I think you can make an exception for me.” You entered past the barrier surrounding his cell. Your eyes roamed around the space finding that the things you and his mother requested to be brought to him were in use. You hummed quietly to yourself as you stepped closer to the table of stacked books and found the one you wanted him to read. He was reading it. The giveaway away...the bent corner of a page. “I hope you have found everything to your liking.” You set the book down and clasped your hands behind your back. Walking towards Loki who refused to meet your gaze. 

“Are you real?” His head shifted up only the slightest. He was hopeful. 

“You know better than to question it, my love. I cannot project myself like your mother.”

“Are you real?” He asked again. He needed that reassurance. He needed you to be physically present before him rather than a projected image of yourself. 

You simply smiled fondly, bringing an arm out from behind you. Making a grabbing motion towards him. Loki’s eyes met your stretched-out hand and felt a pull. His own body moved before him and before he knew it his palm smoothed onto yours. You carefully watched his hard demeanor change. The once brooding hard stare he had was replaced with sudden relief. His hand slid up your palm, to your wrist, to hold onto your upper arms, to finally caress the side of your face. 

“I’m real. I’m here.” Loki simply nodded. Though it wasn’t nearly enough to bring his guard down.

“How long?”

“Not long.” You closed your eyes, wanting to relish in the touch and presence of your husband. “Your father adores me enough to appease any wishes I may have, but he is the king after all. No amount of time he gave will suffice as enough.” You frowned, uneasy.

“Then let us not waste any more of it. Here.” Loki brought his other arm around you, gently pressing your head on his shoulder. Holding you close. 

“I’ve missed you dearly.” You breathed in his scent. Basking in his embrace that you felt was absent.

“We vowed till the end of time. Now that I spend time thinking about it. It does sound a bit absurd. There are about an infinite amount of worlds. Universes even!” Your eyes grew. “There’s a balance. One cannot simply live forever.” You shook your head. “I’d be a prune by then!”

“I’d love you even then.” Loki dwelled in the moment of your happiness.

His heart swelled when your eyes flashed, unsettled, weary. Breaking the trance you both in.

"It is not fair. Why must I be punished, I understand their precaution but I simply cannot do without you. Your father has offered me one visitation per every full moon. He wishes for you not to gain a big head. By limiting our time with one another, you'll learn to realize how you are to answer for your actions...I am with child!" You gasp, not feeling strong enough to hold it in. After the King announced your one day per the moon to visit him, you couldn't bear the idea of keeping it from him.

"You...what?" Loki glanced down at your stomach.

"We are to be parents..." You mustered a quick laugh as tears began to fill your eyes. "We have been blessed!" You brought his hands up to place them upon your dress. You tilted your head in hopes of gathering a reaction from him. "Please say something..."

"If I'd known...I wouldn't have gone to such lengths."

"Yes you would have...you were angry. But I'd eventually would have worked to grant you forgiveness. Just as now." You were torn from the inside, thinking of the days ahead of you, the moons that would pass, the various days, minus the one where you would be without him, where he wouldn't stand by your side and care for you as he'd done so before. The bedridden sickly days didn't sound so appealing knowing you'd go about them alone. "Perhaps if I tell the King, he'd grant us more days. Surely he would, yes? He wouldn't be so cruel to keep apart parents in waiting. Surely not my Loki, yes?" Your chest began to rise and fall heavily. You were panicking, and he was solely broken by the heart.

"I don't think he would, my love." He cupped the back of your hair and laid you against his chest. Your head was positioned over his heart.

"I couldn't keep such news to myself. I found out during your sentencing."

"Who else knows?"

"Your mother, your brother..." You trail off, feeling him stiffen underneath you on his bed. "I did not feel like keeping him unaware. He is my family as well." You remind him. "They are it, and us."

"I fear my mother may bring the news to my father. To sway him."

"I would never beg for something more than your releasement."

"Don't strain yourself, my love. I will be living well, and situated here for a while, I'm afraid."

"I will murder the King if you are not by my side the day of the birth." His chest rumbles with laughter upon your declaration. "I do not jest."

"Settle yourself...I would rather die than miss it." He peers down at you. "I am pleased you told me."

"I am well now, knowing that you know of it." You lean upward and peck his lips. Your lips clashed sweetly and slowly. Time was never granted for you both, that's how it always was in your younger years. One would be pulled away, one would be occupied, one had princeling duties, while the other helped her mother in the markets. You both were constantly on limited time and always would be.

You pulled apart when a rasp against the walls appeared. Thor. He sought to be the one to look over your visitations. You had thanked him for it. The King allowed you mere minutes with your beloved. Thor granted you double the amount. He knew he and Loki butted heads on occasion, but he knew his brother's love for you ran eternally.

"I do not wish to part." Your lips tremble.

"We have the next full moon, remember." You nodded solemnly at him.

"The days will drag, they will feel never-ending." You pout.

"Think of them as one day closer to being here with him." He leans in to kiss your temple.

"Til the next full moon..." You reach forward to cup his face for another kiss.

"We will have it always..." Loki pulls away. Allowing you to stand and collect yourself. But before you go you reach upwards your neck and unclasp your flower necklace. He begins to protest as you place the item he gifted you in his palm.

"So the days won't drag on for you. A happy reminder."

"You always are in my heart. I don't need a token to remind me of it."

"It'll be our trade then. A game of such. I want it back next full moon with a paraphrase of your latest book. Something for us to look forward to."

"I deem it only fair to do the same then." He unclasped his bracelet you had gifted him one solstice. "So the days won't drag my love." He pecked you one last time and sent you on your way.

"I love you my Loki."

"I love adore and love you both." The notion of mentioning you and your unborn child warmed your heart. You left him that night, content and with a smile on your face.

One he'd never see again.

-

"I love you, my Loki.""I love you, my Loki.""I love you, my Loki.""I love you, my Loki.""I love you, my Loki."

Mobius held his nose as the video replayed again and again. He hadn't known how many times Loki replayed that phrase, but it didn't change the fact that he was still in denial of your death.

You had been with his child, and now you were simply gone.

"Loki-" Mobius interjected his inner turmoil.

"She can't be gone..."

"She is Loki, and in every universe. She suffers the same fate and the same ending. That will never change."

"Why not!"

"It's a pivotal event in the timeline. If she hadn't died that day then it would have caused a branch out in the timeline. We must allow the timeline to flow in its designated and orderly manner. Any slightest change in the timeline, something as small as someone deciding to go left instead of right, will create a catastrophic disaster."

"Why wife's death is not pivotal, nor should it have been!" Loki could no longer hold his anger. "She was good, pure, and held the kindest heart. She was my other half, and now you say that's all she'll forever be. A pivotal event in a timeline!"

"You can't change her fate, Loki. I'm sorry." Mobius sympathized with the variant.

Loki pressed his back against a wall and slid down. Placing his head in between his legs. Lost in the thought of your laughter, your smile. Things he'd never experience again. He broke as the first sob rumbled in his chest.

[foli-vora]

run to you: chapter five

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: life is hectic atm but i'm so glad to finally get this out! i swear i'm gonna get around to replying to all of your lovely comments on chapter four. i really appreciate your love and support for this story and i'm forever thanking you, even if i don't get around to replying as quick as i want! so not a lot of marcus and reader in this chapter, like... at all lmao, but the storyline is now picking up and we can fasten our seatbelts for the turbulent ride ahead. enjoy, angels! x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and 'You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: just over 4.5k

Warnings: angst, swearing, the bestest golden retriever himbo bff, talk of crime and undercover operations, mentions of heartache, mentions of jail/being incarcerated, talk of murder/bodies, smutty flashback (18+ only), Patrick Jane, super brief blink-and-you-miss-it Lisbon appearance (poor marcus bb is not doing good rn lmao SUFFER BITCH), and the usual warning: bitter saltiness that only one man brings to life in us

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

He’s hovering.

At first, it’s almost easy to ignore—you think he’s just watching you paint with a small sense of curiosity and would move away once boredom finds him, but you’ve never been one for people looming over your shoulder for an extended period of time, and so the irritation quickly starts to seep in.

The hand holding the paintbrush drops, and you look expectantly at him while knocking your headphones off of one ear, “Can I help you, agent?”

Jacob leans on the table next to you and tears into the homemade sub in his hands, chewing loudly as a small smearing of mayonnaise gathers at the corner of his lips.

He gives a nod, mumbling around the mouthful of food, “Just makin’ sure you eat.”

You blink in surprise, glancing at the window, “It’s lunchtime already?”

“A bit past,” Jacob replies, moving away now that he has your attention and sits himself on a chair at the table, “but I didn’t want to let you go late without eating. Gotta keep up your energy, Monet—don’t want you running yourself into the ground.”

“Thanks,” you murmur softly, organising your little workstation and rolling your aching shoulders.

The break is surprisingly welcome. You didn’t even realise how long you’d been lost in your work until you stopped, and now the throb in your fingers is all you can focus on. You clench and unclench your hand as you walk to your bag and ready some lunch, careful of the hot food you retrieve from the microwave.

Jacob doesn’t look at you as you seat yourself opposite him, too engrossed in studying the painting hanging on the easel.

“You’re good at this,” Jacob notes, eyeing the almost completed piece waiting to be taken wherever by Marcus’ team, “how’d you get into this stuff? Art school?”

Appetite now gone, you shift in your seat, suddenly far too interested in pushing the rice into small mountains in your glass dish.

Breathe.

He doesn’t know.

“I uh… I actually did it for a living.”

“Oh? Nice.”

There’s no malice in his tone, no mistrust, just pure interest.

He doesn’t glare at you, or pull a face of suspicion. It doesn’t even occur to him that it may have all been under the table and illegal. You feel a little guilty, almost as if you’d been leading him to believe you weren’t a previously convicted criminal. It makes you want to own it, to just speak your truth and let him make his own judgement of your actions.

Maybe it would be best to do so, so he would know where he stands and how he should view you. You’re not a good person, and maybe he deserves to know that. He does deserve to know that. 

“It was… it wasn’t legal. That’s how I got caught up in Marcus’ radar,” you admit quietly, briefly letting your eyes meet his and watching the flicker of surprise flash across his features before dropping your gaze again, afraid to watch his warmth and friendliness disappear. 

“Oh.” 

Nothing is said for a few minutes.

You swear you can feel the seconds trickling by, your nerves picking up and heightening with every silent tick. The small bit of the lunch you’d packed last night and eaten starts to churn uncomfortably in your stomach, swirling with your growing anxiety and threatening to bubble up your throat.

You can’t look at him.

“How’d you get caught?”

“It was a whole thing. Apparently the FBI had been after them—us—for a while… I knew it was big, I wasn’t stupid, but I guess I just tried to ignore the other side of it all. The money was good, and it felt nice. Marcus went undercover—guess they wanted someone on the inside, and I just happened to fall in the trap.”

And fall into the trap you did. You fell good. One look into those warm brown eyes and your walls had crumbled. You still don’t understand how it all happened. If only you could go back and scream at your more naive self, tell her to just walk away and never look back.

God, had you truly been that lonely? To open up so quickly, so easily, with a complete stranger? Would things have played out differently if you had just been stronger and ignored the obvious attraction and turned a cheek to his advances? Would he have just moved on to somebody else for the sake of the case?

It makes you angry, and you don’t have a clue as to why. Maybe it’s because somewhere deep within you, beneath the bitterness and the hurt, you wanted to believe he actually did want you, and not just use you as a means to finish the investigation. You wanted to believe that a part of it, even just a slither of it, was real.

Stupid.

Of course it wasn’t real. None of it was.

Jacob nods in understanding, “So that’s why you hate Pike?”

Hate?

Is that what you feel for him?

The angry side of you says yes. Yes, you hate him and everything he fucking stands for, and that you’d feel this way forever… but it doesn’t sit right, feel right. Maybe you don’t. Maybe hate isn’t what it is. Resentment? Disappointment, perhaps? 

“I don’t hate him,” you sigh quietly, giving up on lunch and pushing it away from you, “not… not really. I mean, I did. For months I wished all sorts of horrible shit to happen to him, but I… I don’t know. I guess I just accepted it for what it was after a while. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like him—at all—but I just want to forget it all happened and move on. I want my fresh start, you know? It’s hard seeing him, being around him again, after all the heartbreak.”

“Wait,” Jacob frowns, holding a hand out to stop you from speaking any more, “when you say you ‘fell into the trap’, does that… were you guys a thing? While he was undercover? Was it serious?”

“It was to me,” you admit with a murmur, “even had me picking out a damn wedding dress.”

The laugh that you force from your lips is strained and void of any true humour.

If anything, it’s an attempt to steer the direction of the conversation from diving any deeper into the overwhelming feelings you had for a man that had never existed. It’s humiliating to even think about. Maybe if you laugh about it, the sting of it all won’t hurt as much.

“Oh well,” you breathe, straightening in your seat and twisting your lips to resemble a faint smile, “it’s all in the past. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Jacob watches you play with your food with a look you can’t quite identify. You don’t want to risk looking at him too much, afraid that he’ll see the clear pain swirling in your eyes. The damage has probably already been done. He’s seen it all, and probably more. He’s a Federal Agent—their job relies on reading people on a daily basis. 

“Hey,” he mutters, giving you a small comforting smile when you eventually pull your gaze away from the table to look at him, “for what it's worth, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt. It must’ve been really tough, and I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

Your features twist into a frown, “Who said I was alone through it?”

He watches you knowingly for a moment, his brows raising ever so slightly as his small smile turns a little sadder, sympathetic. He’s right, and he knows it. You had been alone. It’d been the most alone you’d ever felt, and you’ll spend the rest of your life hoping to never feel that way again. 

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you give a small shrug and drop your fork with a quiet clatter, “I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. Yeah, you’ve made some pretty shit decisions in the past—I’m not debating that, but I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. You’re not a bad person, not like the ones we’re used to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone. You watch him for a few minutes, eyes darting between his bright green ones and searching for anything that gives you a small feeling of doubt that his words are nothing but a lie.

You find nothing.

A true smile starts to grow along your lips and you dip your head, unable to keep meeting his genuine gaze without feeling the sting of tears in your eyes.

 “Thank you, Jacob. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome, Kahlo.”

It’s quiet, and you feel like you can bear the sight of food again.

Your shoulders feel lighter, the ache in your chest has dissipated. It’s freeing. You hadn’t yet been able to speak on what had happened without someone focusing on the crime part.

The inmates you had bunked with, the counsellors in jail, the people hiring you once you got out… they all had that pre-judgement of you. The title of criminal followed you throughout every interaction, but not here, not with him.

You pick up your fork and start picking at your food, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. The slice of Jacob’s sudden huff cuts through the air, and he throws his almost eaten sub onto the table before crossing his arms in obvious irritation.

“God, what a fuckin’ dick.”

—

Heat—it’s everywhere.

It sticks to your skin, it swells in the pit of your stomach, it builds and builds over your flesh with every deep roll of his body over yours. It should be too much, too overwhelming, but your nails still dig into the soft skin of his back in a silent cry for more.

Just when you think he can’t possibly get any closer, he does. He pushes—crushes—you into the mattress, hands cradling the back of your head in an effort to keep you as close as possible. So close, so fucking close, you’re practically breathing in the other, with no room left for oxygen between you and it’s absolute bliss.

He’s breathless against the skin of your throat, nothing but soft whimpers and the hush of sharp exhales filling your ears. Lips press wherever they can reach, trailing paths of fire along your cheeks and the length of your neck until you squirm from the sensation, fighting both the urge to hide from his tender touch and stretch out for more. 

“A-Alex,” you breathe, face turning enough to trace the tip of your nose along the shell of his ear.

He exhales sharply, hips faltering ever so slightly. His face briefly falls away from breathing in your skin, dipping his head and hiding his features. Despite the unexpected jolt in his rhythm, he still moves, still rolls his hips in that way he’s fucking mastered, ensuring every upwards roll of his hips has that delicious bit of friction along your clit.

It’s maddening.

It’s perfection.

The ecstasy rolling through your body hits an all time high, and your thighs tighten around his hips, coaxing him to brush harder, push deeper into the wet heat of your pussy until you start to feel that sweet, sweet edge start to creep along the edge of your nerves.

More, more, more—

“Ale–”

He suddenly rears forward, moulding his lips to yours and stealing the very breath from your lungs. It’s always the same. The kiss is urgent, all teeth and tongue and it’s impossible to speak another word. You struggle to keep up with his intensity, too busy focusing on that overwhelming high and the tightening that threatens to give at any second now. 

It’s good—it’s so fucking good, you swear you’re going crazy. He does that to you. Though you can’t say it, breathe it, his name is all you hear in your mind, its own soft echo a consistent companion to the sheer pleasure he drowns you in.

Alex, Alex, Alex.

—

It’s been a month.

A month in your new little workspace, a month of painting, a month of successfully avoiding him. Despite it being his investigation, he now keeps his distance from the makeshift art space he had given you. Maybe he finally got the message that you didn’t want to be around him, that the mere thought of even uttering a single word to him made you feel almost nauseous.

You haven’t seen him in weeks. 

When you finish a piece, he sends his agents. You know a few by name now, but don’t bother with small talk. They come, give you a friendly hello, take the finished, wrapped painting and leave—that’s it.

That’s all it is.

You don’t have to do anything else, and it’s wonderful. You spend your days painting, relishing in the familiar feel of a brush between your fingers and enjoying the legal money deposited into your account every week.

You get ahead with bills. You buy some new clothes. You feel refreshed, finding a certain needed peace from the sudden financial stability. You know it’s not going to last—Jacob doesn’t talk about the case a whole lot, but you know that the team has made some progress with it, so you put a little money aside for the day the FBI no longer needs you.

He becomes a fast friend, and if you were ever to find it within you to thank Marcus for anything in this world, it would be him. You surely would’ve gone batshit insane if you’d been holed up in that room by yourself day in and day out, probably worse if you had been locked up with Marcus every day.

But not Jacob.

Jacob keeps the air light.

He’s kind, funny, and a bit of an idiot, and you find yourself fondly laughing nearly every day at the little things he would do or say. You thoroughly enjoy his company, and love hearing about his time in school, training to be an agent and the few cases he’s worked on so far.

He asks you questions and seems genuinely interested in getting to know you and of you past, never once making you feel lesser than or lowly for your less than ideal life before this. 

“You made a decision, Matisse. Good or bad—own it.”

He keeps to himself whenever you find yourself focused on your work, and only steps in to remind you to take care of yourself. On the odd occasion, he’d join you, content to watch you work with a shine of interest.

You don’t like it, so you shove canvas paper and oil pastels at him to keep him from hovering any longer and it works. It becomes a little activity of sorts, a release for him whenever paperwork starts to push at his patience a little too much. 

“They should’ve hired you for this case,” you mumble teasingly around your lunch, grinning at the pride filling his features as he finishes his latest project—his own creation inspired by the Van Gogh you’re currently working on.

It’s pretty, full of bright colours and soft swirling patterns. The Future, he had called it, and apparently—it was all for you.

You need something colourful, Da Vinci, something happy. You’re too sad. 

The FBI doesn’t deserve him.

“Hey, I’m proud of this,” he retorts sharply, pointing a finger smudged with colour at you but his tone doesn’t match the bright amusement in his eyes, “belongs in a damn museum. It’s an original Wilson—people will flock to see it. You just wait, Michaelangelo, this will bring a lot of money down the track, mark my words.”

Your chuckle is cut off by the insistent buzz in his pocket, and he stands immediately, answering the call with a swift Wilson and stepping away from the table with his phone pressed to his ear.

It’s Marcus... you know just by the way he positions himself, ensuring to keep a bit of distance and turning away so you don't have to potentially hear his voice from the other end. You quickly lose interest in the conversation, focusing back on the open book you’ve been trying—and failing—to get into the last few days.

The interest in the conversation was lost, until you hear it.

“Understood, sir. We’ll leave now.”

Immediately looking up in question, your brows start to furrow as Jacob wraps up the phone call and strides back to the table quietly. Anxiety begins to build in the pit of your stomach at the sudden serious set of his features, unused to seeing the usually bright and bubbly face now so stoic. It’s Agent Wilson, not Jacob. 

“We’re leaving?” you ask in confusion, “but I haven’t even done—”

The frown between his thick brows deepens, and he barely looks at you while he shrugs his navy blue suit jacket on, leaving faint smudges of orange and pink on the lapels.

“Leave it, we need to get to the office.”

The anxiety immediately gives way to dread.

The office? Where Marcus and his team are? Why?

You want to ask if you can stay behind—straight up refuse to go anywhere near that damn building—but the firm set of Jacob’s lips lets you know it’s non-negotiable.

He helps you with your bag, a certain urgency to his movements, and then you’re descending the stairs with him hot on your tail. He ushers you into the car, throwing a wary glance each way down the street before moving around the vehicle and sliding into his seat.

You swear you can feel your heart beating in your throat. He’s clearly in a rush, but you’re at a loss as to why. Has something happened? Is there danger? Are you in danger?

With your mind beginning to hurl possibilities at you, you start to feel more and more nauseous with every swift swerve through traffic Jacob makes.

“Is everything okay?” You ask carefully, fingers fiddling with the straps of your bag as you try to calm the rage of your heart. 

He briefly looks away from the traffic and gives you a small reassuring smile, “Of course. There’s just been a big development and I’m needed back at the office for a debriefing, sorry for the rushing.”

“Oh,” you breathe in relief, “okay, I understand. Well, you can drop me home if that’s easier for you.”

“It’s an urgent thing and uh… Pike would like you at the office.”

Your lips press shut and an immediate frown overcomes your expression.

Of course.

If there had been developments in the case, why did you need to be there? It’s not like you're an agent with unlimited access to the available information. Your own folder Marcus had given you was severely lacking any true details of the case beyond what you needed to know, and it’s not like you were involved in anything anymore, so you had very little to contribute further than your creative talents.

You keep quiet for the rest of the quick trip, taking the hint that now is not the time for small talk. The need to chat is nonexistent to you right now anyway, even if Jacob happened to be in a perkier mood. The mere thought of seeing, and talking to, Marcus again does nothing to ease the dread churning in the pit of your gut. 

The building is not a welcome sight, yet you hurry to follow Jacob from the brightly lit parking lot and into the home of the FBI. He stays beside you the whole way, through the wide crowded corridors and during the silence of the elevator, giving you one final reassuring smile before he pushes open the door to the Art Crime Department.

It’s busy. 

Marcus doesn’t suddenly appear from nowhere and bombard you both at the entrance. You can take a deep breath. The shrill ringing of phones fill the space, and the shuffle of agents near running about with various files and pieces of paper takes you a little off guard.

There’s an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. You can’t quite put your finger on why it unsettles you so.

You follow Jacob further into the chaos, ensuring to keep out of the way and keeping an eye out for the one man you seem to now be bracing for, steeling your nerves into something harder, something unbreakable. You don’t need to wait long—there he is.

He looks tired.

Marcus appears from a room, presumably his own personal office, raking a hand through his mussed hair and saying a few brief words to a coworker before his eyes zero in on Jacob. He points to the conference room where you’d once sat at the beginning of this, already heading that way with another agent, and Jacob gives a short nod in response.

You try to blend into the background behind Jacob so Marcus doesn’t take much notice of you, but it’s not even a moment later and his eyes are suddenly meeting yours. The feeling of his attention is instant, and the increase of your heart is familiar by now.

Despite the distance between you, you feel how they roam over your face, seemingly searching your expression, but it’s not long until they fall away and you’re left to exhale quietly, now free from his gaze. 

He disappears into the conference room, and you swallow down the thick feeling of anxiety building in the back of your throat. He doesn’t seem eager, or interested, in talking to you straight away, and you’re relieved by that—you could mentally and emotionally prepare yourself a little more.

“My desk is over there if you want to sit down,” Jacob offers, turning and walking backwards in order to point you in the right direction, “and I’ve got snacks in the bottom drawer.”

Rolling your eyes, you give a strained huff of amusement and start walking towards it, “Of course you do.”

Your shoulder catches the frame of someone else and you quickly take a step back, wide eyes locking with a pair of vaguely amused blue ones.

He’s dressed sharply, much different to the basic suits the agents around him wear, in a well kept grey toned three piece suit with the simple white collar of his shirt popped open at the base of his throat. His soft blond curls are styled neatly back, and the gentle scent of tea wafts from the cup in his hold.

He’s pretty, by society’s standards, but his eyes are sharp, as if they can see right into the very centre of you.

You don’t like it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mumble, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

You don’t linger to hear what the agent has to say. You hurry into Jacob’s desk space and throw your bag under it before taking a seat in the simple desk chair, the backrest squeaking as you rest into it.

His desk is as you expected it to look—messy, but organised in his own little chaotic way. The edges of his computer screen are littered with sticky notes of reminders, his ballpoint pens are all missing their lids, he has a bobble head character of a sports player next to his keyboard and a crumpled paper plane lies hidden beneath a thick notebook.

It’s undoubtedly Jacob, end to end.

The wide variety of sweets and chips resting on old files doesn’t surprise you at all when you tug at the stiff drawer, and you immediately zero in on the ones he’s been sharing with you over the past few weeks.

“Jane, stay out of trouble,” a brunette orders sharply as she passes, briefly catching your attention and the man you had previously bumped into comes to a stop just beside you.

“Aye aye, Captain,” he replies dryly with the growings of a smirk, sipping quietly at the tea in his hands and watching the last few agents file into the conference room before the door closes.

Do people still use saucers? He does. He half turns towards you and eyes you curiously as you sway absent-mindedly in Jacob’s desk chair, breaking into the packet of sour candies.

“You’re not an agent.”

You blink up at him and give a small, polite smile, “No, I’m not.”

He makes a low noise of thought to himself and sits on the edge of the desk opposite to Jacob’s, watching you over the rim of the plain white cup he lifts to his lips.

You shift a little under his study, busying yourself with picking a lemon flavoured candy out from the packet and looking over the various little notes decorating the dated computer screen.

Meeting @ 10 Tues. Picasso retrieval daily @ 8. Get bread. Call ma before she has a damn heart attack—

“How long have you been an artist?”

Eyes rolling back to the stranger, you give a slightly confused, “What? How do you know I’m an artist?”

“You have paint on your fingers,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the room.

Rubbing your fingers together, you feel the tell tale crack of dried paint over your skin and glance down at it in vague interest. He’s got a really good set of eyes. You shift a little in the seat and pinch the ends of your sleeves before pulling them down further over your hands to hide them from him.

“A few years,” you reply vaguely, “you’re rather observant, Agent Jane.”

It comes across more as an accusation rather than a general statement, and it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He grins, flashing a nice set of pearly white teeth. 

“Patrick,” he supplies, “and I’m a consultant.”

“Didn’t even know that was a thing,” you mutter plainly, not liking the way you feel like a fucking open book with this stranger, “well, shouldn’t you be in there, then?”

You nod towards the closed door of the conference room and Patrick makes a low noise of dismissal, a slight scrunch curling his nose.

“I already know everything about the murders—Lisbon can handle it.”

The word cuts through the air and chills you right to the bone. 

“Murders? What murders?”

Patrick looks at you, shrugging lightly.

“That’s why we’re here. The fancy little tracker led this bunch down to the meeting point in California, but we found the bodies first. Deal gone wrong, I’m guessing. The buyer probably found the painting to be a fake, and got rid of the delivery men because of it. Very messy.”

Your stomach turns.

The painting? Your painting? 

“What was wrong with the piece?” You ask quietly, voice suddenly strained.

“Not sure,” Patrick murmurs, taking an apparent interest in the way you’re reacting to his information and studying you from over his tea, “guess we’ll know soon enough.”

You swallow, a sting of sweat building along the back of your neck. They knew it was a replica? How? You must’ve done something different, there must’ve been something wrong with it. Otherwise how else would they know? They wouldn’t.

Have you made a mistake?

Is that why Marcus wanted you here? Are you in trouble? What would be the ramifications of your mistake? After all, it’s your fault. People had died because you didn’t focus hard enough on your work. The FBI have probably realised how useless you are if you can’t even convince some shady black market dealers that your pieces are real. 

You must’ve been distracted. You never made mistakes, and now you’ve made one that cost lives. How many? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it happened, and now you have to live with that knowledge.

People have died. People have died because of you. 

You fucked up. 

-

tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

[chaotictarlos]

in sickness and in health

ship: Tarlos | fandom: 911 Lone Star | author: chaotictarlos | read on ao3

Rating: Explicit | Warnings / Tags: 4 x 16, 4 x 16 "A House Divided", Angst, Hurt / Comfort, M x M Smut, Anal fingering, Anal Sex, Carlos loves TK so much, there a lot of feelings in this one friends

Summary: All Carlos has ever wanted is to love TK and live a life by his side, now that's threatened by yet another thing that he can't control.

Author's Note: thank you to @kiloskywalker for being such a supportive friend. you've made this season so much fun and i adore our chats that we have. i made myself cry with this fic. i hope you all enjoy it. thank you to @meditating-honey-badger for beta'ing this for me.

My other season 4 fics

---

Later that evening, Carlos lies awake and stares at the ceiling. TK is pillowed on his chest, drooling on his pecs with his arms firmly wrapped around Carlos’ waist, sound asleep. Carlos wishes he was also asleep but can’t get his mind to be quiet enough for him to drift off into dreamland and dream of their upcoming wedding.

Huntington’s Disease.

Of all the curveballs life could have thrown at them right before the wedding, this was not one Carlos could have ever predicted.

He holds back the big sigh that wants to escape his lips so that he doesn’t disturb TK. He feels pressure behind his eyes and his vision blurs with tears that he refuses to let fall. He’s not going to mourn their future before they even get there. There was still a large chance that Owen would be negative and then TK wouldn’t have to worry.

Still, Carlos is tired of the universe beating down their door every other day for some reason that might derail their wedding. Carlos isn’t sure what they did to have so much shit thrown their way but he was growing tired of it. Every new thing made him want to pack TK up and drive him far away to someplace safe and marry him without anyone knowing. 

He just wants to be with TK - without the threat of him being taken from him around every corner. 

In his arms, TK shifts, rolling over, and Carlos looks to see him snuggle into his own pillow - something TK rarely does. Carlos uses the opportunity to slip out of bed, tucking the bedsheets around TK, and out of their bedroom easily. He knows that he probably doesn’t have long before TK realizes that he’s not in bed anymore and comes to find him.

Carlos pads quietly over to where he’s left his iPad on the counter. He presses the home button and brings it to life, clicks on safari, and does the last thing he should be doing - googles Huntington’s Disease.

Carlos knows about it but not enough to feel confident knowledge. He grabs his iPad and moves to the dining room, pulls out a chair, and sits down. There he reviews article after article.. He looks at academic articles that show the most recent studies, reads about people who live with it, and even looks up cures and treatments. 

None of it really helps him feel better; it just confirms that this is truly out of his control. There is absolutely nothing he can do to save TK from the disease. The only thing he can do is be there to support him, love him through all of the stages, and be the best husband he can ever be to TK with whatever time they have together.

READ MORE ON AO3

tags: @strangefurychaos @sapphire11 @first-kanaphan @noxsoulmate @detective-giggles @tarlos-spain @lonestardust @bubblesandroses8 @thebumblecee @mooshkat @importantbailiffpaperponyy @cowlos-reyes @meditating-honey-badger @paperstorm @otter-love-asl @kiloskywalker @angeltk @firstprince-history-huh @brouill3rr @sanjuwrites @alrightbuckaroo @just-inside-her @losttttt @theghostofashton @basilsunrise @happinessandlove92 @heartstringsduet

[casspurrjoybell-26]

💖Sweet Revenge💖 - Chapter 13

*Warning Adult Content*

Aaron Keene

Blake's green and tawny eyes are wide with surprise.

Then a crooked grin stretches his mouth, catching adorably on his one snaggle tooth.

I know I just basically told him to fuck off until further notice but I feel like that notice is already in the mail.

The thing is, until I sort my feelings out, it's not fair to either of us for this to go any further.

He waits while I shave and dress and then we leave my apartment together and walk down the street to the little diner at the corner.

I notice that he's still favoring his leg and keep my pace deliberately slow.

The diner's always busy on the weekends but we're lucky and get a small table near the back.

I look over the menu, keeping my eyes off Blake with an effort.

The memory of his lips on mine and the promises in the hard strength and solid heat of his body, are making me warm and it's too early for that kind of discomfort.

I need something to distract me.

When the waitress comes by, I order the huevos rancheros, extra hot.

Inexplicably, he blushes.

"No. I can't really endure it."

I can't figure out why he looks so embarrassed and then I remember the 'hot truffle' I gave him.

Then I make myself another mental note to re-think that name.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I always ask people about the nuts but I didn't even think about that. I'm sorry."

He lifts one shoulder.

"It hurt but I liked it."

A lady at the next booth turns to look at us.

I replay our exchange in my mind and my coffee goes down the wrong pipe.

When I'm done choking, I look up to find Blake watching me with that crooked grin.

I can't help but return it.

Then I feel the smile slip slowly from my face, like paint washed away in the rain and I look away.

I realize that what he did was out of fear and what I did was out of thoughtlessness... his pain lasted minutes and mine... if I'm honest... is still with me but I also realize that both hurts were equally unintentional. 

When I look back up at him, I see that his smile is gone, too.

"I'm sorry," I say again, quietly.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay," he replies and I can see in his eyes he's right with me.

"I know you didn't."

People hurt each other without meaning to all the time and then they have to live with it.

Holding it against them only keeps the wound open longer.

Not that people shouldn't be held accountable.

"The guy who hit you... the drunk driver... did you forgive him?" I ask.

He looks up at something about four feet above my head.

"Yeah... eventually," he says.

"What happened to him?"

His eyes drop back down to mine.

"He's in jail."

"Good," I say, and offer him a shadow of my earlier grin.

Then I tell him what he wants to know.

~♡~

The day after I gave Blake and his team the fudge... Valentine's Day.... I walk to school along my normal route.

It takes me down an old track through the woods that comes out on the back of campus.

Running is too much for me but walking is fine and I enjoy it.

The mile and a half each way gives me a chance to wind myself up for school in the morning and wind down from it in the afternoon.

As I walk along the slightly raised track beneath the bare branches of trees on the cusp of a spring bloom, I let myself get lost in my own thoughts.

I'd woken up with black and purple bruises marking my face and torso and my heart still broken but like my bruises, I feel hopeful that, eventually, it will heal.

About halfway to school, that hope is torn from me like the wings of a butterfly ripped off by the cruel and curious fingers of children.

Chad, Brad and Owen 'as I now knew, thanks to Blake' step out from behind the thick trunks of hoary old trees, grins lighting their faces in expectation of some fun.

I freeze for a second and then my instincts kicked in 'fight' is out of the question, so I flee back the way I've come.

Who am I kidding?

Asthmatic kid vs. track team.

Place your bets.

They catch me right in the middle of the old bridge that spanned the disused railroad tracks running along the bottom of a narrow ravine.

Chad grabs the back of my pack and drags me to the ground like a dog on a fox.

"Hey. Let me go... let me go," my voice breaks with fear as Chad throws me to Brad, who wrestles the pack from my shoulders and tosses it to Owen.

"Give me back my... back-pack," I yell.

My most prized possession is in there.

Actually, it isn't even mine and I can't let anything happen to it.

No matter what.

Brad pushes me to Owen who throws my pack to Chad, and then pins my arms behind my back and forces me to my knees.

I throw my head back and almost manage to crush his balls but he skips backward, releasing me briefly before catching me again.

"Hey... hold him," Chad scolds Owen, who grunts.

Owen reminded me of Jaws from those old James Bond movies.

He's tall and weird-looking, doesn't say much and grins like a creep.

Brad snatches the beanie from my head, ruffles my over-long hair and cups my bruised jaw in his hand.

"Hey, he's got a pretty face. I could almost imagine he's a girl," he says.

"Yeah, close your eyes and it's all the same," Chad laughs.

He opens my back-pack and dumps the contents out on the ground.

"Stop."

I struggle against Owen's grip like a fish on the end of a line.

"Don't touch my stuff."

"Oh? What is it? Your secret love letters in here or something?"

He rifles through my textbooks, my five-star notebook and my binder.

Then he finds my Grandma's recipe book.

"Oh-ho-ho? What's this? Favorite fudge? Best brownies?"

He dissolves in a fit of giggles.

"This is so fuckin' gay."

"DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF," I scream.

Chad turns to me and nods to Owen.

"Hey... let him go."

Owen releases me and I drop to my hands and knees, gasping for air.

I need my inhaler but I need my Grandma's notebook more.

"Tell you what," Chad smirks.

"You suck us off and we'll let you go."

"Gross," Brad objects, grimacing.

"He's got braces. Plus he's a dude. What're you on, bro?"

"Like I said, close your eyes and it's all the same."

The sneer never leaves his lips but Chad's eyes go shifty.

It seems like Brad's reaction tells him he's strayed onto dangerous ground.

I'm shaking so bad I can hardly speak and my breath is barely making it past the back of my throat.

"Fuck . . . you," I spit, wheezing through my teeth.

Chad scowls.

"No. You know what? Fuck you, fag. You want your precious book? Go get it."

He tosses it over the edge of the bridge.

I don't even think.

I just react.

I scramble to my feet and leap.

I catch it and for a moment, I feel like my Dad would be proud.

I feel like the quarterback who just made the winning touchdown.

Chad's eyes go wide in surprise.

Then I fall.

It's only a twenty-five foot drop but it's far enough.

Something crunches when I land and it's not the gravel.

I have a sensation of tingling, like a thousand bees crawling over my skin and then they sting and I scream and then I faint.

It turns out that, despite everything, Chad, Brad and Owen have at least a shred of decency between them.

Someone calls 911 but they report it as attempted suicide.

Some kid jumped off a bridge.

Fucking shit.

If I was going to jump off a bridge, I'd choose one that was at least high enough to kill me.

[trashbag-baby666]

Diner Date-Croz/Bubbles

Summary: Bubbles and Croz fluff on a study date.

WC: 780

C/W: none.

MOTA Masterlist

Both of them had their favorite things they did together. But both could consciously decide that their little diner dates were near the top of their list.

They always went to the same one, ‘Debies on Main’ and that’s where they were again today.

“Hey boys, the usual booth in the corner?” Sheryl, an older lady who worked there greeted them from the counter.

“Yes,” Bubbles nodded, grabbing Croz's hand blindly, pulling the shorter boy behind him. Croz felt the tips of his ears go bright red, anytime Bubbles touches him it’s like the first time all over again. Bubbles tossed his backpack into the corner of the booth sitting on the opposite side of Croz, “Did you have a good day?”

“Yep, Buck and I got our presentation done for AP world. I just have to catch up on my calc assignments.” Croz dug through his sage green backpack pulling out his textbook and folder, “What about you?”

“Eh, alright I guess. Curt and Bucky started another food fight at lunch and I had to help clean up. If I’m late for lit one more time Mr. Clark is gonna ring my neck.”

Croz hated not having lunch with Bubbles, he knew Bubbles felt the same way. So this was their time together, “it’s your turn to keep those buffoons in check. Doesn’t Rosie have lunch with you?”

“He’s been eating his lunch in the library.”

That’s all Bubbles had to say for Croz to know. Rosie had his own problems going on and the loud lunchroom with the obnoxious side of the friend group isn’t where he wanted to be.

“I can’t wait for the year to be over, I can’t go another semester without having lunch with you.” Croz reached over the table taking Bubbles hand, “I feel like this is my purgatory.”

“Sitting alone in the auditorium?” Bubbles perked up one of his eyebrows.

“Yes, exactly. It’s so quiet I feel as if I have to do homework during lunch.”

“Well at least you’re staying on top of it…?”

“I’d rather eat my lunch with my boyfriend in comfortable silence.” Croz patted Bubbles' hand. He was never going to get over that word, boyfriend. Bubbles is his boyfriend. He is Bubbles' boyfriend. The two had spent literal years dancing around the other and casually cuddling at sleepovers. Now it all somehow paid off? Although, Croz wished one of them would have spoken up earlier about their feelings. Because, good lord have mercy he loved the feeling of Bubbles soft lips against his. He always smelled so warm and comforting, Croz was absolutely obsessed with him.

“Next year, we both tell our counselors we have to have lunch together or we will start a French revolution.”

“Sounds perfect, but I don’t want to be Napoleon.”

Sheryl buzzed back over with their milkshake, with two straws and the basket of fries. They always ordered the same thing and always shared. “Enjoy and let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” The two boys said at the same time. Croz reached for the ketchup bottle, giving it a good shake, “What’re you working on today?”

“Book report for lit,”Bubbles took the copy of Frankenstein out of his bag holding it up for Croz to see.

“Oh I really liked Frankenstein,” Croz took the book flipping through some of Bubbles sticky notes.

“Well, I am certainly not enjoying it, I can tell you that much.” Bubbles reached across the table, snatching it back from Croz, “It doesn’t make sense…like it's not written in old English but it's so confusing…but then it just shifts between The Creature and Doctor Frankenstein's point of views with no warning.”

“You just don’t get it.” Croz shook his finger at Bubbles handing the book back over to him.

“I’m just glad I’m almost done with it,” Bubbles snatched the book back.

The two worked quietly, the sounds of peoples laughter and conversations around them, covering up the clicking of Croz’s graphing calculator and the scratch of Bubbles pen on his notebook. Croz reached blindly for the fries in the basket, his hand unexpectedly running into Bubbles.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Croz snickered looking up at the handsome, red head.

“Didn’t expect to see you here?” Bubbles let a toothy grin spread on his face holding Croz’s hand. The two went back to silently working, but Croz stretched out his leg, accidentally nudging Bubbles' foot. Bubbles continued nudging Croz's foot until the other began playing footsie with him under the table.

The two continued on at their assignments finding a happy blend of comfortable silence and spending time together outside of school.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Nerd-nia

Dear @sunnyrosewritesstuff was so good to send me another set of prompts. I have promptly decided to use the AU @dimdiamond and I have come up with for our THAUC story "Song as old as rhyme".

Here is a small snippet about our favourite grumpy uncles...Enjoy!!

Words: 1,2 k

Warnings: Sexual innuendo

Characters: Bagginshield

Bilbo hummed happily as he lifted a stack of books into his arms; it was rare now for him to play an active role in the daily dealings of the bookshop and he was delighted to slip back into the old routine.

“Where do you want these?” Thorin asked, trying – without much success – to blow a strand of silvery-black hair out of his face, and Bilbo’s heart picked up its pace.

Even after all this time together, he still couldn’t believe that this savage beauty was his to have and to hold. Thorin was a marvellous man and a reliable partner and seeing him back in the old shop where they had first met plunged Bilbo into a torrent of cherished memories.

Never would he have expected what monumental changes would occur when he had invited Nepheli’s favourite author to do a public reading in his quaint little book shop and here they were, so altered that he could hardly remember the man he had been before meeting that sour-faced and tender-hearted man standing before him right in this second.

“Baggin’s Books” was closed for the week as they undertook several works of renovation and modernisation; for this express purpose, everyone had come back to the sleepy town and – had he been a more openly sentimental fool – Bilbo would have wept for joy and gratitude upon seeing his young people return.

Nepheli and her cohort were upstairs in the little flat he had once lived in and cleaned away the last of Bilbo’s possessions that seemed to flow out from a secret cornucopia to always litter some forgotten shelf or discreet corner anew when they thought they had gotten rid of it for good.

Meanwhile, Thorin had offered to help Bilbo prepare the book shop proper for the biggest change they had planned: they’d break through the roof of the shop and turn the former residence of one Bilbo Baggins – bachelor and book seller – into a study centre, complete with computers and a retired teacher in attendance.

“Bilbo?” Thorin prompted again, giving the heavy wrought-iron decorations he had pried off the wall an inquisitive wriggle.

“Ah, forgive me,” Bilbo chuckled awkwardly, “let’s put those into the back storage room. Who knows? We might get to use them again?”

So many things had been let go quietly since that fateful reading and Bilbo looked back on the whirlwind that had become his life with fond nostalgia; abandoning the flat for good smarted somewhat as it definitively and irrevocably stated that Bilbo would never live here again.

Already, his visits to this blessed realm of calm had become more irregular over the years as he had thought it necessary to support Thorin in his own push for independence and freedom. Nonetheless, Bilbo was not worried; he had trained Nepheli well and – with the help of both her discreet husband and their much less effaced best friend – she had kept the ship afloat just fine.

“Love, can you go open the door for me, please?” Thorin interrupted his daydreaming once more and Bilbo leapt guiltily into action right away, hurrying towards the oldest part of the building.

As it turned out that his esteemed spouse took immense pleasure in tearing down walls and hewing gaping holes into roofs, Bilbo wondered distractedly if he should let Thorin replace that old, temperamental door as well.

Having been absurdly scatter-brained all day long, Bilbo did not realise that he had pushed open the door and gone in before Thorin – who was still holding an armful of unwieldy metal spikes – until the door slammed shut behind them and they were plunged into darkness.

The first thing to do was to locate the light switch, of course, only this turned out much more difficult than expected for it was surprisingly hard to get around his beloved and his charge without seeing him. Once or twice, Bilbo almost poked his eye out or impaled himself on a metal animal in his brave quest for illumination.

“Ah, there we are,” he finally grunted when a flickering, weak light pervaded the cramped space. “Put those on a shelf.”

“Which shelf, love? They all look rather…full,” Thorin muttered; he knew that Bilbo had his own vision of things and generally thought that his train of thought was self-evident even though it rarely was.

“Put it with the semi-formal napkins,” Bilbo replied, rummaging around in a box full of lightbulbs of different sizes and shapes for no apparent reason.

“Semi…” Impatiently, Thorin freed his arms by tossing the whole load onto the nearest, halfway-free shelf and turned around to get out of the room again because he distinctly felt that he was in the way of whatever self-discovery Bilbo was on the brink of achieving.

The door wouldn’t budge.

Thorin threw himself against it, but – with an ominously mocking groan – the door seemed to get stuck even further if anything.

“Bilbo, my love?” Thorin called without turning around. “The door is stuck.”

Making a non-committal sound, Bilbo reached around the healthy bulk of his lover and rattled the handle a few times.

“So it is,” he commented calmly. “I guess we’ll have to knock and hope that one of the young people will end up missing us.”

Thorin frowned. “As if any of these heathens wasted a single thought on their poor, old uncles!”

“You sound like a miserable doter, Thorin,” Bilbo snorted, letting go of the doorknob and placing that firm, slightly pudgy hand onto Thorin’s hip. “We have light, an old bottle of top-notch whiskey I was offered some years ago, and a bit of time.”

He allowed himself to laugh at the ludicrous situation they found themselves in.

“We’ve been in tighter spots before, my love,” he finally crooned, pulling Thorin into a corner of the tiny room and pressing his lips soothingly onto that stern, pinched mouth. “Why don’t we let them do all the work while we canoodle in here like the soppy, old jesters that we are?”

A dangerous light flashed in Thorin’s azure eyes as he understood his meaning.

“That can be arranged,” he growled, grabbing Bilbo’s soft chin and tilting his face up for another kiss. “Are you terribly fond of all the bits and bobs in here?”

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder dismissively as his hands made their way up Thorin’s broad back slowly. “Why?”

“I cannot guarantee that none will come to harm in the process,” Thorin admitted, lifting Bilbo into his arms and leaning him as cautiously as he could against one of those overflowing shelves lining the bare walls. “You know how I get.”

“Welcome home, Thorin,” Bilbo purred, slinging his legs around his husband’s hips with treacherous urgency. “Let’s hope nobody misses us all too soon.”

The acquiescing rumble escaping Thorin’s tight throat melted into a low groan though as soon as Bilbo started squirming against him in a way that could not be misunderstood.

Upstairs, Nepheli frowned at the sound of breaking glass and falling metal. “I hope the poor dears are not doing more than they should. I am quite worried about their old bones,” she whispered and blinked when Fíli broke into roaring laughter.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Ori grinned and kissed her temple lovingly. “Never you worry, my dear love.”

So, dear @fellowshipofthefics, here's another entry for the January Trope Roulette.

Lots of love from me!!!

[umbralsound-xiv]

For all we lead a company together, we don’t often have so much time to talk. At least, not away from our duties, concerning other, lighter things. But that doesn’t matter.

I don’t consider her any less of a friend for it. In truth... Adelle is one of the few people i feel like i could say exactly what i thought to, and she’d think no less of me.

Mistienne Aurloix quietly pushes the door to the room open, allowing it to close behind her. "...Gods, and i thought the sunroom had enough greenery. This is... Something else..." Mist walks in, eyes cast to the foliage that adorned every corner before her gaze finds Adelle. "...How long has it been since we've done this? A few moons, at least, no?"

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Have you not come venturing in before now?" Adelle grins, and brushes dirt from her bare hands. The bulbs she's preparing to plant in the warmth of summer sit in a small dish of clear, cool water. "Far too long, I wager. Were it not for our desks being so close we might go just as long without truly seeing hide or hair of the other. You have been well, I hope? Ever with as...tense...as it has been? Have you spent much time with Bexy?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "...Truthfully, no. Gardens and greenery are much more your sort of thing, and not so much mine." She gives another glance over, before looking over Adelle's task. "...Even if we didn't see eachother, i'd enjoy your company, if that makes any backhanded sort of sense. You understand that friendship can endure such things, rather than picking the lock into my room whenever it suits you." Mist gives a flat look towards the door of the room for a moment. "...A little, but not so much."

Mistienne Aurloix: "I spoke to Laurent yestersun, during a visit to Ishgard. He's keeping well, so i assume Bexy likely is doing much the same."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Of course it does," her own gaze cut briefly to the door. "I wish there was more we could do to ease her mind about everything. It is unfair that she is..." Adelle pursed her lips, shook her head, and turned her attention back to the task at hand. Each bulb was carefully inspected before being either planted in a small pot of dirt before being set to the side. "Any word on how Dusk fares with his tasks?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "...Unfair that she no longer feels so comfortable in a home that she has served so well." Mist steps up to counter, to better sate her curiosity. She doesn't ask, of course. "...Well enough. He's dilligent if nothing else, but they draw to a close." She hesitates, a little thin lipped as her violet gaze meets Adelle's. "...I'm going to send him to Laurent."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "...you cannot guilt him into feeling badly about what he did, Mist. Sending him to Laurent will still not convince him. The Hydrae brothers have a way they believe things, and that is that..." Perhaps she's a bit too hard on the bulb in hand, because soil spills over the counter as she wedges it in. "Have you spoken to him?"

And perhaps Adelle is right. But at least this way, i can say i gave him the opportunity.

...I could never just dismiss someone out of hand.

Mistienne Aurloix: "Yestersun. He... Agreed to not harm him, but i told him all other things he could do as he pleased. I expect him to yell. I don't think i've ever seen Laurent angry."

Mistienne Aurloix: "...What else am i supposed to do? Save for maiming him in some fashion."

Adellenne Hocoleux arches a brow, clearly stifling the urge to say what she's already said. "I commend him for his efforts. We should buy them a vacation somewhere, some sort of holiday where they do not need to worry about -anything- save one another. Bexy has hardly had a moment of peace these past few cycles. We could send them away for the summer, perhaps? Buy them a villa on a private island?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "If Bexy wanted peace, she wouldn't be here with the company. And you know no matter how far away we sent her, she'd still find a way to keep contact and never quite switch off. Though i don't deny she could use a break..."

Mistienne Aurloix: "...She's almost as difficult to pull away from her duties as you are."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Yes, well, I have found plenty of outlets lately..." Her ears wiggle and ilm. "Walks through the Shroud do marvelous things for my temper, after all, and even I cannot remain locked up in my workroom all bells of the sun. I have met some rather interesting people as of late, and even got to know some of our boarders."

Mistienne Aurloix: "...I can't say i've yet to meet them. But we both know why that is." Mist gives an almost guilty smile before a thought nags it's way to the front of her thoughts. "...Speaking of interesting people for less pleasant reasons, guess who -i- ran into the other sun?"

Adellenne Hocoleux laughs and sets another bulb aside. "Hm? Heavens, what a question...I have at least half a dozen on the tip of my tongue."

Mistienne Aurloix: "I took Ouryu out for a run in La Noscea to stretch his legs. Less trees and no sand, sure enough. And who should i spy but -Mattisaux-?" Her brows loft. "I know what he did. Both to you, and the whole fallout with Bexy. What a sodding mess that is..."

Adellenne Hocoleux makes a straight face at you.

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Did you tell him to take a very long walk off the pier, or are you saving that for a rainy afternoon?" She bites off, not quite able to stop herself in time. "I admit, I am surprised he told you what happened. I thought he was afraid of more retribution, and here he is tattling on himself..."

Mistienne Aurloix: "Oh, he didn't. Bexy did. Of course she did. I know that look in her eyes when she's upset, and it's harder for her to hide when the room goes cold. It's been some weeks since she said something, mind. I'm... Annoyed for what he did. I'm not sure what was worse. Striking you or betraying her. Whatever you said to make him do it however... I can wager it was most assuredly deserved."

Mistienne Aurloix: "---To him, i mean."

Mistienne Aurloix: "...Bastard that he is..."

I’m not quite as heavy handed as Bexy when it comes to retribution. Of course, i’m annoyed he’s opted to lay hands on Adelle, but if she wanted to retaliate she most assuredly could have done.

She doesn’t need me to do it for her, and if she did, she’d ask.

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Honestly, it was hardly anything of substance. I just..." She looks over her plants, pauses, then turns to pluck a small vial of something pink from one of the shelves. "I just made him feel...the physical aspects of fear. Of panic. Shortness of breath, a bit of a quick pulse, hardly any lasting damage."

You smirk confidently at Adellenne Hocoleux.

Mistienne Aurloix: "Believe me, Adelle, i don't mean to chastise you for it. If you wanted him dead, suffering, or worse, you'd have most assuredly done it. But for some reason i can't possibly grasp, Bexy has decided on friendship with the insufferable asshole, and thus -some- amount of civility needs to be maintained, i -suppose-."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "I was incredibly civil," she promises, and begins to add a small drop from the vial to each of her newly potted plants. "Can you get me some water from the fountain?" She gestures with her elbow, cheeks dark and brows drawn close in mild frustration. "I suppose I have some good news to offset the news of him, if you like?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "Adelle, you could be the biggest bitch that ever lived towards him, and i'd bear no judgement." She takes a small vessel, moving to the fountain to submerge it. "Oh? Good news?" She asks, head turned over her shoulder.

Adellenne Hocoleux: "I have figured out a solution to the whole...dissolving every financial tie that Cicero had. What if we open up to more than just boarders? Moengeim already has an art studio, and I believe we have some sort of noodle kitchen hosted by someone else. What if we rented out to people who need space for a business?"

Adellenne Hocoleux grins. "I know plenty of potion sellers, or authors. Even other medical clinics could be hosted here."

...We have plenty of space, plenty of empty rooms, and can provide some manner of protection. It can’t hurt, so long as we see eye to eye.

Mistienne Aurloix: "...Hm. So long as they're in line with our morals... I'd not be opposed." She collects the water, returning to the counter to settle the jug atop it. "...It irks me to no end that we still had to lean on his connections to keep us more afloat. Being morally upstanding is fulfilling, but it sure as hells isn't profitable."

Mistienne Aurloix: "I tried to bolster the income with bounty hunting, but it just isn't reliable enough."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Honestly, severing those ties has been incredibly satisfying. And if we open our doors to small businesses like the ones we can host, we might even find more people who wish for something more than just...what they have." She took the water and added it to the remaining liquid in the vial, corked it, then gave it a little shake. "You have done a marvelous job keeping us going as much as we have been, but...we will begin dipping into parts of the budget I would rather not touch."

Adellenne Hocoleux's hands still, and she finally lifts her gaze. "I...well, this is more of a personal ask. I want to remove what we are now from what we were. The ones who led the company towards the bloody path we had to steer it forcefully from are gone, and I would like to change the last tie. I...would ask you to do it, however." Adelle offers her a small smile. "What do you think about changing our name?"

Mistienne Aurloix lifts her gaze to Adelle's, and considers quiety. Her lips draw together rather than provide any sort of immediate response, a slow sigh given from her nose. "...I agree that change is in order. The last tie. The last thread to sever from what it was, to what we are. I'm all for it. However..."

Mistienne Aurloix: "...What to change it to? I know well that we're the directors here, but... We didn't found it. Bexy did. I'd... Like to at least ask her."

Mistienne Aurloix: "She's always better with flowery and symbolic nonsense like that anyway."

...She’d pick a good enough name, i’m sure. If she decides to change it. I... Can’t think of a reason why she wouldn’t. I’ll make time for her soon.

Adellenne Hocoleux nods. "Then by all means, please, tell her what we mean to do and what we want her help with. I think she would like reclaiming it, just as much as we will." The rest of the vial is sprinkled over the plants, which seem to softly glow. With a little satisfied smile she pulls out a bit of parchment and her usual fountain pen, and scribbles down a handful of notes. "Do you think there are any other changes we could start? Might as well get the ball rolling on all of them."

Mistienne Aurloix: "...None i can think of. The house renovations have fallen in well. Opening the bar... We'd need a cocktail menu, which we've got no end of people we can point to. I should hope she wants the change. She... Doesn't mention anything of the nostalgia of the company, any time we speak of it. Only as it is now."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Because this is her company. This -was- her home, although I little understand how she sees it now. Perhaps opening the doors will help her to feel safer, if the people who are coming here do not have as much combat knowledge, or ill intent...?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "...I don't know what she considers a home. Her place in the Shroud? Laurent? It's always been a subjective thing, and she's never give me a straight answer. If anything, she's always fond of people. Even if it doesn't put her at ease... It isn't like to harm her."

Adellenne Hocoleux nods. "I simply want her to...to be less like me. The paranoia can be awful on the best of suns. She should not have a reason to doubt those she puts her life on the line for. What will we do when Dusk can eventually return back? Act as though nothing has happened?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "...After Laurent, i plan to send him on his final errand. He'll deliver a parcel from the Bismark to Coerthas. For her." Mist speaks, as though she had planned it for some considerable time. "...And then they will talk. She will be in her element should he be stupid enough to try anything, and i am confident enough that she won't. I'll let Bexy know in advance... But not Dusk. The outcome of that conversation will be the verdict of his punishment."

Mistienne Aurloix: "If he has learned anything, he will be civil. And if he hasn't... Well, at the very least, i can say i tried. Following that meeting, i will leave it to him to return when he sees fit; with full knowledge there are still a great many people who hold a great deal of anger towards him."

Adellenne Hocoleux sighs and removes her glasses, if only to use cleaning them as an excuse to think. "I do not know how I will explain what happened to his brothers, should this final 'test' end very badly for him. Do you...do you think that she would hurt him if he attacked her again? I understand she holds her promises, but surely she would not let such harm befall her again?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "...She'd hurt him. But i don't think she'd kill him. Self defense, perhaps. I..." Mist swallows a little dryly. "...I don't know. You know her, Adelle. And in knowing her, you know that to try and predict any way she will react is folly."

...It would be a mess if she killed him. For Neoma, mostly. His brothers, too. But... More of one, i wager, should Dusk manage to put her down.

...I’m trying not to think about it too much.

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Not entirely," Adelle shrugs. "Bexy does precisely as she says she will. It is one of the things I admire most about her," Brushing her hair from her face, she leans against the counter. "I apologize for having you handle this by yourself. I...my decision making was flawed."

Mistienne Aurloix: "...It's not what she says she will do which bothers me. It's what she -doesn't- say that leaves me ill at ease..." Her brow softens at Adelle's admission, shaking her head. "...If i could remember everything with the clarity you did, mine would be too. In recognising this... You did what was best. I can't imagine what it feels like, having to relieve it whenever it crosses your thoughts..."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "It feels like the very first time I thought it," she admits. "So...change will be good. For the company, in whatever way that means, and for us. I look forward to dealing more with the clerical, honestly. It will give me more time for my projects. -And- you will be able to be pickier about the work we take on." She grins. "Maybe you could open a little training business, and guide a new generation of swordswomen."

Mistienne Aurloix: "Gods, if i was any pickier, we'd have no work left. That said, i might have a lead. I've a meeting in Ul'dah with the Flames tomorrow... And they always pay well when they know we know what we're worth." She scoffs, at the later comment. "...You think i have patience enough to -teach?-"

Adellenne Hocoleux grins. "I think it would be very funny to watch. A room full of wooden training swords, you convincing them not to stab each other..." She grins. "What sort of job? Easy enough, I hope. Anything I can send along to help convince them?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "Gods, no. Entirely too many people. Ask Zhav to do it." Mist shakes her head with a huff. "...And i don't know. Confidential, they said. That's always fun." She pauses for a moment. "...So all i can think of is something that they don't want the general populace to know."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "When do they ever?" She shakes her head, frowning. "They aught to pay more for that. I know they -say- they do, but it is practically nothing compared to how much it sometimes costs us in medical supplies."

Mistienne Aurloix: "Oh, don't you worry. It was urgent enough that they sent me the letter this sun, requesting my earliest convenience, which is tomorrow. It isn't often we have chance to catch up... Else i'd be on my way there already."

Adellenne Hocoleux smiles at you.

Adellenne Hocoleux: "I am incredibly grateful we have the time for it, Mist. I cannot imagine leading this Company with someone other than you," She reaches out for one of the plants and extends it, beaming. "Black lilies. I think you will enjoy the color when it finally blooms,"

Mistienne Aurloix takes the offered lillies in hand, gazing over them, even still budded. "...Thank you. I'll put them up in my room." She smiles. "...I wouldn't dream of leading it with anyone else. Not only as a co-leader... But as a friend."

Mistienne Aurloix: "...And a sister-in-law too, i suppose. But that's only when we're in Ishgard." Mist offers an amused smirk.

Adellenne Hocoleux smiles at you.

Adellenne Hocoleux: "I plan to see them soon, actually. It has been far too long since I spent time with them for any genuine length of time beyond a short trip." Adelle shrugs. "Perhaps I will stay for the sennight's end? So long as you have no need of me here?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "...We've plenty of healers. I'm sure we'll be fine." Mist hums, dipping her head. "Cecillia has taken a liking to anything sour, if that's any help for some treat you'd like to bring her. I'm sure she'd love to see her Auntie 'Delle."

Adellenne Hocoleux laughs. "Then I will bring some of the grapefruits I planned to have Auro'usk make into pastries. I also plan to visit Severin while I am there, and see if he needs anything from us as far as furs or such are concerned."

You nod to Adellenne Hocoleux.

Mistienne Aurloix: "Very well, i'm sure there's people who can provide, if he does." She smiles, if a little tiredly, between the flower, Adelle, and the door. "...Suppose i shouldn't wait too long before putting this in water. It isn't -too- late to go to Ul'dah now, i suppose..."

Adellenne Hocoleux: "It will be fine for a few suns. Bulbs are hardy enough. They essentially hibernate," she gestures to the others. "These are going to go in the ground around the house, I think. A little border of them will look lovely."

You smile at Adellenne Hocoleux.

Mistienne Aurloix: "I trust your judgement for such things. The plants always look lovely." Her attention turns to the door, then. "I'll have a report on your desk by tomorrow evening regarding what i learn about the possible contract. If you're gone by then... Give them my love, yes?"

Adellenne Hocoleux: "As much of it as I can carry," she promises. "If it is particularly awful, this contract, can you leave some sweets of some kind next to it? I hate to read over them without something to cushion the blow if I can help it,"

Mistienne Aurloix: "Of course. Any particular flavor?" Mist asks, turning towards the door.

Adellenne Hocoleux: "Hmm...cherry?" Her brows furrowed. "Or pineapple. Something bright?"

Mistienne Aurloix: "Something bright." Mist nods, settling her fingertips on the handle. "...I'll be sure to do so, but hopefully it won't come to that. Travel safe when you make for Ishgard, yes?" Mist smiles warmly, as she opens the door. "...I'm sure we'll speak soon."

Adellenne Hocoleux bids farewell to you. Adellenne Hocoleux: "Travel well, Mist! Please stay safe."

You smile at Adellenne Hocoleux.

And so, we part again. Of course, we always keep in contact. Considering how weaved our life is with the other, it’s hard not to. Whether it’s at work via report, or through speaking with our family in the North.

...And i’d have it no other way.

[roseytoesy]

this is a vent. A scream into the void and I expect nothing out of it and I’m sorry to my followers. I just need to get this out somewhere.

it’s under the read more. Again sorry for all this. Just skip it cause I’m just a confused scared bean in a big scary world.

hehe long space

alright that’s probably enough…

1 just… the us of America doesn’t feel very united. Our candidates for presidents are jokes and way too old to deal with modern day issues. 2 it seems that unless you get lucky or make something successful by lying and bullying and doing anything but work hard then you’ll make it in their capitalistic hellhole that we’re creating. 3 how is a 20 year old supposed to survive in this world if I wasn’t even taught how to do taxes?! How am I supposed to be expected to just find my own job when most employers send our things begging for workers then ghost so often you’d think they were dead! 4 how am I supposed to be myself and be quirky and silly and enjoy myself when the grind is normalized? When I’m expected to sacrifice everything for others and just let myself die quietly in a corner cause otherwise I’m selfish? 5 go get therapy. Go get a job. Go to collage. For what in the end?! To be another semi better cog in a machine that will die one day and be forgotten forever?! To be a nothing for a short time. Cause that’s all that the working class is to corporations. That all we are to governments so focused on control that they erase individuals with a click. With a bill. 6 I honestly wish we could do more to change things. But there’s so many hoops. So many tests where if you aren’t tough enough you’ll fail and never be allowed even close to making any difference anywhere. 7 I want to live in a world where I didn’t have to worry or fear for my future becuase I don’t want to have to work the rest of my life until I’m to old to move. Then be let go and die as what little I did make drains away like my fleeting time on earth that I wasted for that which I can’t keep or even use. 8 will I be shunned for not wanting kids. Will I be hated for not having or ever wanting any? In this crumbling economy it wouldn’t be worth it. Especially with mental health already a struggle. 9 safe spaces. Places to physically meet and hang out are fading. Social adaptability is harder and harder. Everything is online and insane. 10 I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’m lost and feel pretty alone. That despite everything. I’m just a fish gasping. Trying to live. But will still die slowly as someone in a better starting place than me gets to watch. 11 I don’t know who I am because I’m so burnt out and numb some days/nights that I just want to start over. But I can’t. I don’t want to either. It’s just hard, hard to exist when it seems everything is on the verge of breaking. 12 and due to burning out I’ve lost myself too. I haven’t drawn in a very long time… I don’t write often, and when I do it’s vent poems or messages. I can laugh or smile but it doesn’t last long. Is it too much to ask for an escape? To be whisked away and told I’ll always get food water shelter and stimulation. Hell I wouldn’t even mind being a glorified pet for some other being. So long as I’m taken care of well I’ll be happy. 13 just scary times. A constant thing after another. Needing a break from school, getting home to renovations, living without a kitchen for a month, dealing with winter, job and internship hunting, months of NOTHING but eh maybes and ghosting, cleaning up other peoples stuff for those many months, being the taxi service, nearly crashing and having a car breakdown in zero service on vacation, grandparent passing away and that side of the family dragging in their drama. Mental breakdowns as I struggle to just desist in a space that I could try and call my own. Burned through a game and now just numb again

[harleyshahas]

It was said so quietly, and Jack felt his own heart ache a little. He couldn't imagine spending his three hundred years without having any fun. It was the only thing that had gotten him through those years at all, but through all that...

He sat down next to Pitch. "It's been a long time since I haven't been afraid..." he whispered. Pitch looked up at him from where he lay. Jack didn't look back.

"I know," he said, just as quiet. The small smile on his face was sad. "I've rarely felt a fear as powerful as yours."

Above them, the half moon shown brightly, but they were safely hidden beneath Burgess's trees. Jack stared up at it, his usual resentment fighting to surface, but he pushed it back down. He was a Guardian now. Manny had finally acknowledged him, the other Guardians respected him, and Pitch...

He looked down at the older spirit. His eyes widened.

Pitch was looking at him with something indefinable in his gold eyes, the smile on his face indescribably soft. Unfamiliar heat filled Jack's cheeks and he looked away. He brought his knees to his chest, his staff cradled between them.

"You never said anything," he mumbled into his pants.

Pitch shrugged. "Never had a chance." He sat up, brushing snow off his shoulders and hair. Around them, the aftermath of their skirmish was becoming covered up by a light snowfall. Pitch leaned back, long legs stretched out in front of him as his hands propped him up. Jack had never seen him so relaxed. "We may share a city, but you rarely stay in one place. You're never around in the summer, and during the winter we're both off doing our respective jobs. October through January are my busiest months."

Jack snorted. "What, you a winter spirit, too?"

"Hardly," Pitch said with a snort. "The entire month of October is dedicated to scaring people in time for Halloween, which is the only holiday I can claim. Past that..." he trailed off. He glanced at Jack out of the corner of his eye and Jack curled in on himself a little further. Pitch's voice was melancholy when he continued, "You'd be surprised how many people in the world are afraid in the winter."

"Not as surprised as you'd think..." Jack's voice was low. "I spent a lot of time causing blizzards and snowstorms for the hell of it. Good way to let out my pent-up anger. Didn't do me any favors in the friends department though." An errant thought of Bunny popped into his head.

Pitch huffed a laugh. "Did wonders for me." He nudged Jack's shoulder with his own and the sprite uncurled just a bit.

Jack gave him a small smirk. "Well, I'm glad one of us could benefit. "

"Cold and dark and all that," Pitch murmured. He was looking at Jack again, that soft... something in his eyes, and Jack looked away, feeling that odd flush again. They sat in silence, Pitch staring at Jack, and Jack desperately trying to avoid his molten gaze. He felt heat for what felt like the first time in his long life and he wasn't sure if he liked it. His grip on his staff tightened. The snow fell a little harder.

Eventually, as the moon made its way across the sky, Pitch shifted. He got his legs under him and stood in one fluid motion, and Jack felt a brief spike of panic shoot through him. It was nice to just sit and relax, to share a space with someone who understood what it was like to not exist to the rest of the world. Pitch got it. The other Guardians... Jack could joke and laugh with them, enjoy his time with them, but they never understood what it was like to go unseen for so long, to question whether they actually existed or if they were merely ghosts wondering aimlessly through the world, searching for a purpose. Pitch understood. And Jack didn't want to lose that right away.

He pulled out of himself as an ashen hand was held out to him and Jack looked up. That gentle smile was back on Pitch's face and something soft bloomed in Jack's belly. He should feel wary, suspicious of Pitch's motives, afraid he would take Jack's staff and break it again, but he felt none of those things. He took Pitch's hand and was helped to his feet.

Pitch must have misjudged how light he was, however, because the next thing Jack knew, he was pressed full body against a wall of heat, staff falling from his hands as Pitch's arms wrapped around his chest and waist to steady him. Jack's hands shot up to catch himself, tangling in the fabric of a shadowy robe, and he had the wayward thought of, Wow, he's built, before his cheeks flushed impossibly more and he pushed away to glance up at the taller man. Pitch was still smiling, but there was something in his eyes, something hesitant and... hopeful.

"We should do this again sometime," Pitch murmured softly. Was he leaning in closer?

"Wh-which part?" Jack said, equally soft. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his nerves behind his usual snark. "Talk or beat the crap out of each other?"

He actually felt the chuckle that rumbled out of Pitch, and oh, that shouldn't be making him blush more! Jack ducked his head, but that only gave him a better view of the visible skin of the Boogieman's chest under his robe. He bit his lip. "While I wouldn't say no to another fight, maybe next time we can make it more of a friendly sparring match," Pitch stated. "I don't spend all of my time getting up to nefarious deeds, you know." Jack snorted a laugh.

He jumped a little when a finger found his chin, gently lifting his head and he met Pitch's gold eyes, nerves making him bite his lip at the gentle hope he found in them.

"But if you want to talk," Pitch Black whispered, and yep, he was definitely leaning in closer now. Jack found himself rising up onto the tips of his toes. "You know where to find me. I'm a great listener."

Searing, near burning heat was pressed to Jack's lips and Jack moaned. The arms wrapped around him tightened. His hands fisted the fabric beneath them. Pitch's kiss was as gentle as that look in his eyes and Jack felt himself melting against him. Warmth bloomed in his belly, quickly spreading up to his face, down to his toes. He heart beat rapidly. Pitch made a sound like a soft sigh as his tongue traced Jack's lips, darting in for a taste when Jack gasped. When the winter spirit whimpered, Pitch pulled away. His arms loosened their hold as he leaned back, pressing one more soft sweet kiss to Jack's part lips, Jack feeling like he was floating in a haze. Ashen hands gripped his gently, breaking the thin sheet of ice that had leaked out from his fingers to connect to the front of Pitch's robe. Already Jack missed the connection, the heat and barely subdued passion Pitch was offering.

Pitch kissed his cheek. "See you around, Jack Frost." And then he was gone.

Jack exhaled a shaky breath. His fingers came up to touch his lips, feeling the already fading warmth left behind from Pitch's thin lips. He bit his bottom lip, remembering the way Pitch's tongue felt against it and he smiled through his blush. He spared barely a passing glance at the setting moon.

He had a Boogieman to catch up with

@bunnimew

Waiting

Pitch slammed down into the snow, and laughed. Jack ran up and held his staff over him. “What’s so funny?” “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for an opponent like you?” Jack didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. “It’s been forever since I’ve had any fun.”

[morganas-pendragons]

Scars That Tell Stories | the master chief 

this is for @embarrassedauthornerd and one of my all time favorite tropes. i hope you all enjoy!

***

It's very easy to lose yourself in him. In those rare moments where you do have the opportunity to ease John into being vulnerable, into removing the armor - both literal and metaphorical - you are always entranced by the scars that mar his skin.

Part of you wonders what it would feel like without all the scars. Some are from battles come and gone, most are from the augmentation he survived. Most of the Spartans didn't. To you, it's a testimony of his strength.

A single fingertip trailed across his shoulder blades and down the curled scar on his arm.

"The augmentation was difficult," John was facing the wall, bare from the waist up and unmoving. You'd been the one to suggest this. Part of you had learned very early on that he was never comfortable in his own skin. That had been part of the reason why he learned to live in the armor. It was better then the scrutiny from other people. "We lost half our unit."

Half of my friends.

"That's not your fault, John." You whisper. It's not. You refuse to let him believe that Halsey's choices to create the Spartan Two's and all that followed was in any way John's fault. "All the children who died.. you were just a child. There's no way you could've prevented it."

John shuddered as your fingertips trailed back upward to his shoulder blades. You hummed softly as you moved, your eyes following your fingers as you stopped at his hip.

"Buckshot. Shotgun. Hurt like hell. Ran into the fire to save a group of marines who were pinned down."

Hero. You've always thought of The Master Chief as a hero, because what else would people refer to him as? Anyone with his service record and reputation would be revered as a hero of the UNSC.

He groaned low in his throat as you bent your head to ghost your lips over his hip.

"You saved lives that day. You save lives every day. Including mine."

If only he knew.

The next few minutes that passed felt like they slowed, the only sound in the room John's even breathing and the steady thrum of your heartbeat.

"Cortana?" Your eyes flicker upward as the holopad in the corner of John's quarters lit up a brilliant blue. "Would you do me a favor, little love?"

The AI smiled and nodded. "As always, I'm at your service."

"Can you play the song Make You Feel My Love? Any version will do."

"Right away."

You tuck your legs underneath you and wind your arms around his waist. He's so.. warm. Not even just the physical warmth, but there's something in his soul that, when you dare to look for it, just radiates comfort. You go looking for it because there's nothing better then finding that thing that just makes you feel... safe.

He is safe.

And that's part of the reason why you're in love with him, among other things.

"I know there's things about yourself you don't care for. You've never told me, but I see it." You murmur all of this quietly across the plains and valleys of his back, leaning upward to press your face into the side of his neck. The action makes him sigh quietly. "Even through all the armor you wear, John... I see you. I always have, and I always will."

I see you.

It's not an "I love you." but it is the closest you've gotten to one.

John doesn't reply. What he does do is turn his body just enough to tug you into his lap, hands settling at the small of your back as he pulls you close enough to feel every part of you. All of it. The shake of your breath and the pounding of your heart as you tuck your head under his chin.

I love you. He knows it when you spread your fingers evenly over his heart, cocking your head to the side as your lips ghost over his scars. All of them.

He's never considered himself to ever want to be loved. It's not important enough to seek whenever there's a war going on. But right now, in this moment, John is going to allow himself that feeling burning bright in the back of his mind to take hold. To not let himself compartmentalize and feel it like Cortana has helped him to learn.

John's eyes flicker over to his AI. One of his best friends and one of the only people he loves still, and someone who he has never doubted. Not since day one.

Cortana mouths let yourself feel it and disappears in a haze of blue light. John takes a shaky breath and eases his eyes shut as he lets his head roll back and finally allows himself to experience the raw feelings that come with being revered like this.

By being loved like this.

Propped up on your knees over his lap, you angle your chin downward and exhale heavily as you meet his eyes. The scene is worthy of a photograph. Moon light falls heavy on the cot you both occupy, illuminating your silhouettes in silver as you gaze at one another. There's so much.. adoration. From both of you.

It's a core memory that both of you will cherish forever.

[bakuthedeku]

their everyday game

Read on AO3

Words: 3,000

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Things Midoriya Izuku is: A student, a sugar baby, a boyfriend, a brat.

Things Midoriya Izuku is not: Patient.

Or: Izuku wants attention from Kacchan and he is going to get it.

A commissioned fic for @insinirate !

Clack clack clack. The room is silent but for the steady breaths of its occupants and the rhythmic beat of fingers on plastic. Clear, wall-to-ceiling windows wash the sun’s gentle light into the room, and reveal a picturesque view of the sparkling city, looking like something straight out of a magazine.

Izuku glares at the extravagant view. He bets Kacchan is writing another one of those stupid reports of his.

Buzz. The clacking halts and Kacchan glances at his work phone for but a moment before the typing resumes.

Izuku takes a deep breath. Holds it. Puffs out his cheeks.

He slumps over in his seat and sighs obnoxiously.

God, he’s so damn bored.

Kacchan said he had to get one more hour of work done, and then he’d take a break. That had been almost three hours ago. ‘One hour’ had turned into two when Izuku left Kacchan to get ready for their lunch date and had foolishly gone straight to the cafe instead of meeting up with Kacchan at the office first. He’d waited all of ten minutes at their usual table before calling a company car and returning to find Kacchan still working in his office.

If not for Kacchan’s genuine surprise at the time and his gruff, yet sweet apologies, he would be a dead man already.

But Izuku still isn’t satisfied. Kacchan needs a break, and Izuku needs attention, stat. There’s only one solution: Izuku’s gonna annoy the shit out of Kacchan. So Izuku sucks in another breath and pouts at the ceiling. “Kacchaaaaan!”

Kacchan sighs, but he doesn’t respond. The silence in the room grows thick with expectation; Izuku’s long-perfect attention-seeking tone signals the start of the game they play every day.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clack of keys and occasional buzz from Kacchan’s work phone. Izuku wriggles against his plush seat, making the leather squeak obnoxiously, and clears his throat daintily, earning himself a glance. “Kacchan, I’m hungry…” Izuku peaks at Kacchan from beneath fluttering eyelashes.

Kacchan shifts his eyes back to his computer and types another line, pointedly loud against the room’s still silence.

When they play this game, whoever breaks first (or whoever wants whatever they’re after more) will relent and go to the other, so this can go one of two ways; Izuku will pull himself from his lounging position to drape himself over Kacchan, or Kacchan will pull himself from his work and lavish Izuku with the attention he deserves.

Today, Izuku takes it upon himself to move things forward—Kacchan is in one of those moods where it could take hours to break him down, and Izuku needs results now.

So with an impatient, gusty sigh pulled deep from his lungs, Izuku heaves himself up and slinks over to Kacchan’s grand desk, stalking up from behind him. When Kacchan makes the mistake of glancing at Izuku from the corner of his eye, Izuku pounces.

Izuku wrenches Kacchan’s chair around and jumps into his lap, laying himself over Kacchan as well as the plush arms of his chair. Kacchan grunts out a quiet oof at the sudden weight but wraps an arm around his waist nonetheless.

“I’m working, Deku,” Kacchan says dryly.

“Actually, Kacchan, I think you’ll find that you’re cuddling me and giving me attention right now, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to stop.”

Kacchan exhales quietly and wrestles down the corners of his lips—it’s not quite a smile, but it’s a good enough start for Izuku. “I have a lot to do, so as much as I’d love to keep giving you all the attention you desire, I really do have to get back to work.”

Izuku wraps an arm around Kacchan’s neck and pretends to think, then shakes his head solemnly. “Unfortunately, it’s a no from me. I’m hungry and I want lunch.”

“Then go get lunch.”

Izuku gives Kacchan a look for being deliberately obtuse.

“I’ll order in for you, then,” Kacchan offers.

Izuku huffs and pushes himself away from his comfortable spot against Kacchan’s broad chest. “Not good enough, Kacchan! We organised a lunch date, so I am getting a lunch date. Now.” Izuku sticks out his chin and dares Kacchan to say no.

Eyes lock. Izuku stares with determination, burying his will into impenetrable crystal red and steadfastly ignoring their alluring pull. Kacchan makes an aborted noise in the back of his throat, as if he was about to say something stupid but thought better of it, and finally sighs.

“Half an hour.”

Izuku smiles sweetly. “Two. You’re late, so you’ve accrued interest.”

Kacchan decides to focus on their negotiations over Izuku’s mockingly business-like tone: “Forty-five is the best you’re going to get from me.”

“An hour, not including travel time, or I’ll get our contract from your room and tear it up myself.” Izuku juts out a petulant lip. He’d never do it, but it gets his point across—Izuku isn’t budging on this.

Kacchan stares hard for a moment, then sags and rests his head in the crook of Izuku’s neck. “You’re such an annoying little shit,” he murmurs, warm against Izuku’s skin.

Izuku hides his smile in Kacchan’s hair and holds him tight. Another victory secured.

/-/

The cafe is a relaxing, familiar space for Izuku. He’s been a regular since before his arrangement with Kacchan began, and when it breached the confines of Kacchan’s highrise office, it was only natural Izuku would drag Kacchan to his favourite little spot.

After enough of their regular visits, the staff have stopped staring at Kacchan and his crisp suits and shiny Rolex watches, and they interact more or less normally with the pair when they stop by.

They place their orders, as usual, and Kacchan pays, as usual, before they settle in their favourite corner, waiting for drinks and food.

Izuku relaxes into his plush chair. He breathes in happiness, the scent of sugar and coffee and Kacchan’s handsome cologne, and breathes out his worries. He’s already plotting ways to extend the hour he was so graciously granted.

On the table before him is a generous slice of cake, which is ‘not a meal,’ according to Kacchan, but Izuku wanted it and he doesn’t care what Kacchan has to say about it. Kacchan is still waiting on his own food; some kind of salmon dish, which is about the fanciest thing he might be able to get his hands on at a casual place like this.

Before Kacchan can grouse at Izuku further, Izuku digs into his treat with no regard for manners, or as Kacchan calls them, “basic fucking social etiquette.” Whenever Kacchan attempts to spout this particular kind of bullshit, Izuku rather enjoys pointing out the hypocrisy of Kacchan of all people criticising other people’s social graces.

Izuku glances at Kacchan and licks his lips before he fills his mouth with fluffy, sugary goodness, making eye-contact with him as he lets out an exaggerated moan. “So good,” Izuku takes care to lick his lips and smiles, warm and sweet like molten honey.

Kacchan rolls his eyes, but he swallows like his mouth is dry. “You’re a damn menace, you little brat,” he says hoarsely, despite the way his eyes have been stuck on Izuku’s lips since he licked them.

“Hey!” Izuku kicks out with all the gentleness of a fussy toddler, landing a solid kick on Kacchan’s shin. “Don’t be mean. You would’ve missed our lunch date altogether if I hadn’t dragged you here.” Izuku tilts his head and gives an Oscar-worthy kicked-puppy pout.

“Deku…” Kacchan obviously misses the point of his pouting by a mile, because now he just looks sad, and that is not what Izuku was going for! “I’m sorry I forgot, baby. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, it’s just...”

“You’re busy,” Izuku finishes for him, and leans across the table to (affectionately) swat his dumb boyfriend’s head. “I know. I’m not mad, but I do want your attention right now, so cut out the sadness and shower me with compliments like you’re supposed to.”

This earns a snort of laughter from Kacchan, who finally catches on and plays along with their usual game. His whole face brightens with his smile. “Ah yes, of course, dear. How could I spend even a second not overwhelming you with compliments?”

Izuku nods seriously. “Exactly. I’m just so shocked. You should know better than to neglect me by now,” Izuku winks, “Daddy.”

Kacchan makes a point of rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling broadly now, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “Alright, you’ve made your point, asshole. Eat your stupid cake already.”

/-/

Once they’ve eaten, and the redundant alarm Kacchan had set goes off, they return to the car. It’s time for Izuku to execute his plan.

Before Kacchan can put his belt on like the square he is, Izuku swings a leg over his lap and wraps himself around his boyfriend. Kacchan raises a questioning eyebrow before Izuku makes his demand: “Take me shopping.”

Kacchan smacks his head back against the headrest dramatically. “You have my card. I’ll have the driver drop you off wherever you want to go, okay?”

“I said take me shopping, not send me. You have to be there or there’s no use! Kacchan needs to come with me.”

Kacchan looks sad, then, and the stupid man has apparently learnt a thing or two from Izuku, because he’s got the bestest, heart-wrenchingest puppy-dog eyes without even trying. Resting his forehead against Izuku’s, Kacchan sighs softly against his lips. “You know I spend as much time as I can with you, baby. I can only ignore my work for so long, for you.”

Izuku aches, sudden and raw. “Oh, Kacchan… I know you’re busy, you work so hard! Kacchan really is amazing. But sometimes I want to be selfish and snatch up more of your time. You put too much pressure on yourself at work. You have so many employees so you don’t have to run yourself in the ground.”

“There are things my employees can’t do-”

“Like stopping you from working yourself to death? Right, that’s my job.” Izuku wiggles in Kacchan’s lap and captures his lips in a whisper-soft kiss. “So let me take care of you.” Izuku flutters his eyelashes and pulls his trump card. “Please, Daddy?” he asks, words sugar-sweet on his lips.

Cheeks glowing a suspicious strawberry red, Kacchan huffs and grabs Izuku by the waist, easily picking him up off his lap and depositing him on the seat next to him. He waits patiently for Kacchan to break, all the while butterflies dance in Izuku’s belly at his Daddy’s casual display of strength.

“The hell do you need so badly anyway?”

Truthfully, Izuku has no idea what he would wish to buy. Spoiled as he is, there are few things he’s wanted through life that he doesn’t now own, thanks to Kacchan. “I saw this gorgeous lingerie set and I just have to try it on before I buy it. And I need you there to tell me how good it looks,” Izuku states matter-of-factly.

Kacchan clears his throat and pinches Izuku’s cheek. “Fine. Let’s go look at this lingerie, then, baby.”

/-/

Izuku drags Kacchan out of the car by his hand and refuses to let go even after they’ve made it inside the shopping center.

“Come on, come on, I wanna see what this store has!” With Kacchan in tow, Izuku makes a beeline for his favourite lingerie store.

Izuku chatters away as he makes his way up and down the store, fluttering about pretty displays and shiny, luxurious lingerie sets hung up on the walls. He semi-consciously gives Kacchan a consistent stream of observations, rhetorical questions and mumbled postulations about what Kacchan might like best. He picks out half a dozen sets in just a few minutes, handing each one over to Kacchan for him to judge and/or hold like a handsome sentient display rack.

Soon enough, Kacchan flags down someone from the store to do the grunt work for him as he follows Izuku around the store like a loyal dog, face warring between fondness and annoyance.

Izuku is quite certain that the fondness far outweighs the annoyance, though. Izuku is, after all, impossible to hate.

After completing one circuit of the store, Kacchan interrupts Izuku before he can begin on a second. “What happened to the ‘one’ set you wanted, huh?” The man crosses his arms like a brute, biceps flexing handsomely as he pours disapproval into the question.

Izuku tuts at him. “There’s nothing wrong with browsing. Just look at how pretty this one is!” Izuku pulls out the dainty belt and harness set he was looking at, wiggling it around for Kacchan’s judgment.

“Mm,” Kacchan acknowledges, carefully collected as he judges the set. With his nod of approval, Izuku gleefully adds it to his soon-to-be-towering pile of things to try on, heedless of the fact that Kacchan immediately passes it off to the poor retail worker trailing after them.

Kacchan crosses his arms. “Don’t think I don’t realise what you’re doing, baby boy.”

Izuku ought to feel sheepish at being caught out so easily, but it’s to be expected when he’s trying to con Kacchan. Instead, he tilts his head and bats his big, round eyes, the perfect picture of innocence. “But Daddy, what exactly are you going to do about it?”

Kacchan crosses his arms, but Izuku’s got him there. Kacchan wants to see Izuku in this lingerie just as much as Izuku wants to try them on. And if all of this has the bonus of Izuku keeping Kacchan to himself for a little longer, then they don’t need to talk about that, really.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Kacchan says, and Izuku giggles, wrapping his arms around his Daddy’s neck.

“I can think of a few reasons,” he laughs. “Now come tell me how pretty I look in these!”

/-/

The driver has to help them get everything into the car. As soon as they’re in, Kacchan orders the driver to start the car and get them back to his work quickly.

It’s cute that Kacchan thinks they’d be going anywhere near his office if not for Izuku allowing it.

“Are you satisfied now, brat?” Kacchan asks, pulling on his seatbelt only after the car has started moving (ooh, rebellious).

Izuku hums. He takes a long few moments to rearrange the copious amount of bags around him, just because he can. He pretends to think very hard about it before nodding exaggeratedly. “Yes, I think I am. For today, at least.”

When Kacchan groans, Izuku shuts him up with a kiss, and they smile like kids in love against each other’s lips.

/-/

Deku seems to have tuckered himself out during their shopping trip, which is understandable considering the sheer amount of clothes he insisted he try on before making Katsuki buy everything for him. He spends the car ride back draped over Katsuki’s side, giving a docile little mumble every now and then when he sees a dog on the sidewalk or a pretty flower that apparently reminds him of Katsuki’s eyes.

(How can the fucker get even cuter than usual just because he tired himself out being a whiny brat all day? How is that fair at all to Katsuki’s heart? Not to mention his wallet...)

(It’s not like Katsuki can’t afford it, but damn, lingerie is surprisingly fucking expensive.)

Katsuki carefully shakes Deku awake when they arrive, because he has learnt the hard way that if he leaves Deku to doze or wakes him too quickly, there will be hell to pay. So he accepts Deku’s blindly groping hand into his own and leads him into the building, where Izuku says something vague about harassing his friend in reception and stumbles off, bleary-eyed.

Katsuki has some interns come down and transfer Deku’s things into his private car so he can attempt to get some work done before Deku makes it upstairs. Deku usually settles down after a few hours of monopolising Katsuki’s time and attention, but with the mood he’s in today, Katsuki doesn’t like his chances of getting anything else done.

He’s gotten as far as opening up an email from a partner company when the door clicks open and Deku sashays in like he owns the place.

And, okay. Katsuki owns the place, and Deku has him wrapped around his pinky finger, so he does own the place in every way but name. But only Katsuki is allowed to know that, god damn it.

“You look like a bumbling fawn like that,” Katsuki informs him, just to see Deku’s sleepy eyes flash with indignation, and watch his cheeks glow a pretty, flustered pink.

Deku’s response doesn’t disappoint, and his nose even scrunches up like a disgruntled bunny, but Katsuki’s gone and shot himself in the foot because now Deku is stomping up to him in a way that says he means business. Deku collapses heavily and claims the space of Katsuki’s lap, steadfast in the fact that it is his and his alone.

Deku slaps him petulantly on the chest. “Meanie,” he mumbles, and curls up on Katsuki’s lap, nestling his head beneath his chin and settling against him, a puzzle piece slotted perfectly in its place. “I’m tired,” Deku says, as if that isn’t obvious already.

Kastuki huffs, presses a feather-soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Just rest, idiot.”

“‘Mkay Daddy…”

Katsuki strokes his fingers through the softness of Izuku’s hair and cradles him as Deku’s body relaxes into Katsuki’s own. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Pressed tenderly together, Deku continues babbling quietly to fill the peaceful sunset air. Katsuki nods along and holds his baby securely in his arms until he floats off into sleep.

Clack clack clack. With a watchful eye on Deku, lovely and sleep-soft against his chest, Katsuki quietly gets back to work.